It’s 3:45pm, Friday 23rd May. I’m stood on the platform at Durham train station and the woman on the tannoy is shouting every Sunderland slogan she can think of. “HAWAY THE LADS!” “TILL THE END!” “CMON SUNDERLAND!”

I feel something tighten in my chest. I might cry. This is it. The last time I’ll be here not knowing what happens next. Not knowing if this is the weekend everything changes or just another chapter in the heartbreak.

I get on the train. Social media is already soaked in red and white. Fans crammed into carriages, raising pints in King’s Cross, singing on the streets of London. I should be buzzing, and part of me is, but mostly I feel like I’m crawling towards something I can’t control. Every photo makes me more desperate. I just want to be there. This train feels like it’s dragging through wet cement.

I finally get in. Straight to the Marquis Cornwallis, like instinct. That place has become part of our story. Since League One it’s been our ritual. To go anywhere else would feel wrong. The same faces. The same laughs. The same nerves pretending to be confidence, mostly from Jimmy Reay. The same pavement where we celebrated after beating Wycombe.

We know exactly where to sit, exactly what round to order. We argue about the line-up like it’ll change anything. My Dad and Pops are there. Everyone I want to be around. Then the fire alarm goes off. Everyone files out onto the street and we just stare at each other. We all joke about this being a bad omen. I’m not sure how much I was joking.

We move on. Wander to Trafalgar. Pick up cans from the shop. For some reason, without thinking, I buy a bottle of mayonnaise. Frankie and Danny look at me like I’ve completely lost it, and honestly, maybe I have. I laugh harder than I should. It’s ridiculous. It’s exactly what I needed. For a second, we’re not fans waiting to have our hearts broken. It’s just another day.

Saturday morning. Rory’s already gone. Sound checks. Pre-match build-up. I’m alone in my hotel room. It’s silent. I need noise. I put on Spotify. First song, ‘Replay’ by Iyaz. Then ‘Born to Run.’ What an eclectic music taste. I keep getting ready, singing with what voice I have left. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m jittery. I feel like I might be sick.

The rest of the morning’s a blur. Friends. Family. Gin. Hugs that last a beat too long. Flares choking the air. Recording bits for the pod while pretending I’m fine. Listening back, I’m not sure how successful my pretending was. We squeeze onto tubes so full there’s barely air to breathe. I keep moving because if I stop, I’ll start thinking about the match. And I can’t. I can’t let myself go there yet.

The match? Honestly? A blur. The kind of blur where your body’s there, but your brain is ten seconds behind. I’m sat next to a couple and we end up laughing about how hard it is to wave a flag properly. Ours keeps tangling around the stick like it knows how nervous we are. Then Mayenda scores and everything erupts. We jump, we scream, we cling onto strangers. I turn to them and say, “Can we just call it a draw?” I’m joking. I’m not.

And then. Tommy Watson.

I don’t know how to explain it. One moment everything slows down. Time feels thick. The ball rolls. Feet move. And then it’s in. The net ripples and the whole world pauses. I freeze. The sound disappears. I just stand there, trying to understand what’s just happened. I can’t breathe. I’m shaking. I’m crying. Properly crying. I keep saying his name over and over. Tommy Watson. Like if I say it enough, it’ll make sense. I stand. I don’t remember standing. The whistle blows. I flinch. I think it’s a foul. It can’t be real. But then the roar hits. The kind of roar that shakes your soul.

Sunderland are back in the Premier League.

Everything around me explodes. Screaming, hugging, crying, people falling into each other. But in the middle of it all, I pull out my phone. Two things. First, a Sky Sports alert. “Sunderland end eight-year wait to return to Premier League with dramatic Championship play-off win.” Second, a message from my Brentford-supporting cousin. “Welcome back x.”

That’s it. That’s when I completely fall apart. I am full-on bawling. I’ve got tears in my eyes and a lump caught in my throat. It’s too much. It’s everything. All the pain, all the waiting, all the belief we held onto when we had no reason to.

We’ve done it.

After everything.

We’ve done it.

On Tuesday, I was on the phone to my sister. She asked if I was upset that we hadn’t done it wearing red and white. I hadn’t really thought about it until then. But the more I sat with it, the more I realised how perfect it actually was. This young team, wearing a vintage badge, in a vintage kit. The past and the future stitched together in that moment. They knew how much it meant. You could feel it. They carried that weight like it was armour. They didn’t just play. They believed. They worked till the end to get us back to where we belong because it is where we belong.

Sunderland are Premier League.