Without wishing to use this magazine as an arena for displaying my mild psychosis, I ought to just mention that, up until lunchtime, that particular day hadn't been the most pleasant I've ever experienced. This was largely the result of a Big Friday Night coupled with a 7.30am Saturday morning start, approximately four hours before I should have even been thinking of stumbling out of bed.

The very worst hangovers are created blissfully in the company of good friends and suffered agonisingly alone. I was in the throes of one of these for the entire three hour train trip from London to Exeter. Lunch with brother and sister-in-law helped greatly, and by the time I ambled into the Centre Spot I was feeling more like an ordinary person than a semi-suicidal maniac in serious need of psychoanalysis. A couple of reluctant pints of cider later, and I'm in the Cowshed and, oh, that atmosphere...

I have absolutely no idea why a City side which had been little short of a downright disgrace for the preceding few weeks was greeted with such enthusiasm, but anybody who has ever said that 'the people of Exeter don't deserve a football club' really should shut up and witness the sort of affection that Exeter City supporters lavish upon their side, even in difficult times such as this.

Having taken the field to a reception as warm and encouraging as any team could wish for, the opening minutes of the game saw the City side roared on with real passion - the sort of passion which some would have you believe is the sole preserve of the citizens of Newcastle, Liverpool and other cities whose football clubs have sorted out the tricky problem of how to win matches.

Such positivity is admirable at a club which had just embarked on a seven game winless streak and indeed had lost the previous four matches. Maybe it was the thrill of seeing a new signing on display, striker Steve Flack for whom City had actually paid money. His arrival, for the princely sum of £10,000, was enough to create an atmosphere of expectation. Surely, somewhere, there must be someone with enough love for football, if not necessarily Exeter City, to wonder what the atmosphere would be like if a few more ten thousand pound signings were paraded before the St James Park faithful.

After such a stirring opening, there followed the bit which Exeter folk also do especially well, the frustration when things start to go wrong. Never bitterness, just frustration. A manic, desperate desire not to see another disaster unfold. So when Brighton start to pile on the pressure and City defend with all eleven men in the penalty box at several first half corners, there are shouts and boos and desperate appeals to 'Sort it out, Foxy' or 'Stay up front, Leon'.

But soon everything's okay again, as the Grecians embark on a string of neat attacks which produce appreciative applause and short rhythmic bursts of 'Come on City, Come on City'. An injury to Danny Bailey causes an early substitution, and the entry of Lee Hodges, the day's second new man in a red and white shirt. There are a few jokes as the diminutive midfielder's entry suggests that "bloody hell, we've brought on the mascot", but the wee fella's first few touches are enough to win over the crowd.

And it was a foul on Hodges which earned a left wing free-kick, from which Leon Braithwaite headed City ahead just before half-time. A goal is a goal wherever you are of course, and, for me, the Cowshed, Exeter is far and away the best place from which to savour one. Needless to say, loyalty rewarded, the City faithful are buzzing. There's singing until the half-time whistle, and the players leave the field to a gleeful chorus of "1-0 to the Exeter" . Their return is greeted with even more enthusiasm, since the half-time scores have provided that extra little nugget of inspiration, Plymouth Argyle losing.

Second half underway and, oops, a Brighton equaliser. Scored by an Argyle reject and number nine, arch villain for the day Ian Baird. There's half a minute or so of celebrations and "You're not singing anymore" from the away end, then a defiant burst of "Exeter, Exeter ..." from the Cowshed as the home supporters dust themselves down and prepare to cajole and encourage their side in the hope of regaining that precious lead.

The half follows a similar pattern to the first, with City's attacking efforts - and especially the contributions of the two new boys - being warmly appreciated. The panicky worrying is still there though. There's uncertainty about young new keeper Ashley Bayes and concerns about City's ability to defend crosses. The result is a touching mix of boisterous confidence (brash shouts and noisy singing) and helpless insecurity (furtive, worried gestures and audible fretting).

A nasty challenge on Tim Steele provokes an angry reaction from the City substitute, and more than a hint of aggression from the Exeter support. Fists punch the air and Devonian abuse is hurled at the offending player. Shortly afterwards a Brighton defender goes in hard for a tackle and comes off worse. His injury induced mild concern in a few, but most are more alarmed by the amount of time being taken to stretcher the stricken player from the pitch. The laughable attempts of the St John's Ambulance staff to do so are greeted with much hilarity, as the player leaves the pitch on a stretcher carried at a precarious angle.

With time running out, the pulsing bursts of 'Come on City' are replace by much longer, lower cries of 'Come on you Reds' as the crowd implore their side to score. And then, suddenly, Lee Hodges has found some space in the middle of the pitch and, as another roar of encouragement wells up around the ground, he slides the ball through to Tim Steele who's racing down the right wing. The keeper advances way off his line, and gets a solid touch to Steele's shot from just inside the area. The ball loops in the air, and the noise changes from a throaty roar to a strangled shout of jubilation, which, as the ball drops goalwards, is slowly released until it becomes clear that ... GOAL!!! ... goal!, it's a bloody goal! ... and people are shouting and jumping and hugging and shoving and grinning and ... oh yes !!!!

The place has gone quite mad, but there's another five minutes of fretting and encouraging and singing and whistling and cheering and worrying to be done before the referee's whistle sounds and it's all over. The ground erupts again, and the Exeter players, clearly as thrilled as the supporters, salute the crowd in a genuine display of pride and gratitude. There's the same emotion on the terraces, as the older supporters drift away with smiles and nods and cheerful, relieved comments that, "That was better, wasn't it".

As the players head for the tunnel, the Exeter crowd are singing "We love you City, we do". And they do.