Make no mistake, Raging Bill had to reach very deep into the top hat for his latest trick.
Coventry will be seething; recoiling like a wet kitten. Their show-stopping display has yielded a two goal deficit while a slumbering Forest continue to bark outside the Premiership’s back door.
This is how a Billy Davies side really butters its bread.
Throughout the last three months we have strutted, strode and scintillated. But a team that holds its own at the sharp of the Championship is one that can growl, grunt and grind.
The visitors overran our midfield, hacked our decorous triangles into frenzied loops and forced Camp into several smart saves. But they left with nothing, and ultimately Forest will be disappointed to have not added at least a third.
With a new year looming, it is worth pondering the overwhelming influence Davies has had on Nottingham Forest’s fortunes.
Twelve months ago we were pondering the very real threat of becoming a yo-yo club between League One and the Championship; bobbing moodily between the scrappy and the insufferable.
Now we are towering ominously above all challengers. Teams are posting us points without even turning up to fight for them.
Credit to Coventry for rolling up their sleeves, but the net result is the same. Forest march on again.
It is going to be quite hard to stomach when the comedown eventually begins. Knowing Forest it will be a cataclysmic derailing and not a graceful bow. But then none of us really know Forest anymore, and none of us really know what is going to happen next.
All the more reason, in my view, to enjoy it while it lasts.
The several thousand supporters who shuffled out of the ground early – again – should be lapping up every glorious second. They’ll be the first to heckle when reality returns.
But to the travelling fans who sneered at our support: do not get carried away, chaps, at most Coventry games the Ricoh Arena looks like an empty bath and sounds like a doctor’s waiting room.
Oh, and you are indeed going down with Derby.
Ratings:
Camp – 7.5 – a few frenetic moments, but numerous saves and several excellent claims as he launched from his line.
Gunter – 7 – solid and tireless.
Wilson – 8 – a fairly dozy start to the game and he initially struggled with a rumbustious Leon Best. But his last-ditch lunges kept the sheet clean. Again.
Morgan – 7.5 – rock solid. Again.
Shorey – 7.5 – one slack moment, otherwise another solid performance and some flawless crosses into the penalty area. He’d get into any side in the bottom half of the Premiership and won’t be joining Forest – but he is more than welcome too.
Cohen – 6.5 – a lost lamb at times.
Majewski – 7.5 - industrious as ever, and his shooting star surge from deep in the Forest half laid on Earnshaw’s crucial opener.
McKenna – 6.5 – aberrantly sloppy. Not a two games in two days man at his age.
Tyson – 6 – half asleep throughout and ballooned his one-on-one into the second tier.
Earnshaw – 7 – a beautiful first half goal.
Blackstock – 7.5 – difficult to contain.
Subs:
McCleary – 7
McGugan – 7
Adebola – 8.5
Clattenberg – 3 – posing in his fitted shirt and surgically-transplanted quiff, he looked every inch the twat that he is.
Monday 28 December 2009
Saturday 19 December 2009
Have a sherry for Bill
The tantalising reality this evening is that Forest weren’t actually that good.
The Tom Finney curtain which Preston brought instead of travelling supporters might as well have been a white flag of surrender.
For the second successive home game we witnessed a trembling opposition step out of our path, doff their caps and usher us merrily on our assent.
Preston’s performance screamed ‘have the points’ and Furious Bill is not in the business of turning down offers like those.
At 0-0 we were sharp, a 1-0 we were decisive, at 2-0 we were obstinately solid. At 3-0 we had one foot in the bath and another stretching for a play-off ticket.
Every time we scored I found myself pondering the screaming mass of swirling red scarves with the same baffled grin.
When will it end? As a Forest fan whose footballing life started in 1998 I know very well that it has to end at some point.
We are destined to be dismal. It’s a fait accompli.
But that is what makes Baying Bill’s conquest so intriguing. He does not care much for our time-honoured rubric of anti-climax and torture.
This man will spit in as many faces as is necessary to clear a path to glory.
His troops are not too shabby either. Waiting impatiently behind the impossibly mobile Adebola and the attention-hungry Earnshaw was Tyson, the division’s fastest player, McGoldrick, a £1m-rated forward, and Blackstock, a notorious marksmen.
