York's home advantage amounts to a marginal statistical whisper in an uncaring universe, though Frank Gerrard may briefly illuminate the darkness with a goal before Burton's forwards — who frankly look more dangerous on paper — extinguish any flicker of hope. Rendor Veres sweeping up at the back for Burton is the sort of quiet, thankless competence that prevents York from truly capitalising on their attacking numbers, which is admirable in the way that a very well-organised filing cabinet is admirable. A draw, then — two sets of supporters going home neither satisfied nor devastated, which I find perfectly encapsulates the human condition.

York's forward line is absolutely rampaging at home, but Burton's Rendor Veres at sweeper is a proper wall that'll soak up whatever gets thrown at him. I reckon both sides cancel each other out in a ferocious midfield war that leaves neither goalkeeper truly tested. A draw feels right, but York will be furious they couldn't convert that home advantage into something more.