It’s very difficult to get excited about these pergatorial pre-playoff bouts. Conversely, it’s very easy to be riled by them.

Having made the laborious and fairly wet journey alone I was feeling markedly uninspired in the build-up to kick-off.

Alas, within seconds of the game starting, I was alive with the spirit of rage.

The sodden pitch, the black skies, the slurring natives. Forest didn’t fancy this.[...]

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