Better But Worse

‘Have you ever been more confident of a defeat?’ I asked on the train down. ‘No’ was the inevitable response. My last remnants of positivity suggested we might put in a decent display after the incompetence of Tuesday but I could see little hope of coming away from Upton Park with anything other than zero points.

Trig did his best to miss the train but just made it with seconds to spare; joining PL and I aboard the 09:34 to London Kings Cross via Grantham which, incidentally, must be one of the coldest spots in Britain. We arrived well before midday and made the short journey to Shoreditch to meet Cags and took in a couple of bars; The Bricklayers Arms and The Last Blue Spot. Trig was visibly shaken at having to pay £4.15 for a pint!

The only pub in sight between Upton Park station and the ground was the Queens but, after queuing for a short while, we decided that it simply wasn’t worth it so we headed inside. A short line had formed at the turnstiles where two burly looking chaps were frisking selected individuals with serious intent. I initially thought I had been spared this moment of intimacy but, as I sauntered by, one of them grabbed hold of me to stop my progress and, without a single word, thrust his hand in the direction of my jacket pocket and squeezed so he could determine the contents. If I had had a carton of Capri Sun in there I swear it would have exploded such was the force used. As I continued on my way I remarked that some forewarning would have been nice and this caused him to shoot back some angry but inaudible comments at the same time as performing the process on PL, whose programme plastic wallet was sadly destroyed by the ferocity of the search.

A healthy enough following from Nottingham was joined by an annoying contingent of Cockney’s. I have nothing against the majority of these people but a few of them are absolute clowns with little grasp of the basics of football. I think they stand out mainly because Cockney’s are generally loud and abrasive and have ridiculously stupid accents. We were unfortunate to have one of these types behind us who continued to shout ‘ABSALUTE CLARSE’ after every simple pass was made. While a completed Forest pass was certainly a shock to us all, this guy was taking it to extremes.

The performance was 100% improved from Leicester but that doesn’t really mean we were fantastic. At times, we looked very good and created numerous chances that were wasted. Mcgugan and Tudgay (twice) were the primary culprits and, as in previous games, we failed to turn dominance into testing the opposition ‘keeper. As things began to settle immediately before half-time we were all stunned to concede a penalty for handball. It is up there with any of the bad decisions we have witnessed this season and the replays on the giant screen during the break were enough to produce a collective groan from the away contingent.

We failed to maintain the standards in the second half but still could easily have grabbed that elusive goal. Instead, we went two down through another handball. I never saw a thing and nobody appealed but the linesman flagged. Nobody panicked at first and then PL screamed that a penalty had been awarded. I couldn’t believe it. Trig insists it was the right call but I never it although TV replays, which I am yet to see, may show it more clearly. Either way, it was game over. The last minute goal brought some slight relief but, even though it ended our drought, there was little delight from us Forest fans.

I couldn’t bring myself to clap them off at the end due to my anger still existing from Tuesday but it had undoubtedly been a vastly improved effort and I won’t often ask for much more. If we had lost most games like that I sincerely doubt I would be anywhere near as disappointed with either the players or the manager. While welcome, I unfortunately possess little faith that it will be repeated in our next game against Burnley because I cannot recall us putting in two acceptable performances on the spin all season. We are now entering the category of games that will be labelled ‘must win’, especially at home and anything else is unlikely to be good enough. Despite the positives we are looking in deep peril more than ever due to other results. It was definitely better but things are now looking far worse. If the four point gap gets extended we are going to find it ridiculously difficult to climb out of danger.

After that it is Pride Park. It is hardly a game many of us are going to relish but I would hope that the players see this as a major opportunity to win back some favour and show that they possess some fight for this club. And I don’t care how crap we are, how embarrassing it may be or that it’s on the television; everyone should be making the effort to get themselves there. If we can’t sell this one out then we, as fans, are simply not doing our bit. For me, everything else goes out the window for this one.

COME ON YOU REDS.

