Manchester City reach another FA Cup Final

 Manchester City reach another FA Cup Final.

It was never like this in Mike Summerbee's day. The hugely reliable former Manchester City defender sat in Wembley's plush royal box in much the way he played his football; relaxed, commanding, nerveless and totally at ease with the world. He must have been thinking about his distinguished role in City's defence as Manchester City laid waste to Leicester City in the 1969 FA Cup Final. Little could Summerbee have known what we now know. Roll forward 54 years later and the current Manchester City side are a side so breath taking to watch at times that you'd have been forgiven for thinking that the 54 years since had been some elaborate hoax and that City had just been desperately unlucky.

Yesterday City, under the remarkably inspirational guidance of Pep Guardiola, swotted aside Sheffield United, who themselves now seem destined to return to the Premier League once again. City did so in such a dismissive and cavalier fashion that this just felt like another day in the office for Manchester City. They are now poised to clinch what would only be the second domestic Treble achieved by a Premier League club. And City certainly need no reminding of the last club to hit the hat-trick since the red side of Manchester United would probably love nothing better than to rub City's noses in it if Manchester City stumble at the final hurdle.

Manchester City ran out comfortable 3-0 winners over a Sheffield United team who never really turned up for this blue riband occasion. The neutrals may have been convinced that United had become easily distracted by more important issues in the Championship promotion race. It was the ultimate pre-occupation and one that always looked likely to end in anti-climactic disappointment. True, the last time Sheffield United had made any waves in the FA Cup, the USA was in a state of severe economic depression, Al Jolson would capture the hearts of cinema audiences while debutantes, socialites and flappers would dance the Charleston and the rest of the night away.

In theory this seemed like a complete mismatch between two sides with completely different perspectives and philosophies and, in a sense, priorities. City were beautifully entrancing to watch, their possession of the ball some natural evolution and their distribution simply too handsome to be regarded as anything but brilliant and superlative. City play with the opposition like rag dolls while their opponents Sheffield United reminded you of unwelcome impostors at a party who forget to bring a bottle. It was a no contest well before the end of the game.

For a while the experienced John Egan, George Baldock, Anel Ahmedhodzic, Oliver Norwood, Max Lowe did provide a platform from the back that was steady but always likely to subside under the weight of Manchester City's technical powerhouse of a team. For a while at least Sander Berge, John Fleck, Jack Robinson and Daniel Jebbison did see the lights of City's eyes with sporadic but half hearted attacks that just fizzled out into oblivion.

And so it was that Manchester City eased their way magisterially into their opponents half with exquisitely constructed attacking movements that were woven together with the finest fabrics. Their passing is simply out of this world, a fusion of delicious craftsmanship and draughtsmanship, expansive football that pulled and stretched the Brammall Lane side like huge red and white elastic bands. City's movements on both flanks and their players delicate interaction with each other were a joy to behold. Then there were the subtleties and intricacies, that priceless ability to move the ball around with almost breathless ease which had to be admired because you simply had to.

The element of doubt about the Riyad Mahrez penalty which gave Manchester City the lead must have been only a brief moment of uncertainty. A defensive clip of Mahrez feet sent the City attacker tumbling. The referee pointed promptly to the spot and Mahrez steered the ball into the net as if he'd be doing the same thing since a wee nipper in shorts.

By the end of the first half it was all plain sailing for City, a case of men against boys. Sheffield United were huffing and puffing, gasping and grasping, toiling conscientiously but never ever remotely close to City's house of aristocracy. Ilkay Gundogan was always busy and inventive, while the energetic Phil Foden was a force of nature.Then Jack Grealish began to form an engaging friendship with the ball, dribbling with the ball with that low centre of gravity that makes him almost impossible to stop. At times Grealish was unstoppable and unsurpassable, wriggling irresistibly past City defenders as if they weren't there.

Then there was the faultless and flawless Aymeric Laporte who alongside the likes of the excellent Bernardo Silva, produced wave after wave of mesmeric City attacks. City, inevitably extended their lead and their opponents were just left flummoxed by the sheer speed and accuracy of City's approach work. Mahrez, who by now was just tormenting Sheffield United at will, picked up a ball in the centre circle from a loose ball, and ran single- handedly at the United defence and simply walked his way through the Blades hapless defenders. It was wonderfully audacious and a goal to remember for ever.

When Grealish once again to play havoc with Sheffield United's now leaking defence you could almost feel that the game had long gone for the Yorkshire side. It was like watching a kitchen colander just seeping water. City were pulling strings, toying with their Yorkshire opponents like children at a birthday party. Another cat's cradle of fast and furious passes across the hallowed acres of Wembley Stadium ended up at Grealish who dragged his defender every way imaginable, feeding Mahrez in space once again who slammed home City's third. Match over and the mouth watering possibility of the first ever all Manchester derby FA Cup Final became so real that none could quite rule it out.