Wolves blog: Nuno Had (Our) Dream

"The (insert club name here) fans are in dreamland," is up there. Usually deployed whenever a plucky underdog has the temerity to disrupt the established order; often through a scrappy goal and a fiercely determined rearguard action.

All of which applied to the previous Wolves victory away at Tottenham, under the stewardship of Mick McCarthy.

So much has changed since then, but on Saturday Wolves fans truly were in dreamland. And it was precisely because none of the above any longer applied.

Yes, we were cast in the role of plucky underdog. Our opponents had, after all, notched 11 goals in their past few two fixtures, announcing themselves as title contenders in the process. Up front they had the World Cup golden boot winner, South Korea's finest ever footballer (who almost single-handedly saved the entire national squad from military service through on field success) and Denmark's talisman. When the teamsheets dropped, Tottenham's line up was pretty terrifying.

But deep, deep down (the scars of decades of failure having instilled a resolute pessimism in most of us) we knew we had an ace up our sleeve. A brooding genius in our dugout. And Nuno would have a plan. After all, somehow, he had had the same dream we had all been dreaming all of our Wolves-supporting, nee loving, lives. Nuno would have a plan.

Unexpectedly, remarkably, that plan involved forgotten man Leander Dendoncker. And the return of Ruben Neves, the Bully figure of Nuno's Wolves. Yes, it's been just over a year as opposed to Steven George's club-saving career, but still we adore him above all the other children of the Nunolution.

Tottenham's Wembley is no home. They know this - maybe their new White Hart Lane will be their Mecca - but I doubt it. Here they were, 40,000 supporters of the second best team in the land, on a roll, with a shot at the title, but could they muster a noise? They could not. It was the same at Arsenal.

There is something wonderfully unhinged about the hardcore Wolves fans, and it's something that's always drawn me to them (and made me one of them). Saturday at 3pm (metaphorically speaking in these TV-oriented days) is our religion. Whether the Wolves win, lose or draw can affect our mood for a number of days... until the next game.

Perhaps it's the heady mix of being a one club city, with a glorious history but calamitous recent chapters (all illustrated by the unique character of Molineux) and several saviours through the years. But once the bond is forged, it grows ever closer.

There were 3,000 from Wolverhampton in the away end on Saturday (and many more in the posh seats, I gather). And they were all True Believers in the Gospel according to Nuno. He would have a plan. 9/1 a Wolves win, they said. But they hadn't factored in Nuno's plan.

The first half went pretty much as anyone would have expected. A Tottenham team with their tails up keeping Wolves on the ropes behind a solid jab and firing off some long distance roundhouses - one of which landed. 1-0. Kane. Who else?

But Wolves were responding with some decent counter-punches of their own, which suggested this would not be a straightforward knockout. Both fighters were well in the game, heading into the second half of the fight. The business end.

Nuno lives for the business end. His plan was entering its critical phase.

Can you make people believe in your project? It is one of the key qualities in a manager. Particularly, these days, in a football manager.

How those players believe in Nuno. How us fans believe in Nuno. It is why we cannot abide the happy clappers, here for the good times alone. They do not know. They do not believe. But we do.

And it starts to happen. Jab, jab, jab. We've got them on the back foot. Ducking and weaving. We're yet to find the chin, but it's coming. There is that overwhelming sense that it's coming. Neves driving us on, now joined by the mecurial Moutinho. Our intensity increases. We're searching for the telling punch...

Willy Boly. Bang. The away end erupts.

Having been so bold, hold on to what we have? We're ahead on points, play it safe and go home unbeaten, against the odds?

Well, you see, that is not the stuff dreams are made of. Dreams are about the unlikely, the unthinkable, the impossible - the 'can we really...?' and when one captures you it is mesmerising.

And so on they go, slugging away, Tottenham swaying and holding and leaning and trying to resist. But they can not. Jimmy spots a gap no one else has. Bang. Spurs hit the canvas. An 8-count. Neves, beautiful turn, to Doc, to Costa, Tottenham hands hanging low. Bang. A clean, clinical KO.

3,000 people (and many more in the corporates) in sheer ecstasy. This is the dream. Nuno's dream. Our dream. They are one and the same.

And a word about those fans. That noise. The strength of the wolf is in the pack. The pack descended on Wembley and the hosts could not live with it. Make no mistake, the passion in the away end contributed. The roar when we won the corner for Boly's equaliser was spine-tingling. Because we knew. We believed. And the scenes thereafter - memories to last 3,000 lifetimes.

This was a tactical masterclass, delivered perfectly by a wonderfully honed unit of exceptionally talented and dedicated footballers. Our defensive press, patient possession and counter attack spring all working in perfect harmony. The second 45 was the greatest exhibition of Nunoball there has yet been. We may have been on our way back up to now. But on Saturday - we arrived.

The third division is just a few years ago. Now we're outplaying Champions League teams at their grounds, leaving stadia reverberating to the hymns of Nuno's church.

I don't want to wake up. Keep on dreaming, Wolves fans. There are more days like this to come.