Crewe (a) – last game of the season – we’d thought this was going to be a big party, and there was still a slight chance it could be. This day had caused me some issues: a month before the fixtures came out, I was invited to a wedding and had to click “Accept” by a deadline. I did so with three wishes in mind: A. don’t be last game of the season, B. don’t be Crewe (a) and C. don’t be in with a chance of promotion on that day. Of course, all three came in, although C now looked somewhat unlikely. In January I withdrew from that wedding, explaining the likely good times happening at Crewe and that it was my bezzie mate’s birthday. I was granted leave. To further cloud the issue, a great mate then invited me to his wedding evening event on the same day. I’ve not yet truly mastered the art of being in one place at once, let alone three. So there was two happy couples thinking I was a twat that day.

So it was the last day of the season, there was still a chance of promotion (albeit needing snookers), and we needed to better Bradford’s result to go up automatically. Josh had a pass from his wife Lyndsey for his birthday out on the lash. We were meeting at Jack and Ada’s, a cafe Josh had never ticked off. I was slightly late leaving the house due to my ancient PC, for some reason, stopped me going to the checkout on the Trainline website. After five minutes of trying, I gave up and had to do it on my phone, which was a major faff.

To save time, I didn’t bother ironing my top so apologies for the lack of song choice in this edition. I went all black in my outer clothes. I don’t like wearing black but it seemed kind of fitting with how we’d blown automatic promotion. It felt a bit Amy Winehouse. Ok Port Vale, you go back to League 1 and I’ll go back to, I’ll go back to blaaaaaack.

I headed into town and entertainment was provided en route in the form of a man kicking chairs over outside Gregg’s. He walked off shouting something in a language I didn’t know. I just hoped that this wasn’t going to be the only attacking intent from a Walsall perspective I was going to see all day. Josh was already at Jack and Ada’s – it was already busy and I reckon 95% of the customers were heading to Crewe. I shouted Josh a full English as it was his birthday and we were soon tucking in. As you know from previous editions, I eat my food in strict order which really pisses Josh off but this time, due to trains being imminent, I ate it in a haphazard fashion and Josh was very proud of me. Josh eats his food as if somebody will take it off him in a minute, but for once, I upped my pace and wasn’t too far behind him in finishing.

On the way to the railway station we entered Butler’s Passage. I commented that it was named after former Walsall FC favourite Martin Butler. I think Josh actually believed it for a split second. In hindsight I should have said Andy Butler. Would have been so much more plausible.

We were soon on the train and had to change at Rugeley Trent Valley; a train already full of Ipswich and Stevenage fans was now boosted with an impressive number of Saddlers. The Stevenage fans were in good voice with an array of songs including an entertaining one about Luton’s double relegation. I received a chant of “Oooh Michael Van Gerwen” which is always hilarious. It was funny the first time I heard it in 2015.

We were at the Cheshire Inn in Crewe just after 11 and it was already bouncing. The DJ had anthems lined up and I don’t know if he’s aware of Walsall FC’s songs but they seemed tailor made for us with “One Step Beyond” and “She Wore a Yellow Ribbon” – two of our anthems getting more than one airing. At one point the music cut out and a Saddler took the mic to belt out our own terrace chants. Lots of people I knew were in there and a few others came up to me saying they read the blog. Hello to the lad who reads this on a Sunday morning on the loo – apologies that this edition has been discharged on a Saturday. Hope I haven’t missed this morning’s movement.

We were joined later on by Mase, Swill, John, Kimbo, Amber and JB. As the clock ticked to two, the DJ went full on indie disco, treating us to Pigeon Detectives, The Courteeners and the absolute classic by The Enemy – “We’ll Live and Die in These Towns”, which Mase, John, Kimbo and I gave absolute portions to. We also had “Twist and Shout” which is my favourite Beatles song, although I only found out recently that is not a Beatles original – hello Craig if you’re reading. The most random song at this hour was a bit of classic ABBA; the sight of hardened Walsall fans belting out “Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)” was something to behold. After 4 tremendous hours in the pub, we headed to Gresty Road. I’m on antibiotics and had no booze – yes, you read that rightly: Crewe (a), a vitally important match and I was doing it stone-cold sober. As you know, the rule is never watch Walsall sober.

We got to the ground and were in the little stand behind the goal, having been in the second wave of tickets. The match started and soon we were treated to the sight of white smoke coming from behind the home end. Someone behind us cheered and shouted, “They’ve picked the new Pope”. I hoped this wasn’t the only thing we’d get to cheer today. My pre-match prediction was that Bradford would be 5-0 up before we got a corner. Both games were 0-0 at half time. Oh my god – we were still in this. It’s the hope that kills you.

Mid-way through the second half, the beautiful moment arrived: George Hall scored in front of our end, limbs everywhere, Josh jumped on me nearly putting me in the row behind; it was truly joyous. As it stood, we were third in the table and in that final automatic promotion spot. Time actually went quickly for once, which isn’t normally the case when we are winning. I was trying not to clock-watch and the board didn’t go up, but someone behind me announced we were two minutes into stoppage time. It was still 0-0 at Bradford – we knew this as we had a female Jeff Stelling behind us telling us everything. Another minute passed – me and Josh were arm in arm, we’ve been mate for fifteen years and have never had a promotion to celebrate yet. We were daring to dream.

All of a sudden I heard a voice behind me say, “Bradford have scored.” I hoped it wasn’t true, but then the Crewe fans erupted into cheers. Apparently Bradford had scored with the last kick of the game – a wicked deflection past a stranded keeper into the corner. Totally gutting. We were seconds from promotion and it was gone, just like that. Home fans celebrating just shovelled Salt into the wound. I’ve not seen us win at Crewe in twenty five years but I walked out the ground as devastated as that 5-1 play-off defeat in 1993. On the way out of the ground, I was offered three or four viewings of the Bradford goal, but frankly I did not want to see it.

We missed out on promotion by a point which is gutting considering how many we have thrown away as of late. Bescot Crescent must be overrun with fly tipped points. I know we’ve been shit these past three months and have only ourselves to blame. The football gods kept smiling on us in this run with favourable results elsewhere but quite a few times, it was as if the good luck gods had closed our account with some of the incidents in our games. Future historians will look back at 24/25 as the Walsall FC – what the fuck was that? season.

The Cheshire Inn was closed after the game – we ended up in the British Lion which was subdued but soon perked up. It was Josh, Amber, JB and me, and soon joined by other Saddlers. The first song that came on was “Build Me Up Buttercup” – Josh said this should be a Walsall FC song – “why do you build me up, just to let me down?” I pondered what might be next on the jukebox – maybe “Didn’t We Almost Have It All”, or “Close, But No Cigar”?

Josh disappeared as he had to get back for a birthday dinner with Mrs Josh. To be fair, the plan was to go back with him, but his role as time monitor (which I appointed him) went wrong as he gave us just twelve minutes to make the train, which was never happening in my world.

I caught the next train, headed straight home and sulked. I’m 51 this week and shouldn’t let football bother me, but my god, it fucking still does at times. Bring on the play-offs. UTS.