Written by Oldroyd

 Just Like Buses

It's been a depressing 635 minutes since Marcus Tudgay's last gasp goal against Ipswich on November 19th 2011. The optimism that had grown since Cotterill's arrival has been destroyed and replaced by nightmares of an imminent return to the hell of League One. The manager, to some extent, has been right with his post-match summary of the games but his claims of misfortune could only really last so long. In truth, we didn't deserve to win six of those seven games because of an inability to create any damn chances. Only Brighton was an example of real injustice but, even then, we hardly tested the opposition 'keeper.

It, of course, would have been easier to stay in bed and enjoy the Bank Holiday but 800 Reds made the effort to find their way to Portman Road, including PL and I. It was hard to be too positive as the train departed Nottingham at 08:34. Seven games without a goal speaks for itself and the journey was done purely on hope rather than belief. Some, however, was on its way...

I say it every year but, as away trips go, Ipswich is about as reliable as they come. It's a luxury these days to step off a train and be five minutes from the ground and the town centre which is full of decent pubs. We had time for a couple so headed to familiar haunts in the shape of Wetherspoons and The Rep. Team news was anticipated more than usual with expected changes and the possible return of our old mate, Marlon. The formation and the inclusion of Boateng were maybe a surprise but our conversation pre-match had centred around the need to change things around; something that Cotterill has been reluctant to do of late.

As I reached the top of the steps into the stand the very first person I saw in front of me was Harewood. He is still an odd looking creature but it was good to see him back in the Garibaldi, even if it was only for fitness purposes for the time being. What was quite remarkable was the lift that it gave us. Marlon was the last to leave the pitch and his farewell salute geed up the crowd to the extent that I convinced myself we would score. Quite what the logic behind that was I do not know but this suddenly felt like the day. Something I certainly hadn't felt half an hour earlier.

When a game is important, there is always something I pick up on. It's doesn't necessarily have to be a massive 'do or die' encounter for this to happen but I feel it occurs when it's needed most. It's the sound of 'Come on You Reds' moments before kick-off. In my head, hearing that is the signal that this one isn't just another game. At Portman Road, it blasted out of the upper tier of the Cobbold Road Stand and I, for reasons I am never too sure of, grew a few feet taller and prepared for battle. I genuinely think I need help but something just gets hold of me. Weeks of increasing apathy evaporated and I remembered NFFC are the greatest football club in all the world. 'Come on You Reds'.

The mood of the away support was buoyed further by an impressive start from the boys in Red. We were having chances but we have been here before I told myself. And then... it happened...

Where were you when JFK was shot?

Where were you at the fall of the Berlin Wall?

Where were you on 9/11?

And where were you when Marcus Tudgay scored at Portman Road after seven minutes?

Add it to the list and, for once, I was there. The scenes were hilarious, people were screaming in a combination of delight and relief that we had yanked the monkey from our back and shot the fucker in the face. I didn't, as expected, die of shock but joined in with the general craziness of 800 people remembering how to celebrate a goal!

And it wasn't long before we got another!

The rust had gone and this was full pelt as we danced and sang. 'Just like fucking buses, just like fucking buses' I kept shouting like an absolute lunatic! Quite why I felt the need to shout this out rather than just keep it to myself is beyond me but this was a rather jovial moment of mine, you understand. The drug was back.

'Who scored' I asked?............... 'Garath McCleary' came the reply and I died of shock*.

When I came round a moment later, PL was in tears. I surveyed the scene and thought to myself that I should probably try and not get carried away, there was a long way to go but the relief was immense. It's ridiculous what a game of football can do. This was, after all, Forest winning at Ipswich; hardly the stuff of legends but the smiles restored on the faces of fans and players was a sight to behold. If we lose the next ten I might just cling to moments like this one.

Inevitably, we had to make it a little hard for ourselves. The penalty was especially cruel in how it hit both posts and then returned to the original upright which sent it spinning into the net. The home crowd smelt the blood of a renowned feeble Forest team but they held firm and, remarkably, decided to go and score another. The damn cheek! Three!

