It was written. Football can be as predictable as it is manic, and today’s meltdown has been lurking in the shadows for some time.
A performance that would have satisfied Colin Calderwood only compounded the inevitability.
From the first whistle our opponents had the upper hand, and for the first time this season our players were guilty of believing their own publicity.
The net result was arguably the worst performance of the season – and indisputably the worst result.
Nobody can argue that Forest are the superior side, even on today’s evidence, but we have been reminded of our frailty in the face of a side that will not let us play.
Whether most Championship opponents will have the resolve to sustain the work rate needed to topple us is another matter.
Nonetheless, today’s collapse is a blueprint for future failure.
When our equilaterals are scythed and our wingers are clipped we are as fond as the next team of ‘lumping it’ – and the cap doesn’t fit.
Not for a moment did we look capable of winning the game, and not for a moment did an opener for the home side seem anything less than inevitable.
But today’s fall behind enemy lines did not carry the same tear-jerking sense of injustice and rage that it has done in the past.
There was something hollow in the revelling of our adversaries, something defiant in Angry Billy’s upward gesture; something addictive in the burst of song that followed our players as they slumped to the dressing room.
I could be alone in this, I could indeed be completely wrong. But for some reason I feel more confident than I have at any point previously that Forest will be somewhere near the top of the table come May.
Promotion may well be too soon, but I have insurmountable faith that our manager will be more determined than ever to flip the odds.
Yes, we’ve been brought to our knees. But the snarl clouding Raging Bill’s face at the end of this afternoon’s match tells me we will not be down there for very long.
Ratings:
Camp – 7 – a fairly solid performance, despite the steady torrent of pressure leaking through his left back.
Gunter – 5.5 – a tireless effort from a player who was more angry than anybody to lose. But he was not at his best.
Morgan – 7 – one of the few players to escape with any credit. I dread to think how we’d have coped without him.
Wilson – 6 – reasonable but unspectacular, did not have the fire in his gut that we sorely needed.
Perch – 3.5 – a performance uncannily similar to Joel Lynch’s disastrous contribution on our last visit. Absolutely everything seeped through him as he cowered timorously in the corner. One left back please. Immediately and if not sooner. If Newcastle have any intention of using him at left back we should send him there for free.
Cohen – 5.5 – no end product to his labour.
McKenna – 4 – the defining memory of the game will be our skipper side-footing balls into no man’s land for seemingly no reason. His worst game in a red shirt by an almost immeasurable distance.
Majewski – 6 – flashes of excellence, but his stamina continues to let him down and he wasn’t consistent enough in his sparks.
Anderson – 5 – he just wasn’t up to it today, it was abundantly clear from his slouched shoulders.
Earnshaw – 5 – no service, no involvement.
Blackstock – 5 – failed to get a hold of the game as he chased nothing balls.
Substitutes – 3 – Moussi and McGugan floundered, Adebola just conceded free-kicks.
Saturday 30 January 2010
Saturday 16 January 2010
Just one decade to go
I can’t resist the feeling that some of us are getting a little carried away.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m itching to join the dumbstruck masses in the queue for ‘Camp – 1’ England shirts. But looming beyond the horizon of every weekend’s triumph is an ominous mountain.
I can almost see it sneering from behind the Trent End.
January, February, March, April and May will spill through each of our fingers like water from a tap. We’ll do our photocopying, send our emails, make our calls, drink our beer, and live our lives as ephemerally as ever.
Except when it comes to football.
In Championship terms, January through May is effectively a decade.
Steady performers will buckle, high-fliers will swoon, doomed souls will be absolved, and one side will – as always – put together an endless, snarling, fist-clenching assault on the top six.
Our own assault has left many a nose bloodied, but do we have the mettle to survive another twenty attempted slaughters?
One thing that will certainly help is full-throttle ecstasy from the stands, but already I can feel our love-drunk worship eroding beneath the uncomfortable twitch of expectation.
That said, this afternoon’s shift was an exceptional response to the midweek setback.
The first half was painfully straightforward. Reading huffed, harried and hustled but we bossed possession without breaking sweat and surged into the final third seemingly at will.
