Left Cold
29/12/02 | by Alastair Gunn

It was a suitably pessimistic yours truly who made the long, cold mid-winter walk to his local yesterday morning to watch Forest lose. I had accurately predicted that attempting to buy a last minute ticket would have been, if not vain, not much worth the bother. Why put myself out when I could watch this funeral of performance on Sky?

Aside from the body heat of my fellow mourners,
Nothing could have offered proud,
Some warmth in the now unfriendly corners,
Of my old haunt, the City Ground

The ghosts that haunt it presently,
Are mere imitations of memory
For in these moments of despair,
There seems to be nothing for me there

The West Ham attack was potent. One of the few rats that made it from the sinking HMS Don to a worthy alternative vessel, David Connolly, seemed the least of our worries. Underrated Matt Etherington registered only hazily on the radar. Feisty Jermaine Defoe loomed dull: inevitable but out of focus. Their thrust had one point of focus to us.

The match will be remembered as Marlon Harewood's first return to the City Ground. It was a successful one. His early goal extinguished any hope we may have entertained of getting something from the game. Hope was all that the crowd had. It was enough for 27,491 fans to turn out. So many fans; so little hope.

Christmas is supposed to be a time of plenty: plenty of goal scoring opportunities for West Ham. Their quick breaks, often created by intelligent balls from the deceptively inconspicuous Michael Carrick, ripped the Forest defence into loosely aligned shreds repetitively.

The opening goal was a case in point. Etherington received the ball on the halfway line. Louis-Jean, not at his best, was beaten quickly and comprehensively. His near-post cross was dangerous and found Defoe in space. His diving flick left Marlon with a tap in. The defence? I don't know either.

Luck, Darren Ward and little else kept the score at 1-0 until the final minutes when Defoe got what may prove to be his final West Ham goal. There are those who think that he is not actually as good as the papers would have us believe. If Man U rate Bellion, they will be lusting for Defoe.

The interim was punctuated by boos for Marlon (a shame I feel), shots off target and Marlon King gazing forlornly at the skies before frowning at the linesman. Much the same as the rest of us, except that we were frowning at King!

The context, of a team and a man on the up versus his old team very much on the decline, may or may not stay with us depending on whether we stay up this season.

It depends on whether Marlon makes it in the Premiership (should he get there) or does "an Akinbiyi". Many an exuberant athlete has been found out by promotion. Marlon being little more than that, one feels that the time for Marlon is now. Scoring regularly for West Ham will be his summit. These happiest days will become his fondest memories when the boots are hung up. I hope he is enjoying them as much as we are.

It is tempting to remind ourselves of the Marlon era now departed. It is probably more useful to consider the failings of what remains. The Forest fire has had a bright flame snatched away. The remaining embers needs a gust of wind to pick itself up.

The team yesterday was very weak. Neither of the replacement strikers looks out of place in this Forest team. Both looked awkward, uninspired and out-of-sorts. King was thrice unfairly called offside. The many fair flags previously had set a precedent the assistant referee found it convenient to retain.

The midfield included Michael Stewart. What they train them to do at Man U puzzles me. Stewart's mechanic if competent style may work in the sterile reserve leagues. His lack of drive and feeling for the game is unsuited to his present task.

This seemed to apply to Gareth Williams too. Will he ever realise what his skilful and intelligent game needs to make him a match winner? Everything he does he does well and his game is most attractive. It all seems so inconsequential.

The energy and intent of little-Figo and Ross Gardner should not go unmentioned. Nor should it go unrewarded. For a long time I have felt that Reid would do well at Blackburn, who need a left-winger. With Barry Ferguson now injured for the season, Graham Souness may be forced to send our fate into even steeper decline.

The real horror was the defense. Thompson's poor season continues. The imperious partnership he enjoyed at the end of last season with Dawson had the majesty of the last Tsar's final moments today. Like eager Bolsheviks, West Ham murdered the meagre barricades they could muster and finally doomed us to footballing death!

Even the superb Darren Ward, good enough to be England's No.1 on this showing (oh woe to be Welsh!) could do no more than mend some of the leaks in a defense less secure than the Titanic's hull.

It was a suitable answer to what we were all asking in the summer. Promotion inevitably leads to relegation and inflated wage bills. So would the alternative, for now, that of staying down and biding our time, nurturing if you will, be preferable?

Today, Wolves beat Leeds to catch a sniff of what it would be like to be Premiership quality. Portsmouth were unlucky to lose at Anfield. Leicester drew with ascendant Bolton. We can conclude that the alternative to promotion is not as hot a curry.

Not that we lost today because Sheffield United are evil wreckers. We lost because we have no confidence, because we have only one good striker and he's in plaster cast, and because the manager felt that the adhesive to our midfield didn't need a pay rise. We lost today because we are off form and playing crap.

With 2003's highs and lows behind us, Paul Hart's roller-coaster forecast emits considerable resonance with what has happened. His five-year-plan rhetoric sounds less prophetic. A more believable account can probably be found somewhere in Nostradamus.

Miners use canaries to test the air. As such, dead canaries are good indications of impending doom. What should be made of the development that this year, we have lost two good players in Jim Brennan and Darren Huckerby to Norwich City?

A tedious link perhaps, but its implications may prove accurate. Our club looks like relegation fodder. This season has had all the vitality of a carbon-monoxide poisoned suicide case on his last breaths. Heaven help us if we get relegated. Then, the club must surely combust and leave our hopes buried under tonnes of rubble.

I fear the argument that the Second Division may help us, citing Man City. I cite Sheffield Wednesday and Queens Park Rangers. I fear the perverse logic that was entertained by, amongst others, myself in the summer. What goes up must come down they say. Surely then, what goes down must come up.

Dead and buried men don't come back up. Sinking ships do not sail again. Dodo's have not, to my knowledge, repopulated any distant islands. Prisoners on death row do not walk free. The ghost of last summer's near miss is haunting us now.

Are we still a Premiership club? Can we still entertain the ambition of being a big club, mixing it with other big clubs in the top division? The lesson of today and 2003 appears to be that that died long ago.