So many things have been written and said about Wrexham in the last couple of years, but one comment by Rob McElhenney is dominating my thoughts at the moment.

He said, during the process of the takeover, that when he saw a video of Wrexham fans’ delighted faces, he saw in them the working-class Philadelphia fans who celebrated the Eagles’ success in the Super Bowl in 2017.

Now, he has experienced a Wrexham celebration of his own, and I truly hope that it lived up to his expectations.

If ever there was an expression of the transformative effect McElhenney and Ryan Reynolds have had on Wrexham as a town, not just a football club, it was Tuesday’s celebratory parade.

The town came out in all its pomp, and celebrated as only Wrexham can. The atmosphere was magnificent. We were all out there for at least three hours, and the passion did not wane for a second.

I rather suspect that Wrexham‘s doctors will get tired of writing sick notes over the next few days, citing smoke inhalation for the reason people have missed work! The noxious smoke of flares filled the air, especially outside the Wynnstay, and added to the mayhem.

I’m not a fan of flares. They stink, the fumes get on your chest, and they’re not exactly legal either, are they?

However, I can’t deny they bring a certain atmosphere to situations like this.

The flares on the pitch when Wrexham clinched the title added to those remarkable, hedonistic scenes, framing the gleeful madness.

On this occasion, standing outside the Wynnstay as the buses inched their way up the hill, it felt like a scene from the inferno as the players and the gleaming trophy slowly emerged through the red mist.

It was poetic, almost. An aesthetic embodiment of this sweet red glory, and perhaps a manifestation of the hell that awaits opposing teams when they come to The Racecourse next season, when we get our teeth into League Two.

On the ground, the evening felt like a local affair. Everybody seemed to know everyone, or if not we were all happy to chat and laugh together, enjoying our common experience of something truly transformative happening in our own town.

It was also an opportunity for all those people who try desperately to get their hands on tickets every fortnight, and miss out. I’ve no idea how many people try to get into The Racecourse to see a match, but this felt like a chance for them to get close to the team, and enjoy an achievement which they are as much a part of as those of us who are fortunate to attend regularly.

It’s not just remarkable for the locals. The story of our club and our town has burrowed deeply into the hearts of so many people around the world. One of the pleasures of watching “Welcome to Wrexham” and then following last season on social media was to see how Reynolds has fallen profoundly in love with everything about this project.

He was clearly fully committed from the start, but I don’t think he realised just how deeply the club and the town would burrow into his heart.

If you’d told him three years ago that he’d skip the Met Gala Ball, the global social event of the year, to take part in a parade in a North Wales town because their football team had won the fifth division, I’m sure he wouldn’t have believed you!

It was all scarcely believable anyway. But it is real, and it is brilliant.

A few of us vowed to meet at the same spot next year for the League Two promotion celebrations! Why stop there? I’ll see you all on the steps of the Wynnstay in six years to watch the Champions League trophy being paraded past us! Poor old Real Madrid won’t know what hit them!

I know that sounds crazy. Okay, it is crazy. But we’re all allowed to dream sometimes, and the wonderful thing with Rob and Ryan is that it’s become very difficult to discern what is realistic and what isn’t anymore. They haven’t just allowed us to dream, they’ve compelled us to. We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto!

When I saw Rob’s beaming smile from the top of his bus, I think I knew whether our celebration had lived up to his expectations! I’m glad you enjoyed it, Rob. You earned this. Literally.