To try and put the events of Tuesday evening into words, has proven (in my head at least) to be a daunting task. The day itself was built up to such inflated levels that I, and no doubt many others were a tad worried that the 90 minutes would fail to live up to the hype it had received in the weeks and months prior to its arrival. I can now say, much to my delight, that it surpassed even my most ambitious expectations in every way imaginable.
Due to the peculiar nature of Brighton's shiny new Personal Credit Stadium the logistics of making your way there require your travel arrangements to take on the look of a military operation. Upon arrival in Brighton with the intention of having a pint or two prior to making our way to Falmer via the supposed 10 minute train journey, we were greeted by a scatter-gun view of Brighton supporters feigning aggression towards no one in particular from the doors of pubs surrounding the station.
Upon hearing that the main Palace contingent were plotted up in the Wetherspoon's near the sea front we decided against making the walk there and instead took a deep breath and ventured into a small bar on the side of the road frequented by a mixture of ageing south coast locals with mockney accents and young lads, kitted fully out in Stone Island jackets and Abbercrombie polo shirts, all of whom seemed extremely pleased to be together for what one person loudly christened, "the biggest game for the club in 50 years!"
Having witnessed the Brighton "pwoper naughty" experience for all of 13 minutes, we made our exit. Weaving our way through numerous gaggles of Brighton fans plotted up a various points up the street, who continued the trend of singing "Albion, Albion!" in groups of three to no one in particular and feeling rather pleased with themselves.
When we reached the station, men in yellow jackets hurriedly directed us towards a queue for platform eight, joining the back of the line, glances were exchanged, the realisation sinking in that we were set for at least another 30 minutes amongst people not considered our own, only made worse when no more than three minutes later we heard the familiar tone of the Palace faithful accompanied by a Police escort arriving through the station gates.
What followed was at least 10 minutes, (although it felt like far longer) of watching the buoyant support from SE25 waltz past us, singing songs and flinging gestures towards the group we were surrounded by, as they made their way onto the trains that would take them to Falmer first.
I have to say that viewing it from afar was superb, purely because, having been present within such Palace convoys in the past I was now able to watch the effect from the other side of the fence, and let me tell you all, the response to our support was truly pitiful, with almost everyone around us, simply sighing prior to looking squarely towards their feet.
Once on the train, the experience of the home support only got better from a Palace perspective, not that I was there, but I am 99% sure that the atmosphere on the Palace trains would have been positively bursting with noise and banter.
A stark contrast to what we experienced, which involved a busy train carriage full of men in replica shirts and ill-fitting hats making mumbled conversation with the stench of what can best be described as a rabbit hutch wafting into my nostrils, whilst one of the closest members of the carriage to us was christened "Mr Damp" by one of us following our departure from the carriage, an image I'm sure takes no further explaining.
With all of these unsavory recent experiences taking far too prominent a place in our minds as we reached our seats, the opening 20 minutes appeared to pass by in somewhat of an angry blur, with Craig-Makail-Worthington-Farnsworthy-Smith popping up to put them in front before we knew what was going on and the next quarter of an hour appearing to pass without us getting a single touch of the ball, the feeling within the away end was positively horrible.
At this point, being fully aware that the 2nd half has been analysed and picked apart 1,567 times over already on message boards on Twitter, I will spare you any tactical deconstruction and simply say, that our performance in that final 45 minutes was a joy to watch. The team played with a desire and pace that completely nullified any threat from the home team, and following 35 minutes of genuine pressure on the hosts’ goal the breakthrough was deservedly made, with two more following in the remaining 12 minutes, prompting the following support of 2,400 to reach levels of ecstasy seldom seen before.
It was a feeling completely different from the exploits of Hillsborough 16 months ago, but it many ways it equaled it for me, maybe it was the poetic nature of the scorers, with the young prodigy Zaha getting the equaliser, the much debated Hillsborough hero getting the second, and Glenn "FFS" Murray hammering the final nail in the coffin.
Perhaps it was the realisation that we will forever be the first team to win a league game at The Personal Credit Stadium, or maybe it was the fact that the club who were so sure they were on the fast-track to leaving us behind once and for all were humbled on their own patch that did it, but it really was a night that embodied what it means to be a Palace fan, and is perhaps the best representation of why everyone who has been brought up watching the boys in Red and Blue feels so connected to our football club, as just when you think you've seen it all, the boys throw another joyful curveball directly towards us.
Dougie was calm and collected in his post match interview, but the emotion from him and the boys when they came over to applaud us after the final whistle said everything to me. His persona in the media is of a calm and collected young manager who plays his cards extremely close to his chest, but when the moment allows him, he leaves all of us in no doubt as to what he really feels. A man bursting with pride, he was fully aware of just what he had given us all on Tuesday night, and for all of his claims that he was pleased to do something for the fans, I am equally as happy for him, as he, the man who has saved us three times, deserves it just as much.
Until next time.
