In a drenched but delighted state of mind last week, I was overheard phoning-in a match report and accused of indulging in a positive ocean of sporting cliches.

To which I offered absolutely no defence because Singing In the Rain summed things up perfectly from a South Stander's perspective.

It has been a while since we had anything much to sing about. Whether in rain, sun, fog or scattered showers for that matter. To mix up some meteorological metaphors along with the cliches, Saturday afternoon came after a prolonged period of deep depression that swept in some 12 matches earlier and stubbornly refused to allow the sun to break through the clouds at Withdean, Watford and wherever else the team has turned.

I am not making any excuses for sloppy writing but are cliches always such a terrible crime? English teachers and those who sign off their letters to the newspapers as Disgusted of Withdean Nature Reserve would happily put every last cliche on the bonfire, having already used the guilty parties as kindling. The language of football is riddled with semantic shortcuts that sum up every circumstance and I think the game is all the richer for it.

As it is for the songs and chants that make up the total football experience, many of which may not be original, or follow strict rules of grammar and prettily-worded construction.

The game against Bradford rewarded the supporters with drama by the bucket load, despite the bucket loads of rain descending on them. It was real Roy of the Rovers stuff with courageous goals, committed players, heart-stopping red-carding moments and a terrible cliff-hanging final five minutes with a replacement Albion keeper and an opposition determined at least to level the score, if not more.

This was proper football as it is meant to be played and watched. There is something deeply satisfying about overcoming the elements, be that rain, referees or the sight of Nicky Law in the dug-out. Only in Britain could the description fair weather fan have any real meaning because of the unique relationship we have with our weather. We have a football season that, if not including all four seasons, includes enough of them to ensure heatstroke at Southend and hypothermia at Barnet games that in my collective memory live near enough to the surface to be recalled precisely because of the weather conditions, rather than any ball by ball match play recollection.

If any fair weather fans turned up at Withdean last week, they would have made their excuses very early indeed. But then they would also have missed a classic game and I would not have swapped the warmest of home fires for the chance to see what I hope is the turning point for the team's fortunes.

That Steve Coppell had worked some sort of magic was evident because this was a team showing the sort of fighting spirit and determination that has been lacking over the past weeks. After lacklustre match day performances, Micky Adams, so rumour goes, was a believer in compulsory Sunday afternoon laps around the Falmer duckpond, a fate I can understand anyone wanting to avoid.

I have yet to hear any detailed backroom gossip about Steve's particular management style but who cares whether this owes more to Changing Rooms than Micky's Wildlife At One? It worked and it was pure pleasure to see the team showing the sort of commitment and motivation on the pitch that produced Saturday's win.

For his next trick, I would like to see a repeat performance on Monday when the worst memories of Watford and Wimbledon could be wiped out by a Wonderful Weekday at Wolves.

Roz South edits Brighton Rockz fanzine. Email roz@southspark.co.uk