The emotion of following Portsmouth FC

When this European adventure started I wasn't feeling the nerves. Last night they were in full swing as I had to sit through Portsmouth's adventure in Portugal in the full knowledge that whatever happened I had to keep it down as all three housemates were in bed. Cue a very frantic and emotional roller coaster played out in (near) silence.

I started upstairs thinking that my room would be the best place to watch the game. Big radiator, small room, cold day, it was good on paper. The downstairs housemate was due up for work early so I knew she was already in bed at kick-off so my room upstairs was the less intrusive.

Pompey started off like a rabbit in the headlights facing the bright lights of a Bugatti Veyron. The Portuguese side were full of running, full of confidence whereas Pompey were full of lead and panic. The 3-5-2 system wasn't working in any way, shape or form as Guimaraes were coming forward in wave after wave of attack.

It was no shock when they scored to reduce their deficit in half. Distin left his man and went for a ball that Sol Campbell was already challenging for. Unsurprisingly neither of them won the ball and it went through to the impressive Brazilian Douglas who chested/handled the ball before firing in unerringly past David James. It was game on.

Pompey tried to rally but they were still sitting far too deep. All three midfielders weren't leaving their own half of the field. Armand Traore and Glen Johnson were more like full-backs than wing-backs and you could just sense the inevitable coming.

It finally came from a free kick given away by Diarra. The Frenchman had lost the ball in a rare foray into Guimaraes half on the field when he tried to take on one too many players. After losing the ball he went and gave away a soft free kick but it was a mile and a yard away from goal. No immediate danger here folks.

Thirty seconds later and it was 2-2 on aggregate. Joao Alves plundered a daisy cutter of a free kick from a full 40 yards only to see it go through a couple of players' legs and end up nestling in the corner of David James' net. Portsmouth were well and truly on the brink and something needed to be changed at half time.

Just before the interval the two housemates who reside upstairs were talking and the landing and suddenly they heard a string of expletives coming from my room. One was heard to say 'I'm guessing there's a football match on Neil?' I didn't dignify the question with an answer as I was to busy seething at our lack of any positive points.

At the half the old mobile was getting a caning with texts and calls. The general consensus was clearly that the system wasn't working and that we needed to change to 4-4-2 and try to get at them. So when there were no personnel changes for the second 45 and the 3-5-2 was still in place my heart sunk a little bit.

By now I'd moved downstairs as they were going to bed upstairs and I knew that I needed to be as far away from women attempting to sleep as possible. I don't think me yelling and screaming profanities would go down well as we got late into the night, during the day and for standard time evening games I get a pass but I think when the clock strikes 11 and beyond that my grace period would swiftly evaporate.

So downstairs with the living room door shut for what was the first time in months and the volume turned down I settled down to watch another 45 minutes of football. Considering I'm usually asleep by half ten (Yes I know – a 25 year-old male whose usually fast asleep by half ten – pretty sad) but we were past my bedtime and the fear of another 30 mins of Extra Time filled my body. I know that after the way the first half had gone that deep down I would've gladly taken another 30 mins but I was cream crackered and emotionally drained.

The second half saw Pompey's players play with what seemed was a rocket up the jacksy. The wing-backs played further up the pitch, Traore played as a left winger pretty much and Johnson has quite an engine on him. Both of them had the beating of their respective full-backs seemingly at will but the final ball was lacking. Guimaraes looked done – they had no energy left and were out of their feet. The longer this game went on then the more it favoured the away side.

The fans started to sense this and the Pompey Chimes were ringing about the Estádio D. Afonso Henriques as they tried to sing the boys home. They were unable to do so in the 90 minutes so we went for another 30 and I started stalking up and down the living room.

My friend James and I were both in agreement that Traore had nothing left to give and had to come off. Belhadj was ready to come on but he didn't as there were still no changes. Guimaraes started well and Joao Alves forced a fine European campaign saving save from David James. Just a minute or so later and the home side had the ball in the net but the assistant had also put his flag up.

Pompey had an escape and I felt we were going to go on and win. Then ecstasy was coming as Glen Johnson skinned his man for the umpteenth time but this time he found the final ball as well. The England right back stood up the perfect ball to the far post and Peter Crouch rose to head home and put Portsmouth ahead on accurate.

There was a beautiful camera angle showing Harry Redknapp head fresh air just as Crouch put the ball in. I did the exact same thing as I rose from my sofa and then managed to strangle my yells as I remember the sleepers who I live with. Guimaraes were done and they were never going to score twice to win this contest.

I could enjoy the second period of Extra Time safe in the knowledge that we were going through. Peter Crouch put the icing on the cake when he slammed in his second and put Pompey level on the night. This kept up Lassana Diarra's impressive record of never having been on the losing team in a cup-tie since he moved to English football. It also sent the Pompey fans home happy.

I eventually got to bed just before one with a beaming smile on my face. Following Portsmouth has never been easy but last night was very nerve-wracking and has probably prematurely aged me by several years. When it is time for the next hair cut I suspect I will hear comments of grey hairs but that is what following a football club does for you.

Whatever happens I will always be Portsmouth no matter how many grey hairs or heart palpitations they give me – and boy do they!