Because of the dreadful weather, quite a lot of people didn't make it to Upton Park last night. Among them was the Man Utd team and, along with all other 'Appy 'Ammers in the ground, I was left pinching myself in disbelief while simultaneously hugging myslef in joy at the result.
Was this really the West Ham that have been so awful this season?
Before the kick-off I had noted that the crowd would have surfeit of riches in the booing stakes. Carlton Cole was back in the side. Luis Boa Morte was back in the side. Jonathon Spector was back in the side. Radoslav Kovac was back in the side. As were Tal Ben Haim and Julien Faubert (not particularly targets for the boo-boys, but not inspiring of confidence).
And we were playing a team that hadn't lost for ages and ages, that has won the Fizzypop for the past two seasons (on both occasions playing a mix of fringe players and established first teamers, as they would tonight).
So there was not a great deal of confidence about the result. My son, Jack, couldn't risk getting here from Brighton in case he couldn't get back for work the next day. I envied him his cast-iron excuse, and secretly hoped either my daughter, Jessica, or son, Joe, would cry off and give me an excuse not to go. No such luck.
So the joy from the unexpected and truly deserved victory was wonderful.
Luis was a man possessed. As ever he spent the match infuriating the opposition, but on this occasion not the home crowd, who warmed (even in sub-zero temperatures) to his effort and commitment, and even his skill. Kovac broke up the midfield unfussily and didn't ever seem to get bypassed. Ben Haim launched himself into some ferocious tackles and kept his position, and Faubert's faux-pas didn't result in goals for a change.
But as for Spector and Cole! It was dreamland. I read today that in 97 games Spector has never scored. So the London Bus effect was due. But before his first goal we had the outrage of a disallowed goal from Mr Clattenburg, who has form where West Ham is concerned but who was apparently right on this occasion to disallow the first 'goal'. It's easy to write that when we've won 4-0 (I think that scoreline bears frequent repetition). But for Specs to score again shortly after and then get his hat-trick (as we maintained) was very heaven.
Of course, at half-time we rehearsed all the occasions when we've thrown away leads of two goals and above, and half-time wasn't long enough to remember them all. Our consensus was that it was great to be leading but that we'd lose (probably after extra-time in the freezing cold and even to penalties). Jack, on the phone, was equally pessimistic as we all tried to keep at bay the hope that kills.
So the coming of King Cole and two goals in a match for the first time ever was as unrpedictable as, well, Specs. And through it all Obinna was magnificent in providing assists for all four goals, the last after a masterful piece of showboating and leaving substitute Da Silva twin twisted like a corkscrew. Super Scott could nurse his chest infection on the bench all evening, Zavon Hines could get a cameo and give mr Clattenburg the opportunity to cement his reputation by not giving us a cast-iron penalty and Cole could leave to a standing ovation.
I'm still floating today. Up in the air, just like a bubble, no thought of bursting.
Now we'll get Arsenal in the semi, I'm sure.
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