Now, after one of the most remarkable uprisings in League One history, the club are restored to the Championship. Now we can talk about returning to where we belong.
Today has to be one of the most excruciatingly stressful and overwhelmingly emotional afternoons in the club’s long history.
And the beauty of it is that even supporters glued to radios and computers in foreign countries will have savoured every second of the rollercoaster.
The first half was about blind faith. Anxious about the uncertainty, but inspired by the possibilities, the sell-out crowd roared on their side in a show of solidarity that could have taken off the roof.
Julian Bennett’s strike was priceless and perfectly timed. All of a sudden the afternoon had a shape, and fears of a desperate scramble for a late goal were flattened.
News of Cheltenham’s opener was celebrated with explosive passions that future Forest goals will have major trouble rivalling. And then began the nerves.
We waited, and waited, and waited for seemingly inevitable news of a Doncaster revival. But it didn’t come, and a bizarre half of football that was barely acknowledged in the pandemonium of the stands ended with one Red foot in the Championship.
The half-time break was a break indeed. For 15 minutes the pressure drained and we were stood in limbo; nobody sure of what exactly the second half would bring.
When the players emerged from the tunnel it was, for supporters, akin to walking into an examination or a crucial job interview. The nerves spiralled out of control whilst each and every man took a deep breath in anticipation of the imminent monsoon of emotion.
Never before have I spent so much of a football match looking at other supporters. My eyes flitted repeatedly from the pitch to the fans who had come to the game with radios and headphones.
I was waiting for the agony to stretch across their faces and for a sullen silence to befall the baying masses. But it never happened.
Yeovil’s second and Doncaster’s equaliser cued just minutes of panic, before news of Cheltenham’s second arrived.
A few minutes later it was announced that it was all over at Whaddon Road; that Cheltenham had won the game.
I don’t think I will ever, for as long as I live, see ecstasy like I did at that moment. Strangers embraced, children wept, women screamed uncontrollably and there we were, just seconds away from an escape. And escape we have.
The sight of supporters flooding the pitch was too surreal for words alone. It felt like a ridiculous dream or a drug-induced hallucination. It was confirmation that we had, by some miracle, achieved the impossible. This is football!
I don’t need to explain with even one sentence just what escaping League One means to this enormous football club. I don’t need to remark on the fact that two years of frustration and bad management are, at this moment in time, completely irrelevant.
You all know. And I hope absolutely every single one of you makes the most of this truly remarkable afternoon.
It is an experience absolutely none of us will ever forget.
And now I’m off to drink what I would have spent on the play-offs.
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