I'm so in love with you, I'll be four-ever Blue

To think, a month or so ago, I said I kind of hoped we didn’t make the play-offs, because, the way we were playing, I couldn’t be arsed with them, and I just wanted the season to be over. Hahahaha. What a dickhead.

My ambivalence towards the play-offs, and my wish to not jinx our chance of making them, meant I didn’t book any time off work for them, so I was stuck in work on Wednesday, getting more and more pissed off at everyone who was already in the pub and more and more nervous about the game. My boss probably should have sent me home; he wasn’t to know that it was anxious pissing making me go to the toilet literally every 10 minutes and not norovirus. By 4pm, with the party in full swing in Royton precinct, I was ready to drink this.

I had plenty to be nervous about on top of the match itself. We were in the hospitality as guests of Oldham Athletic Supporters In the South, and while we very much appreciated the generosity of Oldham Athletic’s oldest and most prestigious supporter group, I’m an introvert with anxiety and unfamiliar social situations terrify me. To compound matters, my all-time hero, Andy Ritchie, was the guest speaker, and to put the sprinkles on the icing of the anxiety cake, I had a piece in the programme, and I was haunted by the possibility that Andy Ritchie might read it and say that it was shit.

Naturally, none of this happened. The hospitality was great, the food was really nice, Andy Ritchie is an absolute gentleman and great company as well as being the GOAT, and the MC made a fuss of our mate’s daughter, who, after 14 southern away days, was finally visiting Boundary Park.

I said before the game that I’d love it if Monthe was on the bench, maybe bring him on second half to help get him back to fitness. Imagine how delighted I was to see him in the starting line-up. Maybe it was going to be our night.

If the atmosphere didn’t take my breath away, the tifo sure as fuck did. A banner referencing a battle in 1485 that was a key victory in the War of the Roses? Yes please. Just fucking outstanding work, lads. I might get FROM BOSWORTH TO BOUNDARY PARK, LET THE BATTLE CONTINUE tattooed on my arm, next to the blue and red roses.

Who knows just how much of an influence the tifo and the atmosphere were, but we were right into Halifax, attacking more ferociously than we’ve attacked an opposition for a while. Practically straight from kick off, Yoganathan fed the ball to Pett, whose shot was deflected for a corner. Pett swung the ball in, and with just three minutes gone, Garner headed us in front, and the place erupted.

It’s not often that you can say that a goal ten minutes into the game had been coming, but it was a blistering start and Yoganathan in particular was tearing them to shreds. He had a shot from 22 yards that the keeper made a decent save from to concede a corner; after that was cleared, Yoganathan put a cross into the box that Garner couldn’t quite connect with; then Yogi got fouled on the edge of the box and we got a free kick. Fondop headed Pett’s delivery across the six yard box, and Kitching headed it in, and, having been the first to congratulate pretty much every scorer all season, got to sprint away in celebration banging his chest shouting “ME! ME!”. Glorious.

Halifax very visibly couldn’t cope with our aerial threat, and God’s number 9 clearly thought “hold up, I’m the one who scores the headers round here”. Pritchard, who was having a great game at right wing-back, crossed the ball onto Mikey’s head, and there was only going to be one outcome. 12 minutes in, 3-0 up. That’s one way to settle the nerves.

The referee clearly felt sorry for Halifax, who were stunned into making a double substitution 16 minutes in. Yoganathan went down having been tackled in the box, felt that he’d been fouled, and the referee booked him for diving. Now, it may not have been a penalty, but there was definitely contact, and booking him for simulation was just wrong. A Halifax player went down under a softer challenge shortly after, the referee waved play on, no foul, but didn’t book him. Just be fucking consistent, that’s all we ask. Garner also went into the book for persistent fouling, which wasn’t the greatest surprise, but it did feel a bit like the ref was trying to even the game up a bit. Which wasn't his job.

Yoganathan had another penalty claim turned down early in the second half. It’s OK, ref, we get it, it kind of wasn’t fair just how much he was scaring the shit out of their defence. No worries, we don’t need your help. Yogi definitely doesn’t need your help. He capped off a brilliant MOTM performance by playing a brilliant ball into Pritchard, who absolutely buried it with the finish of the night. Four. Fucking. Nil. What were we worried about?

Mellon sensibly brought Yoganathan off for Conlon shortly after so the ref didn’t get a chance to send him off, and Norwood came on for Garner. Might as well give him a run out to get some fitness back in what was now basically a training exercise. We understandably took our foot off the gas for the last half an hour, although Fondop got one of the biggest cheers of the night for doing his funny run. What a guy.

Whatever happens on Tuesday – whatever else happens in these play-offs – last Wednesday was one of the greatest nights at Boundary Park that any of us can remember, and whatever else happens will take nothing away from that. It was one of the best atmospheres I’ve had the privilege to witness, the players unleashed the aggressive attacking football that we’ve been desperate for all season, and my God, if you were in any doubt that we’ve got our club back before the game, you can’t have been after. What a night. What a club.

As if it couldn’t get any better, Captain Insensible tweeted a photo of an apology to Darren Royle, Frank Rothwell and Dale Harris that was quite clearly written by a solicitor, at 1.34am. This is too much! You are spoiling us!

Onto a semi-final at York, then. The club were in an impossible situation regarding tickets. We’re stuck with a shitty unfit-for-purpose online ticketing system from the Bad Days, and with demand massively outstripping supply, anything the ticket office did was going to leave a lot of people disappointed. It’s just the down side of being a massive club, unfortunately. There’ll be plenty of tickets available if we make it to the final.

There’s a possibility of our town being represented twice at Wembley in a week. The Roughyeds take on Featherstone Rovers in the semi-final of the 1895 at Boundary Park on Sunday, and they’ve announced a very generous offer for Latics season ticket holders. Show your season ticket at the turnstile or at the ticket desk in the fans’ bar and you can get in for fiver and your mate can get in for a tenner. Let’s keep the feel good factor going, eh?

I’m not at all confident that we’ll beat York. Watching them beat us 2-0 at our place in January was painful, and they finished 23 points ahead of us. That was then, though. It’s the playoffs. Anything can happen. Let’s throw fucking everything at it again and see what happens. Prove me wrong, Micky. KTMFF.

Written by Arlene Finnigan. Photos © Phill Smith and Thomas Lee Stacey.