We are close to injury time at Cardiff, and the City support is bouncing. Dean Windass – who else? – has given us the lead, and we are manfully protecting it. We don’t really look like letting it slip, but we’ve not got the greatest of defences on the road and we alternate between singing urgent songs of encouragement and chomping on whatever fingernails remain.
Then a small pocket of City fans to the left of the away end suddenly go wild, and the cause for their outburst of glee is instantly obvious. Ipswich have scored, Ipswich have scored, Ipswich have scored, and the bedlam swiftly spreads until it envelops everyone.
The players must surely know – the City bench certainly does, the chairman does, and the final minutes are played out among scenes of total Tiger delirium last seen at Huish Park. Then referee Friend blows the final whistle – City have won, Leeds are still drawing, and only a miracle can now save them from relegation, relegation at our hands.
