NOT so much a ‘Great Escape’ as a slow, lingering death followed by an electric charge to the chest with a defibrillator.

Mick McCarthy, Steve Morgan and Jez Moxey could pop the corks in the knowledge of a job well done.

That point at St Andrew’s proved the clincher. As it happened they needed nothing at all on the final day

Six points against the Baggies and Sunderland had sealed it. Not a first-half horror show where defending came straight out of a Wes Craven blockbuster movie.

Had Wolves been sunk, had Blackpool or Blues held on, then that aforementioned Wolves hierarchy, that triumvirate of power, would have been joining Mr Harold Camping in hiding.

He was the one who told you the world was about to end at 6pm on Saturday evening.

For so long during a tension-sapping second half it looked like in Wolverhampton at least, he was only one day out. The world in this half of the Black Country was about to end.

Wolves were down at half-time. Cue loud, vicious boos.

They were down at 5.46pm with just three minutes remaining of the 90 minutes. Then Stephen Hunt stopped being rather irritating and conjured up a moment of pure black and gold magic.

Then at 5.53pm, news seeped through of Roman Pavlyuchenko’s deadly deeds at White Hart Lane.

And that was it. Game over. Safety assured. Wolves and Rovers could finally enjoy what remained of stoppage time.

Suddenly Blackburn started to slowly stroke the ball along their back four and then slowly back again with an array of opposing players now treating the football as if it were a smelly sock.

Referee Howard Webb touched his nose but didn’t blow his whistle.

Finally at 5.58pm, or thereabouts, he did.

Mayhem ensued on all four sides of the ground. Hundreds upon hundreds ran on to the grass.

Grown men hugged and kissed each other like morris dancers, young boys danced on the turf, pensioners cast aside their sticks and jigged as joyous scenes unfurled not seen in these parts since... well, last season against Rovers.

But this was better than last year. Much, much better.

Last year there were two games to yet to play.

This escape was so very late in the day when everything turned on its head: despair to absolute joy in an instant.

Like a drinker stumbling into a bar with seconds to spare before last orders and somehow getting noticed by the pretty barmaid who normally looks through him.