2012-13 Uncovered: Tuesday 23rd October - The Greatest

   I'm trying to think of words that can in any way, shape or form convey what happened this evening.  After all, it's just a simple FA Cup replay between two sides not exactly on the global football radar.  But I can't.

   There are rare occasions in your life where things, places, situations, events defy description.  It can be anything from the mundane like why couldn't you see your keys when they on the table all the time, through to to one of those deep discussions about time and space, right up to something you witness that you don't believe happened even though you saw it.

   Rookery Hill tonight was one of those latter occasions.  Sitting here now, I just do not believe what I've seen, heard, even been a small part of.

   Chipper and I know what East Thurrock United are like.  Every since the first time we covered them on the radio we were gripped.  Covo's sides never fail to come up with something for us.  On the bus to the ground, we thought we knew what to expect.  Something remarkable, a moment in the game, that will leave us talking for a while.  

   What a foolish notion, to think we had an inkling of what the Rocks would provide us with.

   Chelmsford City supporters arrived, with the notion from many that Saturday was the Rocks chance, and it had gone.  They seemed a bit too over-confident, bearing in mind they were outplayed for long spells at Melbourne Park and conceded a gut-wrenching injury time equaliser.  We'll see.

   It took all of 44 seconds to see, too.  By that time Sam Higgins' shot had flashed across the face of goal in the dry but misty air, supporters packed around the tiny ground.  Oh, and his second shot had gone in.  City, like the fog these past few days, didn't clear, and paid the price.

   Despite being on radio duties, Chipper and I had no pretence of impartiality.  We were up on our feet, arms raised, shouting.  Surrounded by the Chelmsford City board of directors and supporters, vastly outnumbering the home fans, and in the middle of a press box that didn't move an inch out of our seats, we stood out like sore thumbs.

   From then on, you could just feel it in the air.  This wasn't about the next round, this wasn't about a big pay day, this wasn't about Colchester United at home next.  This was about now, this was about tonight, this was about winning.  Sport, football, the FA Cup in its purest form.  

   The crowd were sucked into it all.  Chants from both sets of fans were laced with tension.  Everyone just willed, wanted, almost needed that goal, that win.  Agony and ecstasy rolled into one.  Market a feeling like this on the drug scene and you'd be a billionaire overnight.

   Chelmsford City were stung into action and pounded the Rocks for the rest of the first half.  Their answer to Peter Crouch, Rob Edmans, was causing untold problems, and Anthony Cook on the wing was supplying cross after cross.  

   It was attack against defence.  Scrambles in the goalmouth, shots just wide, or off the crossbar, but inevitably, goal action.  Edmans equalises - but only after a goalie slip-up.  Despite the territory and possession disadvantage, East Thurrock defended as if they'd give their first-born for the cause.

   Half time was reached with the score somehow at 1-1.  How the hell did that happen?  If I'd been the Clarets boss, I'd be worried that such dominance hadn't paid any dividend at all yet.  If they don't score early in the second half, the Rocks could nick this.  Nobody in the ground knew what to expect.  This is, after all, East Thurrock United.

   Then, of course, City do score early in the second half.  Cook cross, Edmans tap-in, and the huge travelling support celebrate with relief as much as joy.  They can relax now.  2-1 up and so much on top they can't possibly let this one go.

   Yeah, right.  East Thurrock has nothing to lose now.  Chelmsford suddenly begin to tire.  Hakeem Araba becomes more menacing by the minute.  He puts the same amount of effort and running in the last minute as he does the first, whereas the opposition are visibly starting to run out of steam.

   Rob Edmans has to go off for City, just as Sam Collins comes on for the hosts.  I wonder, just wonder ... A corner evades everyone and flashes past the far post.  Then Hakeem's header from another is inch perfect, but is somehow beaten away by City keeper Stuart Searle.  We can see it coming.  They know it.  We know it.  Somehow, at some point, this will turn.  We just know it.

     As the minutes run down toward seconds, the voices rise in the crowd.  The intensity is staggering.  Here it comes though.  The moment it turns.  A centre into the Chelmsford box, a quite blatant handball to relieve the pressure.  East Thurrock fans shout and celebrate the penalty to follow.

   Except no.  The ref has somehow waved play on.  No, this can't be right.  This isn't in the script.  I look at the stopwatch.  Five minutes left.  I breathe easier.  No, too early for 'the moment'.  Something's going to happen.

   And so, into injury time.  Deep into it.  The Clarets supporters behind the goal are celebrating a rocky but safely negotiated passage to the next round.  Or so they think.  Hakeem has other ideas.  Another ball to him on the edge of the area.  He sees a team mate in space.  He cushions the ball down.  Perfect.  Right on cue for a run and shot.  It had to be Sam Collins.  It had to be the sub.

 
   Bang.  Goal.  2-2.  Lightning strikes twice.  Pandemonium.  Some City directors by me bury their heads in their hands.  They can't believe what they're seeing.  I'm too busy shouting and celebrating with Chipper to see how the players are reacting.  All I can see are Claret shirts with hands on hips.  One or two are squatting down.  They can't believe it.  This is East Thurrock United though.  I can.

