Ek Sau Bees Minute

Kick Off- 10min: Call up Bihari Potter and ask him where he plans to watch the game. Decide to make the Great Trip to the Gaon(TM) and pay Leftiekins, Raps and the other Lords of the Farmhouse a visit.

KO-5min: Call up Leftiekins to inform him of TGTTTG (TM), only to be informed of his date with Messrs. Moet and Chandon.

KO-3 min: “Lefty is getting drunk- Jawahar it is then,” reads the message I send Bihari Potter. The miser that I am, I choose to ignore the 'Delivery Failed' message that arrives a minute later.

2 min: The Alter Ego calls up from Tambiland to express his fury at the absence of Rooney from the starting lineup (or the bench, for that matter). “Fergie knows,” I reassure him, before going on to share my two-pence worth on the rest of the starting line-up.

5 min: Cross the roundabout beside the E&C tower (which, I’m told, is oddly named ‘Kranti Chowk’). 

7 min: The Decayed Canine calls up from Pune for the starting lineup. He can’t watch the game as Tata Consulting Engineers Consulting Engineers didn’t see the need for something as superfluous as a net connection and wanted me to keep him abreast of all major developments at Wembley. An obedient nod and a dozen swear words later, I hang up and resume my long journey.

11 min: Meet BeKayEll at the entrance of Jawahar, who instantly sets off on a rant on Dilli 6, Abhishek Bachchan’s fake accent and the absurdly hairy kaala bandar. I politely inform him that I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. And miles to go before I sleep.

13 min: The mention of the hairy creature reminds me that I’d sent the Hairy Hick and Bihari Potter off on the Great Trip to the Gaon(TM). I call up B-Pot and deliver a rehearsed speech, placing all the blame on Leftiekins' frail shoulders.

18 min: Reach the Jawahar TV Room, only to be welcomed by the sight of Ramnaresh Sarwan and co. tearing apart a hapless English seam attack.

21 min: Reality finally dawns on yours truly. Abuse Subhash Chandra and the pitiful excuse for a sports channel that he runs, before setting off for Sushi’s room with the Hairy Hick and Bihari Potter, who had just arrived.

Half Time: ‘0-0’ reads the big blue box on ESPN Soccernet. The 50000-something members of the Manchester United Orkut community agreed, before adding that the second half would be telecast live on Zee Sports.

47 min: Another reality check. Zee Sports was facing technical issues. East Bengal vs Mohun Bagan it will be, then.

49 min: Long ball from the flanks falls perfectly to a defender, who makes a hash of his clearance and, more by luck than judgement, the cross found its target. ‘Good football all around,’ remarks the nasal commentator. Was that sarcasm, I wonder.

57 min: Can take no more. Set off for the canteen and ask for a packet of Lays. “Lays nahin hai, chai piyoge?” enquired the vendor. Just not my day, I think to myself.

62 min: Return to Sushi’s room and try to find a half-decent live-streaming site, only to view the hazy contours of a guy in a yellow jersey, with a lot of noise in the background. Cursing the Jawahar Wi-Fi, we reconcile ourselves to the live commentary on GameCast.

75 min: ‘United ki fat gayi! Vidic on for O’Shea,’ exclaims a jubilant Kangaroo Kid. ‘Why does he care so much?’ I wonder, only to be reminded by Sushi that Chel$ea’s only hope of silverware this season was the Champions League, where they’d first have to get past Delpiero and co. There are some things money can’t buy. For every thing else, there is Roman Abrahamovic.

120 min: Full time. No goals. For the third time in two years, we were involved in a penalty shootout at the Wembley.

FT+11 min: Foster is the man. 4-1 to United. The four of us huddled, just as we had after that night at Moscow.

FT+ 25 min: The Alter Ego calls up again. ‘We are the champions,’ I sing into the phone, much to the amusement of the others at the Azad Canteen.

FT+ 874 min: I remember that I hadn’t updated the Decayed Canine yet. I spend the last two bucks of my balance on a message. It reads:

“The Carling Cup is ours. Two down. Three to go. Glory glory Man. United.”