By Andrew Collinson

Supporting Bradford City isn’t just a pastime; it’s a full-body commitment. A unique blend of heartbreak, hope and habit that’s both ridiculous and beautiful, especially at this time of year when the EFL play-offs spark dreams and dredge up trauma in equal measure.

We are, after all, one of the few clubs to have experienced it all. Promotion to the Premier League, famously celebrated by Stuart McCall falling off the roof of a car. A European away day. Financial ruin. League Two mediocrity. A managerial appointment rate that would make Watford’s owner blush. And yet, still over 20,000 fans turn up. Still, they believe.

I’m 30 now and have been a season ticket holder in the Kop for the best part of two decades.

My first match? Barnsley away in 2002. A bonkers 3-3 draw. It summed up what following City is all about: it’s unpredictable, chaotic, gripping. I’ve been hooked ever since.

From glory to the abyss

The Bantams had a golden era in the late 1990s and given what’s been on offer since, the City faithful are all too keen to reminisce about those days. Premier League survival. David Wetherall’s bullet header against Liverpool to avoid relegation on the final day. Benito Carbone embarrassing defenders on TV. An Intertoto Cup run that had us dreaming of making a mark on the continent. A brilliant, ridiculous time to be alive.

But it couldn’t last. Administration came. Twice. The club teetered on the edge of financial ruin and ended up selling the stadium to survive. Just a few short years after their second and final season in the Premier League, City were in League Two. The glow faded and the crowds thinned, but we clung on.

And then came Phil Parkinson in August 2011, just four games into the season. Steady, unfussy, smart. He kept City in the division with dogged determination, assembling a squad that reflected our status: scrappy, relentless and deeply loyal.

Only one of the players cost actual money: James Hanson, signed from Guiseley for £7,500 and some tracksuits, or so the rumour goes. A former Co-op shelf-stacker, he embodied everything Bradford City fans expect from their team; not necessarily quality, but honesty and hard work.

What that team went on to achieve was absurd.

On the way to the League Cup final, we beat three Premier League clubs: Wigan, Arsenal on penalties, and then Aston Villa over two legs.

Yes, we were outclassed by Swansea in the final (remember Michu?), but we sang ourselves hoarse. A League Two side in a major final. That 2012/13 season was pure football romance.

The Germans, the fall and the fury

Of course, in true Bradford City style, we followed that miracle with an unravelling worthy of a Shakespearean tragedy.

In the summer of 2016, the club was sold to German investor Stefan Rupp and his partner Edin Rahic, who claimed to “know football.”

He didn’t. Parkinson saw what was coming and left.

According to those around the club, Rahic took control of almost everything: recruitment, contracts, and even the dressing room atmosphere. It became a vanity project, run with arrogance and zero awareness of what made Bradford City tick. Rupp, meanwhile, stayed in the background. Wealthy, distant, and crucially, uninterested in football.

What followed was a masterclass in how not to run a club. Within two years, the Bantams went from play-off contenders in League One to the bottom of the table. Fans turned. Unrest grew. The club lost its identity; managers were chewed up and spat out, and players seemed directionless and disconnected. It was bleak.

Bradford City’s story became a cautionary tale and served as a warning to others: this is what happens when you ignore the culture of a club and treat football like a spreadsheet.

Stuck in League Two: the wilderness years

Rahic was eventually ousted. Rupp stayed, a ghost at the feast, while trust in the board eroded. We became a husk, merely existing. Dwindling attendances and static football. Every season a variation of the same: a false dawn and a bad run, ultimately resulting in a sacking. Repeat.

In 2020, we found ourselves not chasing promotion, but avoiding relegation to the National League. Let that sink in. A club with a 25,000-seat stadium and one of the most passionate fanbases in the country, nearly gone.

So, the club tried something different. Mark Hughes, of all people. A name. A reputation. A man who’d managed in the Premier League, now trying to beat Harrogate.

And to be fair, he did alright at first. We made the play-offs in 2022/23. The stadium was buzzing again, but ultimately, the team fell short as Carlisle beat us in the semi-final. What hurt most was the lack of fight and the sense we’d just accepted our fate and resigned ourselves to yet another year in League Two.

The final straw? A baffling substitution. At a must-win moment, Hughes withdrew Scott Banks, our most creative player and brought on centre-back Matty Platt. The boos were instant. The faith was gone and just 11 games into the following season, so was Hughes, with the Bantams languishing in 18th.

The Alexander era and the season everything changed

Enter Graham Alexander. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t arrive with soundbites. But from the off, he got the tone right. He spoke about the club with respect and the fans with honesty. He wore the pain of the past few years like someone who’d actually sat through it. You could tell he got what it meant to be at Valley Parade.

Pair this with the appointment of David Sharpe, Head of Football Operations, and everything changed. A football man, smart, measured, and crucially, professional. Suddenly, we had structure and organisation. A plan. A club that felt like it was being run by adults. Imagine that.

2024/25 was our sixth season in League Two. It looked like our best shot in years. On paper, it was the weakest division in a generation without a clear favourite – a golden chance, if ever there was one.

With 23 games played, City were in 9th place, 17 points behind runaway league leaders Walsall, but just two points off the last playoff spot.

Then on New Year’s Day, disaster. Talismanic striker Andy Cook suffered a season-ending ACL injury. Cook’s goals had been central to Bradford’s hopes, and the loss seemed to extinguish any real chance of promotion.

But Bradford City’s resilience shone through. Against all odds, the squad went on a remarkable run, with a revamped playing style in the absence of their target man, winning a record ten consecutive home games at Valley Parade – a fortress once more. Each victory renewed belief and fired up the fans, reminding everyone why they never gave up on this club.

