Of all the people.

You could almost see the knowing smirk filling Chambers’ chops as the cross sailed by the goalkeeper and landed on his forehead.

A long afternoon of clubbing balls into the stand and wrong-footing himself were forgotten in a second. Football at its best.[...]

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To the eternal optimist our blood-and-balls slog against Sheffield United and Middlesbrough was the mark of a side grinding through adversity – as the triumphant invariably do.

To the discerning eye it was the paltry offerings of a spent force.

The reality is probably somewhere in between, and in any case we are far from crisis. But increasingly our fate seems mapped.[...]

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A football club which came within months of Premier League football for the first time in a decade failed to buy a single player in the January transfer window, an inquest has heard.

Nottingham Forest FC, aged 145, from West Bridgford, collapsed without warning in early February 2010 after a long spell of almost perfect health.

Dr William McIntosh Davies told Nottingham Coroner’s Court the club was ‘making really positive steps’ in the run up to its death and had even found itself ‘in a really positive situation.’[...]

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It wasn’t pretty, not even close. But after a week of ball-breaking, hair-tugging, fist-clenching frustration it was exactly what we needed.

I felt more down-and-out in the build up to this afternoon’s clash than I did at the end of last week’s.

The comradery and unanimous spirit of resilience that followed our Pride Park meltdown has been stretched to breaking point. [...]

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It was written. Football can be as predictable as it is manic, and today’s meltdown has been lurking in the shadows for some time.

A performance that would have satisfied Colin Calderwood only compounded the inevitability.

From the first whistle our opponents had the upper hand, and for the first time this season our players were guilty of believing their own publicity.[...]

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I can’t resist the feeling that some of us are getting a little carried away.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m itching to join the dumbstruck masses in the queue for ‘Camp – 1’ England shirts. But looming beyond the horizon of every weekend’s triumph is an ominous mountain.

I can almost see it sneering from behind the Trent End. [...]

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Assuming, of course, you read this after midnight.

So it’s finally over then? And what a way to go. An extreme weather endurance test in front of what looked – and sounded – like 300 miserable Brummies.

What a niggardly way to snatch the plaudits from a side so rich in spirit.

If tonight’s lead balloon of a cup match ultimately proves to be the turning point in this season of courage and mystery it will be a rich tale of injustice.

But in our defence, the FA Cup doesn’t really count. Does it? We fielded a weakened side against the form club of the Premier League and still raked enough opportunities to snatch a win.

What’s more, some of those fringe players didn’t look so shabby after all. Ok, Luke ‘Captain Sensible’ Chambers conceded 500 throw-ins with panic clearances, and David McGoldrick resumed his million (Zimbabwean) dollar finishing.

But in the most part we more than held our own. James Perch looked better than I ever remember him being with an all-action display, Garath McCleary was all over them like a sneeze, and Big Deal had no quibbles when it came to demolishing top rank defenders.

Joe Hart was their sponsors’ man of the match (sponsor of the sponsors’ man of the match sponsor was Tesco, by the way).

Perhaps the only real concern, other than the fact that we have (sort of) lost our unbeaten run, is the ability of the side to cope without Paul McKenna.

Guy Moussi did a noble job of marshalling the park with his elasticised legs, but when he left the field our decorous triangles soon became a distant memory.

Scraps for the wingers and shovel-loads for Adebola were the paltry alternative.

But let’s not busy ourselves with these fears just yet. After all, McKenna will be back, Moussi is fit, Majewski was on the bench. Blackstock, Earnshaw, Shorey and of course Arron Davies weren’t even involved.

Saturday’s game is what matters. Tonight’s technical glitch doesn’t count because only 300 miserable Brummies came to see it.

So keep your voices down, stay firmly inside your lucky boxer shorts and get to the City Ground on Saturday.

We’re Nottingham Forest, unbeaten away.

Shhh.

RIB (Ratings in Brief)

Camp – 7
Perch – 7.5
Chambers – 7
Morgan – 7.5
Cohen – 7
McCleary – 7.5
Moussi – 8
McGugan – 7
Tyson – 6.5
Adebola – 7
McGoldrick – 6.5

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This is getting out of hand.

We’re not on a ‘decent run’, we’re not ‘going steady’, we’re not even punching above our weight.

In actual fact we’re bulldozing our way aimlessly but inexorably into paradise.

Time and again I brace myself for the collapse; the jaw-shattering reality check. Time and again Brooding Bill outstrips, outfights and outfoxes all challengers.

When Chris Cohen’s curling effort crept past Scott Carson’s grasping fingertips this evening I found myself floundering in footballing delirium.

I literally could not believe we were 3-0 up against the promotion certainties – in their own parlour.

It didn’t make sense. And for three solid minutes I howled, gesticulated and bounced through the confusion.

But in retrospect, from the sanctuary of a warm home and with several hours of reflection elapsed, I can almost see a method to this madness.

Cast your minds to the explosion of furious ecstasy from Radoslaw Majewski as his impossible volley bulged the net. Remember fondly the sobbing elation of Chris Cohen as he sealed the points. Consider warmly the indefatigable, incredulous work rate of every single player.

Our team is an ocean of superlatives. Their endeavour could be deemed machine-like if the expression did not so crudely dismiss the sheer organic quality of our heart-on-sleeve heroes.

The quality is there, Fuming Bill has made certain of that. But the potion he has stirred surreptitiously into the cocktail is worth two of every penny he has spent.

If nothing comes of our outlandish foray, the manager will retain a firm place in my affections for his success in restoring romance to our football.

Remember cowering beneath a bin bag as a month’s rain fell on Swindon?

Remember standing in the biting cold as amateurs Woking punched Megson in the kidneys?

