September
This isn’t all of September, this is one crazy week in September. Personally, one of the worst weeks of my life, as my Dad clung to life before slipping away once the games had concluded. On the field, this was the first week where many supporters began to just wonder if we might be decent. It took us another three weeks to ask if we might be good, but we knew, because we saw it between September 20th and September 27th.
It started with the 3-1 win against Luton, classic Lincoln City 25/26 before we knew what that looked like. Early lead, plenty of intensity, a desire to protect the frame, and resilience when we conceded. There was a bit of everything, a big impact from the bench, as is customary, and a side with a much bigger budget being made to look like cannon fodder.
The midweek game had nothing to do with the league; the World Champions came to the Bank, trailed 1-0 at half time and could easily have been beaten. There were no league points to be had, but it changed perception. When we played West Ham, weeks before Mark Kennedy was sacked, we were good, but it was firefighting and keeping them at bay. We took the game to Chelsea, we attacked them, we had a proper go. How many fans left that day proud? This one did.
Then, Posh away. A ground we hadn’t won on in 19 years, a side who would routinely beat us 3-0, 4-0 without breaking a sweat, always better, sharper, more aggressive. Okay, we smashed them 5-1 in January 2025, but at their place, victory eluded us for so long.
We weren’t just better. We were clinical. We got a lead and took it to them, rather than defend it. We got the win, the first time the Parma Violet farmers donned the famous outfit and made a long-lasting memory. It capped seven days that I’m not sure my Dad fully comprehended, but if there was a moment of recognition there, it was a week fitting of his last.
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