There will be controversy after controversy in order to help the rags. But it will all be swept under the carpet and no fuss made. The fawning media will bow to Ten Bob and tell everyone what a genius the man is, achieving another cup final without spending so much as a fiver on players.
And the plastics from the Home Counties with their half and half scarves, travelling back to Surrey on a first-class ticket bought for them by daddy, because he's a wealthy business consultant with friends in high places.
Their expensively manicured fingernails pointing to the sports pages in the Telegraph, guffawing loudly and braying like donkeys when they read the usual sycophantic drivel about the rags being the greatest team in the world, etc etc.
They will annoy their fellow passengers with their over-exuberant celebrations because pigmol has ensured their team gets to the final - probably due to an 98th minute penalty because a Brighton player accidentally touched one of the rags sometime in the first half.
These sort of polythene supporters had almost certainly never heard of the rags up until about six months ago. Too busy having a 'bally good time teasing the Oxford graduates, what, what what?' Doing their level best Bertie Wooster impressions whilst simultaneously quaffing startling amounts of Dom Perignon and absentmindedly crushing their own testicles between a wardrobe door and a marble bust of former Tory leader John Major.