It is indeed the ease with which we strolled into a 2-0 lead that contributed to our second half wake-up call.
But even in top gear and rallying against a Forest side with one foot in the bath, they didn’t have enough. Not by a long shot.
Lee Camp’s heroics did no harm, his shameless and emphatic milking of the glory were the highlight of the afternoon.
Chest out, arms in the air, furious scowl, balls the size of coconuts. This is the breed of man that will carry us to greater things.
And the longer our ludicrous league run continues, the closer I get to that queue.
Ratings:
Camp – 9 – the fact that he was interviewed about a possible World Cup appearance is insane, but it is also a tribute to his exquisite form. He’s capable of the remarkable, but at the same time he organises, he commands, he claims, and he is confident enough to exude confidence to others.
Gunter – 7 – typical dogged Gunter, tidying up and roving forward with unbridled rigour.
Morgan – 7- another job well done.
Wilson – 7.5 – the born-again hero.
Shorey – 6 – I didn’t like his pre-match assessment and the challenge that prompted his sending off was hopelessly clumsy. He is a cut above most players in the Championship, but at £25,000-per-week I expect him to stay a cut above for a while yet.
Cohen – 7 – kept a cool head in picking out Anderson for the opener.
McKenna – 7 – less on his plate than usual, particularly as we controlled proceedings early on, but a characteristically solid performance.
Majewski – 7.5 – faded in the second half, as he often does, but his jaw-dropping comfort on the ball was a major factor in our stunning first half.
Anderson – 7.5 – cool finish and tireless display. Increasingly he’s one of the players I’d trust in the promised land, should the unthinkable happen.
Earnshaw – 7 – another game, another goal.
Blackstock – 7 – should have passed to Earnshaw late in the first half and it would have been a different game thereafter. But would Earnie have passed it? Don’t be stupid.
Subs:
Perch – 7
Chambers – 6.5
Tyson – 6.5
Don’t get me wrong, I’m itching to join the dumbstruck masses in the queue for ‘Camp – 1’ England shirts. But looming beyond the horizon of every weekend’s triumph is an ominous mountain.
I can almost see it sneering from behind the Trent End.
January, February, March, April and May will spill through each of our fingers like water from a tap. We’ll do our photocopying, send our emails, make our calls, drink our beer, and live our lives as ephemerally as ever.
Except when it comes to football.
In Championship terms, January through May is effectively a decade.
Steady performers will buckle, high-fliers will swoon, doomed souls will be absolved, and one side will – as always – put together an endless, snarling, fist-clenching assault on the top six.
Our own assault has left many a nose bloodied, but do we have the mettle to survive another twenty attempted slaughters?
One thing that will certainly help is full-throttle ecstasy from the stands, but already I can feel our love-drunk worship eroding beneath the uncomfortable twitch of expectation.
That said, this afternoon’s shift was an exceptional response to the midweek setback.
The first half was painfully straightforward. Reading huffed, harried and hustled but we bossed possession without breaking sweat and surged into the final third seemingly at will.
It is indeed the ease with which we strolled into a 2-0 lead that contributed to our second half wake-up call.
But even in top gear and rallying against a Forest side with one foot in the bath, they didn’t have enough. Not by a long shot.
Lee Camp’s heroics did no harm, his shameless and emphatic milking of the glory were the highlight of the afternoon.
Chest out, arms in the air, furious scowl, balls the size of coconuts. This is the breed of man that will carry us to greater things.
And the longer our ludicrous league run continues, the closer I get to that queue.
Ratings:
Camp – 9 – the fact that he was interviewed about a possible World Cup appearance is insane, but it is also a tribute to his exquisite form. He’s capable of the remarkable, but at the same time he organises, he commands, he claims, and he is confident enough to exude confidence to others.
Gunter – 7 – typical dogged Gunter, tidying up and roving forward with unbridled rigour.
Morgan – 7- another job well done.
Wilson – 7.5 – the born-again hero.
Shorey – 6 – I didn’t like his pre-match assessment and the challenge that prompted his sending off was hopelessly clumsy. He is a cut above most players in the Championship, but at £25,000-per-week I expect him to stay a cut above for a while yet.
Cohen – 7 – kept a cool head in picking out Anderson for the opener.
