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The emotional explosion on the whistle was almost orgasmic as a pent up Riverside exploded with passion.

The stoppage time winner – the best kind – sparked a pitch size party as beaming Aitor leaped from the dug-out, roared and punched the air.

Gladiator Leo, the club’s lion killer elect, ran over to scoop him up and hug him then turned to beat his chest just as the rest of the bench arrived to join in the elated huddle.

And it was the same in the stands as supporters leaped, and screamed and EIO-hugged their neighbours.

There were moist-eyes and choked throats at the enormity of the split-second dice roll that may have saved the season. It was like we had qualified for a cup final.

The sonic boom that rocked the Riverside was part the knee-jerk triumphalism of victory in a massive match: we had dented a rival, regained an automatic spot and regained some Championship escape velocity.

But the cheers were amplified by an audible sigh of relief that rang from Ragworth of Redcar.

Boro are bloody lucky. But don’t under-estimate that. Aitor Karanka is a manager blessed with good fortune. And that could just be the key ingredient.

It was massively important that Boro won to draw a big thick neon line under a stormy and surreal week that threatened to derail the promotion push and the entire Karanka project.

It was important to put on a show that sent out a clear message that Boro are back, they are united, and they are very much a factor in the title chase.

Boro did that. It wasn’t the most entertaining of matches . After a fairly fluid start it fizzled out into fruitless flailing and at times fans were frustrated by some familiar flaws.

And Hull almost stole it. They arguably had the best chances and in the second half they looked sharp and there were real fears that Boro would get caught. It was a tense.

But all that was washed away in the cleansing wave of emotion as David Nugent glanced home a red zone killer that ignited the celebrations. Phew.

It had been a high-stakes emotionally testing night after a week of fevered speculation and fears that a season of hope was evaporating.

Nerves? The tangible tension before the high-stakes game was incredible. You couldn’t cut it with a knife. No way. This was a job that required specialist diamond tipped machinery that would have to be put out to tender.

Stomachs were knotted, throats dry and had fans been wired up to the national grid the nervous energy would have safely powered most of Teesside for a week.

But the atmosphere was healthy. Given the political fall out in the build-up and bruising back-to-back defeats to basement battlers no-one would have been surprised by a shroud of cynicism over the crowd.

But there was a great turn-out and the fans were loud and proud and in great voice long before kick-off. The surfer was out. A smoke bomb went off in the Red Faction area and the supportive singing tried to take root.

Before the game a brief “get behind the lads” message from Aitor Karanka and that sparked a rousing round of chanting backing the boss and fuelled a feisty feel to the opening period in which Boro looked assertive.

As the game wore on the nerves started to creep. That was to be expected. As Hull pressed the tension was racked up. Things got twitchy. And bitchy. There were some isolated outbreaks of sniping over tactics and poor touches and a lack of cutting edge.

And when Stewart Downing came on there was a sprinkling of booing among the clapping, cheering and chanting.

Booing your own player as some kind of motivational reverse psychology is something I can never get my head around. It seems more like self indulgent point scoring.

It ushered in a spell of heightened insecurity, and nerves inching towards terror...

But then GOAAAALLLL. All the fears dissolved in joy.

What a team. Never in doubt.