IT says a great deal of the mindset of the isolated Argyle fan that when speaking to brethren about this game almost every one of them said: 'At least Bristol isn't that far.'
Well it is. It's miles. At least, on a Boxing Day morning with a 7.30am start, it feels far enough to me. As we ascended the M5 and passed Taunton a comment was made in our car that if this was a 3pm kick-off at home, we'd all still be in bed. Humbug, indeed.
"Welcome to the Westcountry" was a strange introduction from the stadium announcer at Bristol Rovers' patchwork ground to welcome a group of players and supporters who have travelled 100+ miles or the best part of two hours, but he wasn't a shy lad. In fact, his gassing might well be where the home side get their nickname from.
It's a strange old place, The Memorial Stadium. It feels like a combination of various elements of sporting stadia, but not in a Travelling Wilburys supergroup sort of way. The home end behind the goal has the look and feel of a football terrace, but after that the traditional similarities seem to end.
The towering stand in which we were placed is very much a rugby structure (to be fair, it is a rugby ground really). Behind the goal, at 'our end', there appears to be a covered seating area borrowed from the 18th fairway of an Open Championship. And the tunnel bisects two stands which appear to the naked eye to be a cricket pavilion and a small enclosure normally seen at a water-park filled with people watching Shamu the dolphin jumping through hoops.
The pitch, meanwhile, may well have cultivated the Brussels Sprouts and parsnips you doubtless wolfed down on Christmas afternoon. A tad muddy, it was.
As everyone began to settle in inside the ground, and after the traditional Boxing Day breakfast of Gaviscon, Rennies and regret had gone down, it was game time.
Any talk of the finale of Downton Abbey from yesterday or the details of the Queen's Speech (I thought she'd talk about the Royal Weddings a bit more, didn't you?) were put to one side at approximately 11.22am when the team-sheets arrived.
It was clear from the nominal personnel that Paul Bignot was to take his place at the heart of the Argyle defence for the first time. In fact, the heart of ANY defence for the first time, I understand.
To be fair, he has the components required.You wouldn't say that Biggie is small, and he has quite a bit of pace - even more that his load is lighter after offering a few quid to St Luke's Hospice in lieu of a fine a couple of weeks back.
He made a very good start. Within two minutes former Pilgrim Chris Zebroski, a forward of not inconsiderable frame, attempted to back in and muscle Biggie off of it - not a chance. First blood to the Argyle defender.
And second blood, shortly afterwards, to a former one. Gary Sawyer, erstwhile of Plymouth and now residing in the blue half of Bristol having sampled the red bit, got a clump in the mouth from a corner and wore the crimson mask for a few moments. If Bignot looked like he might have Zebroski's number, the Gas kitman now had Sawyer's, because it was covered in plasma.
As 20 minutes approached, Bignot's first scare arrived. Having dealt with Zebroski for the bulk of the game to this point, he now had a foot race with Zebroski's flame-haired strike partner, the long-legged Matt Harrold.
It was a race that looked for all the world to be one the former Yeovil forward would win, but fortunately Biggie won out. More worryingly, though, the signs were there that Rovers were increasingly in the ascendancy, despite Argyle having had the best of the opening exchanges.
Harrold then pulled onto the shoulder of Maxime Blanchard, and got on the end of a Lee Brown cross. It went wide, and it looked like Jake Cole had it covered, but even so, these were nervy times.
Minutes later, a similar move, but with different personnel, saw Dorman powerfully meet an Eliot Richards cross. This time Cole definitely had it covered, because he brilliantly tipped it onto the crossbar. But the resistance was soon to end.
As Onismor Bhasera wound up his left foot to clear, he made contact with Harrold, rather than ball. Referee Roger East had no choice but to point to the penalty spot. Harrold picked himself off of the muddy park to slot home the spot kick. One-zip.
Minutes later, the lead was doubled from the foot of the same player. Good body strength, a neat turn, a quality finish. 2-0, and it was hard to quarrel with the scoreline. Good King Harrold had put a figurative arrow to the eye of Argyle's battle plans, and it seemed that the patchwork defence was having an off day. Oh well, all part of life's rich tapestry.
After less than half an hour, was it already Goodnight Irene?
Well, we'll never get anywhere with attitude, will we? And anyway, were we not two goals down at this very ground at the other end of 2011 and came away with three points? Yes. We were. Resurgam. Believe.
The annoying thing was that on the occasions Argyle had got forwardto this point they had looked really quite dangerous. One or two multi-man passing moves were a joy to behold, they just had a tendency to peter out with no denouement.
One such move saw Simon Walton burst into space, but on a sticky wicket and on his left foot, he was reluctant to shoot, and by the time he went to ground the chance was gone. His tumble and subsequent 'wee chat' with a defender who perhaps doubted the legitimacy of the fall did not endear the skipper to the home fans.
A Bhasera snapshot seconds into first-half stoppage-time was the first time Rovers keeper Bevan was really called to do anything, and although it did punctuate a flurry of Argyle resistance, it also brought home that there was a sizable and rather imposing mountain to climb.
But Sherpa Fletcher obviously had the suitable equipment to hand at half-time. Argyle came out in the second half with the kind of vigour that would make Everest feel like Haytor. A spirit and bustle that was sorely lacking in the first half had materialised, and chance after chance came Argyle's way. Recovery base camp was reached when Nick Chadwick nodded down a corner and Warren Feeney prodded home. We were back in it.
For much of the next 20 minutes, it was Argyle with their tails up. The groans and frustrations that pierced the grey air were from the home fans. 1-2, and Buckle looked Blue. Argyle were knocking on the door, and the Pirates' players were picking up stick.
Rovers fashioned a chance against the run of play at the midpoint of the half, with Dorman's deflected drive eliciting a superb reaction save from Cole. At the other end, Bevan played the 'anything-you-can-do card' with an even better stop from a long-range Hourihane shot that took a detour of it's own.
The chances kept coming. Feeney's incursion into the six-yard area drew a corner, from which Chadwick saw his header cleared off the line. The Young Boys of Plymouth were storming the Pirates bow. Surely they couldn't hold out?
Finally, with 11 minutes remaining, the leveller arrived. Mr East played a good advantage to allow a buccaneering run from Durrell Berry to go on. A Hemmings cross found Chadwick, and he in turn found the bottom corner. Green heaven. The Pilgrims had returned from Never Never Land. 2-2.
As the fourth official's board was raised to signal three additional minutes, Feeno's quick thinking and quick throw-in led to a cross which Chadders flicked goalwards. Another brilliant save. The Gas were running on fumes.
Then Baz's cross evaded seemingly every player on the pitch as legs despairingly tried to snare a winner. But no goal, just a goal-kick. It wasn't quite going to be the storybook ending we craved.
But wait…..Bevan, so many times a hero, fluffed his lines when kicking clear. It fell to Hemmings, clear on goal. A calm finish. A net ripple. Jubilation in the away end. Vitriol and venom in the home ranks. They want Buckle out. The Green Army just wanted the champagne out.
I'll never tire of these 3-2 wins. After Swindon last season saw a re-run of the five-goal thriller in a year gone by, now we visit Bristol to come from behind and win by the same scoreline twice. Walt Disney couldn't write it. I can scarcely still believe it myself.
Six away wins in 2011. Two at Dagenham, one in Sheffield, one in Milton Keynes. But most importantly, two in Bristol. The first and last away games of 2011, completed with more beautiful symmetry than Angelina Jolie's face.
How does the song go? "Oh I wish it could be Boxing Day, every day….."
