The roar that greeted us as we stepped onto the Villa Park pitch was a physical force, a wave of sound and emotion that washed over me and sent a shiver down my spine. The stadium, a grand old cathedral of English football, was a neutral venue in name only.
To my right, a sea of red and blue, a travelling army of over two thousand Palace fans, had taken over the entire lower tier of the Holte End. They were a riot of colour and noise, their flags and banners a testament to the hope and belief we had inspired.
They had travelled all this way, on a cold Tuesday night, to watch a youth team game, and their presence was a powerful, humbling reminder of what was at stake. This was it. This was phase one of my desperate, audacious plan.
