HARTLEPOOL United were backed by more than 2,000 reggae-clad supporters for the dramatic 3-3 against Carlisle United.
We asked Pools fans to write a blog of their trip to Brunton Park for the season finale.
Chrissy Bell shares his thoughts here.
REMEMBER the day, remember the game and remember the moment. Suck it in, savour it and bottle it.
Saturday, May 2, 2015, was one of the greatest ever days supporting Hartlepool United. If not the best day.
The build-up, the atmosphere and the comeback from 3-0 down all on the back of the Greatest Great Escape ensured a remarkable day.
It was once in a decade moment.
Cardiff-esque. Even better than Cardiff, many mused afterwards.
Whether in Penrith, Carlisle or Hexham, it was impossible for one’s sight not to be obscured by a sea of colour, dreadlocks, rasta hats and anything to do with reggae and Bob Marley.
The pre-match predictions of blacked-up faces and racist impersonations that filled column inches in national newspapers were all baseless.
Pools fans did themselves, the town and football proud.
It may seem incongruent to suggest but given the club’s record of 13 re-elections and this year’s incomprehensible Great Escape, Hartlepool United is the luckiest Football League club.
But after a season of incredible lows, failed takeovers, three managers and transfer sagas (remember Luke James?) Pools fans have deserved the jubilant past seven weeks.
Never Say Die is not just another meaningless club motto that all clubs have stitched onto the back of their shirt.
At Hartlepool United it epitomises everything. We really do Never Say Die.
At the nadir of the season, the FA Cup loss to Blyth Spartans, I spoke to my Dad and half-jokingly, half-seriously asked why he got me into Pools.
During the Great Escape I realised once again just why I supported Pools.
On Monday night just gone, I was out in Bournemouth, my university town, where all Cherries fans were singing about promotion to the Premier League.
They heralded Eddie Howe. I didn’t.
People looked at me, asking why I was singing alternative versions of their chants. “There’s only one Ronnie Moore” replaced “There’s only one Eddie Howe”. “We are staying up” replaced “We are going up”.
I was that proud to be a Poolie that I didn’t care what others thought of me. Everyone was finding out who I supported.
This is the same Bournemouth, albeit bankrolled by a super-rich Russian billionaire, who seven years survived in League Two having been ten points adrift in January. Sound familiar?
It would be much easier to follow a Premier League team but it’s not the same feeling.
It’s not the same passion. It’s not the same old-faces at every game. It’s not Hartlepool United.
So, Dad, five months on, thank you for passing on the Pools-supporting gene.
Remember the day, remember the game and remember the once in a decade moment. Suck it in, savour it and bottle it.
“We’re Hartlepool United and we Never Say Die”.