We could have been critical. We could have fallen silent. We could have clapped politely, acknowledging effort but little in the way of quality. We did none of those things. We remembered.
'31, 31 undefeated. 31, 31 I say....'
As it dawned on us that it was 31 & out, the chorus began to chirp. First, as a single voice, then as a gradual expression of acceptance, of pride, of everything that it has meant to us and everything that it will continue to mean.
'31 31 undefeated, playing football the Cobblers way!’
Then it kept going, and going and going. We had been defeated - finally - but we refused to lose the love transported to our lungs.
'31 31 UNDEFEATED....'
It was now a volcano of noise, erupting over the muted cheers of the home fans and overspilling into the street on the way home. They were still singing it in the pub, on the train. All the way back to Northampton. Moulton Lava, still bubbling.
I had a tear in my eye at the end of our 3-1 defeat to Chesterfield. It was maybe the same tear that wetted my face at the end of our FA Cup victory at Coventry when we were teetering on the brink, or the tear that recycled in my eyes once more as we lifted the league trophy gloriously to the skies after a tumultuous season of such highs and lows.
Not so much a sadness that our run had come to an end - it had to at some point - but a realisation of just what we've achieved along the way. How many times have you been taunted on the playground, mocked amongst many a friend for being a Cobblers fan? Whilst they hunt for glory, we hunt for misery, bonded by a mutual longing for despair. We were there when we laughed back. We were there when we turned good.
Thirty-one. THIRTY-BLOODY-ONE. Say it, it doesn't sound real. It doesn't sound humanly possible, not when you're used to seeing eleven bloody strangers stagger incompetently around a pitch. It was hard to believe, as it was happening, because it started against a backdrop of still-raw uncertainty, it continued with new-found spirit borne out of staring the darkness full in the face, and it seemed to just accelerate through the most fun time I can ever remember.
We may never do this again in our history. We may never be quite as good for quite as many games. We were approaching some of the all-time records - but whilst we can't quite match the famous Arsenal 'invincibles' - we can match anyone for sheer, filmic drama. They say Hollywood are going to make a film about Jamie Vardy's rise to the top. We may never reach the pictures, but the images will remain ingrained forever in our hearts & minds, the memories will live on as we pass them on to future generations.
‘Let me tell you son, about that Ricky Holmes goal at Stevenage. Let me tell you about how I tumbled down seats, down the steps, into the arms of the ecstasy all around me.'
We went from almost-oblivion to obliterating everything in our path. We would not be beaten, for so long that it sometimes felt like floating through a space full of surreal stars that shined only for us.
Soon, it’s time to rest out feet back on planet Earth. Soon, it’ll be time to digest, to groan & moan, to be bloody awful again. But for now, we are still steadily rising – no longer undefeated – but with a renewed purpose that we can learn a lot from where we’ve come from, what we’ve been through & how vibrantly we’ve supported along the way. I hope, whilst we may lose some of those feelings & maybe even the occasional match, that we can recognise that & move forward as a club with a belief that we can still improve, both on & off the pitch.
Besides, what better time to lose? We got that rare defeat out of our system. Just in time for United. Ironic because that is what we are these days, whilst they already seem divided by the arrival of even more ego.
Theatre of dreams? Pah! I had a dream that we went thirty-one games without defeat. I had a dream that I saw us win the league by thirteen points.
I had a dream that tonight is going to be a famous night…
