We’ve done it. So why do I feel about as flat as a pancake? Is it because there’s no-one in yellow to hug, no venue to scream into the air from, no walk to the station to soak in the relative enormity of the moment, how one game can put so many smiles on thousands of faithful faces?

In a scrappy, nervy game, we did enough, but only just. At the final whistle I felt relief, but when I looked around to share that moment – the moment – of the season with a like-minded soul, there was nobody. Just a grumpy child moaning about how little charge there was left on the iPad, and a comatose cat.

I thought I’d jump-start the euphoria with a victory beer, or two, but they were most definitely forced ones. As I watched the team celebrating, Xisco’s emotional reaction, and the players joyous togetherness, I felt less like them, and more perhaps like a certain Mr Deeney who was indeed there, a huge presence in his white Dior jumper, having watched the game with his daughter, but whose mood was tempered rather than elated.

I turned instead to the impossible-to-deliver “YouTube promotion party” which offered us some very contrasting reactions from the Hive Live studio. Bachmann was buzzing, living the dream on the pitch under the fatherly tutelage of our official number 1, Ben Foster, whose exuberant pride in his understudy’s performance spoke volumes about him as a man, and the power of the Goalkeeper’s Union to stick together at all times. If Man City come knocking for Ben’s services, as I’ve heard rumoured, might he be tempted? Will Bachmann resume an understudy role if we bring in Martin Dubravka from Newcastle? It would be harsh to take the gloves away now.

While the other players were busy soaking up the sunshine, swigging beer and dancing deservedly around with promotion banners in front of the empty stands, a sanguine Deeney, and an uncomfortable looking CEO in Scott Duxbury, took the praise and questions from Emma Saunders, where the exuberant compliments dished out in the happy vindication of promotion rang a little hollow.

Deeney’s exclusion from the team due to injury had coincided with our change in formation, and subsequent rocketing up the league table. He’s been a key figure in the dressing room, travelling to all the away games, and his hug with Munoz told us a lot about the Spaniard’s reliance on our talisman to keep the team spirit stoked, minds and limbs focused. But Troy was more eager to reference non-footballing matters – the jobs and livelihoods of club staff, which had been threatened by relegation and which he seemed to take on as a personal burden. It was what he spoke about in the immediate aftermath of relegation on the Emirates pitch, and the story he picked up again as the club were newly savouring its return to the Premier League. What now for Troy? I hope he stays with us, in whatever capacity, for a long time. I can see him playing a key role similar to Duncan Ferguson at Everton. If he chooses to go, for it would be his choice one feels, then what money a statue of Troy at the Vic? He has defined this club’s modern era.

The cameras were keen to pick out Scott Duxbury, pacing the terraces, a man restless in the shadows awaiting the final verdict on his stewardship of the club this season. The last thing he probably wanted was to face the fans on the telly, but it was a good move. Clearly not a man at ease in the spotlight, he does however have his hands on the tiller, and we all need to see his human side, not just a club statement every now and then. After relegation, he said he would commit everything to get us promoted, and intimated that keeping all the staff on and plenty of the club’s high-earning stars had been close to financial suicide given the pandemic and drastic loss of income. It was an all or nothing gamble, so no wonder he cut a highly agitated figure in the stands, watching this scrappy one-niller, waiting for the ref’s whistle to bring closure on the season’s objective.

He revealed that these three points were the most important achievement in his time at Watford, and that, like all good families, we should stick together even if sometimes we don’t see eye-to-eye. He’ll win no Oscars for the performance, but every Watford supporter should be encouraged by his heartfelt words, and give him huge thanks for taking on the gamble – and winning – for the hornets faithful.

Perhaps my strangely downbeat mood is a result of having been thoroughly spoiled by the manner of promotions past. Our success via the play-offs in 1999 was the way to do it – if we’re talking euphoria. Under Graham Taylor – his second spell in charge – we put together a late, bullish charge into the play-offs, then wondrously made it past Birmingham in a penalty shoot-out nail-biter to get to the old Wembley. I was crying as Graham led the Watford boys onto the Wembley turf, flags flying, ticker-tape swirling, our gaffer’s grin the widest in the whole land. Nick Wright’s overhead kick, and then Allan Smart’s decisive late finish gave us one hell of a day out and it was like a carnival on Wembley Way.

The next day me and my girlfriend, now wife, flew off for a cheap week in Zante. I can still remember waking up the first morning in Greece and staring in stuporous wonder at the newspaper next to the bed proclaiming our victory, emblazoned with red and yellow, Graham’s even wider-now grin holding the play-off final trophy aloft. It was like a dream, a sweet, euphoric dream. I still have that newspaper in a box somewhere, a priceless memory sealed within its folds.

