Team #BCAFC At The Football Blogging Awards

 

Thank you!

The Width of A Post writing team: (L-R) Jason, Mahesh, Katie and Damien

Last night, I descended on Manchester with The Width of A Post to attend the Football Blogging Awards, held at the city's National Football Museum. WOAP was in the running for two awards - Best Club Blog and Best Established Blog - and I'd made the ten-strong shortlist for the Best Female Blogger. The nominees were decided purely on a public vote - and this article is a thank you to every single person who backed us.

I'm not going to lie: it was gutting to leave empty-handed. I was deservedly beaten by the excellent Yes, I Can Explain The Offside Rule and the LiverBird blog, while WOAP was pipped to the, err, post by sites from Coventry City, Spurs, Aston Villa and the FootballFancast. But we had a fantastic night - sharing a table with my fellow WOAP writers, meeting some of them for the first time, was brilliant, and I loved chatting to Jason, Mahesh and Damien about all things Bradford City. The fleeting look around the museum's epic collection was also a highlight, and they've accumulated a stunning plethora of memrobilia and trophies: housed in a glass display cabinet is the infamous Liverpool beach ball from Darren Bent's dubious Sunderland goal, and the giant Michael Jackson statue that formerly guarded Craven Cottage was relocated to the museum earlier this year. If you ever get the chance to go there, go - there's so much more we didn't see, and it's certainly worth the trip.

Moreover, merely being there represented a great night for Width of A Post and me. 60,000 votes were cast. Over 1,000 blogs were nominated, from more than 25 countries. To be competing against some of the real heavyweights of the blogging sphere - writers that cover the likes of Arsenal, Liverpool, Aston Villa, Manchester United and Manchester City - says it all, and I'm so proud and thankful that, in our own small way, we got to fly the flag for the Football League at one of the UK's premier blogging events. That we got that opportunity is down to you, our readers - Bradford City's uniquely dedicated fanbase. The recognition the Football Blogging Awards offers is priceless - congratulations, in particular, to Coventry City's Sky Blues blog, who beat us in the Best Club category.

I cringe at some of my old blog posts and articles, and there's no doubt running a blog can be stressful - I've no idea how Jason manages WOAP as expertly as he does, and the time he sacrifices to make the site what it is can never be understated - but what starting a blog has given me is confidence, an escape from that perpetual state of limbo that comes with being a teenager, a chance to become a better writer - and memories that will last a lifetime. Interviewing Stephen Darby and Gary Jones in the beer garden of the Shoulder of Mutton, ahead of the play-off final, was the perfect way to cap-off the We Made History season, as awkward as my interview technique may have been; work experience at Radio Leeds, shadowing the journalists at City's press conference, felt like the ultimate competition prize. Being approached by Tom and Dom to front a segment of their Bradford City West Yorkshire Sport show was another huge boost. Meeting Darby again at the curry night last week, and him asking me questions about my blog, was surreal. Last night was another one to add to a list that, I hope, can get longer.

Things like that, as little as they might appear to be, make all the toil worthwhile. Juggling football with the other parts of my life is difficult, and reporting on the Doncaster game last week was a struggle having not been to Valley Parade for weeks. Writing my goodbye to Gary Jones was more frustrating than it was cathartic, as it felt nothing I penned was doing him justice. I was anxious about it going live, but the piece's reception was overwhelming and, for me, among the most touching feedback I've ever received. The fact Jones even read it, and sent me a message to thank me, felt like the perfect end to that era.

Because that's what this is all about - history. Every article we write is our conception of a period, a moment, a minute, that moved us or touched us or angered us or inspired us in some way. Reading WOAP's excellent League Cup coverage takes you right back to those heady nights; Bantams Banter's podcasts, too - nerves on a knife edge and praying 'impossible' would shake its prefix. I've only been writing for Jason's site a short while, but if any of the articles I've submitted have become as timeless as those, I'll be happy.

That miracle season was unprecedented for Bradford City, and seeing my pseudonym in lights was unpredented for me, too. This site has taken a back seat as I've become more involved with WOAP - a platform I prefer, in all honesty - and, though 'Bantams Blogger the website' will stay live, it may be abandoned in the coming months as I move to work solely with Jason. There's also the question of university, and whether City will continue to be such a huge part of my life as I move on to the next stage of my education. The future's shrouded in uncertainty, but that doesn't take away the past.