McKenna – 7 – less on his plate than usual, particularly as we controlled proceedings early on, but a characteristically solid performance.
Majewski – 7.5 – faded in the second half, as he often does, but his jaw-dropping comfort on the ball was a major factor in our stunning first half.
Anderson – 7.5 – cool finish and tireless display. Increasingly he’s one of the players I’d trust in the promised land, should the unthinkable happen.
Earnshaw – 7 – another game, another goal.
Blackstock – 7 – should have passed to Earnshaw late in the first half and it would have been a different game thereafter. But would Earnie have passed it? Don’t be stupid.
Subs:
Perch – 7
Chambers – 6.5
Tyson – 6.5
Tuesday 12 January 2010
We're Nottingham Forest, Unbeaten Today
Assuming, of course, you read this after midnight.
So it’s finally over then? And what a way to go. An extreme weather endurance test in front of what looked – and sounded – like 300 miserable Brummies.
What a niggardly way to snatch the plaudits from a side so rich in spirit.
If tonight’s lead balloon of a cup match ultimately proves to be the turning point in this season of courage and mystery it will be a rich tale of injustice.
But in our defence, the FA Cup doesn’t really count. Does it? We fielded a weakened side against the form club of the Premier League and still raked enough opportunities to snatch a win.
What’s more, some of those fringe players didn’t look so shabby after all. Ok, Luke ‘Captain Sensible’ Chambers conceded 500 throw-ins with panic clearances, and David McGoldrick resumed his million (Zimbabwean) dollar finishing.
But in the most part we more than held our own. James Perch looked better than I ever remember him being with an all-action display, Garath McCleary was all over them like a sneeze, and Big Deal had no quibbles when it came to demolishing top rank defenders.
Joe Hart was their sponsors’ man of the match (sponsor of the sponsors’ man of the match sponsor was Tesco, by the way).
Perhaps the only real concern, other than the fact that we have (sort of) lost our unbeaten run, is the ability of the side to cope without Paul McKenna.
Guy Moussi did a noble job of marshalling the park with his elasticised legs, but when he left the field our decorous triangles soon became a distant memory.
Scraps for the wingers and shovel-loads for Adebola were the paltry alternative.
But let’s not busy ourselves with these fears just yet. After all, McKenna will be back, Moussi is fit, Majewski was on the bench. Blackstock, Earnshaw, Shorey and of course Arron Davies weren’t even involved.
Saturday’s game is what matters. Tonight’s technical glitch doesn’t count because only 300 miserable Brummies came to see it.
So keep your voices down, stay firmly inside your lucky boxer shorts and get to the City Ground on Saturday.
We’re Nottingham Forest, unbeaten away.
Shhh.
RIB (Ratings in Brief)
Camp – 7
Perch – 7.5
Chambers – 7
Morgan – 7.5
Cohen – 7
McCleary – 7.5
Moussi – 8
McGugan – 7
Tyson – 6.5
Adebola – 7
McGoldrick – 6.5
So it’s finally over then? And what a way to go. An extreme weather endurance test in front of what looked – and sounded – like 300 miserable Brummies.
What a niggardly way to snatch the plaudits from a side so rich in spirit.
If tonight’s lead balloon of a cup match ultimately proves to be the turning point in this season of courage and mystery it will be a rich tale of injustice.
But in our defence, the FA Cup doesn’t really count. Does it? We fielded a weakened side against the form club of the Premier League and still raked enough opportunities to snatch a win.
What’s more, some of those fringe players didn’t look so shabby after all. Ok, Luke ‘Captain Sensible’ Chambers conceded 500 throw-ins with panic clearances, and David McGoldrick resumed his million (Zimbabwean) dollar finishing.
But in the most part we more than held our own. James Perch looked better than I ever remember him being with an all-action display, Garath McCleary was all over them like a sneeze, and Big Deal had no quibbles when it came to demolishing top rank defenders.
Joe Hart was their sponsors’ man of the match (sponsor of the sponsors’ man of the match sponsor was Tesco, by the way).
Perhaps the only real concern, other than the fact that we have (sort of) lost our unbeaten run, is the ability of the side to cope without Paul McKenna.
