Whatever Will Be, Will Be

At 2.15pm he turned the TV off and stared at the blank screen. The dream was over; the impossible was finally impossible. It hadn't seemed so impossible just a few weeks before he thought. After his own personal triumph on the 2nd April, the cards and flowers and, most importantly, the money had come rolling in but it had now all but stopped. He had tried his hardest to get the job at Selhurst Park or, at least, Loftus Road but he hadn't managed it and this had made the club furious. 'What chance do we have now'? they had said but he was powerless; something he just couldn't stand. He consoled himself with the thought of a live TV game the next day but it was the Britannia and not Old Trafford he was heading to. He cursed Howard Webb once again.

Instead he had booked the day off and settled on the sofa. He had sent a good luck text but he had heard nothing back. Flicking between the two games, he watched in horror. He would never have sent him off and he would have and found a way to rule those goals out. They had never thought this was going to happen.

He got up and kicked the cat. 'Bastards' he mumbled.

Karma.

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Sixteen of us jumped off the train at Kings Cross at 9:51am Saturday morning with the whole weekend in front of us. It was the last day of the season in London and it was Hawkeye's stag do. It promised to be a great occasion. First though was the little matter of securing a play-off spot down in South London. PL and I left the others to head to Cags' house while they made their way, somewhat chaotically it seemed, to their hotel at Waterloo.

Having dropped our bags off, the three of us ventured towards Selhurst Park. Following a quick beer at The Clifton we joined an assortment of cartoon characters, maypole dancers, Smurfs and Osama Bin Laden in the away end. In many ways it was perfect type of scenario with little danger of things going wrong but the game still retaining a degree of importance.

There was probably more drama in the rest of our party's trip to the ground than anything that would come on the pitch. They had endured something of a nightmare journey and were lucky to arrive just on kick off.

It wasn't long before the game and the race for sixth was over as a real contest. Forest were one up against ten men and Leeds were losing. Despite their comeback, we were never ever going to lose and everyone was able to relax. In fact we were all so relaxed that I think I fell asleep and dreamt that David McGoldrick scored an absolute screamer from 30 odd yards to help Forest record a 3-0 away win for the first time since God knows when. Yeovil in 2007? We got promoted that seas... No, forget I said anything.

We still haven't learned from past mistakes though. 'We're going to Wembley' sang the away end while we all winced and exchanged sheepish glances. Maybe, just maybe if we are three goals up with a few minutes left of the second leg but not before. This is the play-offs and this is Nottingham Forest. It's never been a great mix up to now has it?

Mission Complete - The Start of the Stag

We decided to head to London Bridge after the game with us eventually finding the rather nice Old Thameside pub which, as the name suggests, is right by the Thames and offers a panoramic view across the river towards the City. Stood out on the balcony we found entertainment in waving to passing cruise ferries; even greeting once boat with a Mexican Wave! Our numbers were now over twenty with the Keyworth Crusader having travelled down in the car with a few of Hawkeye's old mates. One of those was David Chisnall, the sports presenter from Central News who added a touch of glamour to the proceedings.

A couple of ales later and we unfortunately had to go. Myself, Cags and PL once again branched off from the main posse to head back to get changed for the night. Having a had a few vodka and cokes at Caygill's splendid outside bar we then made our way to the bowling alley at Elephant & Castle. The couple hours apart had brought about a change in certain members. Most were just a little tipsy but it was Coy who had descended into anarchy. In fact, such was his state from this point on that it would be easy to concentrate only on him and his antics which would last twenty pages if described in full.

The bowling, in truth, went on for too long. By the end there was only a couple of people playing while most crowded around the punch bag machine and watched Hawkeye try to destroy it. We eventually left and the drink had taken hold. Forest songs echoed around the subways that took us back to the tube and then Hawkeye managed to set the station alarms off by being too heavy handed with the lift.

When we did finally reach the tube, we didn't move for an age. I was convinced that the police had been called to arrest the groom but we eventually moved away with the bright lights of Covent Garden our destination...

Things were a great deal calmer as we supped our beers outside the White Lion. The one exception was the Keyworth Crusader who was proving to be something of a pain; not just to us but everyone else in the vicinity. He grabbed random people and kept repeating his new phrase 'Bang Tidy' at just about every single female who passed. He was particularly annoying the two Dutch girls who we were talking to who didn't seem very impressed by his various attempts to snare them.

Despite his state though he failed to produce as quite a comical line as Trig who was busy quizzing the the Dutch girls about various topics. 'Do you normally have holidays in Mainland Germany?' he asked much to everyone's amusement. Being Dutch, the girls were a little offended but even they realised that he actually meant Mainland Europe.

We soon found ourselves in Henry's a short walk down the road. At midnight we were surprised to find the light turn on and the bar empty up. We had expected it to be open for a while yet but we left, undeterred, fully expecting to walk in somewhere nearby. We were wrong. The only places open were strip clubs and the odd nightclub who would only admit mixed sex groups. After a full day on the beer since 8am, some started to drift away while we ploughed through the streets towards Leicester Square.

