West Brom 1-1 Southampton

The Hawthorns, Wednesday night, 90+1 minutes on the clock, and Cyle Larin decides he fancies being a hero. That, friends, is the distilled essence of following Southampton Football Club — 90 minutes of steadily mounting existential dread followed by a single moment of pure, screaming, punch-the-air euphoria. We came to the Black Country, we dominated, we fell behind, we huffed, we puffed, and then right when you’d already started composing the angry group chat message, the big Canadian popped up to rescue a point. Championship football. Wouldn’t have it any other way. (I would absolutely have it another way.)

Let’s rewind. Tonda Eckert’s pre-match messaging was all about mentality and focus — not letting the FA Cup high from that gorgeous Fulham win and the tantalising quarter-final draw against Arsenal cloud the mind. And in fairness, for large stretches we looked like a side who’d taken the boss’s words to heart. Nearly 66% possession. Twelve shots. We camped in West Brom’s half like we’d set up a tent and started toasting marshmallows. The problem? We were about as clinical as a first-year medical student. Four shots on target from all that territory is the kind of stat that makes you want to lie face down on the carpet.

West Brom, scrapping for their lives near the bottom, did what relegation-threatened teams do: sat deep, stayed compact, and waited. And right on the stroke of half-time — the cruellest of moments — Jayson Molumby found the net. From their perspective, the game plan was working to perfection. They had six shots on target to our four despite seeing roughly a third of the ball. Their keeper made three saves; ours made five. We had the ball, they had the chances. It was deeply, infuriatingly effective.

The second half was an exercise in controlled frustration. Jack Stephens picked up a booking on 50 minutes — presumably for crimes against patience — and Cameron Bragg followed suit on 68. The cards were flying, tempers were fraying, and you could feel the energy shifting from confident passing to increasingly desperate probing. West Brom’s Danny Imray and Ousmane Diakite got themselves booked too, the Baggies clearly deciding that if they couldn’t keep us out with football, a few tactical fouls might do the job.

But football has a way of rewarding sheer bloody-mindedness. Into stoppage time, the ball finds Larin, and the man does what he does. One-all. The away end erupts. Somewhere in the West Midlands, a Saints fan’s pint goes flying.

Is a draw at The Hawthorns against a struggling side what we wanted? Obviously not. Should we have buried this game in the first half? Without question. But a point snatched from the jaws of defeat keeps the momentum ticking, keeps confidence intact, and — crucially — keeps us looking forward rather than dwelling.

And speaking of looking forward: Arsenal at St Mary’s in the FA Cup quarters. The spirit of ‘76 is alive, the vibes are immaculate, and if we can conjure last-minute drama at the Hawthorns on a Wednesday night, who knows what magic awaits under the lights at home? Bring the Gunners. We’ll bring the chaos.