All that remains to be said is thank you. Thank you to Tom and Dom, the Bantams Banter boys, for their ongoing support. Thank you to Jason, whose mentoring has been invaluable to me - thank you for creating Width of A Post, and putting in so much of your own time, unpaid, to help writers like me grow and get noticed. And thank you to you, the reader - not just for getting me to Manchester, but for all your support.  Thank you for taking the time to read my articles, write comments, spur me on and encourage me. Truthfully, I started blogging on a whim, and never thought about what it would lead to, where it would go. I never expected to write alongside Jason and his team, and I'm honoured to collaborate with Width of A Post. I'm sorry I couldn't do you proud and clean up yesterday, but thank you nonetheless.

I'll be on Gillingham match report duty a few weeks from now (for WOAP), and you can read my most recent piece, a report from the Doncaster game, here, if you wish. Alternatively, scroll down to see some of the pictures from yesterday's ceremony.

Jason and Katie

My name in lights

 

Not a Bad exhibit to have, even if getting rid of it was Dangerous for Fulham

 

We saw it through no matter what

“I wanted you to see something about her – I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do…” – Atticus Finch, To Kill A Mockingbird

   I love that quote. If my quote wall was an actual wall, rather than just a series of haste scribbles on the back of a refill pad, that one would be wedged firmly atop my diamond nine. I could write a whole essay on what I love about To Kill A Mockingbird, but I don’t think it’s difficult to work out why I picked that quote out for this article.

   For me, that sums up City’s cup final. To a letter. In that paragraph, you can find everything about that game against Swansea. In many ways, there’s really no point in me writing this now. What I need to say is right there. The score? It didn’t matter. Most of us – admittedly, not me – knew the result weeks before a ball was kicked, even if we’d allowed ourselves, for a moment, while we were whipped up in the middle of the media tornado, to dream up a happier scenario. We didn’t win, but we had a go. We were under the cosh, but we mustered a shot on target towards the end and celebrated like we’d actually qualified for the Europa League. We felt hurt, dejected, betrayed and ruthlessly deserted by the football Gods as a lonely Duke slumped off the pitch to a veracious reception, but we kept the flags waving long into the night.

   We saw it through no matter what.

