Rochdale, York City and the maddest final day of a season I’ve ever seen

ROCHDALE — The only way to sum up the most astonishing end to a football season you could ever imagine? One set of supporters stormed onto the pitch to celebrate the goal that won them a title and promotion. And they were not the club that got promotion or won the title. Confused? I’m still processing it too.

The end result, I think we can at least conclude now, is that York City are back in the Football League. They are a club that went through dark years, relegations, financial crises and unpopular owners. Even those felt less stressful than the last 20 minutes on Saturday lunchtime, when their world turned upside down and back.

“So please, be tolerant of those who describe a sporting moment as their best ever,” wrote Nick Hornby in Fever Pitch, a necessary textbook in everybody’s football education “We do not lack imagination, nor have we had sad and barren lives; it is just that real life is paler, duller, and contains less potential for unexpected delirium.”

Hornby was writing about Arsenal’s title win over Liverpool after a final-day, winner-takes-all shootout in 1989. There have been similar instances since with both teams having already secured promotion. But Saturday was the first time in England’s top five men’s divisions in 37 years that everything was on the line on the final day.

And it delivered a denouement of the most outrageous quality, live sport at its genuine best. It would be impossible to design a better final-day scenario. It would be impossible to imagine a more sensational end to it. They left Spotland shaking, whether they supported either team or were there as a neutral observer.

Rochdale had largely laboured, failing to have a shot on target when second-half stoppage time was announced at six minutes. In the fifth of those, a deep cross to the head of Mani Dieseruvwe. Rochdale needed one goal to be in the Football League and they had it. Cue invasion number one.

Then a 15-minute delay and the desperate attempts of home supporters to get their peers from the playing surface and allow the final moments to play out for the proper celebrations to begin. In the Pearl Street Stand, they congregated around the pitch and waited for the three whistles that would declare their dream real.

And then the madness happened: crosses, shots, saves, blocks, all in the space of 15 seconds. A shot from Josh Stones, his umpteenth of the match. A desperate defensive dive to clear it off the line. An entire stadium turning their eyes to the assistant referee; there is no goalline technology here. One yellow flag waved in the air. One ludicrous twist of fate. One club going up at the expense of another.

The numbers of the National League title race were already extraordinary. York City had taken 107 points, scored 113 goals and had a +73 goal difference and promotion was still not secured. Rochdale had 105 points and a chance.

In recent weeks, the tussle has become farcical thanks to Rochdale’s run of late winning goals: 99th, 90th and 97th minute in their last three league wins. Last weekend, York waited on the pitch to celebrate before the news filtered through. They can hardly moan; York have scored 30 goals after the 80th minute this season. More silliness.

There is something particularly titillating about an old football ground on uniquely important days, like a village church full for midnight mass. When I last came to Spotland (and I will always call it that), a 4-1 win over Boreham Wood in February, there were 2,356 in attendance. Saturday lunchtime was a 7,200 sellout.

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We must extrapolate this further; it merits appreciation. In no other football nation would a fifth-tier sporting fixture raise this level of interest or audience. The average attendance of half the clubs in France’s second tier is lower than Saturday’s crowd. The football pyramid – its depth, its tradition, its enduring popularity – is England’s greatest cultural asset. Its future should be protected as such.

It is impossible not to wish York City well; they were the division’s top scorers, the better team on Saturday and somehow drew upon reserves of strength after going behind so late that I cannot begin to envisage possessing. That is the most astonishing aspect of a ridiculous day: they were psychologically buried and broken. And still they came back.

But goodness you hope that Rochdale can pick themselves up to navigate the play-offs. Careers change on days such as these; clubs find new eras. Rochdale have been through plenty enough for one lifetime. They looked redemption in the eye and it headbutted them back. How do you get over something like this so quickly?