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So, bleary-eyed and hungover, I dragged myself to Liverpool Street, got a ticket, bought some food, got on train, got off at Prittlewell, followed people going to the ground as I didn't know where it was, paid 16.50 (exorbitant!) to get in, and waited. I tried very hard to ignore the Cheeky Girls, who were doing a pre-match show wearing what I can only describe as a couple of small handkerchiefs. Hardly suitable attire for a miserable grey afternoon, but I guess this was Essex and there were some girls waiting at a station on the way home who weren't wearing much more.
At 3.03pm, Alex Russell swung in a corner, Steve Woods volleyed it home, and we were 1-0 up. Cue jubilant scenes in the away end. At 3.11pm, Jo Kuffour went on a mazy run in the penalty area, pulled the ball back, and David Graham, leading scorer par excellence, scored with a low header. 2-0, and we're in heaven. At 3.16pm, Huddersfield scored at Cheltenham, and at 3.17pm, our 'keeper spilled a weak shot and Southend scored from the follow-up. 2-1, with three quarters of the match to go, and even if we did hold on, it was going to be academical if Huddersfield went on to win anyway.
Half time came, and still no change. I had a hot-dog: more stodge; and a terribly watery, not-very-satisfying Diet Pepsi. A little way into the second half, a rumour went through the away end: Cheltenham had equalised, which meant we were going up after all! It was only a rumour, though, soon quashed. We had to wait a lot longer for the genuine article, but when it came, with the score still 2-1 (and Southend piling on the pressure, having already had an equaliser disallowed for offside), the scenes of jubilation were, if not second-to-none, but certainly as, well, jubilant as I've ever seen at a Torquay match. at 16:48, with the Huddersfield score confirmed as 1-1, and with two minutes left to play, we were on edge. Every time Southend got the ball, we had horrible visions of them scoring, and taking away our dream at the last gasp.
We held our collective breaths.
The two minutes ticked by, our eyes on the ref with his eyes on his watch, waiting for him to put his whistle to his mouth.
The ref blew for full time.
We jumped for joy, shouted, clapped, cheered, tried to run on the pitch, mobbed Liam Rosenior (the manager's son, who plays on the right wing) when he came too close, scrambled for boots thrown into the crowd by players, and eventually were allowed onto the pitch to salute and cheer the manager, Leroy Rosenior.
We were up, we'd done it, we'd snatched third place, sweet revenge on Huddersfield after they cheated us out of a point earlier in the season.
Then back on the train to Liverpool Street. One supporter had managed to get hold of Kevin Hill's shorts - she was wearing them over her jeans - goodness knows how. It's still sinking in. It's a great feeling. After so much disappointment - notably the '97-98 campaign that ended in a play-off final defeat, after the pains of the 2000-01 season and the final match of the season against Barnet - my local club - where Football League status was at stake for both clubs, to finally achieve promotion was brilliant.
At 3.03pm, Alex Russell swung in a corner, Steve Woods volleyed it home, and we were 1-0 up. Cue jubilant scenes in the away end. At 3.11pm, Jo Kuffour went on a mazy run in the penalty area, pulled the ball back, and David Graham, leading scorer par excellence, scored with a low header. 2-0, and we're in heaven. At 3.16pm, Huddersfield scored at Cheltenham, and at 3.17pm, our 'keeper spilled a weak shot and Southend scored from the follow-up. 2-1, with three quarters of the match to go, and even if we did hold on, it was going to be academical if Huddersfield went on to win anyway.
Half time came, and still no change. I had a hot-dog: more stodge; and a terribly watery, not-very-satisfying Diet Pepsi. A little way into the second half, a rumour went through the away end: Cheltenham had equalised, which meant we were going up after all! It was only a rumour, though, soon quashed. We had to wait a lot longer for the genuine article, but when it came, with the score still 2-1 (and Southend piling on the pressure, having already had an equaliser disallowed for offside), the scenes of jubilation were, if not second-to-none, but certainly as, well, jubilant as I've ever seen at a Torquay match. at 16:48, with the Huddersfield score confirmed as 1-1, and with two minutes left to play, we were on edge. Every time Southend got the ball, we had horrible visions of them scoring, and taking away our dream at the last gasp.
We held our collective breaths.
The two minutes ticked by, our eyes on the ref with his eyes on his watch, waiting for him to put his whistle to his mouth.
The ref blew for full time.
We jumped for joy, shouted, clapped, cheered, tried to run on the pitch, mobbed Liam Rosenior (the manager's son, who plays on the right wing) when he came too close, scrambled for boots thrown into the crowd by players, and eventually were allowed onto the pitch to salute and cheer the manager, Leroy Rosenior.
We were up, we'd done it, we'd snatched third place, sweet revenge on Huddersfield after they cheated us out of a point earlier in the season.
Then back on the train to Liverpool Street. One supporter had managed to get hold of Kevin Hill's shorts - she was wearing them over her jeans - goodness knows how. It's still sinking in. It's a great feeling. After so much disappointment - notably the '97-98 campaign that ended in a play-off final defeat, after the pains of the 2000-01 season and the final match of the season against Barnet - my local club - where Football League status was at stake for both clubs, to finally achieve promotion was brilliant.
