Everton's Toffees come to a sticky end in FA Cup defeat against Millwall.

Everton's Toffees come to a sticky end in FA Cup defeat against Millwall.

The FA Cup just keeps getting you there. It has to catch you out when least expected, the element of surprise its most predominant feature. One day it will produce its most astonishing result and we'll all gasp with both relief and delight because that was never meant to happen. Six years ago little and unfairly unfashionable Wigan Athletic, guided by the jovial chairman Dave Whelan, produced one of the great shocks of modern times with a last minute winner against a Manchester City team who had yet to be introduced to Pep Guardiola and the mesmeric tika taka of Guardiola's joyous short passing game.

Last night though the location for another minor FA Cup shock could hardly have been further removed from the palatial glamour of the Nou Camp and Barcelona. Ladies and gentlemen let me give you the New Den, home of Millwall whose rather unfortunate reputation for thuggish hooliganism on the terraces of Cold Blow Lane, their old and now grimly dilapidated ground, did so much to drag English football through its most sleazy and disreputable past.

Still, the dreadful and shameful events that took place so frequently at Cold Blow Lane can still send a cold shiver down the spine. It was football's dark age where much of the 1970s was scarred and terribly disfigured by football fans with flick knives, threatening fists, notorious punch ups in the stands, hate, frightening pitch invasions, broken beer bottles, blood, stabbings and attempted murder.

If sociologists were to analyse the gratuitous violence and appalling behaviour which the Millwall bovver boys were so intent on perpetrating on more or less every Saturday afternoon then they'd have probably struggled desperately. It was football's forgettable age where the fans behaved so disgracefully that some of us never really thought it would ever end. But then along came the terrible tragedies of  Hillsborough and Valley Parade. From that point onwards football took its collective heads out of the sand and realised that something had to be done and quickly.

For Millwall the change of ground to a modern and infinitely more comfortable stadium does seem to have done them the world of good. No longer are those freezing open stands at Cold Blow Lane exposing most of their supporters to lengthy bouts of flu and the chilly draughts coming no doubt from Bermondsey are just a thing of the past. We are now in the 21st century and the dawning of the new Den may not be quite as iniquitous as it might seem at first. There's much more room to manoeuvre and the standard of catering is more cappuccino than soggy meat pie.

The mind can still vaguely recall the exploits of the Millwall players who will now be fondly remembered during the 1970s. There was Barry Kitchener, a strong, bustling and lively player who often gave as good as he got. How could anyone forget the tireless Terry Hurlock and the vastly prolific striker Teddy Sheringham who began his career at Millwall? Then Millwall had Jimmy Carter, Derek Possee and a whole variety of tough, seasoned battlers and professionals who must revel in the memories of Millwall's halcyon days.

Sadly, last night's New Den looked more like Hackney Marshes after a good, old fashioned downpour, a muddy, boggy, rutted quagmire that made you wonder if football had briefly stepped back in time. What we had in consequence was a shapeless, scruffy and scrappy first half that just seemed to sink without trace. The mud became the ultimate hindrance and both teams were at a loss as to what exactly what they were supposed to do with the ball.

For Millwall, the likes of Mahlon Romeo, Shaun Hutchinson, Jake Cooper, Ryan Tunnicliffe , O' Brien and of course the winning goal scorer Murray Wallace strove purposefully to move the ball around the central midfield areas and the 18 yard boxes but at times you almost felt sorry for them. There were occasional flashes of skill and invention but these were few and far between.

Everton of course are having one of those typical seasons where glass is never half full. One day they resemble building site labourers while the next they dress in their smart pin stripe suits for a day of trading on the City floor. Michael Kane still  looks fresh faced and adventurous, Idrissa Gheye scuttled and drove forward positively, Ademola Lookman was sharp and neat on the ball while Gylfi Sigurdsson is still a class act, perhaps the one player of any vision in the Everton side to see things that his colleagues had failed to pick up. But this was not the Everton of Harvey, Kendall and Ball although that might have been wishing for too much.

The game finally creaked open with Everton's first goal, a Richarlison low, drilled shot that gave Everton the advantage they had to work for. Immediately, Millwall struck back with some haste. A high, hanging free kick was nodded on for Lee Gregory whose nicely placed header floated over Everton and England goalkeeper Jordan Pickford who seemed to paw at thin air. Even stevens at half time and much more to come.

Half way through the second half and with Everton penning Millwall deeper and deeper into their defensive shell it looked as if the Premier League club's superior know how and more subtle approach would work in their favour. True to their plan Everton, for what had to be the hundredth time in the match, set Sigurdsson free, now commanding the midfield as if it was his sole property, craftily slipping the ball through the narrowest gap on the edge of the 18 yard box and Tosun then steered the ball sweetly into the net.

Once again Millwall hit back with a second equaliser. Jake Cooper, causing what turned into an international incident, seemed to nudge the ball into net with both shoulder and, most crucially, hand.  Uproar followed and Everton were red with anger. Referee Taylor was surrounded by livid Everton players.  Now an FA Cup tie, full of twists and turns, was beginning to ignore any conceivable script as Millwall, sensing Everton frailties at the back, pushed forward, pestered and inched their way into the Everton half as if their lives depended on it.

Then, with the last kick of the game and the 90 minute mark going beyond the call of duty, Millwall sent forward all of their big battalions, quite literally stretching every muscle in their body. With the referee's whistle for full time about to blow, another Millwall long distance free kick from deep found its head with almost uncanny accuracy and the ball fell almost too invitingly at the feet of Murray Wallace who, from a flicked on header, slammed the ball into the back of the net. The Millwall crowd were almost besides themselves with delight. Whole generations of supporters could hardly hold back their elation.

Now Everton had justifiable cause for complaint. They were still boiling over in high dudgeon over Millwall's second equaliser. It was guided in by hand and nothing would pacify them. Almost the entire Everton team charged over to referee Anthony Taylor who, for a moment, seemed to freeze on the spot. Mayhem and confusion ensued as Everton insisted the ball had hit an Everton hand on the way into the net. But the goal remained and Millwall had reached the fifth round of the FA Cup, an injustice it seemed had been seen to be done. Not for the first time Millwall had toppled a Premier League giant. This is becoming something of a regular occurrence for the Lions of Millwall.

And so the down to earth and full throated throng of Millwall fans sung their colourful songs deep into the South London evening air. Many decades ago the local dockers who toiled so industriously from morning through to early evening, seemed to thrive on their persecution complex. Nobody ever did like Millwall but then nobody seems to have a good word for Jeremy Corbyn. It is hard to see them reaching what would only be their second FA Cup Final after the 4-0 thrashing by Manchester United in 2004 but for Millwall stranger things have been known to happen. Watch this space.