Mission Accomplished: Imps 0-0 Tranmere

We talk about two years ago and Macclesfield, but three years ago on this weekend Bruno Andrade scored for Woking as we lost 3-2 at home. On that afternoon, Jake Caprice was excellent for Woking and he had a big say in keeping the scores level before the hour mark. The wonderful Akinde pulled a ball back to Matt Rhead to write the headline, but his placed effort was heroically cleared from the line by Caprice with the keeper beaten. It was a scintillating game, fuelled by what was at stake but engrossing as a standalone encounter.

I thought we had two decent penalty shouts, one where Rhead was adjudged to have fouled two players at one by giving them a fistful of his shirt and staying on the ground, another a partial block on Andrade as he cut into the area. Had they been given, they would have been soft. Luckily, I didn’t have time to lament either as Oldham scored again at Boundary Park.

I knew at that minute, this was the day. Mansfield weren’t going to pull two back, not in my mind. We only needed a draw and could even lose, with MK Dons struggling at Port Vale. Their game had quickly moved from 0-0 to 1-1 and a goal for the hosts could have given them a chance of catching us. It wasn’t going to happen though.

Connor Jennings disallowed goal had a few butterflies doing aerobics in my stomach, but the linesman’s flag was as welcome as a cheque from the Inland Revenue. I didn’t see it go up and for one second thought we might win the title by losing at home. would it have mattered? Not really. That wasn’t the point though, back to back defeats don’t happen to this Lincoln team, not in League Two in 2019.

As the game wore on it became more evident that we were going to be confirmed as Champions. Norwood had a couple of decent efforts, underlining his potential as a top League One player, but neither troubled Matt Gilks. As we went forward we always looked likely to prise them open, but never created anything clear-cut. 

That is until the dying minutes when, spurred on by the rising atmosphere and realisation that we were going to win the league, our game went into overdrive.

Mansfield had pulled two back, but Oldham had made it 3-1 first and that was always going to be enough. Shay McCartan had a late effort, as did Tom Pett.

Then, in the dying seconds, a ball across goal just evaded Mark O’Hara. He saw a shadow to his right and lashed out, believing in to be a defender. It wasn’t, it was Danny Rowe, placed perfectly to put us 1-0 up. The chance went, but the title was here to stay.

When Anthony Backhouse made his way towards the tunnel at a dead ball situation and you knew what was coming. I knew anyway, Mansfield’s game had ended as had MK Dons, but it hadn’t been confirmed at the Bank. The whistle went to his lips and for a minute, everything went blurry.

Mainly because I shot out of the box, out of the ground and in through a gate. I was on the pitch before a smoke bomb had taken hold, the beginnings of a tear held behind my sunglasses. I didn’t have a purpose to be there, I wasn’t heading for a player or for a photo-op, I just wanted to stand there, being a part of what was a historic day in the life of Lincoln City.

Spiritual? Emotional? Touching? It was all of those things. I was surrounded on the field by present day fans, but all around I could feel the ghosts of the past. Pete Newton was there in spirit, his white hanky firmly in his pocket as we won the league, as was Colin Morton and Dave Mundin. So was my Granddad and whoever you’ve lost close to you. The players of old were all around in my mind, even those who are still with us. If you don’t follow football or support a club, it all sounds ridiculous, but as a part of something it’s a unique experience.

I’ve said before I was brought up on a diet of 1976, I’ve seen pictures from that era over and over again. I’ve heard stories about Dennis Booth, Percy Freeman and John Ward and yet here I was, right at the heart of the latest chapter. Not ‘just’ a National League win. Not redemption, not even a Wembley appearance. This is a Football League title, this is history. I wanted to be there and in my rush to do so I never thanked Chris for his hospitality. I’m sure he understands, this once.

In clearing the pitch the players came out and gave their victory lap. Like in 2017, I made it to the corner of the Bridge Mac stand and the Coop, the corner that inevitably gets cut as the players go around. Even Bubs walked past without pointing his lens at us! I didn’t care. I wasn’t there to get on camera and my own stayed in my pocket, in the main. No, I just wanted to watch. I just wanted to take it in, the noise (even the overly-loud music), the colour and the utter joy on everyone’s faces.

I remember, all too vividly, that afternoon in 2011 when the colours were drained of vibrance and the noise nothing more than booing and sobbing. The tears then were of sorrow, they came as our club flatlined. Eight years later, we’re in the greatest period of our history in terms of trophies. Eight years it’s taken to not only rebuild the club, but to take it to new heights.

Danny and Nicky get the plaudits and rightly so, but the truth is this title is not down to them alone. Their relentless work ethic and attitude has delivered it in the final stages, but Bob Dorrian and his board kept this club alive when even the city wrote it off as dead. Chris Moyses began to bring the fans and the players back together and by the time Clive Nates came on board, our heart was beating once more. Ever since that day in December 2015 when Clive joined the club, the progress has been remarkable.

The crowd began to slowly disperse and I remained for a few moments. I never want to leave the ground after a win, but yesterday I wished I was part of the stands, forever to bear witness to scenes like those. Did I cry? A little, maybe. I know I had a lump in my throat when I text the word ‘champions’ to my other half, and I stifled a little sob when I finally got to hug my Dad, but there were no flowing tears. That’s not my style, I prefer quiet contemplation and to just soak things up in silence. I didn’t go wild at our second goal against MK Dons and I stood rooted to the spot when Raggs nodded us ahead at Burnley that day. 

I like to appreciate those moments not by joining in, but by bearing witness. Sometimes, if the mood takes me, I celebrate, it’s not a conscious decision I make. Yesterday, with the chanting and delight all around me, I watched with clarity and purpose. Those images will be with me forever.

I did eventually leave, listening to the coverage on the way home and forgetting about my bunged up ear, runny nose and general malaise pre-match. I even forgot that Wetherspoons didn’t give me any bacon and you know when I forgive a bacon error, it must be serious day.

League Two? Completed it mate.