Easter weekend is supposed to be a holiday, but it has been a lot more exhausting than a couple of days at work.
Over the course of one weekend we have stared down the barrel of a gun, lifted a city to its feet in ecstasy, and stood firm against the odds to keep hopes alive. And we’ve done it all in about the hardest possible way.
Saturday was chaos. With 80 minutes played we were running out ideas, and the clock was speeding by with our Championship status affixed.
On 85 minutes we were convincing ourselves that a point kept the door open just wide enough for us to slip through.
After 95 minutes we were in rapture, and it took another 95 minutes to heave another priceless point away from South Yorkshire this afternoon.
This weekend has restored ailing faith, and it has uncovered crucial evidence that our side has the bottle and the resilience needed to stave off catastrophe.
We were a weaker, meeker, friendlier side earlier in the season. There is no doubt in my mind that a spirited Sheffield United side, ears ringing from the yearning roar of a packed Bramall Lane, would have beaten us before Davies arrived.
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Today we had to be ugly, cynical and – at times – flagrantly fraudulent.
Every substitute disappeared to the far wing, every throw-in took an age, every loose ball was rolled into no man’s land at the sound of the referee’s whistle. And more importantly than any of that, every single player had to stand tall and do the work of several.
Wilson was the only man to let Nottingham Forest down this afternoon, and he owes the club a substantial debt.
Forest had started the game brightly and were covering a lot of ground to keep United quiet; it was an encouraging fifteen minutes.
And then came Wilson’s moment of sheer absurdity. United won a disputable free kick and Greg Halford made off with the ball under his arm. Wilson tried to retrieve it, and after a few words in anger he dropped his forehead on to Halford’s – three yards away from the referee.
It was more of a head-shove than a headbutt, and it didn’t warrant the theatrical collapse. But it was a clear and obvious red card, and I’d expect any footballer in 2009 to do exactly what Halford did.
What followed was virtually an entire game of frayed nerves and heart-stoppers.
If the game was played back now, United would probably look fairly ordinary – a strong side having an off day, and feeling the effects of a long run of success.
But during the game they seemed likely to score from every single attack. They seemed to have a hundred corners and a thousand crosses allowed into the box.
Our defending was desperate, tireless and admirable. From the moment Wilson was sent off they set up like a brick wall and threw themselves in front of every stray ball.
In midfield it was a triumph for substance over style. Cohen and Osbourne covered a lot of ground and tried to plot an escape route into United’s half, Perch was fearless.
Davies ran the show from the touchline. He took every free header and stray ball as a personal insult and made astute changes at crucial times. Very occasionally he would hide at the back of the dugout, waiting to explode if the seemingly inevitable United goal came.
Billy hasn’t given up yet, by any means. His venomous, rumbustious spirit and self belief could be what drags us over the finishing line with our necks spared.
It is going to be incredibly tight. I feel nauseous just browsing the fixture list.
Next weekend sees Barnsley travel to a despondent Reading, while Norwich take on rivals Ipswich, who are wobbling in the face of mid-table obscurity.
Three points against Coventry, who have nothing to play for, is vital. Beyond that we will probably need to take something from Blackpool, and beat Southampton (who might not be down by then, after all).
It is an awful lot to ask, but with the bottle and resilience of this afternoon, it can be done. And what a difference it would make to the future of Nottingham Forest.
