Earn it. We sure did. You just have to take a look at Ken’s face in the 99^th minute to know what it means when you do. You can’t get this level of feeling without competition. Unless there’s true sporting achievement or disaster looming, no-one will get fired up to this degree. If you can buy yourself a seat at the top table, the football pyramid suddenly looks like an irrelevancy, and a betrayal to all fans.

That’s why the so-called Big Six have all decided they’re withdrawing from the European Super League, announced to so much derision and disbelief earlier this week, now fatally choking on its own greed. It means the likes of Liverpool and Man City won’t get kicked out of the Premier League, their players potentially banned from European and International competition. Instead they’ll be coming to Vicarage Road for a game. And thanks to their back-tracking, we won’t need to don Earn It t-shirts like Leeds Utd and others this week designed to shame them into a U-turn.

Earning it feels like this. YEEAAAAHHSS!! I could kiss Ken’s fired-up battle-ready face. He’d won us a goal-kick eight and a half minutes into injury time, in a penalty area where Norwich players were dropping like pins at the mere suggestion of close proximity, let alone contact. It was all they had left and we were resolute, focused and professional enough to see it through. Ken’s tackle, and his reaction, pumped up the Watford faithful as it deflated vast sections of South Wales and West London. Now, I don’t just believe – I am convinced – we will be playing Premier League football in the 21/22 season. I will get to enjoy watching my son open his Panini stickers once again.

After a performance like this one, it takes no imagination to see us automatically promoted – as we will be. As poor as we were at Luton, we were magnificent in Norfolk. Xisco asked for a reaction – spurred on by more Sweet Caroline in the dressing room – and his team delivered. It delivered in the 1^st and the 99^th minute, and almost every minute inbetween. It delivered as a collective, and individually. It delivered us a double over the Championship’s most consistent side, their second home defeat on the trot. With tricky games coming up against QPR, Reading and Barnsley, and only five points clear, who’s to say we can’t pip them to the title they were hoping to clinch against us. Anything feels possible now.

Mathematically, nothing is yet resolved. But psychologically, we’ve won the race to automatic promotion, and I don’t believe this Watford team is not now capable of winning their next three games, such will be the bounce in their step. This was so massive – in terms of intent, intensity, desire and resilience. The chasing pack have just seen Usain Bolt pass them with 50 metres to run.

Swansea – beaten at home by QPR with an 89^th minute winner – are now 9 points behind with nine to play for and a vastly inferior goal difference. They cannot now overhaul us. Brentford drew at home to Cardiff and are 10 points behind us with 12 on offer. So it is possible they can catch us, but they would need to beat both us and Bournemouth, win their other two games, and in the process hope we lose ours. Looking at the form book, this is in the realms of fantasy. Bournemouth too could pip us by a single point, but not even them and their hoodoo-acity should worry us now. Even one point against Millwall at home on Saturday, coupled with Bournemouth and Brentford drawing, (yes – they play each other!), would be enough. Sneeze, and we’re as good as promoted.

Back to Ken’s war-face. This was a beautiful mixture of ecstasy and relief. Ecstasy because we’d thrown off the Luton debacle, and relief because the type of performance we’d put in was now going to be rewarded with all three points. Until Ken’s late intervention, we couldn’t be sure. Look at how Reading had dominated us in our recent game but came away with nothing. Not only must you play well, and get ahead, but you need to doggedly refuse to concede and kill, like a rabid dog, before surrendering your bone. There was nothing lucky about this result, but you are never immune to a late sucker punch, and the later they come, the more they hurt.

With Kiko absent for this game due to suspension, and Ngakia not fully fit, I’d been mulling over a possible back line flanked by Navarro and Lazaar – which had been giving me hives. I could not see a way to keep Norwich out with such sub-standard players. I wondered if reverting to a back three might be the answer, but Xisco’s team selection did not let us down. Fortunately Masina had recovered from a hip complaint to take up his left-back role, with the ever dependable – and vastly experienced – Cathcart coming in as right-back. Gosling and Cleverly, together with Hughes, looked about as tenacious a midfield trio as you’d wish for. The armoured spears remained unchanged up top. A bench which boasted the talents of Chalobah and Zinckernagel was re-assuring.

Our first half-performance was perfect in almost every respect except one – we didn’t score. How we didn’t is three parts mystery, Hanley, and Krul. Norwich’s imposing centre-back Hanley was my man-of the-match. He got his head and body to virtually everything in a rear-guard masterclass. Krul, behind him, kept out the ball on the odd occasion Hanley could not intervene. It is no wonder Norwich have been promoted with five games to go, enjoying a centre-back/goalkeeper partnership like that.