   Looking back on it is odd. It’s not so much that it was a year ago – the time feels about right. It’s more that it happened at all.
   I’d long accepted that City would never reach a cup final. I’d dreamed of the play-offs, of my club reaching the national stadium, but even the JPT final, the most plausible of all the annual Wembley showpieces, had almost always seemed an utterly outlandish prospect, so how could I have possibly envisaged this? My brother’s team, Liverpool, were the side that blessed our house with grandeur and glory and major cup finals, so how had we stumbled into this world? What kind of mad foray had brought us here? Surely we would be rumbled, caught out, shown to be the impostors? I stepped off the coach tentatively, half expecting to look out along Wembley Way and see the blue and white of Chelsea, or the red and black of Manchester United. Seeing the claret and amber brought a wave of stunned relief. It seemed an hour or so before the Swansea clan rocked up.
   When we were on the concourse, I was confident. Being at Wembley felt… right. We were there on merit. There was no reason to be scared. Even as I ran the pole of those now famous flags between my fingers (I genuinely didn’t believe they were free), I felt relaxed. ‘Claret and Amber’ blared from the speakers and I felt even more at home. Even when the teams lined up in their black tracksuits, I was bizarrely composed. When Swansea got their first, for crying out loud, I still thought we’d pull it back.
   What I remember about that goal, though, is the pain. To this day, I’ve only seen the goals back once (my dad tactfully deleted the game from the Sky planner as soon as we got back from London, in a bid to protect me from some semi-repressed memories), but I can recall someone losing their marker and knowing the worst was to come. Dyer prodded. Duke stretched his arm to the side. McArdle threw himself forward. But that was it. Dyer celebrated in front of us as we struggled to believe City were trailing. An ebb of doubt flickered in my mind and, for the first time, I genuinely feared for the result. This wasn’t a part of the dream.
   Five goals against, a red card and one meek shot on target was never part of the dream. One foray forward was never part of the dream. Watching City chase shadows for 90 minutes, recklessly made human and demoralised before our eyes, was a concept dismissed at the drawing board. But I couldn’t have been prouder.
   Because we saw it through no matter what.
   In that final half an hour, I didn’t want to be anywhere else. As I stood up and waved my flag, nothing else on the pitch mattered. I knew most of my friends would have turned off their televisions by now, but some would still be watching – and this is what they would be seeing.
   Us. Here. Trapped in this moment.
   In that period, I felt more affirmed than I ever have as a football fan. We stood, unified, united, together, the vocal and proud – so, so proud - personification of the mantra and mentality that had carried the team since Burton.
   It’s only a cup.
   At the time, though, it hurt. I burst into tears in the stands, sobbed away in the toilets, sighed all the way back to the coach. Women in the queue scowled at me, muttered those words of consolation that never actually offer any consolation – “It’s only a game”. I thought back over the months of media coverage and blasted fate for not giving us what we’d been rightly entitled to – reality, it seemed, bites hard. It was a selfish way of looking at the cup run, but I feared my time supporting City had already reached its apex; that the next few games would be the hangover, some desperate, contrived attempt to rekindle the magic of something that would never happen again. I slipped into the darkened Wembley night ironically humming ‘Premier League? You’re Having A Laugh!’, not particularly thinking anything other than that I had to keep my emotions in check or risk my mum would veto my plea for play-off tickets should City make the season finale. My auntie reminded me I had the bread and butter delight of Dagenham and Redbridge to look forward to just days after. The elitist part of me died inside.
   And then the coach driver tipped me over the edge by playing Emeli Sande, which is the last thing you want to hear (after Adele) when you’re stuck behind 20 coaches in a London car park and wallowing in the self-pity that comes with witnessing your team fall victims to the heaviest cup final defeat of all time.
   You rarely win, but sometimes you do.
   And we did. We were winners by just reaching that stage. A cup final? We’ll never dp that again. Swansea might. Liverpool will. Chelsea, Manchester United and Manchester City - easily. A Championship team? Maybe. But someone from the fourth division? No chance. That’ll never, ever happen again. The cup final has become the preserve of the elite once more.
   A cup final. And I was there. I’ll have to put up with some stick at school tomorrow, and this car park will undoubtedly take an age to get out of, but I was there. I was at Wembley. I was waving a flag. I was there when Gary Jones tamely flashed the ball towards goal. I was there on the day that Bradford City reached a major cup final.
   I was there when we made history.
           

Bradford City 3-3 Crewe Alexandra

He's Magic, You Know! City Wizard Casts Almighty Charm That Spells A Draw For Resilient Bantams

 

   It was a clinical effort.

   He powered forward from the centre, the ball at his feet, the mud sloshing at his ankles, McLean waiting for the reception. He played it through. McLean flicked it into his path. The ball fell to his feet. He arched his back, swung his foot, and pulled the trigger.

   Textbook stuff.

   The ball flashed forwards, as powerful and unstoppable as its sender had been for the previous 59 minutes. It was ambitious from that distance. Ben Garratt dived low. Valley Parade paused and prayed. The keeper’s arms stretched out, but it was too late. The ball slipped under and the net bulged.

   That was all the confirmation we needed.

