It’s easy to make judgments on a game of football before a ball has even been kicked. You look at the table, the xGs, the head-to-head. Then you open the curtains and see the leaves spiralling, the rain drenching. And every analytic and piece of data is effectively thrown out the window into a churning, swirling storm.

If today showed anything, it demonstrated how determined and resilient this Worthing side are. It almost seemed like the ball was magnetised at times. The patience, too, to keep going, to not panic, to grind down their opponents, and to grind out a point. Sure, this wasn’t how one thought it might play out. An extra 10 minutes probably would have sealed maximum points. That’s just how it goes sometimes.

The whistle blew as the wind whirled and whipped around Woodside. With 30 seconds played, Chelmsford launched the ball high towards Jordan Greenidge. It hung in the air, like a kite dancing in a hurricane. So this is how it’s going to go.

It didn’t take long for Worthing to seize control of the match. Danny Cashman spied Joel Colbran on the right-flank, and found the full-back with a delicious pass. The captain tapped it to Jack Bates, who found the target, but the gloves of Woody Williamson, too. Sam Beard saw a shot blocked and so too did Cashman. The tempo continued to rise.

But The Clarets are a direct side. Deploying two tall, physical forwards, they are there to ultimately bully and bulldoze the defence. They had yet to bring Chris Haigh into action at all until the 35th minute. Charlie Ruff, who can just switch it on at any moment, played a perfect pass into the path of Greenidge, who finished powerfully past Haigh.

It hadn’t been coming, but perhaps that’s exactly when conceding is most expected. Worthing had owned possession, missed the penetration, and were caught on the break. Chelmsford’s structure was strong and rigid – the low-block out in full force. At the pause, their gameplan had been executed to perfection.

The mindset had changed now. Urgency rippled around the red shirts as the game began to stretch and open. A Chelmsford corner almost forced its way over the line before Greenidge had time and space to slip in Osman Foyo for the easy finish, but opted for the wayward shot option.

Much of the second half was played in Chelmsford’s half. Again, the passing was on point, the possession stats continued to soar. Bates made way for Temi Babalola and then Archie Tamplin absolutely flattened Sam Beard with a dangerous, late tackle. Red card brandished. Incandescence in the Chelmsford dugout. Lots of shouting and waving of arms. They knew what it meant.

Mo Faal is one of those players that can go large swathes of a match without making much of an impact, before flipping the switch and turning a game on its head. If you give him the slightest sight at goal, he will gladly gobble it up.

Cue the 69th minute: Beard driving along the left byline, clipping a clever cross straight onto the head of Faal, who crashed the ball home from close-range. The leveller had arrived. Woodside Road sparked into life.

20 minutes to go. Colbran was off now, so too was Joe Cook. Chris Agutter was playing all his cards. Harrison Smith and Sam Packham joined the fray, and the former, who has been known to make an impact from the bench, was immediately involved, but couldn’t quite force the ball into the netting.

Then it was Packham who came within a matter of inches of sparking sheer pandemonium. The Clarets continued to retreat, and the chances were now arriving at will. The ball dropped kindly onto Packham’s left foot, who struck true but slammed it hard into a defender, whistling just wide of the woodwork.

Cashman’s drilled effort was beaten away and Babalola thought he’d won a penalty. Woodside Road thought he’d won a penalty. Waved away by the referee. The ground fell silent as Paul Appiah arrowed his effort at goal on the break, but it darted just wide. Collective deep exhales.

This might feel like two points dropped to those from a Worthing persuasion. But as the whistle blew and the leaves settled on the sodden turf, an open mind will look back to the opening 70 minutes, when even a point looked like an optimistic proposition.

There was to be no grandstand finish, no dramatic limbs as the darkness rolled in. A point is a platform, and Tuesday is the next performance. Victory, then, will blow this game further into the rearview mirror