Yeovil - once FA Cup giant killers are toppled by Manchester United.

Yeovil- once FA Cup giant killers are toppled by Manchester United.

Almost 70 years ago a quiet, sleepy corner of Somerset witnessed one of the greatest FA Cup giant killing acts since David and Goliath were mere teenagers. It was 1949, the country was still recovering from the dark horrors of the Second World War, everything was still rationed and Sir Alex Ferguson was probably a wee lad in shorts. And yet it happened because every so often the FA Cup does that to us. It creeps up on us, shocks us to the core and then giggles behind our back.

Yes, in the year of 1949 then non League Yeovil humiliated high flying top of the old First Division world beaters Sunderland and almost certainly caught most of the know alls napping. What did they know about football with its whims and caprices? Who were they to tell us that the glamour boys of football's rarefied top flight were somehow untouchable and invincible? But the truth is that Yeovil, little old Yeovil. once beat the post war giants of Sunderland, knocking them out of the FA Cup but leaving them deflated, dispirited and no doubt incensed by the sheer audacity of it all.

This was the Yeovil, once led by the distinguished Alec Stock who not only scored that legendary day for Yeovil but later went on to achieve even greater things as a manager. Admittedly Stock was the losing manager of Fulham when two goal Alan Taylor and West Ham knocked the stuffing out of both Stock and Fulham in the 1975 FA Cup Final. But for those who were there that fragrant day in 1949, it was Stock's Yeovil who gallantly overcame that infamous old slope at Yeovil's Huish ground and you can never take that away from them.

But almost 70 years later Yeovil were once again thrust into the FA Cup limelight when maybe they thought that they'd never again experience such giddy heights of attention and scrutiny. True, the old Huish slope may be now just a historical quirk but last night the present Yeovil gallery of heroes puffed out their chests, tried repeatedly to hold back the red Manchester United tidal waves and certainly in the opening stages of last night's game, almost turned the footballing world upside down.

It is assumed that all of the local farmers and landowners of Somerset's laid back folk were still supping on their richly satisfying pints of cider and scrumpy because this is what the county is renowned for. Then the citizens of Yeovil wrapped themselves warmly in the thick scarves of green and white, huddled together on the atmospheric terraces of the Huish and then bellowed their heroic country songs. This was close knit togetherness, solidarity and communality at its best.

Around the Huish there were the traditionally local advertisements, shining beacons of commerce and trade and one product that is somehow synonymous with Somerset. Wherever you looked there was Thatchers Cider, brewed to a vintage perfection and last night displayed proudly before a live TV audience and, amusingly, presented to the visiting manager Jose Mourinho who didn't quite know what to make of it. Mourinho chuckled briefly and then got down to the business in hand.

So it was that the gentlemen of League 2, or the old Fourth Division in the old currency, pulled on their Jones Building Group shirts, rolling up their agricultural sleeves and then bombarding Manchester United with a whole artillery of up and under, hell for leather attacks that in the first few minutes threatened to bring the whole of Somerset to a standstill. In fact there may well have been a couple of local residents who may well have hoped that Yeovil wouldn't score in case the windows shook, tables trembled, pictures fell helplessly from the wall and bottles of cider rattled in nearby country pubs.

Last night sadly there were no FA Cup shocks or giant killings of any magnitude. Once Manchester United eventually put their feet under the table in this Somerset idyll there was no way back for the Glovers of Yeovil. Oh yes, lest we forget Yeovil are also celebrated for their glove making but on one Friday night at the end of January this was not an occasion for scrumpy- scented drinking binges or wild street carnivals next to the post offices and bakers of tiny West Country villages.

True, Yeovil did have in their ranks a supermarket shelf stacker but the FA Cup rarely does romance when Manchester United are in town. Once the likes of Michael Carrick, still as tall and poised a midfield player in the now veteran stage of his career, calmly brought the ball out of United's defence with that distinctive swagger, Yeovil began to stare hard at the harsh realities of football life. Carrick is as smooth and cultured a player as has ever been the case. At firstly West Ham and then briefly Spurs Carrick glided across a football pitch in much the way a swan or cygnet negotiates a lake. His passes are full of care and consideration, measured assessments rather than hasty decisions. Once again Carrick was the perfect pass master.

After some magnificent Yeovil attacking raids which almost reaped some kind of reward, United slowly but surely worked their way into the game. Carrick, the exotically skilled Ander Herrera, Scott  McTominay and the wonderfully lively Juan Mata all found each other with the kind of telepathic understanding that seems to come naturally to all of the top Premier League sides.

At the back United, with Luke Shaw at his most dependable, Marcos Rojo roaming across the pitch and tightening up loose ends in United's otherwise impenetrable defence, were about to embark on a stately cruise across the Huish. But it did take the most dreadful of defensive mistakes to open up a hitherto steady Yeovil. Your heart began to weep copiously for these classic FA Cup charmers. If only Yeovil could have re-captured the spirit of 1949, if only Trevor Howard had stayed with Celia Johnson in Brief Encounter.

But then United scored their first, the superbly effervescent Marcus Rashford nipping into the penalty area and making the most of Yeovil defensive dithering, Rashford toe poking the ball into the back of the net. Ten minutes into the second half, United, now increasingly more confident and buoyant, moved seamlessly through the gears. Mata, still comfortable on the ball, turned brilliantly on the half way line, scurried forward all hurry and hustle before finding the newly signed Alexis Sanchez who kept the ball with a marvellously protective air. Sanchez quickly looked up, spotted Ander Herrera running past him and Herrera fired the ball home gloriously from the most perfect of angles. A goal of stunning simplicity.

Now Yeovil were out for the count, their FA Cup adventure over for another year. With minutes to go the very special talent of Jessie Lingard presented United with their third goal. Racing through a now non existent Yeovil defence, the England man picked up the ball on the edge of the penalty area and hammered the ball low into the Yeovil net. 3-0 and game most certainly over or so we thought. Oh no it wasn't. United, by now pouring excessive amounts of salt into a festering wound, surged forward for yet more goals. The towering Romelu Lukaku came on as a sub for United, and after another lightning fast United break Lukaku swept home United's fourth after the swiftest of cut backs in Yeovil's by now confused penalty area.

That then was that. The good people of Yeovil drifted away into the sharp winter air of South Somerset glad that they were to see that latest modern adaptation of David and Goliath. In this year's Emirates FA Cup the non League clubs have been conspicuous by their absence. Whatever happened to the likes of Blyth Spartans, Leatherhead, Sutton United and Gateshead? Have they been lost in the mists of time, have they vanished off the radar in some nostalgic time warp never to return again?

As the United players boarded their coach with their I Pads, Smart Phones and social media outlets, some of us fondly thought of Hereford 1972 when miracles did happen. One day it'll happen and it'll happen when least expected. But the FA Cup is still the most lovable of all uncles, a treasured gem that never loses its lustre. Just ask those Yeovil supporters who just kept singing and singing.