There
are not many Forest fans who would find themselves in the
position of actually thanking our sheepish neighbours in the next
county, and should there be any I find hard to believe many would
admit it.After some years in exile, due to mainly work commitments and personal reasons I have found my way back into the fold of the City Ground, purchasing a season ticket in the process. Glory supporter, fair weather supporter, someone else riding on the crest of the wave provided by an in-form Forest team this season?
No. The passion's always been there, just needed re-charging; the memories needed to be re-kindled. They have been... thanks to the sheep!
I’m a through and through football fan, cricket sometimes, rugby never. I have been spoilt by the emergence over the past ten years or so of televised football, and indulged in the passion created by Euro 96 and the following world cups. In fact, I’ll watch any football.
Now I’ll tell you what I mean by sleeping with the enemy!
In June of last year my wife got herself a new job. Where? At the DCFC Academy... no, she’s not part of the Rams youth policy, well at least not yet, but the way Gregory’s selecting his teams I’m expecting to see her on a future teamsheet forming a midfield partnership with the tea lady from the ticket office.
As with most clubs, complimentary tickets are a benefit for the employees and the wife gets her share. So it was with great indifference that I accepted her invitation to watch D*** v Reading at the start of the season.
Not a bad game: a premiership side of the previous year against a steady but plain Division One outfit; a predictable scoreline, 3-0 in favour of the home team.
Combining this with Forest’s defeat at Portsmouth made for an uncomfortable evening.
Why, a little banter from the wife? Can't you take it? Are you man or mouse?
Well no, there’s a twist you see - the wife’s daughter (my stepdaughter) works at the DCFC training ground and her boyfriend is a lifelong DCFC fan, and I (idiot) had just introduced my own daughter to Prideless Park, virtue of a complimentary and given an embryonic fan the gift of life.
I needed a game plan, divorce was a little too harsh at this stage. I could join the navy? Too old, I fear. Work my passage round the world? It would not make a difference, the house was still tainted.
I beat a hasty retreat to the solitude that is my study. What to do? Fight back!
My problem was, the visit to Prideless Park had only confirmed my fears about football. New, lifeless stadiums, a money mad game without the passion. Everyone sits, no surges forward, ‘mind that bloody barrier you’ll be crushed to death’. No-one sings (well maybe 50 or so of them at D****), you can't smoke! It did not fair well for an answer, although I knew all along what the answer was... the City Ground.
It could not be the same, surely? Not Forest: the Trent’s still there, and the mist surely still rolls in. Ok, they have to sit too... God, I hope they can smoke. But surely it’s the place to be!
The following weeks were spent following the Reds from afar with a long forgotten passion. Darren and Birtles become regular house guests, my ‘favourites’ column on my PC become embroiled with Forest sites, frequent trips to the forums to keep up to date with opinions, suggestions and sometimes pure bullshit.
The blood was beginning to flow again, but it still was not enough. What next? I needed an ally - my son Nathan, now 18, introduced to Forest for a dull 0-0 draw v Wolves in 93/94, was only too willing.
So the scene was set for a fight-back, the pendulum of power in the Murfin household was set to swing and it was the Brighton match that was to do it.