A shorter piece this week as we lurch towards what passes for a summer in the Scottish Highlands. Six league games to go and one meaningless Scottish Cup quarter-final wedged in the middle. Nerves shredded, squad patched together with hope and half-fit full-backs, and the faint possibility of promotion lurking like a mirage in the Highlands.

Part Four of this odyssey begins with everything still to play for—and plenty still to go wrong.

Queen’s Park do their bit (for us!) by losing their game in hand, meaning we somehow stagger back into control of our own fate. As for the Scottish Cup QF against Hibs… we hold on for dear life until the last ten minutes before reality gently taps us on the shoulder. Out we go. No tears shed; all emotional bandwidth has been allocated to the league run-in.

Next up is a seismic clash with second-placed Alloa. You can guess the script by now: we win a game we’ve no right to win. That puts us a single point off the promotion places, three ahead of challenge-ending 4th place, and separated from Queen’s Park by just one solitary goal of goal difference. Lovely, horrible chaos.

Then comes the absolute barmy one: Queen’s Park away. They equalise once… twice… thrice… and yet somehow, impossibly, we keep edging ahead. When the dust settles, it’s a vital win and a long, relieved drive back to the Highlands. Insert whatever mileage you like—it felt biblical.

With four games to go, we leapfrog Alloa back into the promotion spots, six points clear of the danger zone. You’d think that would bring calm. It does not.

Proof arrives immediately in the form of East Stirling, bottom of the table and with nothing to play for except chaos theory. They help deliver an eight-goal circus in front of 173 witnesses. The less said about that, the better.

Then the disaster: Hibs decide they fancy my left-back. Carlisle is already crocked for the season, so this is the worst possible moment to lose another body on that flank. They send a cheap centre-back the other way, which feels less like a transfer and more like being given a gift voucher for a shop you don’t like.

The squad’s left side is now essentially a rumour. Unexpectedly, Chelsea’s Danny Granville takes pity and signs on to help. I don’t know why he agrees, and it drains 90% of the budget, but it’s hard to look a gift ex-Premier-League-ish defender in the mouth.

Albion Rovers, already crowned champions, show no intention of taking it easy. Thankfully, backup winger Gilbert pops up with a late equaliser. It’s still two dropped points and Trevor Steven’s facial injury is not helping our cause.

Results elsewhere go exactly as we don’t need them to: Alloa and Queen’s Park both win. Two games to go, and the possible outcomes range from promotion party to challenge-ending collapse. A delightful spectrum.

Dumbarton next. They’ve nothing to play for, but we’ve nothing in midfield. Connelly absent, Ferguson suspended, so Ross No. 3 makes a debut at precisely the wrong moment. Naturally, he plays a blinder. Montrose get an early red and we romp to a 4–2 win. This team is unpredictable in all the right and wrong ways.

And then—hallelujah—Alloa lose. That means we’re effectively promoted already, and more importantly, we cannot finish below third. The challenge will live on into season two no matter what. Only a seven-goal miracle for Alloa can deny us now.

So, with that in mind, I do the obviously stupid thing: I start all three Rosses. A celebration? A superstition? A tactical philosophy? Who knows.

We respond with 19 shots and zero goals. Cowdenbeath respond with two red cards and zero shots in the first half but still somehow steal a late winner. Now I’m sweating and praying Alloa haven’t just won 6–0. If they have, the Rosses will need to flee the county under cover of darkness.

Thankfully, Albion Rovers oblige and beat Alloa. That’s it. Promotion secured. The dream survives another year.

Real-life Ross County didn’t escape Division Three until 1998/99, meaning we’re officially ahead of history. To keep pace with their 98/99 achievement next year, all we need to do is simple: don’t get relegated. Easy, right?

Join me next time as we ransack the summer window for more players named Ross, sift through suspicious regens, and pray Eamon Bannon doesn’t retire before we’ve squeezed one more season out of his legs.