Players like Lewis McGugan and Guy Moussi are sweating buckets just to make the bench. Yesteryear stalwarts Luke Chambers and James Perch – indubitable pillars of the Calderwood saga – are scarcely on the radar.
There is hunger, there is belief, there is competition – and there is a damn good manager shouting about it.
I have absolutely no idea if we can sustain this but I compel you all to raise a sherry to Raging Bill on Friday. We are unbeaten in what feels like a decade and Christmas is looking unusually merry.
Ratings
Camp – 6.5 – the television cameras don’t bring out the best in him. I always get the impression he’s looking at them through the corner of his eye.
Gunter – 6.5 – drifted off course once or twice but a solid performance.
Wilson – 7.5 – exceptional again; strides ahead of last season’s standard.
Morgan – 7.5 – unhindered and unphased by anything, including the introduction of Europe’s fattest strikeforce.
Shorey – 7.5 – the cameras were on, the world was watching, and transfer-hungry Shorey gave a guts-and-all performance of the highest standard. He’ll get his move, if it’s what he’s looking for, but I doubt it will be to Nottingham Forest.
Cohen – 6.5 – a lot of graft, but he’s no fan of the wing and it shows.
Majewski – 7.5 – a touch of continental class with the endearing spirit of Polish endeavour.
McKenna – 8 – a screamer of a goal and an almost flawless shift as he ran the midfield.
Adebola – 7 – continues to excel in ways he isn’t expected to. Did the business.
Earnshaw – 7 – posing aside, he was a real handful.
Subs:
McCleary – 7.5
McGugan – 7.5
Tyson – 7
Merciless Moaner’s Mythering Moment:
I know it was too cold to clap and the sort of weather that literally exterminates elderly people. But if we’ve smashed a team 3-0 all supporters should be forced to stay put until the final whistle. We looked a bit spoiled.
The Tom Finney curtain which Preston brought instead of travelling supporters might as well have been a white flag of surrender.
For the second successive home game we witnessed a trembling opposition step out of our path, doff their caps and usher us merrily on our assent.
Preston’s performance screamed ‘have the points’ and Furious Bill is not in the business of turning down offers like those.
At 0-0 we were sharp, a 1-0 we were decisive, at 2-0 we were obstinately solid. At 3-0 we had one foot in the bath and another stretching for a play-off ticket.
Every time we scored I found myself pondering the screaming mass of swirling red scarves with the same baffled grin.
When will it end? As a Forest fan whose footballing life started in 1998 I know very well that it has to end at some point.
We are destined to be dismal. It’s a fait accompli.
But that is what makes Baying Bill’s conquest so intriguing. He does not care much for our time-honoured rubric of anti-climax and torture.
This man will spit in as many faces as is necessary to clear a path to glory.
His troops are not too shabby either. Waiting impatiently behind the impossibly mobile Adebola and the attention-hungry Earnshaw was Tyson, the division’s fastest player, McGoldrick, a £1m-rated forward, and Blackstock, a notorious marksmen.
Players like Lewis McGugan and Guy Moussi are sweating buckets just to make the bench. Yesteryear stalwarts Luke Chambers and James Perch – indubitable pillars of the Calderwood saga – are scarcely on the radar.
There is hunger, there is belief, there is competition – and there is a damn good manager shouting about it.
I have absolutely no idea if we can sustain this but I compel you all to raise a sherry to Raging Bill on Friday. We are unbeaten in what feels like a decade and Christmas is looking unusually merry.
Ratings
Camp – 6.5 – the television cameras don’t bring out the best in him. I always get the impression he’s looking at them through the corner of his eye.
Gunter – 6.5 – drifted off course once or twice but a solid performance.
Wilson – 7.5 – exceptional again; strides ahead of last season’s standard.
Morgan – 7.5 – unhindered and unphased by anything, including the introduction of Europe’s fattest strikeforce.
Shorey – 7.5 – the cameras were on, the world was watching, and transfer-hungry Shorey gave a guts-and-all performance of the highest standard. He’ll get his move, if it’s what he’s looking for, but I doubt it will be to Nottingham Forest.
Cohen – 6.5 – a lot of graft, but he’s no fan of the wing and it shows.
Majewski – 7.5 – a touch of continental class with the endearing spirit of Polish endeavour.
McKenna – 8 – a screamer of a goal and an almost flawless shift as he ran the midfield.
