Oh to be a Bradford Bulls' fan at Old Trafford on Saturday!

In years to come, fans will be asking where were you on October 13, 2001?

And those who weren't there, will be embarrassed to confess their omission.

Because it was a game to go down in the annals of the club's history and to be talked about with reverence.

The 37-6 victory over Wigan was a match to be savoured over and over again.

And many, like Maureen Fisher, 45, of Eccleshill, indeed went straight home to watch it again - having video recorded it from TV.

I caught up with her as she left the ground, a beaming smile on her face.

"What a game. What a feeling. I can't wait to watch it again as soon as I get home," she said.

She had seen her team put on one of its most pulsating performances. It could do no wrong.

I went as a detached observer, but was swept up in the joy and fervour of the fans, the infectious atmosphere.

The term electric might be over-used, but it was just that.

Before the game the atmosphere was tense among the thousands of the black, red and gold wearing clan who swarmed around the stadium.

Flag waving, chanting, blowing horns, men, women and children clad head to foot in kit - faces daubed in warpaint.

Yet there was nothing warlike in the atmosphere. It was quite the reverse.

The rival chanting was friendly, the banter all in good faith.

So many of the Super League final record-breaking 60,164 had come as family groups. Many were as young as Rhys Shears, a devoted Bulls fan at only six years old, who accompanies his dad Robert to every game.

And they were all on edge. Would it be Bulls' day?

So many times before they had "bottled it" when it came to the crunch, I was told by many fans.

But this time it was going to be their day.

Predictions were that Bradford would just take the glory, but only after a close battle.

So that sense of anticipation was tangible in the ground, made even more palpable by the Cathedral like stadium. You could literally taste the tension.

And when the hooter went for the off, it was like a dam sluice being released. There followed such a deafening roar, it was enough to drown a jumbo jet at take-off.

Ticker-tape was thrown, flags and arms waved, drums clattered and almost everyone was on their feet.

If Bulls couldn't respond to that, they never would.

And it must have swamped the players, because almost immediately they swept Wigan back and within minutes had scored.

It proved to be the pattern for the rest of the game. And as they notched up the points, relentlessly through the first half, so the joy and relief among the fans was cranked up.

Every Bulls' try was greeted with calls of Woolly Bully and when it was flashed up on the big screen, it was a chance to re-live the joy.

If there were any doubts about the team's ability to hold on after the interval, it was soon squashed.

They could do no wrong, even the turf seemed to be on their side - it resembled a magic carpet with a soft underlay carrying the team to victory.

And at the end when the hooter blew, the stadium belonged to the devotees.

Most of the Wigan fans had slumped off early, shoulders down, dejected.

But none of the ranks of Bradford fans wanted to leave. This was a day to remember and a day to savour - over and over again.