Our dominance in the opening half, the first 15 minutes in particular, was total. It would be impossible to mention every moment of merit, so many were produced. The highlights reel for this one, like my report, will have to focus only on the best bits.

Several golden chances fell to Gosling, whose determination to get forward and apply attacking pressure was pronounced – as was his early profligacy. How pleasing, then, that it was the ex-Cherry whose goal would settle matters in the second half. All would be forgiven.

His first miss was in the 7^th minute from a delicious Cathcart cross, affording him time and space to be more precise with a header 10 yards out. Sixty seconds later he fluffed his shot in the middle of the box from one of very many Sarr crosses. He should have hit the target but again couldn’t force a save from Krul. In the 13^th minute he blazed a half-chance over the bar, but was criminally wasteful in the 32^nd minute when Sarr sold Quintilla the wrong way and lay a perfect ball into his path on the edge of the area. He shaped to curl it into the top corner but once again missed the target.

Sarr was given a lot of time on the ball, but Norwich were doubling up on him. Rather than harry and press him out of the game, they allowed him to have a lot of possession in wide areas, hoping to cut out or clear any crosses. It was a dangerous ploy, as Sarr toyed with stand-in left-back Quintilla most of the half, and consistently put measured crosses into the box. With Pedro struggling to find space against the Norwich centre-backs, our £40 million pound man elected to pull-back crosses rather than whip them in, creating a number of good chances for others.

He easily could have had a penalty for a clash of legs with Quintilla in the 12^th minute, on one of the many occasions he beat his man, and should have registered at least one goal in the half. His best chance came in the 35^th minute in a move orchestrated by himself and Gosling. The latter fired a close pass to Ken Sema (ah the face!) who tamed it wickedly and blasted a low left-footer which Krul kept out diving full-length to his left. The ball came out to Sarr whose near-post follow-up had the sting taken out of it by a last-ditch tackle, but still required good goalkeeping reflexes to palm away.

Minutes before, Sarr had Cruyfed the ball from right to left foot, sitting Qunitilla on his pants, forcing Krul into a pretty regulation near-post save. But is was Sarr’s approach play, rather than his striking ability, that helped pin Norwich back.

He was given that luxury by heroic performances from Cleverley and Hughes, men on a mission to rob, steal and close down any yellow and green shirt in sight. It was a bit like whack-a-mole out there, our guys wielding the mallet. Choking supply to the quality triumvirate of Buendia, Cantwell and Pukki was non-negotiable, and apart from some isolated forays forward, they were well shackled.

Buendia had to wait until the 24^th minute to get any possession which he used to good effect, running strongly at the heart of our defence, leading to Hughes felling Pukki on the edge of the box (earning our man his obligatory yellow). If Pukki had been allowed to settle into the game he would have squared to an unmarked Cantwell but Hughes made sure he didn’t. Norwich mustered a few corners, a few free-kicks, a couple of deflected shots, but Bachmann was not troubled.

Defensively, we were superb, to a man. Sierralta deserves a chance in the Premier League, and will already, no doubt, be attracting suitors from so-called bigger clubs. He couples fearless intensity with no-nonsense decision-making, and he takes most of the credit for another clean sheet. Troost-Ekong is much less consistent, but his partnership with Sierralta is pivotal, and the Nigerian’s contribution to our mental toughness both on and off the pitch cannot be under-estimated. It was at William’s instigation that the senior players met to knock some heads after the Coventry game. And we all know what the response has been ever since.

It was Troost-Ekong who was involved in our first key moment of the second half, pinging a long diagonal to Masina whose left-footed cross led to a Sema header down to Sarr, who shot over the bar whilst falling. His was the tackle in the 55^th minute that deflected a Todd Cantwell effort which finally forced Bachmann into action, saving low. Shortly after Cleverly had two thumping drives blocked by man mountain Hanley and his titanium head. It felt like a breakthrough was coming, as much as it felt this wouldn’t be our day.