   Extra time.  No chanting from the crowd, just a colossal roar whenever one team nears a penalty area.  It's almost tribal, but without the menace of violence.  Pure will to win is driving everyone on.  I say to Chipper that Chelmsford look out on their feet.  Sam Higgins tests the theory with a shot in the area.  It somehow goes through Searle's body.  3-2.  Unreal.

   I then also said that's not the winning goal.  Chipper said it's going to penalties.  The away fans around us aren't so sure, all they can see is their side behind and out of steam.  But we're beginning to get a grip of this unreality at Planet Rookery Hill.  A few minutes later, a Cook cross, and Jamie Slabber slots it away inside the area.  3-3.  You cam smell the relief around us.

   Into the last stretch.  City hang on, then with less than five to go, win a corner on the right.  It simply had to be, didn't it.  There had to be yet another FA Cup story to it.  Max Cornhill.  A former Rocks favourite.  He helped them to the North title.  He even scored that equaliser on Saturday.  Now he's netted with his head at the right end.  The Chelmsford fans go delirious.  They think, finally, they've won it.

 
   They should know better, really.  One director says "Normally, one up with a minute to go, you'd say you were safe.  But ...."  He trails off and smiles, betraying the agony he somehow, from the pit of his stomach, knows awaits him.

  And here it comes.  Reiss Gilbey has tormented his opponents all night on either side of the pitch.  He crosses from the left as we go into extra time injury time.  There's a man free at the far post.  He, and the cross, are perfectly placed.  The keeper and defence are all over the shop.  This is it.  Kris Newby heads home.  The Moment Mk. II

  Yea ..... what?  I don't believe it.  This is not the Rocks way.  Kris has somehow headed over the bar from almost underneath it.  I freeze.  Maybe my spidey senses have over-tingled tonight on adrenaline.  Perhaps I believe in the unexpected a bit too much to be credible.  Or sane.

   I sit, as the seconds tick by, with surely the ref about to blow before another Rocks attack can form.  It's been a fantastic effort from both sides, a tumultuous, incredible journey through a night in Corringham.  But that's it.

   I look up and see the Rocks desperately dribbling around the edge of the area, but now there's no way through.  The game is up.  Back to resorting to one last hoof.  If they even have long enough to have a shot.  I look at the ref.  He's looking intently towards the penalty area, whistle to mouth.  The moment before the bullet is fired.  I look away.

  To see Kris Newby.  He takes a swing.  25 yards.  It's high.  It's fierce.  It's in the back of that Chelmsford City net.

   Rookery Hill erupts.  I can't stand it much longer, my heart can't take it.  Even the press box are up on their feet to pay tribute to this tale of the extraordinary.  The Rocks players run around the goal, going berserk with the supporters.  To my right, City directors slump, heads in hands yet again.

   Sure enough, the ref blows for full time.  The crowd rises as one.  Both teams have put on the most incredible FA Cup tie I have ever seen at any level.  Every single person is applauding both teams, not their own.  

   They know that they've witnessed something truly beyond the realms of fantasy.  Eight goals, two home equalisers in injury time.  Makes Saturday's four goals and one injury time equaliser blockbuster look like an episode of The Archers.

   There was, of course, going to be yet another twist to this in extra time.  I was hoping that Jamie Riley, like that guy in The Magnificent Seven, was going to redeem himself and be the hero.  No, don't be stupid.  I was half expecting that, i couldn't possibly be right.

   No.  The story was Kris Newby.  The man whose free kick on Saturday caused that 98th minute equaliser.  The man whose own 121st minute equaliser gave us this penalty shoot-out.  The only man to miss a penalty.  It agonisingly sailed over the bar.  Nobody else misses.  Anthony Cook.  What a game he's had.  He bangs away the winner.

   The City players run over and celebrate right in front of Chipper and I.  We smile and applaud, heartbroken, but truly appreciative of Chelmsford's own remarkable powers of resilience to come through that.  In the centre circle, Covo has got the squad in a huddle.  

   Meanwhile, nobody in the crowd is leaving.  Every single person is applauding or cheering.  Nobody actually wants to go either.  If we could, we would stay here the rest of our lives.  It's been that sort of night.  

   I catch the attention of Clarets boss Glenn Pennyfather.  He immediately shakes my hand, and says that was simply unbelievable.  A master of understatement.  I wish his side well and tell him that Colchester won't fancy it one bit.  They won't either.

   At the door of the players entrance is Covo and Jay.  John looks absolutely heartbroken.  I try to tell him that everyone will remember tonight for the rest of their lives, that it's the game everyone will talk about, not the result, but you can see, almost feel his pain.  I say something similar to Jay.  Somehow, giving them a handshake doesn't seem right.  Both teams deserve the FA Cup itself for a night like this.

   Once we begin to make our reluctant way home, Chipper, of course, says the wisest thing of the entire evening.  "We should give up football now.  There will never be another game as good as that."

   There won't.  It was, quite simply, the greatest.

   East Thurrock United 4,  Chelmsford City 4

   (aet.  2-2 at 90 minutes.  Chelmsford City win 5-3 on penalties)