Turning point

For around twenty minutes during the second half at Kenilworth Road last night, the unthinkable seemed to be becoming a reality. Following yet another awful blunder by goalkeeper Paul Gallacher, who appeared for all the world to be metamorphosing into the role of devil's familiar played by the unforgettable (much as we would all wish to forget him) Simon Tracey as the Canaries crashed out of the Premiership twelve years ago, Norwich City's travelling support - as raucous as ever during the first half - fell strangely silent; and the players visibly wilted. Everyone seemed to be thinking the same thing: with Gallacher doing his worst, Dickson Etuhu as anonymous as ever, City continuing to concede goal after ridiculous goal, and both Robert Earnshaw and David Marshall ruled out for the rest of the season, just how were Norwich going to accrue the points needed to survive? Make no mistake: League One football loomed before our very eyes.

But then, out of nothing, we were reminded that it isn't only the Canaries who seemingly cannot defend for toffee. Jason Shackell, whose continual improvement and development into a genuinely solid centre back tends to go unremarked upon, equalised out of nothing; and as the game drew towards its frantic conclusion, Luton just managed to scramble Gary Doherty's header off (or, it appeared to some, away from behind) the line. Finally, deep into injury time, Lee Croft was brought down on the edge of the area after another of his trademark surging runs. Free kick, in a ideal position.

Many Norwich fans said afterwards that they'd had a similar feeling prior to the kick being taken as the whole country did before David Beckham's famous strike against Greece in 2001: that it was just meant to be. But not this supporter: indeed, in my eternal pessimism, I simply turned to the friend I went to the game with and uttered a succint "Row Z!" Youssef Safri, surely, would waste the chance just as he had done with a similar opportunity at Stamford Bridge: and sure enough, up he stepped... But this time, it was as a decoy - and following Simon Lappin's perfect connection, the ball arced up, over, and beyond Luton 'keeper Beresford's despairing dive.

Amid the pandemonium which erupted on the terraces, yours truly the eternal misery was still yelling at the players to focus and see out the final seconds: and of course, Norwich still gave us all another heart attack by gifting their opponents a free header, from which Gallacher's goal was lucky to escape. But then, at length, it was over: and although your correspondent is aware of the derision he will almost certainly attract after uttering such a hostage to fortune, and that he is about to break every unwritten footballing rule in the book, I would humbly suggest it was not merely the game itself which had ended in success. In a nutshell, teams just don't win games like this only to be relegated anyway: indeed, yesterday's was the sort of match which Norwich have thrown away on all too many occasions down the years. But not this time: this time, it was the Canary players celebrating; this time, it was their opponents and relegation rivals who were left devastated. And this all means only one thing: although City need two more victories to be sure, this writer can say with absolute confidence that Norwich won't be going down.

Not, of course, that this will be any cause for celebration: quite the reverse. That the club finds itself in this position in the first place remains a cause for deep alarm and profound embarrassment: and that Luton, with their ramshackle, tight little ground and minimal resources started last night's match just one position below opponents who were in the Premiership only two seasons ago means that the joke is very much on us. But just as during City's interminable years of toil during the late 1990s and around the turn of the century, it is simply bewildering how bad a team has to be in order to drop from English football's second flight: and invariably, those who do fall are either clubs punching considerably above their weight such as Southend United, or indeed last night's opponents; or operating amid astonishing degrees of off-field chaos (step forward and take a bow, Leeds United and Queens Park Rangers).

Although something behind the scenes is clearly amiss for things to have gone so utterly wrong over the past two years, the Canaries still don't suffer from anything like this extent of boardroom incompetence; and however alarming the team's recent slide has been, both Luton (fourteen points from the last 66 available), and Burnley (nine from the last 54) are in far greater freefall. As, indeed, are our good friends from south of the border - and although Ipswich should still ultimately be alright, suddenly it is they who are looking anxiously over their shoulders, and they who are worrying about their bitter rivals pushing them closer towards calamity when the two clubs meet at Carrow Road on 22 April.

Norwich's aim must now be to pick up those aforementioned two victories and reach safety as soon as possible. That way, Peter Grant will have the chance to experiment with the team - perhaps blooding the promising young Joe Lewis between the posts, not to mention giving the wonderfully impressive Chris Martin a deserved extended run in the side - with a view to hitting the ground running with a revamped squad in August. Goodness knows, there is an enormous amount of work ahead: last night, indeed, was very nearly an action replay of the 3-3 draw at Loftus Road which immediately preceded Grant's arrival in the Canary hotseat. Still, there is the same mixture of slapdash ineptitude and individual inspiration: still, the same question one minute of what a team with obvious talent is doing residing in the Championship's nether regions, only for it to be answered in no uncertain terms in the next.

Quite how Grant wrestles with Norwich City's eternal inability to defend properly, and develops a real team, rather than a collection of often misfiring individuals, remains to be seen; not least given he clearly won't have the funds available which his predecessor enjoyed six years ago. But he does, on last night's evidence, at least have a side prepared to battle, scrap, and rescue their poor teammate from goodness knows how many sleepless nights after his mistake put them in trouble in the first place: and if the manager can add a real sense of collective purpose and honesty to the abilities his side already has, the future may yet be bright. As it is, the supporters can simply enjoy this victory, and look forward with optimism to the trip to Oakwell on Saturday: a game that once appeared likely to be fraught, but should now represent another step towards survival. Because, to repeat one final time: survive, we will.