u/CitiBankLights

Oh dear! "Spy-gate". The Saints, as a club, have been accused of cheating. The allegation is that a Southampton Football Club employee was caught filming a Middlesbrough training session just before the first leg of these Championship Play-Offs. There is an investigation going on now, and should the club be guilty, there will certainly be punishment, whether points deducted next season, a significant fine, and even expulsion from the Play-Offs. It was against this background that tonight's match kicked off (at eight o'clock), with the first leg in Middlesbrough ending 0-0.

Well, full of lively anticipation for tonight's "big match", I led the equally excited Grey Wolf through the congested streets of Bassett, Highfield, and Portswood to park, as usual, in the St Denys Station carpark; actually just across the road from it, in Osborn Road. I usually leave home an hour and a half before kick-off, but knowing this was a sell-out, and that the streets would be choked, I left 25 minutes earlier.  Fortunately, this paid off, because I was able to find the last remaining parking place in that part of Osborn Road, near to the Dolphin public house. The walk across the railway lines of the station, and past the South Western Arms and Junction Inn, reminded me that in the event of extra-time, (and I was certain this would happen), I would be unable to have a celebratory ( I was also certain that Saints would win) pint on the way home due to the ridiculous kick-off time of eight o'clock, the pubs being closed by eleven o'clock. This, of course, did happen and I wasn't reunited with the Grey Wolf until about 11:15, all three pubs were sadly in complete darkness and probably asleep as I returned to St Denys. Why an eight o'clock kick-off? Television demands I suppose. But whenever there is a likelihood or chance of extra-time being played, why not a kick-off time of seven o'clock or half-past seven? I was sat next to a father and son during the match, and "Dad" was cursing the fact that Saints hadn't won in 90 minutes, because he had to get up at four o'clock in the morning to drive to London. He actually expostulated I thought, (goodness me!) and was not too happy, despite the euphoria of the eventual win!

I continued on my merrie way, (that's a mediaeval "merrie", by the way), enjoying my boardwalk stroll alongside the River Itchen with its usual riparian activity evident in the form of swans-a-swanning, and canoeists canoeing. The light was good, and the tide was mostly in. Was it ebbing, or was it flowing? I don't know, but it all felt good. Past the Hindu Temple with its car-park already almost full of Saints-supporting cars (at £10:00 a car). And under the subway bridge on the Northam Road, with the desolate wasteland of the former gasworks now being reclaimed by nature. It's now looking quite a green site with long grasses and various wild flowers poking through. A definite improvement; it goes without saying.

My ticket for this match was back in the Kingsland Stand rather than my recent seating in the Itchen Stand (flanked with the Northam Stand). I think I obtained one of the few remaining tickets for this match; no choice involved by the time I belatedly applied. My seat (CC741; Block 29), was in the middle of that row, something I choose to avoid usually, preferring the end of a row, ready for a quick exit at a match's end. This was rather a "little toilsomely" situation, as I finally settled into my seat ready for the night's thrills to start. I've just used the phrase "a little toilsomely" from the current book I'm reading: "The Golden Apples" by Eudora Welty (1949), because I particularly liked that wording. Thanks Eudora! Even before a huge football match, my mind is often filled with thoughts and expressions from the Literary World.

The atmosphere from within St Mary's Stadium was red-hot, with both sets of supporters in full voice, and contributing to a frenzied and wildly exciting state of anticipation. However, from a Saints point of view, the level of rousing supportive noise took a profound dip (but not for long!)  as early as the fifth minute when Middlesbrough scored. It was a finely worked goal and finish, although I thought that the Saints defence were slow to close down the marauding Middlesbrough forwards. In fact, Saints were generally (as in the first leg) slow to get into any sort of cohesive rhythm from the start, and Middlesbrough "bossed" the game for the first twenty minutes or so.

Gradually, but with some difficulty and fixed determination, the Saints worked themselves toilsomely back into the match, and were rewarded with an equaliser in the 46th minute with a brave, downward header from super-Scotsman, Ross Stewart, who must surely be picked for Scotland's World Cup squad. He hasn't featured for Scotland in recent times because of his unfortunate series of injuries, but now at his fittest for some time he must be destined for the World Cup. So, level at 1-1, my bet was still on for extra-time, as the first-half ended.

During the interval I ventured down into the concourses where most of the home crowd seemed buoyant and optimistic (as I was) about the outcome of the second-half. Within the madding crowd (another literary reference!), I surreptitiously devoured my potentially life-saving banana. Hereditary diabetes is such a drag, isn't it? It's always on one's mind, wherever one is. Even, or perhaps, doubly so in such a heated, fervent atmosphere such as St Mary's Stadium harboured tonight. Now assured that there was no chance of a hypoglycaemic attack, I returned to my seat ready for the second-half.

If it was possible, the intensely passionate atmosphere ratcheted up a gear or two. Saints now appeared to be the dominant side with a fair amount of possession, and several chances to score were not quite taken. Middlesbrough, although "under the cosh" for long periods of time, still managed to look dangerous during their increasingly limited forays forward. The general quality of play became more and more frantic as the minutes ticked by with extra-time beckoning. But neither side could quite manage to put the game to bed, and so extra-time ensued.

Into extra-time, and by now Saints looked the fresher of the two teams, helped by Tonda Eckert's judicious use of the substitutes, although on this occasion, apart from Flynn Downes introduction in the 66th minute, he used them very late in the match. Personally, I would have liked to see Ross Stewart stay on the pitch for the whole evening. I don't think he's played a full 90 minutes yet for us. But, for me, he is an out and out classy goalscorer with the added bonus of having some lovely close-ball skills in which he often gets out of tight situations, does not lose possession easily, and can be relied upon to hit quality passes to his team-mates.

Well, the frantic football continued, the clock ticking down, and the awful but thrilling climax of a penalty shoot-out looking likely. Until the 116th minute of the evening, when Shea Charles, who is an astute and elegant footballer, went adventuring down the rightwing and delivered an exquisite curling shot through the heart of the Middlesbrough defence which settled nicely (so, so nicely!) in the back of the net off a post. I am convinced that he fully intended this as a goal-scoring shot; it was not in my humble opinion, a hopeful cross-shot. 

Pandemonium! Utter gratification! Tumultuous uproar! Oh when the Saints go marching in! These are the moments, as a player and supporter, you treasure forever. Glorious!

To cap it all, as I staggered down the steps of Block 29, suddenly there was dear old Doris Day singing "Que Sera, Sera", Whatever Will Be Will Be (we're going to Wembley) now being sung by thousands of Saints fans. How your Grandad would have loved it - his beloved Saints winning such a crucial match, and then being serenaded by his even more beloved Doris Day! I hadn't realised that Doris was a Saints fan!

All I needed now was a joyful, celebratory pint on the way home, but as stated earlier there was no chance. Well, you can't have everything I suppose, but I would have liked the chance of supping an ale with fellow triumphant Saints fans, but it wasn"t to be.

And now, what of the immediate future? We now await an investigation into the whole crass "spying" story. It is a ludicrous and ridiculous situation the club now finds itself in, but also a mightily serious one. I am so disappointed in my club; I always want them to be an honourable, squeaky-clean club, a pure one. I was looking forward to going to Wembley - apart from the football there is a trigpoint nearby (TQ193873) which I intend to bag pre-match should it go ahead. Will it go ahead? In the dulcet tones of the adorable Doris Day: "whatever Will Be, Will Be