Sleeping with the enemy (Part Five)
07/05/03 | by Ivan Murfin

Grimsby and Brighton threatened to spoil the party build up, but only threatened, mind you. No sooner had the last words of post-match analysis been written after the trip to the Withdean, that the predictions of the forthcoming derby began to fly on every newspaper, web site, radio station and workplace in the East Midlands and further.

The party began.

The most anticipated game of the season was upon us. People took the day off as if it were a national bank holiday. All bets were off, it seemed no self respecting sheep shagger was prepared to put his money where his mouth was. In fact they were pretty quiet when all said. The confidence from the Rams fans in our house was low and if this was a reflection of the playing staff from their respective workplaces then Dreby were in for a thrashing. For me nothing less would do.

To me it meant so much, to live in the shadow of Prideless Park, to have family members employed by the sheep shaggers and to work in the town itself could prove to be a little fraught at times. But worry not, all the indication of our supremity and overwhelming confidence was in evidence even before a ball had been kicked.

On the way to the match we had the misfortune to be stuck in the predictable traffic jam on the A52, during which we pulled up against the coach carrying DCFC Ashbourne supporters club. Now there’s me and our Nathan, side by side with 52 seater coach of Dreby fans and us flying the mandatory Forest scarf from the rear window. We waited and waited, surely the abuse and banter would start. No way, just silence. The mood on the coach resembled more an outing of of Ashbourne Womens Institute, not rival supporters on the way to the biggest match in the East Midlands football calendar. Not a reaction, not a glance. Oh what fun!

Later as we queued outside the turnstile, we noticed upon several sheep shaggers being interviewed by some TV crew. That was until a group of boisterous Trickies happened upon them. The banter and chants were so loud, that the crew abandoned the interview and the Dreby’s fans 15 minutes of fame was reduced to a mere 15 seconds, that was never to grace any decent TV screen.

2-0 already. There was no way we were going to get anything less than what we wanted. The carnival was to begin.

It’s a long time since I witnessed that sort of atmosphere in the ground. Me personally having to look back to the glory days of the late 70s and early 80s and the FA cup runs of the late 80s and early 90s to even find a decent comparison.

The players appeared to one of the most rousing receptions I have ever witnessed and no doubt they had too. The enthusiasm amongst them was evident with backslapping and clench fists signalling their intent.

The rest is now history, an overwhelming victory for the Reds, playing some of the most attractive and complete football I have seen during my time back in the fold.

Notable highlights included Huckerby's celebrations in front of the A block after his goal, giving clenched fists salutes with the impression that this was so important to him. I suppose being a Nottingham lad himself he knew exactly how the 26,000 plus trickies were feeling. The other highlight, the rendition of ‘Bye, Bye John Gregory’ sung by almost everyone in the ground including the Dreby fans….brilliant. He must have been wishing that his technical area would quickly turn into a pit of quicksand.

It's quite nice to think that maybe this victory and the unanimous contempt for the bloke from both Forest and Dreby fans, played a significant part in his being released from duty shortly after.

Given Direby’s dire straights, take nothing away from the victory - we played well. Direby had their momentary periods of possession, but we have played worse teams. The Reds and their fans were just up for it!

You might say I was pleased. I had made several text messages to my daughter during the game, giving her a sort of running commentary on her teams demise. It had to be text, you couldn't hear a bloody thing to be able to talk, and anyhow my throat was so sore that shareholders in Strepsils were in for a decent dividend come year end.

The only problem with a Forest victory and living in a Dreby household was there was only so much gloating you could do... well almost! But to be honest, I would have had more scintillating conversation in a mortuary that night. Never mind eh?

Shortly after, it all went pear-shaped at the Prideless Park, Gregory was out on his ear along with his sidekicks. The chairman still sat in his ivory tower claiming exemption from fault whilst the bricks and mortar beneath him crumbled away.

The team who had ‘un-luckily’, to quote a few, been relegated (the fault of the once ‘God-like’ figure of Jim Smith), the team who, to quote many more, would gain automatic promotion (Chris Kamara - remember him saying even at Christmas that Dreby would be up there with the best) had now slipped into a relegation battle in Division One. Oh what joy.

It was a good time, the play-offs for Forest were an achievable target, Dreby were the laughing stock of the East Midlands and I for one, saw no end to my smug attitude.

It wouldn't be hard to convince any tricky that the Lord himself was looking down, with his red and white scarf above his head singing: “Mist rolling in from the Trent, my desire is always to be here, Oh City Ground...”