The moment I realised Birmingham had lost its head - in the most beautiful way possible - was somewhere between fans climbing lampposts, smoke filling the streets, and me sprinting after Villa's open-top bus, drenched in sweat, struggling to keep up.
I am not an Aston Villa fan. In fact, I am from Wolverhampton, so there is an argument I should not be cheering on the claret and blue. But I was.
After nearly two hours of chasing Villa's trophy parade around the city centre following their stunning 3-0 dismantling of Freiburg in the Europa League final, I will admit it: I got completely swept up in the emotion of it all. Because what I am is a fan of this city.
The parade was staged to begin in the Jewellery Quarter which, by mid-afternoon, was packed with thousands of delirious supporters basking in the sunshine. Helicopters buzzed overhead. Kids looked tall on parents' shoulders. Fans stood three and four rows deep against metal barriers, singing their hearts out long before their team had even arrived.
Despite the noise and the sheer number of people, I found there was still a strange calmness to it all. Like you could feel the anticipation building. The sense that something special was about to unfold.
While we waited, I chatted to emotional supporters trying to find the words for what a major trophy, after so many decades without one, meant to them. "I was 11 years old when we won the European Cup," said Craig Alcock, now 55. "I just cannot believe it."
One mum, with her young son who was wrapped in a Villa scarf almost as big as him, said she had wept watching Villa lift the trophy the night before. "I am so proud of them," she told me before looking down at her son. "And for him to see it too means the world."
The parade's scheduled 4.30pm start time came and went but, at around 5.25pm, the bus finally turned into view onto Warstone Lane, carrying those now legendary Villa players - and their equally adored manager. Everything instantly descended into glorious chaos. Screams of joy rang out as blue flare smoke exploded into the air. Birmingham TikTok star 'Mr Muscle' was dancing with a huge grin in the middle of it all - shirtless, obviously.
Suddenly, the chase was on. I found myself in a stampede of fans sprinting alongside the bus towards Broad Street - which has not been that packed since the day we mourned Ozzy. From that point onwards, any attempt at traditional reporting flew out the window. I was trying to film, keep up with the bus, and avoid being flattened all at once. Not the easiest task for a dyspraxic-dyslexic.
Fans vaulted barriers and darted down side streets to keep pace with the team that has now written itself into Villa folklore. I tried to keep up too which required swerving bodies and finding new detours every time we were met by a tricky set of barriers, leaving the bus to plough on ahead without us. Sweat poured from my temple. My t-shirt clung to my back in the heat. Were my legs even working or was I simply being dragged forward by the momentum and energy of the crowd around me?
I lost track of the bus a few times but it was never hard to find. A manic roar would erupt somewhere ahead, acting as my compass, as it turned a corner revealing the players to a new set of adoring fans. Behind me, a boy no older than six was vibrating with excitement after spotting Villa's goalkeeper through the smoke and limbs. "Martínez! I saw him dad! Martínez!" I caught the look on his dad's face - the quiet realisation of just how special this moment was, and how lucky they were to be sharing it together.
Office workers leaned out from balconies filming the mad scenes below. Every possible space occupied by families, their friends; loved ones. By the time the parade reached Centenary Square, the crowd had become so dense that keeping up with the bus any further became difficult. Fans were shoulder-to-shoulder, climbing onto ledges, railings and up lampposts just for a glimpse of their team - and that glorious trophy. Parents lifting their kids high into the air. Dads and lads screaming players' names together. A wave of emotion rolling through the streets.
Somewhere along the route, between the sweat and sprinting, it became obvious to me this was not just about football pride. It was, of course, celebration. Release after going so long without. Football joy. But more than anything, it was thousands of people sharing a moment with those they cherish most - and one they will be talking about for the rest of their days.
Of course, not all of Birmingham supports Aston Villa. But, for one afternoon, those fans transformed the city centre into a sea of claret and blue emotion that was infectious and hard to not admire. Because long after the flares have burnt out and the streets emptied, those are the moments people will carry with them forever.
I finally stopped chasing the bus near Spring Hill Island in Ladywood when the driver suddenly decided to put his foot down and pulled away into the distance. A handful of exhausted fans made one last hopeless dash after it before eventually peeling away, accepting defeat. I saw one laughing, out of breath, shaking his head in disbelief. He turned to his mate. "That was something else, that, was not it?"