   I can’t tell you how happy I was to see him get that goal. I hadn’t celebrated that wildly in a long, long time. There was screaming, squealing, manic jumping, hoarse shouts, first pumping, a Gary Neville goalgasm, a temporary flit to Mariah Carey vocal range, shaking, hugging – the whole works. My vision may have blurred. I don’t know. In any case, I had to sit down for a minute afterwards and collect myself together, rediscover the composure that had disintegrated in an eyeblink following 15 minutes of pure rampancy from my heroes. A 0-2 deficit crushed after 15 minutes of unrelenting pressure, effort and hard work.
   You can say whatever you like about this team, but you can never, ever, ever criticise their spirit. Gary Jones - in all his impassioned, valiant, knee-sliding glory - is the one-man embodiment of everything Phil Parkinson ever set out to do and has done for this club. If I wanted to, I could run an entire series based solely upon the City supremo’s managerial credentials and the improvement to individual players since he’s been here (Episode one, the rise and rise of James Hanson, is coming soon), but you need look no further than the Bantams’ Captain Fantastic to find what this club is really all about.
   As Parkinson said after the game, the second half was a proper Bradford City performance. 
   Which compensated for a mixed first half. Some of Bradford’s passing play was accurate and impressive, and the game was fairly evenly paced, but the hosts struggled against the conditions and lacked the prowess to really take the game to Crewe. Debutant Matty Dolan failed to convert a James Hanson knockdown and Gary Jones came close with a ferocious strike from the edge of the box, but Crewe inched in twice in a difficult opening quarter.
   It was the visitors who opened the scoring on twelve minutes. Carl McHugh and Jon McLaughlin became entangled as Uche Ikpeazu raced forwards, and the striker cleanly lobbed over as Davies scrambled backwards to cover. It was sick, deflating and saddening – City, once again, had left themselves with it all to do.
   The back four struggled against Crewe’s imposing and hugely organised forward three, who, as well as bearing physical resemblance to three Akinfenwas, were all neat flick ons, clean runs-in behind and slick, insightful movements. The deluge of rain did little to lift our already dampened spirits, and, though there were some positives to take from the first half – most notably, no reversion to directness when the circumstances could easily have forced a leap into hoof-ball – it was largely 45 minutes to forget for the Bantams.
   But City really came out of the blocks in the second half. From the off, it was urgent, convincing and persuasive, the Bantams creating a flush of chances in the final third. Adam Reach’s cross was met by a Hanson header, but Garratt somehow flicked the danger away with an impressive fingertip save. The winger’s blistering retort moments later was blocked amidst the goalmouth melee and Dolan slid the rebound just wide, while Darby powered down the right flank to deliver a teasing cross that blinked just an inch in front of McLean. Hanson again saw a header denied and McLean’s smooth stab was blocked from close range. It was City, City, City, the Bantams on top and refusing to allow Alexandra to breathe. Something had to happen now.
   Crewe goal.
   The visitors broke quickly in a desperate relief from Bradford pressure, and Ikpeazu added a second to his tally after firing home McLaughlin’s parry. 0-2 – surely City couldn’t salvage anything from this game now.
   But less than four minutes later, City were back on the front foot. McLean squared the ball perfectly to Hanson and the forward fired low to put the Bantams back in the contest.
   It was a fightback that had been led by the Bantams’ captain, so how apt that Gary Jones found himself coming to a dramatic knee slide in front of the Kop, and toasting drawing the Bantams level. How had this happened? How had this really happened? It would seem that, importantly, and in the face of any number of insurmountable and disheartening challenges, the effort of this team never, ever falters – no matter how horrendous the football becomes, one can always take comfort in the passion coursing through the veins of every player donning the claret and amber right now.
   Yet, there were more twists and turns to come for a narrative that looked to have already climaxed. In what seemed like a final, crushing blow for the home side, Crewe found the net with just ten minutes remaining. It all looked over as Mathias Pogba fired past McLaughlin.
   But no one had told that to Gary Jones.
   The 36 year old gladly received McLean’s lay-off and slotted home in an exact carbon copy of his earlier goal. Come on, City.
   Naturally, questions were raised today. The passivity of the first half and the readiness of the defence to ship three goals in such a way, both present problems that need to be addressed sooner, rather than later. The ‘one win in however many games it is this week’ quota still remains, hovering over this team and staunchly refusing to be banished. It’s worrying, but it shouldn’t consume us.
   Because the second half suggests that win is not too far away. In fact, it looks to be in touching distance. What today showed, above all else – what it dispelled and exhibited, rather than unearthed – is that City have enough to claw their way convincingly out of this nadir. Gary Jones - the lifeblood, the heart and soul, the public face, the figurehead, the Dumbledore in a team of Hogwarts alumni – is back to his best. You can’t even begin to argue otherwise. Aaron McLean and Hanson look to be working well – McLean, particularly, was hugely impressive today. You can choose to get bogged down in that now infamous statistic, or you can choose to keep the figure in context and marvel at the pros of what was a marvellous second half showing. Don’t bury your head in the sand, but, for tonight, celebrate that point and pay homage to Gary Jones with the biggest fist-pump you can muster.
   He’s sure earned it.

 Bantams Blogger’s Top Three:

1^st: Gary Jones: A typically lionhearted performance from the cult hero. When the backs were against the wall, the captain made sure the team salvaged something. An inspired display in every aspect.

2^nd: Aaron McLean: Hand in all three goals in an engaging shift. Looks a more intelligent and assist-making player than his predecessor, and there should be more to come from him as he gels with Hanson.

