At 4.56pm, the grand old hands of the North Bank clock momentarily unlocked and the piercing shrill of a force 12 Molineux subsided.
For one nanosecond the world stood still – including David Edwards – as referee Mike Dean slowly, painfully and grudgingly pursed his lips to concede defeat.
A hurricane strength roar ended two months of frustration and at that precise moment, there was nowhere else in the world I would rather have been.
We can watch Match of the Day for the first time since August; we can fawn over Sarah Jane Mee (in particularly enticing blue number on Sky Sports); we can buy a six pack of Carling with a smile on our face and more importantly….we can believe again.
Forgive a possible over-reaction so soon after the event, but I can barely remember a more satisfying winning feeling in 25 years of watching the Wolves.
We were skilful, brave and utterly relentless in the face of adversity, as another bent referee did his damndest to cheat us out of what we thoroughly deserved.
Never mind the opposition’s endless pot of money on transfers and wages, we looked the genuine million dollar men as we outplayed and outfought City.
That has to rankle with their fans. So too the perplexing omission of Adam Johnson.
But enough of them. Mick McCarthy has, and will continue to have his critics, but his team bore all the hallmarks of what we love most in him. Honesty, endeavour and an indefatigable will to win.
With the odds stacked firmly against us, Adebayor scored from the spot after a Silva won a penalty for a piece of play that will never earn us a spot kick at the other end of the pitch.
This, coinciding with an impressive opening from City had most of us fearing for the worst, but we needn’t have worried.
Our 4-5-1 system looked as fluid as it has done all season with Hunt and Jarvis making it a genuine 4-3-3 set-up and we seized the upper hand.
After hitting the post from a corner, we equalised through the one player that glued our formation together so effectively – Milijas!
The classy Serb was the most refreshing sight of the afternoon, offering us bucket loads of quality that has been missing for so long this season.
His goal was the least we deserved, and we didn’t stop there.
Man City’s men bore a team who expected everything to land on their plate, as if we should be a bunch of sycophants that they are so used to seeing off the pitch.
How refreshing that we weren’t. Even more refreshing was the sight of us going for the second goal and getting it, through the much maligned Edwards.
The Shropshire lad has got more stick than most since returning to the team after his injury lay off, but I’d take a hundred of his ilk than one Bolletelli, who pissed and moaned round the pitch as if 200k wasn’t enough.
The goal was fully deserved and a fitting end product to the work of Doyle, who worked hard to help create the opening and revelled on his own up front.
The plus points were everywhere. In Jarvis, we have the outstanding Englishman never to play for his country and in Hunt, a genuine outlet on the other side to bring balance and attention away from our matchwinner
Henry fitted in well, Ward had his best game in a Wolves shirt and Berra and Stearman were just immense.
Foley was another hero to shine, displaying all the understated class that made us all fall in love with him when he first joined us.
As one former Wolves boss once said: “The trouble with Wolves fans is that their highs are way too high and our lows are far too low.”
Maybe he’s right. But as I sit here with a beer in hand on Saturday night, I couldn’t care less!