Typical

"Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."

Michael Corleone/Silvio Dante

Godfather: Part III never really stuck with anyone. The plot, the dialogue, the self-indulgent running time, it's the film from the trilogy no-one really loves. The one memorable line, I now always hear in the voice of the legendary Steven Van Zandt, as Silvio Dante in The Sopranos. Dante does a parody of Pacino's Corleone, hamming up the gestures and intonation, to amuse his boss and the rest of the crew. It always gets a laugh, partially because to these gangsters the idea of leaving is absurd. An unmakeable choice, on top of a choice they never really made in the first place. They mock their own helplessness.

Anyway, back to being an Ipswich Town supporter.

After Southampton I acknowledged I was clutching at straws. Whatever good we had done over the season, it didn't look likely to be enough after that 6-point swing to Wolves (the 3 we should have taken off Saints, the 3 you didn't expect them to have off Villa). Yet it didn't take much, just a solitary point and there it is a few days later, back again, that crushing, needling, nagging hope. Just when I thought I was out...

Counter-intuitively, the hope didn't come from the second half display of spirit and organisation. This is Kieran McKenna's team, you always knew those were qualities we would show right to the end. They are also things that a plucky underdog in a cup tie shows and gets away with from time to time. Block enough shots, make enough saves and you'll get something from the game. Doesn't mean you can compete regularly.

No, the thing that pulled me back in was before the red card. It was Aston Villa flustered because the full Ipswich press has them penned into their own third. It was Phillips and Cajuste giving McGinn and Tielemans as good as they got. Phillips was outstanding by the way. I'm just desperate for him to stuff everything that's been said about him all season down people's throats, to a level that I can't quite explain.

In general it felt like we were at the same level as a top half Premier League team for the first time in a very long while. Of course, all of this was accompanied by the usual calamity that seems to have followed us around this season, almost comically. Promoted teams need to catch a break relative to their competitors. No sooner had I declared Julio Enciso the number one straw to clutch to for the remainder of the season, his knee went. The Paraguayan's face said "season ender", although it wouldn't be the first team I'd been sucked in by an over-dramatic injury reaction (Leif Davis in particular loves these).

The players didn't seem to take the loss of Enciso too hard and after a stellar performance against Coventry and a few tough breaks, Jack Clarke deserved the 73 remaining minutes that we all presumed were coming his way.

That it turned out to be 28 minutes was rough justice in more ways than one. Clarke would be hooked for an extra defender as Ipswich went down to 10. Axel Tuanzebe's sending off just before half time was deeply unfair not just on Clarke, but on our whole performance to that point. We'd not merely hung in there, we'd controlled parts of the game. Villa occasionally exploited the pockets in front of and behind our defence left open by our front foot posture, but certainly didn't merit the game being handed to them on a plate.

Tuanzebe's first yellow was unnecessary, although I'm sure the referee's snap view missed the touch on the ball and just saw Axel taking Morgan Rogers' legs and preventing a fast break. The second was a fractional misjudgement, a hand designed to impede rather than knock over but once Ramsey tumbled in a shooting position, the second yellow was inevitable.

Typical, a game we play well in, compete well in and it's one of those where we get a silly sending off in. Not a single opposition players has managed that not uncommon combo of unfair/daft yellows against us, nor made a reckless tackle or denied a goalscoring opportunity. No 50 minutes against depleted opposition for Ipswich.

As we scraped and clawed our way to half time Alex Palmer made the first of what would be six saves (it felt like more). Palmer was magnificent but also seemingly untouched by whatever mischievous god has been following Aro Muric around. 90 seconds in Palmer did his best impression of his new understudy, haring recklessly out of his goal for no real reason, only to be bailed out by Morgan Rogers' rather unconvincing dive. Satisfied that he was actually invincible, the new man made save after save, interspersed with confident passing and even one Cruyff turn.

TypicaI though, that our keeper would turn in a performance that would've won us pretty much any other game this season, in such a doomed scenario. Typical that Omari Hutchinson, so often hesitant this season about just slinging a percentage ball into the box, would do so for such immediate reward here, in a game we would surely lose anyway?

I watched the last 10 minutes squinting at the screen trying not to watch the clock, so convinced was I that the Villa winner was coming. It didn't. A crucial point, drawing us just a little closer to Wolves, keeping us in the hunt.

Like so often this season, it still felt like less than we could have got, maybe a little less than we deserved. Like so often this season, it was just enough, just in time, to keep hope alive.

Just enough to believe that adding a more reliable keeper, revamping the midfield, in addition to our fun juggernaut striker and sturdyish defence (usually even sturdier with Luke Woolfenden in it) would leave us good to go in almost every department, sending us flying up the league.

Just when I thought I was out.

They pull me back in.