That's the club I fell in love with on a May afternoon in 1993.
90 minutes of beautiful football, fans united and supporting their club with every ounce of energy they could muster, the relief and glory as we went from one to two to three: it was incredible. Days like today and seasons like this one are why you put up with all the other nonsense your football club throws at you.
Never mind that it is only League One. Never mind that we should've had promotion sewn up a few games ago. We'd do it all again and in exactly the same way if we were offered it again!
Since Allardyce departed a decade ago, things have gone from bad to worse. There have been good days but this is the first good season we've had since those glorious days when we defied the odds in the Premier League.
Poor manager after poor manager spent money we didn't have on rubbish we didn't need: David Ngog cost £4million.
We dropped down the leagues with little more than a whimper and found ourselves thinking, thanks to record debt, that we'd cease to exist.
Last season, even if you ignore the boardroom nonsense that dominated things, was one of the worst in my 24 years of going to Wanderers games: the inevitability of it was the thing that made it difficult to feel anything but abject throughout the year.
This season, with a squad full of free transfers and failures, has done so much for the club and its fans. We care again and the team/club seems to care about us. Fans are turning up, home and away, in their thousands.
We look forward to games. We have chants for the players again (notice how that disappeared last season?) and we are enjoying ourselves.
That wasn't the case last year; it would've been so easy to sink into obscurity and be a club that used to be half-decent.
From the goalkeepers to the forwards; the players that have played every game to those that have played a handful; every one of Parkinson's backroom team; most importantly, the fans: we deserve this.