It was enough to shatter the oppositions assault and hand the points to Forest. 'We're Nottingham Forest, we'll score when we want' we sang followed by the humorous 'We only beat Ipswich' as time ticked towards a very, very precious victory. Quite possibly a vital one. We now have achieved the rather odd record of having scored 29% of all our goals this season against Ipswich in addition to scoring six goals in our last nine games - all against them!

Despite the delight at the win, the big question is how we will react. The party line has been that one goal will sort us out and signs were encouraging in the immediate aftermath of that one goal but consistency is certainly needed otherwise this victory will be consigned to a lonely high point. 800 of us have seen they can do it, now its time to show the rest.

Don't let us down.

*This is, of course, a poor attempt at humour that subscribes to the totally incorrect notion that Garath McCleary is a bit useless. Anybody at Portman Road will tell you that he is actually a footballing God and makes Messi look like Chris Allen. And I didn't die of shock, I just feinted.**

**For anyone that's taking that a bit too literally, I didn't feint at all... PL did though.

Steps Towards Desperation

What's the old saying? The league table doesn't mean anything until Christmas. Bugger.

Talk of relegation has become more frequent in the last couple of weeks and it was a primary theme in mine and PL's pre-match as we braved the cold to take in a couple of pubs a short walk away from Ashton Gate. There are a few bars next to the ground but all have a strict home fans only policy which is enforced by no fewer than five bouncers at each pub. We've been in all of them in the past but it's getting harder by the year so we looked for pastures new.

The car park steward was only too happy to direct us past the ground and in the direction of a couple of places we could try which weren't too far away. We couldn't find his main suggestion, the Tobacco Factory and so ended up in a place called the Hen and Chicken which, bizarrely, had its own cat wandering around. Not long later we found our original destination which, I must say, is up there with the living room at Southampton for the pub that looks least like a pub title. It was more like a classroom with desks which people gathered tightly around and a small stage that didn't feature seats but bloody poofs to sit on. Not queers, bean bags!

The game was the standard template that we have seen throughout this recent run of ours, Leeds aside. We played okay and probably were the better team but, with the exception of a Marcus Tudgay header that we all thought was in until James clawed it away magnificently, we once again didn't look like scoring. Tudgay had commented in Saturdays Post that he was 'not worried' because we are creating chances and we should only 'be worried' if we weren't. Well...er...Marcus, we aren't creating chances and we certainly aren't scoring and that run without a goal has extended to five games now which is frankly unacceptable. In the last three games we have played reasonably well but have created about four decent chances in all of them combined. We were desperately unlucky at Brighton in fairness but we can't keep claiming to be unlucky with such a pathetic ability to score a goal.

Time of course is still on our side for now but these months are soon going to disappear as we found out in 2005. A bloke who sat in front us in the away end said that this side, for all their ability, seem to lack the character and the fight to get us out of the mess that they have got us in. It's difficult to disagree with his thoughts on what we have seen of late. For all their fist pumps and pre-match huddles I think most are losing faith in these players by the week which is apparent by falling crowds, particularly on the road.

The festive games are massive now. Come the 3rd Round we could be marooned if we're not careful. Simply we need to score some goals but quite how this is going to happen I'm not sure. It's not time to panic just yet but its getting nervier by the week; if we are still in the bottom three in two months time then I'll be really fearing for us though.

Just how has this all gone so wrong? The sacking of Davies is the obvious answer but it still shouldn't be this bad, no way should it. Changes are needed in January and if that means getting rid of some players then so be it. Names like McGoldrick, Derbyshire and Boateng are being banded about but who is going to give us anything for any of these? That's without taking their wages into account. There are seven players from the squad I would be truly sorry to see leave... Camp, Gunter, Lynch, Wes, Moussi, Majewski and Cohen and of those the only one I would really be devastated with is Cohen who is obviously going nowhere soon.

As a few sang at the end of the game yesterday: All we are saying, is score us a goal.

