Little fanfare will greet the six clubs who kick off this year’s festival on Friday the 14th August, which is a shame, but this website seeks to polish the trumpets, parp the trombones and generally give the less wealthy the opportunity to compose their own symphony of football. Get used to it, I shall crowbar many more of those in over the next few months

So, what does this year hold? You can put money on the magic of the cup continuing as the hardy perennial. What is the magic of the cup? It’s impossible to define, there is no over arching magic, everyone’s magic is different and personal.

Magic to me might well be the big-4-free affair of Bolton .v. Hull in the semi final, it certainly will be to the respective fans. I will thank god, or Roger Osborne as he is more affectionately known, it isn’t Chelsea against Man Utd, although of course that will be the other semi. But the nay-sayers will, no doubt, should the unlikely happen, moan about the lack of glamour in Hull .v. Bolton. Neither are ‘good’ enough to satisfy the bling lust of the average armchair fan but yet neither are they lowly enough to satisfy the ‘magic’ lust from the same armchair.

The big 4 semi though will of course be billed as game of the round, clash of the titans, prime time, SPLENDID SUNDAY and, of course, one will be the ‘eventual winners’. And the magic in that is where exactly? And herein lies the problem with the FA Cup and it’s relationship with modern fans and the modern media. Both would like a lower league side to get to the final but when they do it’s a shame they are going to get hammered, or if two lower league sides get to the final it’s not glamorous enough. Enough! Please, make up your mind. Do you want the magic or do you want Cristal and platinum plated teeth?

The real magic is rarely to be found in the final, the semi final and infrequently in the quarters. So where does this mystery lurk? We here at therealfacup are not battle hardened FA Cup experts but, if our experience last season is anything to go by, the magic lies in the first seven rounds. It’s the undiluted but half expected joy of Havant fans wryly predicting ‘it’s happening again’ after beating Crawley. It’s Oxhey Jets just being there, seeing as though they’ve only existed for about 30 years. And it’s hearing what it means to the players as you stand next to the touchline.

You can’t really describe these things, you have to experience them yourself and be one of the few hundred that will. A few more might read about that magic on blogs like this but only if the club responsible for that magic starts nudging the 3rd round will the comfily placed, judgemental millions hear about that magic via the conduit of a commentator who has read about it on a blog like this. Or, a commentator who has got their researcher to read about it on a blog like this.

To dredge up … errr … a thing … if a tree falls down in a wood and no one hears it, does it actually make a sound? That sound is the magic of the FA Cup. Of all the billions of magical noises that will be made in or about the FA Cup this season, the majority of the sounds will not be heard. Get out there and listen to them or they won’t actually have happened.

I have to admit I wasn’t really looking forward to this one, even if it was MY team. I dislike Chelsea more than I dislike Norwich and completely concurred with the ‘anti modern football’ flag clearly evident at the ground.

The Slug & Lettuce near the ground was rammed with Town fans high on the smack of a Big Four club, so much so I couldn’t find who I was supposed to meet. The beach balls were fun. What a morgue of an abortion of a ground of a haemorrhage of fans. I do have some rose tinted spectacles when it comes to football but Chelsea is all that is wrong with the game and part of the reason I wanted to watch some real stuff in the FA Cup and at non-league grounds. The gate Nazis frisked us upon entry, the back-packed, lager wallahs prowled the stands fleecing the gullible of their hand earned dollaz and the Chelsea fans sat there munching on crab salads or moaning about Scolari.

Ipswich were probably going to get killed here but they were going down singing, a rarity for Ipswich fans, at home games at least. It took Chelsea only 15 fairly dreary minutes to unlock Ipswich’s rearguard and it wasn’t the greatest of defending when the circumstances required it. Ballack touched in an easy goal and the crowd burbled for 10 seconds or so. However, Ipswich were having their moments and were not phased, nor outclassed. In fact, as the half wore on Ipswich started causing Chelsea some worrying moments. After about half an hour a dangerous Owen Garvan free kick eluded several expensive defenders and Steve Bruce’s not quite as good son buried the loose ball to equalise.

And within a minute of the restart the game’s defining moment arrived. Garvan and Jon Walters combined well in the Chelsea half to tee up Danny Haynes just outside the box. The central defenders were out of position and Cech was closer to his line than he should have been, this was the chance that would have turned the Chelsea fans from silent to angry. Haynes blasted it over the bar, not even troubling the man in the Goretex mask. By the end of the half, it was quite even, Ipswich perhaps even shaded it thanks to their strong finish and clearer chances.

The second half was, quite predictably, an entirely different story, although it still had its to and fro and Chelsea couldn’t quite get the final ball or, when they did, the Ipswich defence mostly dealt with it. It took two moments of undisputed class for West London’s bored to come to a semblance of life and see off the spirited efforts of the Championship club.

Chelsea’s second goal came from a brilliant Ballack free kick, given for a foul on Anelka but caused largely due to the reappearance of a surprisingly intent Didier Drogba who came on and started running at and bullying defenders. It was just what Chelsea needed but the game still had an end to end element with Chelsea looking the more likely to add to their score. This they did when not so fat Frank lashed another freekick into the corner from a seemingly unfeasible angle. Viewed later, on whatever ITV’s excuse for a highlights program is, it looked even better. Stamford Bridge creaked with relief more than anything and Ipswich gave a good account of themselves but, in the end, football lost again and another nail was drilled into its coffin. I don’t have the stomach to follow Chelsea so this is the end for me unless I get a ticket to one of the other games.