After the emotional high of Santa Cruz's final game, the hangover was inevitable. January got off to a brutal start. Dumped out of the FA Cup in the 3rd round by Luton 4-1, losses against title contenders Grimsby and AFC Wimbledon, a desperate late equalizer salvaged against relegation-threatened Fleetwood left supporters scratching their heads about Newton’s team. One minute they looked certain for the title, the next the team looked like they couldn’t wait for the season to be over.
The injuries mounted. Dylan Williams: six weeks with a calf injury. Buabo: eight weeks, hamstring. Cornick's 32-year-old legs finally gave out. The squad, already thin, was stretched to breaking point. With wages still tight Newton sensed a final opportunity to add quality to the first team with two late in the transfer window free agent signings.
First, Stephan Negru. Twenty-four years old, physical, determined. A partner for Rhys Williams who could match the intensity League Two demanded. The defense, which had leaked goals early in the season, finally found its shape. Second, Ethan Brierley. Free agent, deep-lying playmaker, Determination and classy. Everything Azeez wasn't—focused, tireless, disciplined. The heartbeat of Newton's 4-4-2, dictating tempo while Wadja destroyed everything that moved. Performances picked up. What followed was a 10-game unbeaten run: 8 wins, 2 draws. Harrogate dispatched 3-0. Salford destroyed 4-1. The team, freed from January's exhaustion, played with renewed vigor. At the end of March with 6 games to go the team knew the maths. 4 points ahead of Peterborough in 2nd place and 7 points ahead of the 4th placed team for automatic promotion. Then came Walsall away. A bizarre, humiliating collapse. Dixon and Muskwe had Morecambe 2-1 up at half-time. League leaders, cruising, 45 minutes from three points. The second half? Five unanswered goals. 6-2. A complete defensive meltdown. The kind of result that haunts promotion pushes. In the dressing room afterwards, Newton said nothing. He didn't need to. The players knew. The title wasn't going to be handed to them. The response was immediate. Cambridge at home, 1-0. Professional. Controlled. Three points. Then, from elsewhere, the news: Peterborough had dropped points. The math was simple. League One. Secured. Automatic promotion with two games remaining. The rescue mission, begun in administration 24 months ago, was complete.
Final day. Gillingham at home. 92 points in reach. Three points clear of Peterborough, six points clear of the playoff zone. 'Mathematically done,' everyone said. Newton wasn't listening. He'd seen teams blow it from here. Title race, 2011/12 Manchester City. QPR game. Two goals in stoppage time. Nothing was guaranteed until the final whistle.
21st minute: Harry Cornick, 32 years old, Championship veteran, "retirement home" signing. A close-range header. 1-0. The old man proving why experience matters. 30th minute: Leon Myrtaj. Eighteen years old. Tottenham academy reject signed for £310 per week. First senior goal. 2-0. 36th minute: Myrtaj again. Doubled his tally. Hat-trick on. 3-0. 70th minute: Myrtaj completed it. Hat-trick. On the final day. To clinch the title. At eighteen years old. The youth Newton had signed to develop? He'd just announced himself. Final whistle: Morecambe 4, Gillingham 1. League Two champions. The retirement home had produced an 18-year-old match-winner on the final day. The irony wasn't lost on anyone. In the dressing room, MacDonald held the trophy aloft for the second time in two years. Champagne sprayed. Players sang. Cornick, the 32-year-old who'd opened the scoring, sat in the corner grinning. 'To Roque,' MacDonald said, raising his glass. 'This was for him.' The room fell quiet for a moment. Santa Cruz's retirement hat-trick had been five months ago, but the legacy remained. Sixteen goals in seventeen games. At 44. The belief he'd instilled—that age was just a number, that experience trumped potential—had carried them through January's crisis and over the line. Newton stood by the door, watching. 92 points. Champions by six. From administration to League One in 24 months. Two titles in two years. The board had wanted playoffs. Newton delivered championships. The Dad's Army joke? Buried alongside doubts about the 4-4-2, about experience over youth, about Newton's methods. League One awaited. Bigger clubs, better players, fuller stadiums. But Newton had something they didn't: a team that knew how to win. A team that had climbed from the brink of extinction to the third tier. A team that had just announced an 18-year-old match-winner while relying on 32-year-olds. The perfect blend of experience and youth. The consolidation complete. The journey was only just beginning.