Harrogate Town opinion: A night at Valley Parade that will live long in the memory

The first thing that hits you as you emerge up the steps from the concourse beneath is the sheer scale of the two towering double-decker stands opposite, structures that dwarf the terraced houses that nestle up to them on the walk up to the ground.

Having grown up supporting Harrogate Town, Valley Parade’s certainly the biggest stadium my daughter’s been to and I don’t think she was expecting it. I’ve been here before, but it’s still an impressive sight and an absolute joy to be able to watch a Town side here.

The second thing that hits you is the volume of travelling supporters tonight, and I mean that in both senses of the word. We’ve waited a long time to come here, no thanks to Covid-19, and it’s going to be a boisterous night in the away end.

Town dictate the early exchanges to a backdrop of noise from our largest ever away following, but it’s Bradford who take the lead following a long break in play for an injury to one of their own.

The goalscorer, Matty Foulds, slides on his knees towards us, tearing up a large slice of the Valley Parade turf in the process.

“It’s early yet,” says the very wise supporter next to us his worried son.

The goal briefly ignites the home crowd and things start to look dicey as the Bantams push our unfamiliar central-defensive threesome menacingly for a second. Town have plenty of possession but look laboured and slightly hesitant when moving forward, and I wonder whether the nerves have kicked in.

The goal hasn’t silenced the travelling fans though, as “One-nil up and you still don’t sing,” floats across Valley Parade. Nothing is going to silence us tonight.

It’s been an end-to-end half, peppered with stoppages, when one last swift injury-time Town counter attack puts Ryan Fallowfield through into the box on the right flank.

The resultant Lewis Page corner, Town’s one and only corner of the whole match, is met by a Harrogate head and nestles low in the net past the despairing keeper.

We erupt as the visiting players return the compliment by sliding on their knees towards the home fans. A quick check of the phone confirms Warren Burrell as the scorer.

It’s a raucous half-time back underneath the stand as you would expect. Lots of beer is being consumed but I’m on coffee, as you wouldn’t like me when I’m drunk.

By the time we emerge with our brews the home players are already out. Town are keeping them waiting.

Then on 62 minutes, Page floats a glorious free-kick towards the top corner of the goal. The home keeper dives but can’t get there and Town have the lead.

There’s joy unconfined amongst the travelling supporters. Dare we wish for another, or will that fatal 3-1 scoreline half-way through the second half, bring us crashing back down to earth for the third time in just over a week?

The digital clock crawls ever so slowly on the scoreboard to my left, and then crawls some more, as Town defend their lead throwing bodies on the line.

Just as important as Page’s contribution tonight are two saves by Mark Oxley, one a point-blank stop from an identical header to Burrell’s.

Simon Weaver then shakes up his pack. Brahima Diarra enters the fray to a rapturous reception and Leon Legge replaces Fallowfield. It looks like we’re going to shore up at the back, but keep that element of unpredictable pace going forward.

The clock creeps to ninety minutes and then Diarra breaks, slides in Jack Diamond past the last man and it’s 3-1 right in front us of.

Words can’t describe the emotion as the Town players pile on top of each other in front of us.

Not even six minutes of injury-time is enough for them to lose this one.

The disgruntled home end empties faster than the beer glasses at half-time to chants of, “Is this a fire drill?” from the ecstatic Town fans. A long night of discontent on social media awaits.

It’s been a strange old match, the home side having had 25 (admittedly many wayward) shots versus Town’s nine and ten corners to our solitary one, but we have shaded possession and been the more clinical yet again.

The entire Town squad and management, heroes the lot of them, walk over to acknowledge the travelling support at the end.

We don’t want this moment to end and it looks as if they don’t either, but end it must as we eventually exit past the dark satanic mills of Bradford and wend our short way home via logjam though Shipley.

It’s a night that will live long in the memory of everyone who was there, and yet another chapter etched into the rise of Harrogate Town.

Did I tell you I love this football club?