There’s something poetic—and a little masochistic—about watching a cup tie between underdogs and a European regular. Pacos Ferreira versus Sporting CP in the Taça de Portugal is less a match than a reboot of every “David versus Goliath” flick you’ve ever watched with a beer in hand, just in Portuguese. It has the high-wire emotional chaos of March Madness, the fatalism of a horror sequel, and—if you know where to look—the kind of weird, nervous optimism only a cup tie can produce.

Let’s start with reality: Sporting CP rolls into this third-round clash like the T-1000 plowing through a shopping mall of Segunda Liga teams. They’re loaded, scoring goals for fun some nights, and generally resemble that one friend who’s so good at FIFA you suspect he’s memorized the controller. Luis Javier Suárez is their cheat code, finding the back of the net in four of their last five matches and putting up numbers like an ’80s action hero dispatched to clean up any narrative messes before the next Champions League shootout. Add in Francisco Trincão, Fotis Ioannidis, and Pedro Gonçalves, and Sporting’s attack has more depth than the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s casting department.

But Pacos isn’t just here to hand over the keys to the next round. Their form—let’s call it “scrappy,” which, again, is code for “potentially dangerous if you look away too long”—makes them the wild card nobody wants to draw at a bad moment. Sure, it’s too many draws (three in the last five, two back-to-back 2-2 thrillers), but they’re coming off a Taça win and can point to a couple of late equalizers, which says one of two things: this squad refuses to die, or they just like giving their fans palpitations. Either way, João Victor, Anilson, and João Caiado are the kind of blue-collar, zero-glam heroes who pop up in every great sports movie montage—just enough grit and unpredictability to make a favorite sweat.

For Pacos, this is the game—the one you circle, the one you tell your grandkids about if you pull off the miracle. The tactical blueprint is simple, in theory: play deeper than an ’80s slasher’s jump scare, frustrate Sporting’s attack, and then hope Anilson or Caiado can sneak a sucker punch on the break. They’ve managed just five goals in five games—ugly, but if you’re going to beat a heavyweight, you’re not winning on points, you’re looking for a knockout you’ll never have to buy another drink for.

Sporting, meanwhile, can’t afford to doze off. They’re coming off a nap-inducing 1-1 with Braga after a Champions League loss to Napoli, and if history teaches us anything, it’s that cup football punishes arrogance faster than a game show buzzer. Ruben Amorim has depth, he’ll probably rotate, but even the B-side has players who’d walk into most Liga teams. The question: can Sporting’s forwards break down a Pacos defense that’ll line up like they’re auditioning for the next “300” reboot?

The real battle to watch, though, is the midfield—where the match’s vibe will be set. If Sporting’s passers get into rhythm early, this could turn into a live-action version of “Fast and Furious: Lisbon Drift.” But if Pacos can drag the game down, frustrate, throw some elbows, get the crowd into it, and maybe snatch a freak goal… Well, we’ve all seen enough cup magic to know one moment can tip the scales.

Here’s what’s at stake: for Sporting, it’s survival—the kind of “you’d better advance or the newspapers will treat you like you ordered pineapple on pizza at a Neapolitan restaurant.” For Pacos, it’s legacy. This is why you play: for one mad night, to make the giants flinch.

Prediction? Sporting probably wins. They’re just too strong, too deep, and Suárez is playing like a man trying to get his face on a sticker album in every country in Europe. But you never know. This is cup football. This is why we watch. If Pacos hang in, get to halftime without a meltdown, and the football gods start feeling whimsical, who’s to say we don’t get the sequel nobody expected? If you’re not watching, you might just miss a story people will still be telling years from now.