Crack of dawn and the buzz is already there.
That proper pre-match static in the air.
You throw on the gear, meet the boys at the local and down a few pints while the tension builds up in your chest.
Walking up to the ground in a massive, roaring column of lads, chanting until your throat is raw.
You can feel the energy turning aggressive, ready to boil over.
Inside the gate, it is total chaos.
The smell of stale lager, smoke and pure adrenaline.
And when we score?
The whole stand erupts into absolute limbs.
A proper mental explosion where nothing else in the world matters but those three points and the badge.
Get around it.
Dane.