FOR Bolton supporters of my generation, this match stands out head and shoulders above the rest.

I have never experienced an atmosphere like it before or since.

At the start of that incredible night, it felt like an honour just to be part of the army of 8,500 Whites fans that made the trip.

As a 17-year-old, I only had vague memories of watching Wanderers in the top tier in the late 1970s.

Narrow FA Cup defeats in the two previous seasons at Old Trafford and Southampton had given me hope of one day seeing Wanderers go toe to toe with the big boys.

But when they threw away a two-goal advantage to draw the home third-round tie with Liverpool, it felt like our chance had gone.

I don’t think anybody gave us a hope of winning the replay, but there was such a buzz inside Anfield when we took our places that I dared to dream. Then everything just went mad!

The match went by in a blur and I don’t know exactly where my memories of it end and where Dave Higson’s commentary begins – but ding-dong-do doesn’t quite do it justice.

All the nerves of the first leg seemed to be replaced by this unbelievable party spirit.

But I don’t ever remember sitting down or biting my nails through the whole thing. Who could as David Lee ran Mike Marsh ragged, Scott Green and Tony Kelly passed superbly, and Andy Walker and McGinlay seemed capable of scoring at will?

It was with disbelief, pride and elation that we watched the Kop stay behind to give a rendition of You’ll Never Walk Alone.

It was a moment of theatre I will never forget as the lads paraded in front of a carpet of swaying Liverpool scarves as the echoes of the famous anthem reverberated around the stadium – a real touch of class to pay such a tribute after watching their cup holders humiliated on home turf.

My early years of hope had been realised, and while Colin Todd and Big Sam took us into the Premier League, I will always remember Rioch’s Super White Army with the most fondness.