Having been born into a life of supporting lower league football thanks to my father’s allegiances, I have had my fair share of disappointment over the years.

While my friends at school were busy not watching Manchester United and Liverpool, I was at the Deva Stadium watching Chester, come rain or shine, hell or highwater.

My heroes were not David Beckham, Paul Scholes or Steven Gerrard. It was players like Stuart Rimmer and Daryl Clare who would hold iconic status in my eyes.

As a Blues fan I’ve seen more disappointment than ecstasy, more goals against than goals for. But still I go back. It is a bond that can’t be broken between myself and the club that represents the city of my birth.

That date of birth, September 22, will now be a date special to me for the rest of my life. Monday, September 22, 2014 - that’s my Istanbul, that’s my Moscow. A last second winner to beat the old foe, Wrexham. Sheer joy that brought an embrace between father and son. The magic of football.

If moments of euphoria could be bottled and sold, the seconds after Ben Heneghan’s winner would be akin to gold dust.

To dissect it as a neutral who has been weaned on the glitz and glamour of the Premier League, I would imagine that a last minute winner in a non-league match in English football’s fifth tier, where the result would not determine the fate of either club’s season, would hardly count as the greatest night in football history.

But to me and the fellow Blues fans who have shared the same journey, the same taunts, the same sneering mockery, the Wrexham victory will be etched on our minds and looked back on with fondness for the rest of our lives.

The rivalry between Chester and Wrexham is fierce, it has historic roots. England versus Wales. But there is a mutual respect between us, after all, they have abandoned the lure of the Premier League in favour of an identity. Supporting their hometown club.

It’s been 12 years since I left school. There are friends who I have, regrettably, lost touch with. But the friendly rivalry that was sparked up on the schoolyard as pimply teenagers has never gone away.

Immediately after the Wrexham game, one old friend, who I haven’t spoken with for several years, sent me a message that read simply ‘I’m just glad we’re not in school anymore, I wouldn’t be going in tomorrow’.