This is turning into a 'Remember the cup exploits of Waiters' Wonders?' thread but is none the worse for that - I love the way some threads on PASOTI meander organically, like Chinese whispers!
)
I had never considered Argyle to have been a 'Cup' side (still don't!) and in the seven or so seasons that I had watched them before 73/74 they had done diddly squat in that arena. Which is why it was absolutely astonishing that they suddenly turned into formidable giantkillers almost overnight in the autumn of 1973. We were drawn away to Torquay In the first round of the Football League Cup (that's what it was called then - before sponsorship turned it into the Milk Cup, the Littlewoods Cup, the Rumbelows Cup, the Carling Cup etc etc. I'm keeping my fingers crossed and holding my breath for the Kim Jong-un Cup - it's only a matter of time...)
In those days there was little love lost between the two sides (no 'cuddly little Torquay' then) and encounters were just as feisty as the Argyle/Exeter matches nowadays (seriously!) So much so that when I attended I didn't wear my colours and I was respectfully mute on the terraces when Steve Davey got a brace to seal the tie. Apart from that result, Argyle were not exactly getting off to a flying Division Three start. Just two weeks later, therefore, Tony Waiters made three team changes for an evening league match against Rochdale. He played his 'kids' card and brought in Brian Johnson, Alan Rogers and a certain Paul Mariner (for the first time) from the Reserves. The result was a jaw-dropping 5-0 win and the performance was something that I had never seen from an Argyle team before. I have no doubt that this change had a lot to do with the cup exploits of that season.
The next League Cup tie was at home to Pompey (then Second Division to our Third) and we absolutely leathered 'em 4-0. I remember Ernie Machin playing out of his skin - oozing class - and yet another brace from Steve Davey. The third round was away to Burnley, as others have noted on this thread. Much to my shame, I have to admit that it didn't even occur to me to try and get to the match. At that time Burnley were an established top flight side and, let's face it, what chance did we have, two Divisions below? I went out to watch the Reserves at Home Park instead. Decades before mobile phones and the internet, there used to be a rudimentary system for relaying the First Team scores to the hardy few hundred who were huddled in an echoey Home Park. I wouldn't have been surprised if it relied on semaphore signals and the lighting of beacons along the coast but the news filtered through from Turf Moor that we were 1-0 down. Hardly expecting any better, I resigned myself to, perhaps, a glorious failure. Towards the end of the Reserves game, however, there was a frisson of activity and murmuring amongst the crowd as it was being rumoured that we had equalised. Could it be? The final whistle went at Home Park and a gaggle of us waited in the ground for news from Burnley. I have never taken much notice of the process to choose a new Pope but the nervousness and anticipation of the Home Park 'masses' were probably on a par. When the news came that we had actually won 1-2 we all wandered back to our homes in a state of disbelief.
When reality kicked in and the draw was made for the Fourth Round (Q.P.R) there was no way I was going to miss that one and I attended, as previously described. Waiters' Wonders struck again which meant that we landed a Fifth Round tie away to Birmingham City. That was another afternoon match (three-day-week again...) but there was no way I was going to get off work so I sneaked a little portable radio under my desk and repeatedly dropped my pen to catch up on the match commentary. The Blues were going strong in the First Division and had a lot of names in their side - none less than Mr Trevor Francis, who had chosen to join them from school, rather than his home team (it takes all sorts...) Despite the Wunderkind, Argyle won AGAIN (1-2) and Steve Davey was on the score sheet AGAIN.
That takes us up to the Man City Semi-Final - but not before the little matter of an F.A. Cup Third Round match away to Manchester United. That was on a Saturday afternoon and I DEFINITELY travelled up to that one, in one of the fleet of coaches leaving the South West. There was very little between the sides and it was Lou Macari that scored the only goal. The only notable thing about that match was that George Best had been dropped having gone 'walkabout' beforehand (as was his wont...) and, I believe, never played for United again. After the match I was waiting with my mates at the bus stop outside Old Trafford for our coach to turn up when a young lad of about 9 or 10 came up to us. In an accent that came straight out of the 'Accrington Stanley? Who are THEY?' milk commercial that was all the rage, he asked us if we were from Plymouth and whether we were waiting for our coach. Ever polite and open to pleasant discourse, I was expecting him to congratulate our 'plucky little team' on its showing and wish us well for the rest of the season. 'Yes, we're waiting for our coach.' I replied, to which he shouted, 'Well I hope it crashes!' and ran away laughing with his mates. Nice...