Adebola – 7 – continues to excel in ways he isn’t expected to. Did the business.
Earnshaw – 7 – posing aside, he was a real handful.
Subs:
McCleary – 7.5
McGugan – 7.5
Tyson – 7
Merciless Moaner’s Mythering Moment:
I know it was too cold to clap and the sort of weather that literally exterminates elderly people. But if we’ve smashed a team 3-0 all supporters should be forced to stay put until the final whistle. We looked a bit spoiled.
Saturday 5 December 2009
"We're just too good for you..."
This one is dedicated to the four thousand Leicester City supporters whose collage of snarls, sneers and sobs will forever linger as an enduring trophy of this rout.
Talk is cheap. The cast of thousands bowled into the City Ground with great expectations but delivered little – their bungling heroes gave even less.
Prior to the game the blue mass was bewilderingly subdued; excitement peaked with a timorous ‘Leicester, Leicester, Leicester’ a few minutes into the game. But nothing followed. The puzzled travellers curled into a ball and absorbed every glorious second of the humiliation.
One blind supporter was heard enquiring: “Are there any Leicester supporters here today?”
I had a similar query about Leicester players.
That said, there was at least one Foxes star on display – arise, Mr Wayne Brown. Now take a bow, sir, for the joy you have brought to many thousands of Nottingham Forest supporters.
Alongside those glum Leicester faces, there is room in the cabinet for memories of Brown’s hysterical back-peddling shortly before Earnshaw’s third. He most certainly waved a white flag, but not before he’d vacuumed Robbie’s red carpet – and lit his cigar.
But perhaps I’m being a little hard on their slap-headed turkey of a centre half. After all, absolutely all of them were hilariously diabolical.
Considering this was Leicester’s showpiece fixture, the big day out, their performance bordered on unbelievable. There was none of the spirit, the vigour, or the life a supporter expects of a team playing on enemy territory.
They were slow and hesitant; they swarmed around our midfielders like children on a schoolyard and sent long balls into the abyss at every turn.
Their back four repeatedly left gaping spaces for our forwards to saunter into. For supporters sitting behind either goal it must have looked like cars streaming through the M6 toll booths.
We’re the cars, by the way. Wayne Brown is a toll booth.
But again, perhaps I’m being a little harsh. After all, Forest were sublime.
At times in the second half, as the passes zipped in triangles and the forwards surged on to crisp through balls, I literally pinched myself. ‘Dreamland’ is often a lazy way for brain-dead footballers to tell us they’re happy, or think they are.
Today it is the only word fit to describe our afternoon.
Something special is happening at the moment. We’re like a boulder thundering down a hill; we’re getting bigger, faster, and harder all the time. Managers of other sides are raising eyebrows and the players truly believe in themselves. Even Steve Claridge reckons we’re alright.
Last time we landed third in the Championship, Paul Hart told players to ‘cement themselves in the top six’. Davies doesn’t do cement, but he’s got plenty of dynamite.
For the first time in decades we have good players on the bench – and not because the manager is a tool, but because there are good players on the pitch too.
What a difference it makes to have a savagely competitive manager who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to ‘ask’ for it.
Large-headed Nigel Pearson was tactically raped and pillaged today. And he also looks like a butternut squash. Bad day at the office, pal.
Other contentious issues for anybody who cares: the phantom ‘penalty’ was definitely inside the box, the groove in the turf is visible on Google Earth. The actual penalty probably wasn’t a penalty, but it was worth it to hear the ironic Forest jeers drown out the Leicester fans.
And finally, credit to the army personnel who lapped up the praise and reignited the atmosphere while the Foxes sulked.
Ratings:
Camp – 7 – very little to do really, several nice waves at Capital One Corner.
Gunter – 6.5 – not his strongest performance, but he picked a good day for a dud.
Wilson – 8 – pulled us out of some sticky situations with excellent tackling back.
I’m not his biggest fan, but his recent form has been excellent.
Morgan – 8 – brute-like excellence from the non-stop rock.
Shorey – 7.5 – assured and convincing without ever needing to exert himself. Two excellent crosses into the box.
Anderson – 7.5 – excellent finish and a constant threat.
McKenna – 7.5 – tired towards the end, but a good performance.
Majewski – 7.5 – a lot of hard graft.