Guy Moussi did a noble job of marshalling the park with his elasticised legs, but when he left the field our decorous triangles soon became a distant memory.
Scraps for the wingers and shovel-loads for Adebola were the paltry alternative.
But let’s not busy ourselves with these fears just yet. After all, McKenna will be back, Moussi is fit, Majewski was on the bench. Blackstock, Earnshaw, Shorey and of course Arron Davies weren’t even involved.
Saturday’s game is what matters. Tonight’s technical glitch doesn’t count because only 300 miserable Brummies came to see it.
So keep your voices down, stay firmly inside your lucky boxer shorts and get to the City Ground on Saturday.
We’re Nottingham Forest, unbeaten away.
Shhh.
RIB (Ratings in Brief)
Camp – 7
Perch – 7.5
Chambers – 7
Morgan – 7.5
Cohen – 7
McCleary – 7.5
Moussi – 8
McGugan – 7
Tyson – 6.5
Adebola – 7
McGoldrick – 6.5
Saturday 9 January 2010
THIS IS FOOTBALL
This is getting out of hand.
We’re not on a ‘decent run’, we’re not ‘going steady’, we’re not even punching above our weight.
In actual fact we’re bulldozing our way aimlessly but inexorably into paradise.
Time and again I brace myself for the collapse; the jaw-shattering reality check. Time and again Brooding Bill outstrips, outfights and outfoxes all challengers.
When Chris Cohen’s curling effort crept past Scott Carson’s grasping fingertips this evening I found myself floundering in footballing delirium.
I literally could not believe we were 3-0 up against the promotion certainties – in their own parlour.
It didn’t make sense. And for three solid minutes I howled, gesticulated and bounced through the confusion.
But in retrospect, from the sanctuary of a warm home and with several hours of reflection elapsed, I can almost see a method to this madness.
Cast your minds to the explosion of furious ecstasy from Radoslaw Majewski as his impossible volley bulged the net. Remember fondly the sobbing elation of Chris Cohen as he sealed the points. Consider warmly the indefatigable, incredulous work rate of every single player.
Our team is an ocean of superlatives. Their endeavour could be deemed machine-like if the expression did not so crudely dismiss the sheer organic quality of our heart-on-sleeve heroes.
The quality is there, Fuming Bill has made certain of that. But the potion he has stirred surreptitiously into the cocktail is worth two of every penny he has spent.
If nothing comes of our outlandish foray, the manager will retain a firm place in my affections for his success in restoring romance to our football.
Remember cowering beneath a bin bag as a month’s rain fell on Swindon?
Remember standing in the biting cold as amateurs Woking punched Megson in the kidneys?
Remember cringing on a windy night in Southend as Calderwood had a nervous breakdown?
It’s all gone.
My feet buzzed with the sensation of total numbness this evening; my fingers throbbed red as blistering cold gnawed the flesh. But all I could think was: ‘this is proper stuff, this’.
I didn’t even mind the 45-minute lap of Sandwell as stewards and locked gates made for a complicated route back to the car.
It takes a marvellous man to achieve these things.
So that’s that. We’re perfect and everything is beautiful. There are another thousand games until the end of the season and all manner of catastrophes are lurking.
But please, Angry Bill, let’s stay perfect and beautiful until the end of January.
If satisfaction is delivered on the penultimate day of this month I might be ready to die happy.
Ratings:
Camp – 8.5 – gobbled up what felt like hundreds of crosses and searching corners.
Gunter – 7.5 – one or two early errors but a fearless performance.
Morgan – 8 – coped well with the influx of beasts in the second half.
Wilson – 8 – what a turnaround from the petulant brat who dropped a nut at Bramall Lane.
Shorey – 8 – who’s Gareth Bale? Get your wallet out Supreme Leader Doughty.
Cohen – 7.5 – one or two untidy moments, but his work rate (and goal) proved invaluable.
Majewski – 8 – what a finish. I happen to think he had an appalling first 20 minutes; slipping between absent and atrocious. But he certainly shut me up.
Moussi – 8 – untold benefits in shaking up the middle of the park; his Mr Tickle-style legs creeping around every loose ball.