Beating the Millwall 1-0, with two games to spare, in a season without fans, with one of the best squads in the Championship… to be honest, there’s no comparison. The truth is we were one of the pre-season favourites to go up, and wobbled less than others in this division. Missing out on promotion, however, would have had devastating consequences for our future ambitions. The stakes were high, and bouncing back at the first time of asking is, historically, very difficult. So I do not underplay, or underestimate just how well we’ve done to take our fantastic resources and players and make them count. We can all breathe a mighty sigh after the implosion of 2019/20. Hughes and Sarr proved our get-out-of-jail cards. Duxbury, together with Gino, made what were proven to be the right choices, putting their heart, soul and reputation into the rescue attempt. Ivic was the iceberg we avoided; Xisco the oasis that was no mirage after all.

So I need to get over myself. We’ve done it. We’ve done it. We’ve done it. No small thing. Our collective moment of euphoria came against Norwich, where the performance and result combined exquisitely to propel us beyond reach. That game was our out-pouring of intense desire, the real clincher. And when the Premier League fixture list comes out in the summer, bring on the goose-bumps and fist-pumps.

I should briefly mention how we got across the line on Saturday. There was no romp to victory, or calm inevitability about proceedings. In fact, as 10-man Brentford had seen off Bournemouth in the lunch-time kick-off, there were more than a few jitters. A hungry, back-to-winning-ways Brentford up next, at their place, knowing a win would take things to the last day… had we choked, i.e. played the occasion and not the game, as the cliché says, who knows what further anguishes might have unfolded in the coming weeks. But for all the nerves, which certainly affected our game, an early goal put us in the driving seat, from which we stubbornly rode our luck and momentum all the way to the end.

Perhaps it was the fear of making mistakes which meant a slow start to the game, which, inevitably, led to some mistakes. Kiko and Masina both surrendered possession with loose passes in the opening stages. The towering Cooper won the first duel with Sarr, before Millwall put a long Romeo throw into our box leading to a tame Wallace effort, easy for Bachmann. But you could sense we weren’t going to have this all our own way.

Then a bit of electric legwork from Sarr on the right-edge of the Lions’ box, and Billy Mitchell’s late challenge brought him down. A 10^th minute penalty to settle the nerves, and Sarr took responsibility, looking for his 13^th goal of the season. With Deeney in the stands watching, none of us knew quite what to expect from the spot kick, only that Sarr had been cool in despatching previous ones, and looked unfazed here. His finish was a simple pass into the centre of the goal after the keeper moved early to his left. The ball had begun to roll just prior to contact, but such was the measured nature of Sarr’s approach, it didn’t matter. Had he been aiming hard for a postage stamp in the corner, it might have. We’ve scored ten from ten this year from the penalty spot, and many of those, like today’s, have been the winning goal.

The industrious, committed Cleverley put a free-kick onto Dan Gosling’s head in the 17^th minute which he headed down and into the arms of Bialkowski. His run and through-ball to Pedro a minute later almost saw the Brazilian produce after a neat check back, but his shot was blocked. Sema swung a corner in on 19 minutes, which Hughes sent well wide from range. The ex-Derby man was once again a vortex of ball-winning aptitude, both graceful and combative, a proper footballer through and through. He tackled back in the 21^st minute, tidied up a spot of bother and then set Sarr out of the traps into space. His pull-back from the goal line was just behind the onrushing Pedro. A minute later and it was our number 8, Tom Cleverley, tackling back to rob Mason Bennett.

Millwall’s Bradshaw fired just wide with a rising effort, latching onto Troost-Ekong’s headed clearance from a free-kick. Our visitors were clearly going to be dangerous from set pieces, especially with the commanding Cooper, and finishing instincts of players like Wallace. They had in fact scored in 12 of their last 13 away games, so one goal for us would probably be insufficient. A Millwall equaliser would really test our mettle.

A 30^th minute injury forced Kiko Femenia from the field. Many fans’ player of the season, and certainly our most consistent one in the first half of the campaign, his loss would ordinarily have had us rushing for our rosary beads. But having witnessed Craig Cathcart reprise this right-back role to such great effect against Norwich, it didn’t feel like any kind of real upset. If anything, the Ulsterman would add height to our back line and more composure in our own half, even if we might lack the kind of attacking thrust that had already seen Kiko and Sarr combine to win us the penalty. It was to be Cathcart’s 199^th appearance in a Watford shirt, and there is no substitution for experience (except this one, of course).

We survived a sticky patch with 10 minutes of the first half to play. Barely had we seen Sierralta and Gosling combining to clear a threatening Millwall free-kick, before Billy Mitchell found room to shoot powerfully from the edge of our box. Bachmann, diving to his left, forced the ball back out, his shoulder connecting with the base of the post. With little time to react he was up and diving to fingertip a Bennett shot onto the crossbar and out for a corner, from which Malone headed forcefully wide, completely unmarked as he arrived late into the box. Duxbury’s back-and-forth pacing visibly quickened from the stands. Sierralta beat Bradshaw to a cross, conceding a corner. Troost-Ekong played a lazy ball into trouble, a fire which Masina and Gosling quickly put out. Half-time arrived just in time.