Promise

The feeling at full time was as bad as anything I've experienced all season; longer in fact. I didn't feel so gutted after Derby, Burnley or Leeds even though they were much, much worse. After witnessing one of our better performances this season it was plain awful when the ball hit the net in the final minutes. It was not what we deserved. A point would have been a travesty but losing was simply ridiculous. Still, we paid for a continuing inability to score a goal. Our shots on target figure of two, despite our dominance, tells the story.

It was the first ever visit to the Amex for us. It deserves credit for straying from the standard template but, as some of the Forest fans sang 'They've only got one stand'. That one stand sure is a humdinger though. Perhaps its biggest positive is that it hasn't been built miles away from anywhere. Falmer station already existed and sits a mere number of metres from the ground while the main road into Brighton isn't far away. The town centre is miles away but you can't win them all!

Pre-match began with a pint at the Black Lion Harvester which also doubled as our accommodation for the coming night. Five of us (PL, Trigs, Dan and his mate, Chris plus yours truly) had travelled down from Nottingham with Cags meeting us from London. From there we made our way to the stadium and into Dicks Bar within the ground.

Come the end, many were trying to put a positive spin on the game. A common conversation revolved around our ability to get ourselves clear of danger with similar performances in the future but it's a position we've been in before. There is no doubt that in my mind that we possess the ability to be able to do so but we are bottom three for a reason. And that reason is that we deserve to be. It's truly horrific that we are in this situation after our highs of the last two years but we can only hope that is isn't another terminal slide. The parallels are certainly there though...

Some solace could be found in the immediate future with a night on the town to look forward to. After something of a feast at the hotel we headed out at 8pm. Our first call was Mesmeris which was influenced by bumping into Gerb's accomplices who were heading in there. I couldn't spot a single one of them who didn't look like he was away with the fairies. There were Forest everywhere you looked all roaming around 'The Lanes' which are narrow streets full of bars and restaurants. We never had the time to see it all but we tried our best to take in as much as possible.

After getting the need for something a little more happening we found our way into Madame Geisha; a small but busy club which included the one and only Rob Brown. Our numbers had further swelled with Family Bethell in attendance although we would soon be going our separate ways. We left still as a six but having left Trig but acquired Rob. He was in a state and a half and was talking to anyone in range. We were heading down onto the beach when he inexplicably tried to jam his foot in the back wheel of a passing bicycle. The cyclist shot Rob a nasty look before riding on. This upset Rob who shouted at the top of his voice: 'Who does he think he is? Johnny Metgod?' Bizarre but hilarious.

Inevitably, he wasn't allowed in our chosen club due to being too heavily intoxicated. Instead I ended up walking into town with him where I put him in a taxi before heading back to join the fun. The club was Digital and it cost a small fortune to gain admission but it proved to be money well spent. Previous stays in Brighton have ended in a degree of disappointment but that was not to be the case on this occasion.

There was the added bonus of an array of on stage entertainment on offer such as a singer, saxophonist, fire eater and a trapeze artist who looked like she was always seconds from plunging into a horrible mess on the floor. The thing that often bores me with clubs is that all the tunes are very similar with no words to anything. So we added our own... This was so successful that we had people joining in with us!!! All that she wants, is another baby...

We left at 3am and scampered onto the beach like children, beginning a lengthy game of sea chicken where we got as close as we possibly could to the water before running away as the waves hit. One particular large one took me by surprise and left me with water above my ankles leaving a clear water mark around my jeans. After further play which included picking PL up and pretending we were gonna throw him in the sea and frolicking around in a boat, we made for the taxi rank. The heartbreak of the previous day lost in a haze of alcohol and sleep deprivation.

Week by week the reality of relegation seems a bit more likely. I still think we'll get out of it but things need to start happening soon. Glimpses of promise are regularly drowned in swathes of ineptness and this is the fear for our next game. If they team can reproduce the performance levels as 2,500 of us saw at Brighton then we won't have a problem. But will we? If the crap returns against Palace then I think I may start to become worried. At the moment i'm living in a land of ignorance where May is a long, long way away but that world isn't too far away from being unmasked. More of the same, please. And scoring a goal every so often might help a little.