McKenna – 8 – I don’t know how football happens without him.
Anderson – 8 – the whippet. Unstoppable brilliance and he should have had a penalty.
Blackstock – 8 – the hardest he has ever worked in a Forest shirt, and it paid off.
Subs:
Tyson – 7
Adebola - 7
Perch – 7.5
Fans – 10 – other than 20 minutes of insufferable tension at the end of the game, the Forest fans dominated proceedings throughout with a display to make Reds across the globe very proud indeed. Many Bubbly Brummies, on the other hand, skulked out on 60 minutes.
We’re not on a ‘decent run’, we’re not ‘going steady’, we’re not even punching above our weight.
In actual fact we’re bulldozing our way aimlessly but inexorably into paradise.
Time and again I brace myself for the collapse; the jaw-shattering reality check. Time and again Brooding Bill outstrips, outfights and outfoxes all challengers.
When Chris Cohen’s curling effort crept past Scott Carson’s grasping fingertips this evening I found myself floundering in footballing delirium.
I literally could not believe we were 3-0 up against the promotion certainties – in their own parlour.
It didn’t make sense. And for three solid minutes I howled, gesticulated and bounced through the confusion.
But in retrospect, from the sanctuary of a warm home and with several hours of reflection elapsed, I can almost see a method to this madness.
Cast your minds to the explosion of furious ecstasy from Radoslaw Majewski as his impossible volley bulged the net. Remember fondly the sobbing elation of Chris Cohen as he sealed the points. Consider warmly the indefatigable, incredulous work rate of every single player.
Our team is an ocean of superlatives. Their endeavour could be deemed machine-like if the expression did not so crudely dismiss the sheer organic quality of our heart-on-sleeve heroes.
The quality is there, Fuming Bill has made certain of that. But the potion he has stirred surreptitiously into the cocktail is worth two of every penny he has spent.
If nothing comes of our outlandish foray, the manager will retain a firm place in my affections for his success in restoring romance to our football.
Remember cowering beneath a bin bag as a month’s rain fell on Swindon?
Remember standing in the biting cold as amateurs Woking punched Megson in the kidneys?
Remember cringing on a windy night in Southend as Calderwood had a nervous breakdown?
It’s all gone.
My feet buzzed with the sensation of total numbness this evening; my fingers throbbed red as blistering cold gnawed the flesh. But all I could think was: ‘this is proper stuff, this’.
I didn’t even mind the 45-minute lap of Sandwell as stewards and locked gates made for a complicated route back to the car.
It takes a marvellous man to achieve these things.
So that’s that. We’re perfect and everything is beautiful. There are another thousand games until the end of the season and all manner of catastrophes are lurking.
But please, Angry Bill, let’s stay perfect and beautiful until the end of January.
If satisfaction is delivered on the penultimate day of this month I might be ready to die happy.
Ratings:
Camp – 8.5 – gobbled up what felt like hundreds of crosses and searching corners.
Gunter – 7.5 – one or two early errors but a fearless performance.
Morgan – 8 – coped well with the influx of beasts in the second half.
Wilson – 8 – what a turnaround from the petulant brat who dropped a nut at Bramall Lane.
Shorey – 8 – who’s Gareth Bale? Get your wallet out Supreme Leader Doughty.
Cohen – 7.5 – one or two untidy moments, but his work rate (and goal) proved invaluable.
Majewski – 8 – what a finish. I happen to think he had an appalling first 20 minutes; slipping between absent and atrocious. But he certainly shut me up.
Moussi – 8 – untold benefits in shaking up the middle of the park; his Mr Tickle-style legs creeping around every loose ball.
McKenna – 8 – I don’t know how football happens without him.
Anderson – 8 – the whippet. Unstoppable brilliance and he should have had a penalty.
Blackstock – 8 – the hardest he has ever worked in a Forest shirt, and it paid off.
Subs:
Tyson – 7
Adebola - 7
Perch – 7.5
Fans – 10 – other than 20 minutes of insufferable tension at the end of the game, the Forest fans dominated proceedings throughout with a display to make Reds across the globe very proud indeed. Many Bubbly Brummies, on the other hand, skulked out on 60 minutes.
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