Win this next 45, and we’re back in the Prem. Come on boys. But Millwall were quicker out of the blocks, Wallace sending another good cross for Bradshaw to dink over the bar. After a Cathcart slip up-field, Hughes was stationed defending the box one-on-one with Bennett, who blasted wide. Cathcart was there at the back stick to prevent Cooper connecting in any meaningful way with a Malone set-piece. Our first attack came from Sema squirrelling away from his markers to cross from the left, but with no reward. Sarr, now triple-marked on occasions, was finding it harder to affect play.

In the 57^th minute, Xisco Munoz appeared apoplectic, lambasting the fourth official about a throw-in decision. Clearly hyped up, our amiable, cheeky Spanish head coach, was living and breathing every moment. He is quick to smile, and have a joke, but is serious about winning. Let’s hope his brand of management can flourish at the next level. In the 60^th minute he summoned Gray and Chalobah from the bench to replace the largely frustrated Pedro, and tiring Gosling. If he was hoping for the kind of stella impact from this pair we gained at Carrow Road on Tuesday, it was not particularly forthcoming, but fresh legs were vital.

Bachmann’s long ball sent Sarr into the box where he was bumped to the ground by Romeo, who had no intention of playing the ball, but the ref saw nothing wrong. On a swift Millwall counter, Mitchell’s strike was deflected wide, Cathcart clearing the resulting corner for another one, which Bachmann managed to claw away under pressure.

As the clock ticked down, plenty of half-chances came and went, with shots from Sema, Gray and Cleverley, blocked, saved or mis-hit. There were no glaring misses or outstanding saves, but our foot had loosened off the break pedal and we were gaining a little traction. As we began to reassert ourselves, Gary Rowett made changes to personnel, bringing on Williams and Zohore for the spent Mitchell and Bradshaw, which seemed to re-set the status quo. Further Millwall changes disrupted the flow as we approached the 80^th minute, Rowett throwing on Connor Mahoney and Muller for McNamara and Malone.

With only 10 minutes plus stoppage time between us and promotion, the fans’ viewing remit intensified. The significance of every pass and decision now amplified around our feverish craniums. Sema’s dogged determination to beat his man twice showed exactly the kind of double tenacity now required, his winning of a corner killing more precious seconds. But from the corner, Millwall flooded forward determined to smash up our YouTube promotion party, until Adam Masina, with back-up from Cleverley, wrested back control of the ball.

Troost-Ekong raised a few pulses with the reckless bundling over of sub Mahoney – Bachmann claiming the free-kick decisively on the way to yet another clean sheet – and a stray pass directly to dangerman Wallace in the middle of our own half. But with the likes of Sema mucking in deep in his own half to fight for the ball, and Sanchez brought on to add more steel to our mid-line, any nervous mistakes were quickly rectified. Sema, tugged back by Muller in the 86^th minute, for which he was cautioned, inched us ever closer to our goal.

4 minutes to go. 3. Wallace crosses, but no-one is there. Romeo shoots over, son of Soul II Soul’s frontman Jazzy B. Tommy Mooney could not help himself quipping about the finish not being very jazzy. It was five seconds of light entertainment, a giggle breaking out in the operating theatre, a fart into crocodile infested waters. 2 minutes. Kieftenbeld shoots from a Troost-Ekong headed clearance.

4 minutes of extra time! Foul by Zohore on Adam Masina. What a great foul! 3 mins. 2 mins. Sarr in his own box, tussling with the Millwall attacker, moments from bringing him down. He bumps into him and as they rebound, Sarr gets clipped and wins the foul. Enormous moment. 50 seconds to go…

As the ref blew for full time, the Watford pendulum had swung finally into the promotion zone and stayed there. The 12^th promotion in our club’s history had been secured. Exhausted, and relieved, I went to get that token beer, and cheersed myself and all the uninterested inanimate objects around me. I suppose it’s that oldest of chestnuts – the chase being greater than the kill. Now the target was reached, where was the epiphany? After New Year fireworks, all that’s really left is ringing in the ears, smoke and a long journey home.

An interesting piece in The Guardian about our season being akin to a phantom promotion. It’s true, in a sense. Our last home game with a full house was our 3-0 victory against champions-elect Liverpool in February 2020. Two managers, 50 odd games and a global pandemic later, when fans finally return to the Vic it will be to watch a Premier League game again, almost as if our sojourn to the Championship never really happened.

For me, I’ve watched nigh on every minute of every game this season, something I’ve never been able to do before. That’s thanks to the lockdown, and Hive Live. I’ve really tapped into my connection with the club I support like never before. It sounds naff, but I’ve been on a bit of a journey – you could say – and now that we’re parking up, I don’t really want to get off. I know we’ve arrived at greener pastures, vindicated and successful, but it’s a chapter closing. And as chapters go, it was one of the best.