It’s half time. It has been a disaster.
Weeks of expectancy have passed, building to a crescendo of absent daydreams and nauseating anticipation. At the moment it all seems to have been a waste of time.
I comment that a replay seems as appealing as a final itself. The 45 minutes looming before us has an empty quality and the mood is one of thorough despondency.
As a football fan this is very nearly the lowest point imaginable.
But the best is yet to come. Once again, in a style that has barely seemed possible at points over the last ten years, Forest emerged to salvage pride and send spirits through the stratosphere.
The madness of the 64th minute is something I would not swap for worlds.
Expansive and vivid though it is, the English language has no words to adequately describe the celebration of goals as meaningful as Earnshaw’s tonight.
It is nothing less than hysteria - a terrifying mass of lunacy and derangement. The noise levels are tempestuous; it is as if the crowd has been set ablaze and is roaring for life itself.
It is almost literally priceless.
On reflection it is a touch disturbing that this sport of ours can pull grown men to the uppermost extremities of human emotion. But it does, and attempting to rationalise it is a job beyond my means.
Two clashes with Derby this season have knocked years off my life, and it is a daunting but impelling thought that we are only half way there.
For long periods tonight the fact that this was an FA Cup tie was unreservedly forgotten and irrelevant. But what it does mean is that somebody must come out on top next time.
Frankly the consequences of defeat seem insufferable.
Defeats to Derby in the past have left me sulking for weeks to follow, but that is what makes these fixtures so enticing.
That is why every single one of us will spend the next ten days or so doing exactly what we did this week – staring into space and relishing the glorious possibilities.
One thing is for sure, we will have to raise our game. Not only for the Derby fixtures, but for the very purpose of survival. Maintaining our exceptional form whilst teams below us tackle disarray could prove crucial.
For half of tonight’s match we were diabolical. Defensively we afforded them time and space beyond explanation, the midfield melted into obscurity, and the forwards chased shadows.
Every cross and every corner threatened to induce heart attacks and Smith, regaled by full time, gave a masterclass in how not to command an area.
In the second half it was a different story entirely. Having the confidence to attack a game can do wonderful things and Derby were left reeling by Tyson, McCleary and Anderson. Their combined pace, with Earnshaw fizzing between them, was simply too much.
For 15 minutes in the second half we dominated but the storm seemed to have past when Earnshaw netted. I shall be forever grateful that it hadn’t.
Overcoming the hammer blow of a manager gone astray is huge. Wes Morgan’s absence for similarly troubling reasons was another major handicap prior to kick off. But we have survived, and now the path to glory has surely been set?
Only time will tell, of course. I’m rather hoping for a repeat of 2003’s City Ground romp – I’m simply not sure that my heart can stand another game like this.
The best of wishes to Billy Davies, who is tackling one of the few circumstances in life that render all of the above completely meaningless.
