Bolton Wanderers fan's 75-year memoir: John McGinlay's finest hour

The movement of Bolton Wanderers supporters across the Pennines was considerable, as this would be a weekend that would determine promotion fate.

To allow the invasion to be accommodated satisfactorily the kick-off at Hull City was delayed by 10 minutes and by the time the referee blew his first whistle it would appear nearly half of Boothferry Park’s 8,785 attendance were Bolton fans.

This would really be an occasion to remember, to savour, and I regret that I could only spent it gnawing at my fingernails at the end of a radio.

With Hull requiring the points just as much as the Wanderers it was never going to be easy, and nor was it. The home side put on determined pressure, and after scraping the post half an hour in took the lead just before half time through Dean Windass’s penalty.

The deficit arose because through Alan Stubbs handing a Darren France header on the line, this incurring not only the penalty but also Alan’s departure from proceedings. The Wanderers had to face the whole second half a goal down, with 10 men.

As we have seen with many Rioch-inspired teams, this was just the challenge that was required. And with the versatile Julian Darby at centre-back, the revived 10 men tore into the Tigers.

Listening to events via the radio when, despite the Wanderers stepping up a gear or two and quite obviously playing out of their 10 skins, there was still a blank sheet after 75 minutes, it was no sinecure sitting at home and starring at a blank wall above the near-hysterical noises emitting from the speaker. And no wonder the commentator was excitable with all the corners, all the pressure.

Fortunately some relief came in the 77th minute when from a disputed corner and a subsequent cross from Phil Brown, helped on by Mark Seagraves, Dean Windass could only – under pressure from John McGinlay – put the ball into his own net. It was one apiece, but it still wasn’t enough.

At this stage the Wanderers’ fans surged on to the field, possibly threatening the match itself, but it was probably construed to be relief and joy devoid of anything threatening or malicious. Almost 10 minutes later, with three minutes of the match remaining, they were on the field again after David Lee’s long cross-field ball assisted my Mark Patterson, found David Burke, whose shot was deflected by McGinlay and into the net. Against all the odds it was 2-1; indeed a game to remember!

The atmosphere that came rolling into the room made me wish I was there and that this could realistically be the seminal victory of the season, for it has not been achieved then the Wanderers would have been four points adrift of Port Vale with only two games each left to play.

Now the situation was simple: Bolton had two home games remaining, Port Vale would have to play twice away. But the first of those games for Rioch’s brave side was against the certain champions of Division Two, Stoke, a game played before 19,238 spectators of whom 6,000 were from the Potteries.

It was a fine evening in every sense. And when Julian Darby – fulfilling his destiny – tucked away a goal in the seventh minute following a pass by the immaculate Kelly, all doubts seemed to vanish and the geriatrics settled down to enjoy the spectacle.

Indeed, we tended to subscribe to the view put forward on the terrace in front of us that Stoke would rather have the Wanderers (or anybody else) accompany them to the First Division other than their near neighbours Vale. This was a load of nonsense, as was proved as the game progressed and the Stoke boys began to put the Wanderers under significant pressure, a spell that culminated in them missing an open goal at one point.

But there would be no more goals, and I suppose the Wanderers’ extra appetite just about shaded them in what was a fine game of football.

The joy in our corner turned into ecstasy when news came over the Tannoy that Pot Vale had lost their game at Exeter City.

Four days later, 21,720 spectators descended on Burnden Park for the make-or-break game, the last roll of the dice. Victory would ensure promotion and, in turn, ensure relegation for Lancashire neighbours Preston North End.

The game was tense, fragmented, at a different end of the scale to the entertaining fayre we had enjoyed against Stoke.

And it would be settled, rather appropriately, by the man who always seemed to come to Bolton Wanderers’ rescue when they needed him, John McGinlay.

As the game wore on, goalscoring chances so few and far between, news came through that Port Vale were beating Blackpool 3-2. A winner had to be found, or it would be the lottery of the play-offs.

Then the moment arrived. A penalty was awarded for handball against North End’s Simon Burton, giving the gallant Scot a chance to shut off the pressure and despatch a penalty past former Bolton goalkeeper Simon Farnworth that not only clinched promotion but also laid the foundation for his own heroic legacy in the years to come.