It was a sombre affair
(Image: Mirrorpix)
This week Coventry City make their long-awaited return to the Premier League with what is probably, football wise at least, the worst-case scenario: an away trip reigning champions Arsenal.
Regardless, the Sky Blue Army both in North London and back home will be in celebratory mood, almost regardless of the score - we're just happy to be back among the big boys.
And a trip away to the Emirates Stadium seems like a delightful getaway in comparison to the club's last outing in England's top division - a turgid and depressing 0-0 draw at home against Bradford way back in May 2001.
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We've dipped into the Coventry Telegraph archives from that game to find images of the fans that day - understandably they make for a sombre bunch.
I was there that day, and I remember the atmosphere vividly. I didn't have the words at the time, I was a fairly inarticulate 15-year-old - but looking back I'd sum it up by saying the 20,000 Cov fans who made the trip that day were shell-shocked, and a hint of pent up violence underscored the whole feel.
After more than 30 years in the top flight of English football, one of the longest runs - longer than Manchester United, Aston Villa, Chelsea and Tottenham - we'd be playing outside of the top division for the first time since the legend that is Jimmy Hill led the club through the divisions to the promised land in the 1960s.
I'd bought my ticket for the game a few weeks prior, hoping to be part of a huge survival celebration. I was adamant we were going to stay up. I'd been a fan since the early 1990s, attending my first game at Highfield Road in 1994 - a 1-0 win over Norwich.
From that day I fell in love with CCFC. Like many young boys football was basically my life. I attended as many games as I could manage, but I didn't have a season ticket - as the youngest of four kids to divorced parents, money simply didn't stretch that far.
I followed the scores religiously. I listened to every game I couldn't attend on the radio, and was a regular at my local paper shop on a Saturday evening waiting for The Pink - you'd see the same set of faces every week and would greet each other and chat like old pals while waiting for the delivery.
So I was familiar with what it meant to be a Cov fan and I had seen some great Final Day relegation escapes - drawing with Leeds in 1996, beating Tottenham away in 1997 - it had given me a feeling of unfounded confidence: we simply couldn't be relegated, we ALWAYS found a way.
This confidence was such that even though things were looking bad, I had placed a £10 bet with my friend Anil that we'd stay up - a tenner was a small fortune to a kid with an income from a meagre paperboy round.
So some point in late April / early May I'd used my paper round wages to get a ticket for the last game of the season against Bradford, who were basically already relegated.
Then came that dreadful day - away to Aston Villa. The maverick that was Mustapha Hadji had put us 2-0 up at half time at Villa Park, and listening in my bedroom on the radio, I thought: this is it, Operation Staying Up is underway - finish this off and beat Bradford next week, we'll stay up - again.
But the second half was a horror show - a Paul Merson masterclass saw our arch rivals turn the game around, they beat us 3-2. We were down. Relegated.
That was bad, but it was worse that our biggest enemy had done it to us.
So with a ticket I'd spent my hard earned paper round money on (the Coventry Telegraph was heavy back then!) I attended our final game of the season with no idea it would be the last time we'd play in the Premier League for 25 years.
I lived on Proffitt Avenue back then, so I got to Highfield Road on the 36 bus, boarding near the junction of Dudley Street and Gayer Street.
I got on and nodded to other CCFC fans, people I knew from The Pink queue or just from taking the same route to games. It was a sombre affair from the start.
It didn't get much better at Highfield Road. Considering we were down, 20,000 people crammed into the ground, not a sell out, but a decent crowd for a relegated team playing a meaningless game against Bradford, a team who were also already down.
My main memories, apart from the appalling football resulting in a 0-0 draw, was the disturbing atmosphere. It was eerily quiet, with an air of aggression laying over everything like a thick smog - usually Cov games were friendly affairs, lots of chanting and a camaraderie among fans. Today it felt constantly on the cusp of kicking off, like lingering eye contact or an accidental nudge resulting in a spilled Bovril would be the equivalent of lighting the fuse to a stick of dynamite.
It was made worse because the Bradford fans, who bear in mind were also relegated, were in a jubilant mood! Some were in fancy dress, they were dancing, chanting and generally having a whale of a time - there is something wildly infuriating about seeing five northern blokes dressed as The Village People doing the Conga when you are trying to mourn the relegation of your football team.
After a drab 90 minutes, the game finally ended, it was the worst, unfriendliest atmosphere I ever experienced at a match. I didn't have money for the bus, so I walked the few miles home, a slow and sombre march - I was glad in a way, the bus was always packed and that awful atmosphere probably clung to the fans from the stadium to the bus like smoke.
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It dawned on me on the walk home: not only were we relegated, decades of football tradition flushed away, our status as one of the longest surviving teams in the top flight, I'd also lost my best with my friend. This added insult to serious injury and I'm ashamed to say I never paid up - sorry Anil!