Just what can any one of us say about that?
I am inconsolable. I am subjugated. I am furious to the brink of insanity.
The callous brutality of football has swept me to despair and it is an experience I can never forget.
True glory was dangled before us this evening, and just as our grip tightened it was wrenched far from reach.
When I relive the delirium, the madness, the sheer chaos of the first fifteen minutes I feel physically sick. Some how we were two goals up, every fan in the City Ground stood to roar in glory and it was as loud as I can ever remember it being.
It was too much to comprehend. For a few minutes I completely lost control of myself. My hands tingled, my heart fluttered and words failed me completely.
In the dumbstruck hysteria of it all it actually crossed my mind that I might be dying of happiness.
But the higher you climb, the harder you will fall.
Forest sank within themselves and Derby’s first goal, borne out of a simple lack of concentration, immediately spelled disaster. The early stages had seemed too good to be true, and they simply were.
It was obvious from that point that an evening of volatile twists and jerks was to follow. Six goals, extra time, penalties, a rout – anything seemed possible.
By half-time Forest had steadied the ship, but the atmosphere had never been the same since Derby’s revival started. There is no doubt that fans could sense fate lurking; ready to rise ominously and strangle the dream.
Already Forest looked heavy-legged and wary, already the writing was on the wall.
It was probably 15 or 20 minutes before the equaliser, but it seemed like seconds.
A brief foray after half-time melted beneath a Derby whitewash. Our defending was woeful; a resurgent Rams side took us to pieces and an equaliser has never seemed so inevitable.
Gazing down from the Upper Bridgford, I could not stomach the sight of the revelling visitors. I knew the euphoria that each and every one of them was living, and I hated them for it.
I sank back behind the wall of standing supporters all around me, unable to suppress a savage resentment. It is nothing short of pathetic that such feelings of revulsion and loathing can stem simply from the colour of a shirt, but that is the tribal nature of football.
And that is why the 74th minute cut so deep into our hearts.
Commons’ move to Derby was an outrageous act of betrayal. It spat at every single one of the hyperbolic emotions I have tried to describe. The fact that it was his winner poured salt into a gaping wound.
There was no way back from there. The desire may have been there, but the players did not have the legs – and they did not have the bottle.
For the final 15 minutes we completely disappeared. The bottom line is we were dismantled by a side of greater experience, with more metal when it really mattered.
The moment when young Mark Byrne froze and collapsed under pressure late on is the moment that encapsulates our evening.
I don’t blame the youngsters, nor the players that strode on through niggles and knocks. But there is no getting away from the fact that a Forest side has tonight brought shame to our doorsteps.
In losing their nerve they have written Derby folklore, and cast us all in a nightmare that may not be erased for a very long time.
I do wonder how ‘over the odds’ those prices may seem in early May.