Things weren't looking good and, with a long journey back to South London; Cags, PL and I called it quits. The few that were left did soon find somewhere before a hardy bunch ended up in some strip bar until the morning with Hawkeye spending a small fortune in the process. Glen, Stemo and Big Rob had the most exciting journey back to the hotel though as they hitched a ride on one of the several thousand rickshaws who nip around the streets. After the mile and half journey the poor lad was apparently knackered! Glen has apparently whipped him the whole way home with his belt. He had picked up the technique in Frankfurt!

Wacky Races

Everyone, including Coy, seemed to be in fairly good nick come Sunday morning. Dan, Adam and Trig opted to stay in the pub (It took six phone calls and a knock on the door for hotel staff to kick Trig out of bed) but the rest of us kitted up and hit the track.

After a thrilling hour and a half the final race got underway. I didn't feature in it 'cause I was shit although I did improve over time. If I hadn't crashed on the first lap every time I might have had half a chance. Instead, it was the celebrity among us, David who took the honours just ahead of the two Chris's; Mitchell and May.

The three of them received their trophies and took their positions on the podium. Eagle eyed viewers will have spotted 'Chis' presenting his sports report on Central News on Monday night with his winning trophy taking pride of place in the background! In fact, seeing the guy who you sat next to in the ground then present the goals a couple of days later was a rather strange one. Still, it could have been weirder, it could have been Boozehound!

The Last Leg

We were all reunited in the Euston Flyer in Kings Cross. The place was booming with people pouring in to watch the football. After some discussion we decided it was fitting to end the weekend in London at the Flying Scotsman, especially when it would be Hawkeye's first ever visit. There's never much to say about it really, it is what it is, a hole, but it has a certain cult status and has been the scene of some brilliant moments for us down the years. It's worth going in just to reminisce about that trip to Chelsea in 2007 and Mitchell's naughtiness with a marker pen. There were more chuckles this year when Hawkeye and Glen noticed the gambler was called 'BOOZEHOUND'!

We piled out at 6.15pm and into the off-licence down the road. Surprisingly, Stemo still had some cash left after all of those pound coins he had spent in the Scotsman. We said our goodbyes to Cags and Karl but the rest were aboard the 6.40pm train which was taking us home via a short change in Grantham.

The Curious Tale of Mr Tasty

As daft as it sounds the trip back was my highlight of the entire trip, one of the highs of the season in fact. It started well enough and got gradually better and better and by the time we left Mr Tasty I had tears of utter joy running down my face. I think in years to come those of us on that train will look back at the weekend and will instantly remember that half an hour from Grantham to Nottingham.

The thing is, it's not like I can really explain it either. It was certainly a 'be there' moment.

On the first train it was PL who was happy to take centre stage spinning his hilarious tales. By the end of his story (which I better not repeat), not just us but a large section of the carriage were also in hysterics. Some, in truth, must also have been rather disturbed! The yarns and jokes, aswell as an impromptu rendition of Happy Birthday for Deano's 31st, continued until we arrived in Grantham.

As we boarded the connection, Mr Tasty was fast asleep. That was until Mitchell woke him up. As we found some seats at the front of the train, Mr Tasty stumbled past and began knocking and subsequently hammering and kicking at the drivers door. I'm not sure how it started but we soon started singing songs about him which started strange and just got weirder and funnier as Mr Tasty got more angry. We believe he had overslept and missed his stop and was now desperate to get off the train at all costs.

To the tune of Jeff Back's/Alexandra Burke's/Dele Adebola's Hallelujah we made up lyrics as we went. We had so much fun that when Mr Tasty walked off, Adam went to get him on the premise that he had 'forgotten something'. Mr Tasty didn't have a clue but thankfully hung around for our songs to continue. I will never remember many of them but they all were beaten hands down by Ad's effort of:

Mr Tasty's hair is obtuse,

I blame it on child abuse.

Looking at the words now, it seems silly that we found it so funny but, even now, I cannot type for laughing. Seconds later, Mr Tasty punched the ceiling of the train. I had my back to him but, sat across from Mitchell and Dan, I saw them both collapse into laughter with the former having to spit his drink out on the floor. It wasn't us however that was making him angry; if anything he didn't seem to even realise we were there. He was just very, very mad.

I was very disappointed when the journey ended. We emptied onto the platform while the driver finally appeared and gave Mr Tasty a stern telling off for kicking his door!

Most headed down the Waterfront for another beer but I was done and headed home.

The play-offs are on us once again. It's going to be torture, it going to be hell, it's going to push every emotion to the limit and it will probably leave us as nervous wrecks before chewing us up and spitting us out on the floor as it has always done.

But... you know what? It might just be magnificent.

COME ON YOU TRICKY TREES