Mike Fletcher, matchday programme editor, looks back on last Saturday’s play off win, in his view from the sideline.
There are many reasons I regret moving to Essex (no really – don’t get me started!) but right up there is this: if you want to see top-class rugby it’s the worst place to start!
As evidenced by my three-hour journey to last Saturday’s ‘Champ accession match’. I can’t blame anybody for missing my train (well yes I can, I can blame my daughter, who just HAD to go to Primark… oh, and could I then run her to Sainsbury’s?), but I can definitely blame TfL for the mess they made of the tube trip. Who shuts down the whole Richmond spur of the District Line when there’s a play-off on? I note you didn’t do that to Millwall – and that was only a play-off semi!
Anyway, a combination of lateral thinking and good old walking got me to Putney, where I was just in time to see THAT train too – ah, whatever, the net result was that instead of a relaxed, pre-match pint in the Sun Inn, I ended up sprinting (or as close as you can get on two duff knees and a stick) to get there just after kick-off.
As I reached the stadium I could hear the stand getting excited, and my natural pessimism kicked in. Damn, I thought, Scottish must be turning us over! I scuttled across the stand to find a rare bit of ground that wasn’t covered in people – just in time to see Oskar Hirskyj-Douglas (Club’s champion Scrabble score) go over under the posts!
That’s the point when I realised the stand had gone Club. Red-and-black shirts everywhere, voices raised as one to will Club on. ‘God,’ I thought, ‘How do you take over the opposition’s stand?’ Clearly the revolution had started without me.
I missed the next try (trust me, I needed a beer by that stage!) but from then on I was living the game from the sidelines. Feeling every tackle, cheering every line break, overreacting to every ‘dodgy’ refereeing call (I’m a Society ref myself – you think that’s going to stop me?). In that blazing sunshine, with Club fans everywhere it seemed, we weren’t just beating Scottish, we were suffocating them!
Half time and I’m actually starting to relax; “We can actually do this!”. It’s not like we’ve been dominating territory, but we’ve soaked up everything they can throw at us and hit them on the break, time and time again. Every time Club got into the Scottish 22, we seemed to score. Surely this is our time?
Should have known – the second half starts and we’re soon under the cosh. A penalty edges our score forward, but Scottish force a break and their man is through, seemingly headed for the line. No! A terrific tackle brings him down. But it’s too high – and the ref goes to his pocket! Scottish waste the penalty but now we’re defending a man short, and that pessimistic vulture is back on my shoulder.
Club keep Scottish out – we even threaten to score again – but no sooner are we back to 15, then the card comes out again! No idea why – wearing a Club shirt in a built-up area? But here we are with our backs to the wall again.
The clock ticks over; every minute takes a day. Both sides are starting to sag like heavyweight boxers in the twelfth round. But we’re up to 70 minutes, 75, and the clock is now our friend.
Then, on 77 minutes, Scottish pressure finally yields a try. By this point however, even I’ve got to admit it would take armageddon to take the result away from us. We can even afford a little magnanimity; it’s only fair reward, we say, for the pressure they’ve put us under this half.
But Club aren’t finished. They go straight up the other end and a final penalty pushes the advantage out to 20. Surely now, that’s enough!
The ref blows No Side – and there’s a collective exhalation. We’re grinning, we’re jumping (well I’m not – I’d fall over), we’re hugging each other. We’ve done it!
The pitch clears, except for the huddle of heroes in black and red. I’m back in the stand and it’s jumping. There are families, friends, people like my old schoolmates Rory and James, President and Chair respectively, just lost in the moment. We said this would have been an exceptional season even without promotion – but now it’s here, nothing can touch the feeling. For me, it’s even bigger than Arsenal winning the Premier League – because I’m here, I’m part of it. It’s magic.
On the other side of the coin, I talk to a couple of Scottish fans; “You were much the better team” one says, while another admits this has been coming all season. There’s no anger, just resignation – and genuine good wishes for us next season.
The trip back was another nightmare but frankly they could have dumped me in Huddersfield – nothing was going to take the grin off my face.
Club are going up!
Mike Fletcher
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