A fateful evening stroll...

It was one of those "where were you?" moments.

David Marshall's strong outstretched right arm smacking away Richie Wellens' penalty sealed Cardiff City's place in the play off final at Wembley, and where was I?  Well, somewhere near Kelham Island in Sheffield, that's where I was.

You see, as I've been reiterating for what seems to be several years now, nothing is ever easy at Cardiff City FC.  And so last night just had to encapsulate that in 120 minutes and more of an utterly incredible second leg semi final tie, didn't it?!  My nerves, my hair and my heart have all been tested greatly recently, and last night I just gave up.  1-2 down at half time and staring penalties in the face, I rather angrily posted a facebook status explaining that I was "off on a brisk walk" and would return in a hour or so.  As it was, we were 1-3 down and out of the playoffs altogether when I finally left.

From the delight as Chopra slid the first goal under Chris Weale, to the inevitability of Fryatt's equaliser, to the sheer anger at Hudson's own goal, we'd already experienced more emotion than a man can take in half an hour.  Incidentally, this turned out to be more true than we'd thought as one man was taken il after Chopra's goal and is believed to have died of a heart attack.  RIP, and of course the utmost condolences go out to all who were close to him.

So with a heavy heart I left the house, called in at the local - shop - to buy myself  bar of Galaxy (other chocolate is available), safe in the knowledge that "my lot" were dead set on ruining the night, the week, probably the next few months, yet again.  And walk I did, through the town centre, contemplating stopping for a whisky (God knows I could've done with one) but never quite stepping over the line and getting one - on down to the train station, through there and along Park Hill flats, down to Kelham Island and back up through town past some of the disused factories and Uni buildings.

I did get a glance at a television when I strolled past one of the city centre public houses, only to see Leicester's score stand at "2" and because, in my mind, I'd been out for at least 20 minutes, I thought the final whistle couldn't have been much further away.  So I continued to walk, weaving my way through the streets of the Steel City wondering why on earth I'd bothered attending games at Barnsley, Middesbrough and Newcastle amongst others only for the players to do this to us.

When I finally made my way home, I made myself a cup of tea and wandered upstairs to switch on my laptop, awaiting the inevitable mockery that would come from fellow football fans via the medium of Facebook.  My mobile remained switched off.  But the mockery never arrived.  Instead, Cardiff supporting friend's statuses read of penalties and disbelief.  But I refused to believe we'd gone through, instead firmly believing a dubious late penalty had extinguished our hopes for good.

Only when I summoned the BBC Sport website to confirm my despair that the disbelief truly hit me.  It appeared we'd somehow scored a penalty in the second half, seeing us lose the game but draw the tie and then our tired band of players fought their way through half an hour of extra time to maintain that equilibrium.  I'd been walking for longer than I thought!

Cardiff City progressed on penalties, mainly thanks to goalkeeper David Marshall and Leicester's Yann Kermorgant who tried an audacious chip with his penalty.  A foolish decision in such a big game.  But not more foolish than Dave Jones' decision to sell Steven Thompson.  That one cost us the biggest game of our history.

Still, bring on next season's torture instead.