Remember cringing on a windy night in Southend as Calderwood had a nervous breakdown?

It’s all gone.

My feet buzzed with the sensation of total numbness this evening; my fingers throbbed red as blistering cold gnawed the flesh. But all I could think was: ‘this is proper stuff, this’.

I didn’t even mind the 45-minute lap of Sandwell as stewards and locked gates made for a complicated route back to the car.

It takes a marvellous man to achieve these things.

So that’s that. We’re perfect and everything is beautiful. There are another thousand games until the end of the season and all manner of catastrophes are lurking.

But please, Angry Bill, let’s stay perfect and beautiful until the end of January.

If satisfaction is delivered on the penultimate day of this month I might be ready to die happy.

Ratings:

Camp – 8.5 – gobbled up what felt like hundreds of crosses and searching corners.

Gunter – 7.5 – one or two early errors but a fearless performance.

Morgan – 8 – coped well with the influx of beasts in the second half.

Wilson – 8 – what a turnaround from the petulant brat who dropped a nut at Bramall Lane.

Shorey – 8 – who’s Gareth Bale? Get your wallet out Supreme Leader Doughty.

Cohen – 7.5 – one or two untidy moments, but his work rate (and goal) proved invaluable.

Majewski – 8 – what a finish. I happen to think he had an appalling first 20 minutes; slipping between absent and atrocious. But he certainly shut me up.

Moussi – 8 – untold benefits in shaking up the middle of the park; his Mr Tickle-style legs creeping around every loose ball.

McKenna – 8 – I don’t know how football happens without him.

Anderson – 8 – the whippet. Unstoppable brilliance and he should have had a penalty.

Blackstock – 8 – the hardest he has ever worked in a Forest shirt, and it paid off.

Subs:
Tyson – 7
Adebola – 7
Perch – 7.5

Fans – 10 – other than 20 minutes of insufferable tension at the end of the game, the Forest fans dominated proceedings throughout with a display to make Reds across the globe very proud indeed. Many Bubbly Brummies, on the other hand, skulked out on 60 minutes.

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Make no mistake, Raging Bill had to reach very deep into the top hat for his latest trick.

Coventry will be seething; recoiling like a wet kitten. Their show-stopping display has yielded a two goal deficit while a slumbering Forest continue to bark outside the Premiership’s back door.[...]

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The tantalising reality this evening is that Forest weren’t actually that good.

The Tom Finney curtain which Preston brought instead of travelling supporters might as well have been a white flag of surrender.

For the second successive home game we witnessed a trembling opposition step out of our path, doff their caps and usher us merrily on our assent.

Preston’s performance screamed ‘have the points’ and Furious Bill is not in the business of turning down offers like those.[...]

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This one is dedicated to the four thousand Leicester City supporters whose collage of snarls, sneers and sobs will forever linger as an enduring trophy of this rout. [...]

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Foam hands aside, this was another very satisfying afternoon. Never spectacular but competent throughout, Forest have turned out a thrashing with a very ordinary display. It’s textbook Davies. Points pay bills, not performances – and he knows it. [...]

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There are few better places to score a last minute goal than Cardiff.

Fans from Yorkshire and Wales are graceless winners and volatile losers. They celebrate goals with a goading, Neanderthal insolence that has a tendency to leave visitors feeling three inches tall.

By the same token they respond to misfortune with crimson-faced rage and an infallible sense of injustice.

As Forest fans we’ve been at the sharp end of their schadenfreude too many times. And in a season characterised by its pleasant surprises, Lewis’s bullet equaliser was one of the most pleasing yet…

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Something strange is happening at the City Ground.

Five wins in a row, a chest-puffing knockout on live television, a last gasp winner on a damp Tuesday evening. Clean sheets.

Clean sheets?

I’m fairly sure I wasn’t the only person pinching myself when Guy Moussi dementedly volleyed in his winner on Tuesday evening. I’m absolutely certain I wasn’t the only one to take celebrations a pint too far on Saturday.

It’s forgivable; this isn’t the sort of thing we’re used to [...]

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Not an inspiring evening, but an enjoyable win and one that could prove important.

We have successfully extracted six points from two tricky fixtures, both of which were fraught with frustration. Tonight especially was like repeatedly stubbing your little toe into the frame of a door.

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Another one of those games, no question. The real poser is whether or not this is becoming one of those seasons.

Despite rarely even flirting with competence Forest had enough chances to win three games. But a series of dubious calls by Davies and the anguishing absence of any good fortune saw Forest slump to a gloomy home defeat [...]

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Hillsborough was queen of stadia in its day but time has pulled no punches in drawing it in line with its grim surroundings. Today the searing late-summer sunshine showcased the rusting blemishes of every corrugated wall.

But the sea of red shirts flooding Leppings Lane was a beautiful sight nonetheless, and for a few precious minutes it seemed the afternoon was going to be all about us…

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***

There’s an infectious buzz around the stadium. Nausea, sensation and apprehension fill the air. A legion of dreamers are debating, daring and dreading.

Then it begins. For some the butterflies explode; a draw will do Forest, just don’t let these bastards have their moment again. Others are knocked back by their own bloodcurdling roar and nothing but a win will do…

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It’s fascinating just how much a goal can change a football match.

Crawling wearily toward half-time, a goal behind with stray passes everywhere, the home supporters were rousing from their slumber only to heckle. The side were never more than one unfortunate ricochet from a hairdryer blast from the terraces….

On one hand, it’s great to have football back. On the other, I’d forgotten how anguishing a game it is for those who care for it.

I stormed from the ground in a rage today, foregoing all new season resolutions to take it all with a pinch of salt.

There was something frustratingly flat about the game. A sense of anticlimax perhaps, or just the indelible knowledge that things weren’t going our way…

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