IT TOOK John Motson almost 38 minutes to say anything even vaguely arcane and pointless during his commentary of the 127th FA Cup final. It happened shortly after Kanu had scored for Portsmouth, and John kindly pointed out that the nonhandball that had not occurred in the build-up to the goal was similar to a nonhandball which had not occurred in the build-up to another goal Portsmouth had scored on a previous occasion. Or not scored, I can’t remember.

Motson’s co-commentator, Mark Lawrenson, did what he usually does when Motty delivers one of his interesting facts and mumbled “Yes, of course”, and then went silent for a bit, numbed. Motson followed this up with the observation that Portsmouth hadn’t lost against Welsh opposition when a Nigerian-born player had scored the first goal since 1922, or something. And then the game restarted and Motty confined himself to naming the players.

You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, as they say. This was probably John Motson’s last FA Cup final, the trophy falling into the Scott Carson-like grip of ITV next year. Motty will be one of the BBC’s main commentators at the forthcoming European Championship in Austria and Switzerland and may well be around for next season, who knows. But his card is marked; his time is, if not quite up, running out with little prospect of extra time. The BBC regards him with great fondness, if not quite the reverence that some believe he deserves.

I suspect it is felt that he is of a previous era. They may be right; certainly the seriousness with which he treats even the most flaccid international kickabout, the fine attention to detail, the perpetual suggestion in his voice that what we are witnessing is of importance, seem to be out of step with what passes for football commentary today. Which, in my opinion, is to football’s detriment. Motson has been the finest television football commentator for the best part of 25 years, and perhaps ever. When he was paired with an expert of the quality of Lawrenson or, better still, Alan Hansen, the BBC wiped the floor with its rivals.

Much is made of Motson’s love of the arcane and staggeringly irrelevant fact, which he then imbues with deep significance. However, he makes few mistakes; his grammar is precise and evocative, he rarely resorts to cliché. And he knows all of the players’ names, pronounces them correctly and can tell you with a moment of quiet understatement whether they are useless or not. Despite those statistics which he trots out during the odd lacunae in a game, he is nonetheless the least prolix of commentators, generally relaxed and the least inclined to fits of hyperbole when some flouncing superannuated foreigner executes a step-over. It is maybe the case that I am a partisan witness, because first and foremost Motson approaches each game from the perspective of a journalist. He always sees the story as it is about to unfold; he captures the drama and the moment. He is emphatically not the voice of the fan on the terrace - which, to my mind, is a good thing.

His flaws are few. I do not share his sense of humour and he can occasionally be dragged along by the tide of a game to the extent that he overlooks the crucial undercurrent. This was true on Saturday as in the first half he extolled Cardiff for their control, nay domination, of the game, missing the point that on the rare occasions Portsmouth ventured forward in anger, the Championship club’s distinctly Championship defence (and goalkeeper) appeared stricken with abject panic. But this is niggardly of me, as usual; Motty had a very good game. There is a website devoted to getting rid of him, calling him a doddery old fool and “even worse than David Pleat”. Well, good luck in the future, you bloggers, with the likes of Richard Keys and Andy Gray.

Motson is now 62, which in TV terms is seen as the equivalent of Methuselah. He first came to national attention when he commentated upon that wonderful FA Cup tie, back in 1972, between Hereford United and Newcastle. The Ronnie Radford goal, remember? It is pleasing that in probably his last season commentating upon the competition it has regained some of its magic and ability to surprise, its own sense of occasion. Motty always had that and I’ll miss him.