3^rd: Stephen Darby: Another quality showing from the defender – give him a 60 billion year contract right now, please.

Ricky Ravenhill Seeks Out Loan Move

Ricky Ravenhill prepares to leave the club

   Sheffield United were visiting Valley Parade, and the Bantams were 2-0 up. We were all incredulous. How had City, who were supposed to be tentatively calibrating their way around their new division and playing the part of the terrified new boys, managed to slot two past a team who had been tipped for promotion, a play off place at the very least? We’d all seen much, much stranger the season before, but we were still pinching ourselves. This was more than we’d expected an hour or so earlier.

   “Ricky Ravenhill’s coming on,” my uncle said, pointing over to the touchline. “He’d best not get booked.”

   “There are two minutes left!” I laughed. “Even for Ravenhill, that’s a stretch.”

   But, oddly enough, it wasn’t. Extra time ticked in, and Ravenhill found his name scribbled in the book for ‘dissent’. Which was sort of ironic, given how the midfielder’s playing style divided opinion during his tenure with the club.

   To some, he was exactly what was needed to match the combative, direct style of the majority of League Two outfits: tough tackling with dogged determination and fierce defensive play. But to others, he’s reckless and a bull in a china shop; though there’s always intelligence embedded in those spurts of manic play.

   But I liked him. And why not? He got stuck in. He won tackles. He lead from the front during the relegation battle of two years ago, and helped to secure survival at a time when things were looking increasingly, increasingly bleak (I blame Brawl-ey Town, among other things).  He was a symbol of Parkinson’s intent as manager, of the kind of players the City supremo wanted to bring in: passionate, hardworking footballers who wouldn’t be bullied off the ball.

   Ravenhill became the captain, but an injury sustained during pre-season banished him to the sidelines. Jones slid in, Doyle hopped aboard and the rest was history.

   Questions were raised about his role in the team. Why did we need him? What was the point of him? What did he bring to the club that others didn’t? Then, the squad rotation policy was implemented. Doyle ran out of steam, Ravenhill stepped up to the plate and that was it – our misconceptions about him were assuaged. The club captain was suddenly the most important man in the midfield, and Doyle was the one under fire. Football fans are, by nature, a very fickle bunch (me included, and I’m also great at sitting on the fence and getting Ravenhill mixed up with Stephen Darby from a distance, which is utterly disgraceful because the latter’s my joint-favourite player), and no sooner had we deemed Ravenhill surplus to requirements, he was the catalyst of our promotion charge and helping the Bantams rack up the points that were so desperately needed in the closely-fought play off chase.

   Doyle combined sleek passing ability with composure and calmness, while Jones offered unrelenting energy and the rallying cry when the team was under the cosh. Ravenhill was an amalgamation of the two, with a bit more thrown in besides: his merciless tackles saw him placed just in front of the back four, allowing Gary Jones to surge upwards and be more creative. He added something different to the fold, but Doyle’s coolness won out after Ravenhill picked up a knock during a midweek clash.

   Again, Ricky was stuck on the bench, a starting berth proving frustratingly elusive. He waited behind the first-choice midfield pairing of Jones and Doyle, and then Kennedy’s arrival saw him slip further down the pecking order.  He was second, third, fourth fiddle by the time the campaign opened at Ashton Gate, biding his time for a chance in one of the most competitive areas of City’s tightly-knit squad.

   Parkinson strived for a consistency within his starting eleven, with Mark Yeates and Kyel Reid the only ones to really challenge his ethos other than where injuries and international call-ups had forced him to make changes. Ravenhill bobbed along compliantly, never begrudging those who had started ahead of him – which is credit to his professionalism and maturity.

   And so, too, is his request for a loan move. At 32, the curtain will fall on his playing days in just a matter of years. Time is of the essence as far as his sporting career’s concerned. Unlike Darby, Wells and Hanson, he’s not got the luxury of an impending peak, of another ten years of first team football. Every game counts.

