Persistence was everything here, when there seemed to be nothing much else to cling to. There’ll be talk of match-turning substitutions and heroic spirit, sure…but this wasn’t a comeback, not as such. Nothing changed. Rather, when it appeared that the cause was utterly hopeless, when we were two-nil down to a team that had gradually and increasingly out-classed us, when the ceaseless pelting rain seemed to sum up the afternoon, we just kept going. We kept our heads up, we kept our minds clear, and we kept going. Basic professionalism or pure faith, depending on whether you’re a romantic or not…but whatever, two-nil suddenly became two-two, with fifteen minutes still to play. We’d done nothing differently, really, but that was precisely the point.
On this occasion, facing arguably the most potent forward line in the division, we stared defeat full in the face. Then we kicked it right in the nuts. In other words, we absolutely refused to surrender the points, despite several spells when an Ipswich goal seemed completely inevitable. To quote a cliché, you make your own luck.
