by Brian Ennion

Created on: May 31, 2009

For about 20 minutes or so this afternnon, Saturday 29th May 2009, I dared to believe in such a thing as miracles. It was pretty stupid of me really. I should probably know by now, that miracles don't happen. All that happens is life; boring, mechanical and churning out consistent pain on its conveyer belt. Everton were never going to win this FA Cup final. That, is just the way of things.

And yet, within 25 seconds of the kick-off, it just seemed like it was there. It was on the end of every Evertonian's tongue and it tasted sweet, unreal, magical.

Louis Saha's volley was true Roy of the Rovers' stuff. It was sweet and perfect and it sailed through the air with such grace before nestling in the back of Petr Cech's net. In that moment and for the next twenty minutes, the divine took over and reality; so cruel and harsh, was suspended. To all the thousands of Everton fans who had dared to dream, suddenly, their audacious hope looked as though it might just pay dividends.

The Iron Curtain erected with corrupt Russian money and so rigidly held in place by arrogant, ruthless soldiers looked for a breathtaking moment as though it might, just might, crumble. The men of Russian steel looked as though they were rattled by a working man's team, built on nostalgia and magic rather than the cold, brutal cement of financial clout.

How sweet that moment was. I know, for as long as there is breath within me, I shall never forget those 20 or so minutes where heaven and earth seemed to touch each other with the ends of their fingertips. If only they could have gotten together and just gripped each other for a little longer. 70 minutes would have done it. That is all the afflicted victims of football's new corporate machine asked for. They didn't get it. The machine kicked into gear and roughly shred some more of football's soul with its razor sharp teeth.

The Evertonians should have known that magic just wasn't in the air when Florent Malouda started to show a menacing superiority over Tony Hibbert. Florent Malouda; a classy, hired mercenary with no real allegiance to Chelsea Football Club against Tony Hibbert; a gutsy Scouse full back who has supported Everton all his life and has shown in the past he is willing to bleed for the cause.

If magic had truly been in the air, Hibbert would have strained every sinew and he would have just been able to match the mercurial Frenchman. As it was, he strained every sinew but he came up just short. 21 minutes in,

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