Inside the Molineux Subway listening to the thunder, gazing aimlessly at dirty tiles in different shades of yellow, the faithful gathered and waited for a break in the weather.
From their dimly-lit subterranean holding pen, those at the vanguard hailed blue skies beyond the Sir Jack Hayward Stand and word rippled through the damp ranks of the underpass where a cleverly-stationed badge stall and a programme seller enjoyed mini surges in business.
A bucket-shaker seized his moment, forging into the mass of damp bodies, yelling “Cure leukaemia, support Carl Ikeme” and rattling his plastic tub of coins.