   Perhaps it’s no surprise he’s asked to move on, and there’s no doubt in my mind that there’ll be teams clamouring for his signature; he’ll be a surefire starter at many League Two, perhaps even League One, teams, because look at what he’s offering them: experience, energy and an attitude that most Premier League superstars could take note of when they’re flaring up on a Saturday afternoon. And maybe there’s still a place for him in this City team. Just maybe. If – perish the thought - Doyle or Jones pick up injuries and are out for months, or if Kennedy fails to impress, Ravenhill would have to be recalled, thrust into the centre of the park to slip on the captain’s armband for one last time. He might return and win a slot in the line-up, handing the ‘reserve midfielder’ hat to the players to whom he’d lost his place a year ago. Or he might leave for pastures new in January and sign permanently for another side where, it can be assured, his services would make a massive impact.

   But whatever happens, Ravenhill can rest easy in the knowledge that he was one in the band of brothers who propelled the mighty Bantams out of the dingy, gloomy, hopeless bottom tier, stopping the rot and reversing a slide that had been in full motion for over 10 unremarkable years. Walking out at Wembley. Holding that trophy aloft. And above all, sticking with the club when it would have been so easy to turn around and wash your hands of claret and amber.

   And having that on your C.V. will make any club sit up and take notice.

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Please vote for me in the Football Blogging Awards - tweet: "I am voting in @TheFBAs for @BantamsBlogger for best #female"

 

Bantams Blogger Meets... Darby and Jones

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW: One’s Mr. Consistency and the other is magic. Bantams Blogger meets City’s STEPHEN DARBY and GARY JONES to talk promotion hopes, the League Cup final and playing against some of the Premier League’s most accomplished stars.

   As the season begins to draw to a close, things couldn’t be much more exciting for Bradford City. This fantastic campaign has seen City enchant the nation on the journey to the Capital One Cup final, and, when the final whistle blows after Saturday’s game at Whaddon Road this week, the Bantams will finish in seventh spot, giving the side an opportunity to win promotion to League One.

   Two players who have been instrumental parts of City’s achievements this year are Stephen Darby and Gary Jones. The latter has been a dynamo in the centre of the park, and the likes of Arsenal and Aston Villa have been despatched at the hands of the midfielder’s set pieces. Meanwhile, Stephen Darby has dominated the right-hand side of the defence, with his cool demeanour not giving City’s opponents a prayer.

   Both players are still in their first year at the club, and what a fantastic campaign for them to be a part of. The current season has entailed multiple highs so far and the pair say that they’re relishing playing for the Bantams.

   “I’ve loved every minute of it,” says Jones. “It was a wrench to leave Rochdale but this was the best club I could have possibly come to. They made me feel so welcome, so I’m happy and probably playing my best football. I’m absolutely delighted.”

   “I’ve really enjoyed it,” Darby comments. “Making the League Cup final at Wembley was beyond our wildest dreams and it’s still not over yet. We’ve still got three massive games to go and hopefully we can really push on.”

   What has been the highlight of this incredible season?

  “I think it’s got to be the League Cup final, hasn’t it?” Darby says. “I think the cup run leading up to that was massive and Wembley was a good day out. Obviously, it was disappointing with the result, but getting to the final and the cup run were brilliant.”

   Stephen and Gary quickly established themselves as fans’ favourites. Darby’s calm and composed performances, as well as his ability to create time on the ball, have proved to be a pivotal part of City’s success, and the full back’s defensive heroics against Arsenal ensured that the Gunners’ offensive endeavours yielded few rewards.

   “You train really hard day in, day out, and you want to perform at the highest level and the best level that you can,” Darby explains. “In the big games, you’ve got to be more switched on and I think we raised our game, especially against Arsenal.”

   Similarly, Jones received a warm reception from Bantams fans alike. Through his unfaltering energy and enthusiasm, the 35 year-old immediately endeared himself to the Valley Parade faithful, cementing his position at the heart of the midfield and, incidentally, as a cult hero for many City supporters. Bradford fans quickly grew to admire Jones’ dedication to the cause and how he gives 110% every time.

   “When you’re playing and see the support Bradford City have got, I think it spurs you on a little bit more, ” Jones says. “I want to win every game as well, so combine the two and I think it’s quite a decent combination. Every time I step on the field, I want to win, and I try and wear my heart on my sleeve.”

   The City players more than deserve to soak up their well-earned plaudits. In a marathon season in which the Bantams have taken centre stage in a Wembley showpiece and still gone on to snatch a top seven finish, Bradford have faced as high calibre opposition as you’ll ever get without venturing into the Champions League, including two of the best passing teams in the Premiership. With the Arsenal game being one of the most eagerly anticipated City matches for more than a decade, it must have been difficult to calm the nerves and still produce such an empowered and inspiring performance, especially with the world watching.

