CATASTROPHE - but that may be an understatement.
The game we had to win was lost in extraordinary circumstances. Five goals, three sendings-off and two penalties.
If Wrexham had suffered a couple of serious injuries, and also acquired another red card, there was always the possibility of executing what is now known as a Sheffield United . But Smith is not as smart as Neil Warnock.
However chipper and optimistic the manager continues to be, the reality is frightening: the Reds must win four out of their last six games, at least, to maintain a chance of escaping the drop.
Sixfields was a curious setting for such a horrible occasion.
There was a strange ticketing policy in operation. Buy your ticket from a small Portakabin outside the away end, and then, and only then, enter through the turnstiles.
Why not just enter through the turnstiles and do away with the bureaucratic confusion?
That's what 500 Dragons fans must have asked themselves as they trailed around the perimeter of the visitors end for no reason.
And the great and the good were present: Sky Sports reporter Bryn Law; poet and cult music man Mike Scoot Hett geeing himself and everyone else up for the Declan Swans much heralded benefit gig at the Centenary Club on the 23rd; and a devoted California-based Wrexham fan making a rare pilgrimage.
The tannoy man was in apoplexy before kick-off. He obviously knew what was coming. And then there was the bizarre sight of several dozen people watching the game from the huge grass verge above the goal opposite the away end. Money is tight down south.
Rumours were also flowing thick and fast.
Had Smith really applied for the vacant manager s post at Hull City? Was ex-Chester money man Mark Guterman about to take over at the Racecourse? And would he install Kevin Ratcliffe as boss and Bill Winthorp as Chief Executive? Answers on a postcard, please!
Another Dragons fan was spreading highly classified information. Reds dropout Craig Skinner had just signed on the dotted line at Kidsgrove Athletic in the North West Counties League, who, according to the Non-League Club Directory , boast a record home gate of 538.
At half-time, the aforementioned tannoy man went berserk. Jamiroquai, Flock of Seagulls and Madness. A nice aperitif for the craziness of the second half.
If the first 45 minutes was disappointing another annoying goal conceded just before the interval the second was positively doom-laden.
I knew things were going downhill when the second Northampton goal went in and the bloke standing behind me got so angry that he started to spit saliva onto the back of my head.
The edited highlights of the game: Phillips was too slow; Faulconbridge spent too much time dawdling; Edwards had what is known as a stinker. I felt sorry for the red-carded crestfallen Bennett. Welcome to British football Dan!.
And for once I left the ground in awe of Ferguson's fighting spirit. He acquired another senseless booking for dissent, but on the final whistle was chivvying his traumatised teammates to salute the travelling fans, and was in fact, the first outfield player to do so himself. A dignified end to an appalling afternoon.