Cohen – 7.5 – indefatigable. Surprised he wasn’t sent off for the two bizarre lunges that followed his yellow card (for lunging).
Earnshaw – 10 – three half-chances, three beautiful goals. A master predator.
Blackstock – 7.5 – an incessant headache.
Subs:
Adebola – 7
McCleary – 7
Tyson – 7
Talk is cheap. The cast of thousands bowled into the City Ground with great expectations but delivered little – their bungling heroes gave even less.
Prior to the game the blue mass was bewilderingly subdued; excitement peaked with a timorous ‘Leicester, Leicester, Leicester’ a few minutes into the game. But nothing followed. The puzzled travellers curled into a ball and absorbed every glorious second of the humiliation.
One blind supporter was heard enquiring: “Are there any Leicester supporters here today?”
I had a similar query about Leicester players.
That said, there was at least one Foxes star on display – arise, Mr Wayne Brown. Now take a bow, sir, for the joy you have brought to many thousands of Nottingham Forest supporters.
Alongside those glum Leicester faces, there is room in the cabinet for memories of Brown’s hysterical back-peddling shortly before Earnshaw’s third. He most certainly waved a white flag, but not before he’d vacuumed Robbie’s red carpet – and lit his cigar.
But perhaps I’m being a little hard on their slap-headed turkey of a centre half. After all, absolutely all of them were hilariously diabolical.
Considering this was Leicester’s showpiece fixture, the big day out, their performance bordered on unbelievable. There was none of the spirit, the vigour, or the life a supporter expects of a team playing on enemy territory.
They were slow and hesitant; they swarmed around our midfielders like children on a schoolyard and sent long balls into the abyss at every turn.
Their back four repeatedly left gaping spaces for our forwards to saunter into. For supporters sitting behind either goal it must have looked like cars streaming through the M6 toll booths.
We’re the cars, by the way. Wayne Brown is a toll booth.
But again, perhaps I’m being a little harsh. After all, Forest were sublime.
At times in the second half, as the passes zipped in triangles and the forwards surged on to crisp through balls, I literally pinched myself. ‘Dreamland’ is often a lazy way for brain-dead footballers to tell us they’re happy, or think they are.
Today it is the only word fit to describe our afternoon.
Something special is happening at the moment. We’re like a boulder thundering down a hill; we’re getting bigger, faster, and harder all the time. Managers of other sides are raising eyebrows and the players truly believe in themselves. Even Steve Claridge reckons we’re alright.
Last time we landed third in the Championship, Paul Hart told players to ‘cement themselves in the top six’. Davies doesn’t do cement, but he’s got plenty of dynamite.
For the first time in decades we have good players on the bench – and not because the manager is a tool, but because there are good players on the pitch too.
What a difference it makes to have a savagely competitive manager who knows exactly what he wants and isn’t afraid to ‘ask’ for it.
Large-headed Nigel Pearson was tactically raped and pillaged today. And he also looks like a butternut squash. Bad day at the office, pal.
Other contentious issues for anybody who cares: the phantom ‘penalty’ was definitely inside the box, the groove in the turf is visible on Google Earth. The actual penalty probably wasn’t a penalty, but it was worth it to hear the ironic Forest jeers drown out the Leicester fans.
And finally, credit to the army personnel who lapped up the praise and reignited the atmosphere while the Foxes sulked.
Ratings:
Camp – 7 – very little to do really, several nice waves at Capital One Corner.
Gunter – 6.5 – not his strongest performance, but he picked a good day for a dud.
Wilson – 8 – pulled us out of some sticky situations with excellent tackling back.
I’m not his biggest fan, but his recent form has been excellent.
Morgan – 8 – brute-like excellence from the non-stop rock.
Shorey – 7.5 – assured and convincing without ever needing to exert himself. Two excellent crosses into the box.
Anderson – 7.5 – excellent finish and a constant threat.
McKenna – 7.5 – tired towards the end, but a good performance.
Majewski – 7.5 – a lot of hard graft.
Cohen – 7.5 – indefatigable. Surprised he wasn’t sent off for the two bizarre lunges that followed his yellow card (for lunging).
Earnshaw – 10 – three half-chances, three beautiful goals. A master predator.
Blackstock – 7.5 – an incessant headache.
Subs:
Adebola – 7
McCleary – 7
Tyson – 7
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