Not fit to wear the shirt
11/04/05 | by Alan Fisher

I started my last piece only a couple of days back in optimistic frame of mind. I’ve had such a sea change of outlook that I feel compelled to write something else, if for nothing else, to make the first paragraph of the site still saying “we can do it still” with my name above it. You see, I’m sick to the back teeth of Forest making me look like an idiot – at least in this instance I can do something about it, I can write something else and bump my last piece down the roster a bit!

To be honest, having appraised reports from comrades who dutifully made the trip Chaventry to see what was widely reported as the worst Forest performance in living memory, my confidence was somewhat weakened with our prospects of victory against the Argyle of Plymouth. In the pub before the game with an Argyle fan, he was amazed at my lack of confidence. "But we haven’t won away since November," he protested. The previous evening I was discussing the game with a different Argyle fan (don’t ask!) who had similar reservations.

Even with these words of comfort I wasn’t confident – I envisaged some kind of hapless battling which we’ve seen some examples of since Megson’s arrival and, ultimately, disappointment. What I wasn’t prepared for was the complete absence of passion, fight and belief from the kick-off to the final whistle. I wouldn’t say I was ashamed to wear my Forest shirt – but those 11 people on the pitch should have been, because that was the singly most lacklustre, gutless and disgraceful performance I have ever had the misfortune to witness. And I’ve seem some crap over the last few seasons, as have we all!

My co-fans in Capital One corner are usually good at cheering me up, but we couldn’t raise our spirits on this day – we all sat in stunned silence as eleven men in red made us feel ashamed. The poor travellers from Plympton were trying their damnedest to give us a hard time, but didn’t get any response from the stunned Forest fans who were too busy venting their collective spleens at the godawful display being put on by the men in red. How can a team that battled so admirably against Spurs have descended into the farcical bunch of amateurs we saw line up against a Plymouth side who last won away in November – against Rotherham at that!? That really does put us in our place, doesn’t it?

Poor Gary Megson must have the most difficult job in the world – how an earth can you motivate a bunch of players who clearly have no willingness or desire to battle for the cause, who care so little for the club they represent they’re prepared to (literally) stand by whilst lowly sides deservedly tonk us three goals to nil at home – in front of an all but full crowd at the City Ground, a crowd that before the game was prepared to continue to back the undeserving bastards, a crowd that has been so hideously short-changed by a club that has repeatedly increased season ticket prices for increasingly poor seasons – culminating, of course, in the "serious about promotion" season which looks all but certain to end in relegation?

I can cope with relegation. I don’t like it, but I can’t deny we deserve it. What nearly brought tears of frustration today was the fact that we are going to end up in League One with a whimper, not with a fight – the players don’t care and, whilst it might sound harsh, there aren’t many of them whom I would be sorry to see bugger off in the summer. Perhaps that is the method that Meggo needs to get the lazy bastards to work for their money. Well, one of two methods:

(a) Stop paying them – they’re not doing their job properly, withhold their payment.
(b) Point out that unless they make an effort that no other club will want them come summer, and they almost certainly won’t have a place here.

Either way, I don’t envy the job that Megson has to try to get this rag-tag collective of disgraces to somehow perform. His comments on Radio Nottingham today suggested he does acknowledge that we’re all but down, but of course he can’t actually say that until it’s mathematically inevitable. One thing, it is still mathematically possible, and if we somehow muddle our way out of this then it will the greatest of great escapes; if we don’t then welcome to League One obscurity. At least the grounds in League One have some terraces.