Saints' waterlogged Filbert Street match vs Leicester - 1983

For the travelling contingent of Saints supporters making the hopeful pilgrimage north to Leicester's Filbert Street that October afternoon, the prospect of missing out on ninety minutes of football seemed utterly remote. 

Optimism, as it often does among the faithful, reigned supreme. Yet, as their coaches and cars ventured past the dreaming spires of Oxford, the skies began to weep, transitioning from a persistent drizzle to something altogether more ominous as they merged onto the M1 motorway. 

What had started as mere rain rapidly escalated into a full-blown monsoon, lashing down with near-biblical proportions. 

Still, the stubborn belief held firm – this was only October, surely? Games weren't postponed for weather this early in the season... were they?

Upon arrival, Filbert Street presented a scene more suited to synchronised swimming than football. 

Despite the pre-match downpour having mercifully eased to a persistent soaking, the pitch resembled a shallow, shimmering lake rather than a playable football surface. 

To the astonishment of many, the referee, perhaps adhering rigidly to the schedule, blew his whistle to commence the proceedings. 

The only real question hanging in the saturated air wasn't if the game would be abandoned, but when.

It wasn't that the ground was merely soft underfoot - paradoxically, the issue was the pitch's inability to absorb the sheer volume of water dumped upon it in such a short space of time.

The deluge simply sat stubbornly on the surface, creating treacherous conditions. 

Players found running, strangely, manageable enough, but attempting to stop, turn, or control the ball was an exercise in futility. 

The ball, when kicked, would often stop dead in a plume of spray after mere yards, stubbornly refusing to roll. 

Passing became a lottery, dribbling an impossibility.

In an era long before wall-to-wall live televised football, this particular fixture had, by a quirk of fate, been selected for the BBC's flagship Match of the Day program. 

Viewers across the nation were treated not to a display of First Division football, but to something resembling a bizarre, water-logged production of Swan Lake meets It's a Knockout. 

Any pretence of meaningful play evaporated almost instantly. Strategy was abandoned, replaced by an impromptu, splash-filled mini-Olympics as players struggled merely to stay upright. 

The situation descended into aquatic absurdity.

The television cameras famously captured the moment Saints' diminutive winger, Danny Wallace, launched himself into what the commentator humorously dubbed an attempt on the "world record for a sliding belly flop." 

Our picture immortalises him mid-flight, skimming across the surface water in a glorious, water-spraying arc, while teammate Steve Moran scrambles inelegantly out of the way after his own less committed effort. This fictional "record," born of pure farce, would jokingly be said to stand until 1994, when Tottenham's German import, Jurgen Klinsmann, arrived with his trademark celebratory dive – achieved, remarkably, without the assistance of a waterlogged pitch!

Finally, after 22 minutes of aquatic slapstick, common sense prevailed. The referee, possibly with the apocryphal assistance of "a man in a small boat" to navigate the midfield mire, signalled for the players to return to the relative dryness of the dressing rooms. 

Acknowledging the futility of waiting for the pitch to drain, he officially abandoned the match.

This soggy non-event had consequences beyond mere frustration. Saints had entered the day sitting proudly in second place in the First Division table. 

The abandonment, coupled with the fixture backlog it created, meant that by the time the rearranged match took place on the last day of a chilly November, Lawrie McMenemy's side had slipped down the standings to eighth.

A hardy crowd of 14,181 turned up for the rescheduled fixture, many clutching the vouchers issued at the rained-off game weeks earlier. 

There was a sense of anticipation, not just for the football, but because the travelling Saints contingent were about to witness the debut of a player whose name would become synonymous with grit and controversy. 

Earlier that week, McMenemy had completed the signing of the infamous 'bad boy' defender, Mark Dennis. Few among the shivering faithful knew then just what a significant and impactful figure he would become for the club.

It was also a poignant week for another Saint, Ian Juryeff. Having made his own debut as a substitute just four days earlier at Coventry, he would again come off the bench at Filbert Street. 

However, this fleeting appearance would prove to be his last for the club before embarking on a long and respected career in the lower leagues and non-league football, eventually returning to Southampton to work with the Saints Community department in 1997.

Sadly, the replay offered little immediate cheer for the Saints players or fans. It wasn't a classic encounter, and Leicester City proved more clinical. 

Future England star Alan Smith put the Foxes ahead after 22 minutes. When his prolific strike partner, Gary Lineker, doubled the lead in the 74th minute, the game felt effectively over. 

The ever-stylish Frank Worthington did manage to spark a late, spirited rally, pulling a goal back with just seven minutes remaining to make it 2-1. But it was too little, too late. 

A frustrated Lawrie McMenemy lamented to the Daily Echo afterwards, sighing that "it was the same old story of missed chances."

Taking to the field for the replayed fixture that day, Saints started with Shilton, S Baker, Dennis, Williams, K Armstrong, Whitlock, Holmes, Moran, Worthington, D Armstrong, and Danny Wallace, while Ian Juryeff was on the bench as substitute.

As the disappointed Saints supporters underwent the familiar post-match ritual of being held back in the away end for 15 minutes before being escorted through the Leicester streets back to their coaches and trains – a standard procedure for crowd control back then – a sense of deflation hung in the air. 

What none of them could possibly have known, trudging away from Filbert Street nursing the sting of defeat, was that this loss would be one of the final setbacks in an astonishing season.

Incredibly, from that chilly November night onwards, Saints would lose only four more league matches in their remaining 29 fixtures. This remarkable turnaround propelled them on an unforgettable surge up the table, culminating in them finishing as runners-up in the First Division, second only to the dominant Liverpool machine of the era – the highest league finish in the club's history. 

The waterlogged farce of October and the frustrating defeat in November were merely prelude to greatness.