We climbed the table, slowly, then suddenly. With a handful of games to go, City leapfrogged Walsall and found themselves top of the league. But it was short-lived. After losing to fellow promotion hopefuls Port Vale, a resurgent Swindon Town, and a smattering of draws, the Bantams were looking over their shoulder at the chasing pack, notably Walsall. The fleeting dream of a title was over, but promotion was the main goal.

In the penultimate game of the season, Bradford City were away to title hopefuls Doncaster Rovers in the early kick-off. City were in third spot, but only by a point. A win would see the Bantams promoted if results went their way.

They didn’t. A terrible afternoon including a red card, a penalty miss and a Billy Sharp winner for the hosts saw Donny promoted and the Bantams knowing that promotion was no longer in their hands – a point or more for Walsall, at home to lowly Accrington, would see them climb into the final promotion place.

In a League Two season where seemingly nobody wanted to gain promotion, Accrington nicked a 1-0 win, leaving a very fortunate Bradford side in control of their own destiny going into the final match.

All that Bradford City needed was to better Walsall’s result to go up automatically.

Walsall went 1-0 up in the 59th minute. Bradford were still 0-0 against Fleetwood, who were on the beach but doing their best to spoil the party. Time was slipping away.

A goal that ends the pain

As the minutes ticked down, I found myself listing every twist that had cost us points, like a fan’s fever dream:

• The goal not given at Salford, clearly over the line.
  
  
• Richie Smallwood’s red card at 3-1 up against Swindon. We lost 5-4.
  
  
• McGoldrick’s screamer for Notts County, their only shot.
  
  
• The 0-0 at Accrington, lifeless and gutless.

Each memory cut deep. Each one a scar. And then… in the 96th minute, one more attack.

A hopeful Bradford ball into the box was headed away, but only to George Lapslie. He took it down and swung a boot. His shot looked to be heading wide, but a deflection from promotion specialist Antoni Sarcevic wrong-footed the Fleetwood keeper and saw the ball dribble over the line. The ugliest goal you’ll ever see, but the most beautiful moment imaginable.

Valley Parade erupted.

Jamie Raynor at BBC Radio Leeds captured it perfectly:

“That’s the moment! In the dying seconds, Bradford City have found the goal that sends them automatically to League One. Pandemonium at Valley Parade. Can you believe it? A goal that finally ends the hurt, the pain, the toil.”

We did it. Promotion in the most dramatic of ways, sealed with the worst goal you’re ever likely to see.

More than football

The city centre became a street party with flares, chanting, and players out celebrating in the bars with the fans. That doesn’t happen in the Premier League.

But before the celebrations came reflection. It marked 40 years since the Valley Parade fire in which 56 supporters – 54 Bradford City and two Lincoln City – went to a match on May 11, 1985 and never came home. Parents, children and friends; their names etched into the soul of the club.

As always, the final home fixture began with remembrance. Wreaths were laid, the ground fell silent and scarves were raised high.

Then, from the silence, You’ll Never Walk Alone echoed around Valley Parade in an emotional tribute to those lost.

The past is always with Bradford City, especially on the final game. On this day, promotion didn’t just belong to the players or the fans in the ground, it belonged to the 56.

A remarkable return to League One

Ask any Bradford City fan what they expected from this season and most would have said survival, with a couple of wins against the likes of Huddersfield and Cardiff thrown in for good measure.

Few would have predicted what a barnstorming campaign it’s turned out to be, especially at Valley Parade. I’ve always hated the word “fortress”. It gets thrown around too easily, and across the EFL in recent years, the gap between home and away form has shrunk to almost nothing. But Valley Parade has earned the term back. Nineteen home wins in 2025. More than anywhere else in Europe. Little wonder we’re on track for an extra thousand season ticket holders next year, despite a third £50 price rise in as many seasons.

We won’t talk about the away form. That remains a blight on a side who can do little wrong in front of their own.

We’ve been spoiled. Memorable wins against Huddersfield at home, Cardiff and Stockport away. Expectations shifted after the opening months, when it looked like we were genuine challengers for automatic promotion. That dream faded. We almost “did a Walsall” and dropped out of the play-off spots altogether. And yet, we didn’t.

It would have been bitterly disappointing if we had. We’ve been a mainstay in the play-offs all season, and I don’t care that most of us would’ve taken 20th back in August.

Now we’re here, though, I’m content. Not that I don’t want us to do the unthinkable and secure back-to-back promotions, but this is a free hit. Unlike previous play-off campaigns, there’s no weight of expectation bearing down on us. If we lose, we did bloody well to get there. If we win, we’re going on the p**s with Sarcevic.

We’ve risen to the occasion this season. Carried forward some of the magic from how last year ended. And whatever happens next, that’s more than enough.

What makes Bradford City special

Supporting your local team isn’t always fun. It’s rarely easy. But it’s real.

When you follow Bradford City, you don’t get glory every week, or even every decade, but you get something better. Connection. Stories. Pain that means something. And joy, when it comes around, that lasts a lifetime.

Last season, that joy came at the death courtesy of a scruffy deflected goal in the 96th minute, a crowd in absolute euphoria, and a sense, finally, that the journey back might just be beginning. This season, it’s come in a different form: the steady belief that we belong here, that the rebuild is real, and that whatever happens in the play-offs, we’ve already exceeded what anyone thought possible.

Just a few years ago, we feared dropping into non-league. Now we’re playing for a place in the Championship. That’s Bradford City. Chaos, heartbreak, and then, just when you’ve stopped expecting it, something magical.

You can keep your Champions League finals. I’ll take Sarc 96, nineteen home wins, and a Valley Parade crowd that still believes after everything.

That’s football. That’s Bradford City.

And I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Categories: Opinion, The 2025/26 play offs

Tags: BCAFC