   “To be fair, in the cup run, we just took it game by game,” Darby says. “We never really got ahead of ourselves and we kept our feet on the ground. Before the game, when we got the team news and the gaffer and Steve Parkin put the team on the board, we had a bit of a laugh about it because it was a really strong side that they put out, but we just prepared as normal and did what we did in the previous games.”

   “I think when we saw their team sheet, we were like, ‘Oh, God, we could be in for a long night here,’ because they had their full strength team out,” recalls Jones. “But it’s a cup game and it’s eleven men V.S. eleven men. I think, on the night, we showed we can match them, and our penalty shootout record is quite good, to say the least. It was a great night for everybody and put us on the road for that amazing cup run.”

   How did preparing to face Arsenal – one of the world’s most famous teams, bursting with millions of pounds worth of talent and the club of choice for the likes of Vermaelen, Rosicky, and Arshavin  – differ to gearing up for a League Two clash?

   “I think when you go to play any team in our league, everyone expects to win, but when you’re playing against Premier League teams, no one expects you to win. It’s a different mentality,” observes Jones. “It’s funny, because we got beat by Barnet on the Saturday and ended up beating Aston Villa 3-1 on the Tuesday, so football is a strange, absolutely strange game. But, as I say, we deserved that cup run, we deserved to get to the final and it was just unfortunate that we came up against a brilliant Swansea team.”

   Getting the opportunity to watch world’s elite contest with Bradford City is something that so many supporters will never forget. As for Jones and Darby, playing with these millionaires was an even more memorable experience.

   “Oh, [it was] amazing. You want to play the best players you can and we were fortunate that we could do that,” Jones says.

   “When you see them on telly, you think they’re good, but when you play against them, you find out how good they really are, and they are quite unbelievable. They get paid a lot of money, and good on them,” he laughs, “because they are top, top players.”

   Darby agrees.

   “It’s been brilliant. You want to be playing against the best players in the world, and to play against Jack Wilshere and Michu has been brilliant.”

   At the moment, City are going into the final day with their play-off spot secure. Regardless of what happens against Cheltenham on Saturday, the Bantams cannot be caught, and Jones and Darby are excited about the forthcoming battle for a place in League One.

   “I’m really looking forward to it and we are on a good run of form,” says Darby. “We’ve had a lot of games this season but we’ve just got a few more to go. We’ve just got to keep pushing on, keep our focus, keep giving it 110% and keep doing what we’ve been doing.”

   “Yeah, [I’m feeling] very confident,” says Jones. “A few weeks ago, no one would give us a chance of getting into the play-offs, so it’s a massive bonus for us - the season goes on for another month. We’ve got a good squad, we’ve got a bunch of fit lads who want to win and we’ve got a good manager, too, so combine them together and I think we’ve got a really good chance.”

   As Jones admitted, many City fans had given up on the Bantams’ play-off attempts after the Exeter game, deeming the subsequent eight-point deficit too great a gap to be bridged. Did the players ever worry that they may not have been able to get into the top seven?

   “No. We always thought that it was possible,” says Darby. “Obviously, it was getting tougher because the games were running out, but, after the Exeter game, we had a meeting as a team, and we knew what we had to do and the way we had to play. From then on and up until now, we’ve done that, got on a good run of form and managed to make the play-offs.”

   “I think, with the squad and players we’ve got, we knew we could put a run of results together,” Jones says. “I think, after the Exeter game, people wrote us off. I think we were 8pts, 9pts behind them at the time when they were seventh, but we knew if we put a run together we could be a match for anyone and that’s how it’s proved because we’ve scraped into seventh place. Hopefully, we can push on for promotion.”

   With Bradford aiming to book a return trip to London, those of us who went to the Capital One Cup final will be getting nostalgic, reminiscing about that amazing day. But what was it like for Jones, who lead the team out onto that hallowed Wembley turf?

   “Walking out into a full Wembley stadium, 90,000, with 30,000 Bradford City supporters, it’s… words can’t describe how good it is,” he says. “But it’s an experience I’ll never, ever forget, and I’m sure that probably most of Bradford City’s supporters will never forget it, as well.”