But then the breakthrough came, down to a lot of sheer bloody-mindedness. Sema refused to give up possession, and toed the ball off a Norwich defender when he paused to appeal to the ref for a foul. He should have known better – the ref was giving virtually nothing that was in any way soft – so Ken poked the ball loose. Hungry black shirts, like Hungry Hippos after those whizzing balls, chomped to regain possession. Cleverley got the defining touch, with help from Gosling, to nick the ball to Pedro. As Pedro eyed up needles through haystacks, Gosling peeled into the centre-forward position and joyfully connected with the 19 year-old’s inch perfect through ball, letting the ball run across his body and tapping in with his right instep. The celebrations were a fierce outpouring of joyful emotion. My face had gone all Ken. It inkensified* upon hearing Cardiff had just taken the lead at Brentford.

The sheer effort to get ahead led to our only wobbly period, too much adrenalin pumping. Sierralta slid in on Pukki at the corner-flag, Quintilla testing Bachmann’s handling from the free-kick. The Austrian then hit a clearance straight to Buendia in a collective – oh no! – moment, but the danger was smothered. Aarons surged past Masina and played square to Cantwell who lashed over. Cleverly soon lunged in on the same player earning a caution with 25 mins still to play. At the other end Hanley blocked a Sarr cross destined for Pedro, then stuck his granite face into a sumptuous Hughes volley which would have broken any ordinary mortal’s nose.

Substitutions worked in our favour – again. Daniel Farke introduced the feisty Hugill for Dowell, looking to unsettle us with a more physical presence up top, and some much needed support for an impotent Pukki. But Hugill’s combative demeanour did not unsettle us so much as the entire game, and as the play faltered and stuttered to a conclusion, it suited us. Cathcart welcomed him with an accidental headbutt, but it was Sierralta who was left to dish out – and receive – the rest of the punishment.

Our subs, Chalobah and Gray, brought more quality and experience, respectively. Chalobah was welcomed to the game by a clearly frustrated McClean who cynically trod on his foot, deservedly carded. But Nate, given the captain’s armband, gave a captain’s last 20. It’s an old expression, but he was as cool as a cucumber and nothing is cooler than that. Simple touches to make space, an imperious swagger, and ownership of the turf.

He played Gray through in the 76^th minute, a quicker shot might have produced a second goal and stopped Hanley (who else) from tackling back. Whilst Chalobah was alert and efficient, Sarr was becoming a little too relaxed and languid, losing possession on several occasions when possession was to be coveted, once kicking the ball out attempting to play a whipped pass back when a simpler choice would have kept us the ball.

There were some hairy moments in the closing minutes. Chaos in the 79^th minute as our box became a pinball machine, Cleverley’s head inadvertently sending the ball back into the danger zone. Hernandez, Placheta and Vrancic were all introduced as Norwich went for broke. Hernandez’s first contribution was to fall over in the box after an incisive run. He should have been booked for simulation, as should Buendia for a similar cheat as Zinckernagel, another late sub, stood in close, bemused attendance, as the Argentinian’s legs inexplicably buckled beneath him. A counter attack was always on the cards as Norwich switched to three at the back and piled forwards, using Hugill as a target. A loose Aarons ball nearly allowed Gray to find Sarr, and Sema and Zinckernagel rinsed every muscle to chase Norwich into defensive areas, winning precious corners.

In the 89^th minute, Kabasele’s first touch since replacing Cathcart was to block a cross at the expense of a corner. With the 4^th official showing 7 minutes of injury time, we were not out of the woods just yet. But aside from the spurious penalty appeals, Norwich only threatened once more, when a loose ball ran to Vrancic who fired in from 12 yards out. Three players converged on the ball, Hughes getting the telling touch, but it epitomised our spirit and tenacity right to the bitter end. By the time Ken had put an end to dancing Canary feet in our box with his most judicious of prodded tackles, the game was finally beyond the home side.

The Premier League will welcome back Norwich with open arms. They are a mostly honest bunch with a good footballing philosophy and are a very stably and ably managed outfit. Delia is, like Elton, a nice bit of celebrity juice to squirt on all the top-flight chit-chat. We’ll welcome them too, as they are odds-on to give us another six points which we’ll certainly need back in the big time. It’s now four occasions we’ve put Farke’s side to the sword, and it’s great to be somebody else’s bogey side. We’ve got 85 points, and might end up with 94. Next season, 40 will be the aim again. Less fun, perhaps, but each point immeasurably precious.

Some would say I’m booking the hotel before reaching the final, but I’ll remain unreservedly unapologetic. I just can’t see a way back for any other team now. I say, let the team stay 100% focused. I’m going to enjoy the rest of this season on cloud-bloody-nine.

*Trademark