The joy of writing a Crap Match Report is that it is just that: complete nonsense. I had the foresight almost twenty five years ago (!) to give myself a get out of jail card. You’re not going to read about tactical substitutions, in game analysis and XG bollocks on this blog.
And so in short: Fuck. I don’t ever want to see that again from Forest. That was a bloody horrid watch, It was exhausting. It came close to ruining what had - by my own low standards - an almost half decent day.
The hour leading up to KO with Sir Colin of West Bridgford was a little emotional. We had the highlights of Nuno’s time at the World Famous being played out once again. It was a Greatest Hits compilation including The VAR is a Luton fan, Why Colin, Why? Plus also a reminder as to how high the highs from last season actually took us.
LIVE the dream. I wish I had at the time, rather than look at endless spreadsheets and graphs to see how that CL tracker was playing out.
And then we came to KO at the London Stadium this evening. SHOUT OUT to the 2,000 or so Forest fans who made the trip on a nasty evening of weather in East London.
West Ham have been spamming me on Facebook for the past month or so, trying to flog me £15 tickets. The crappy algorithm of being a 50 something bloke living in Essex makes me prime marketing material for the Hammers.
I resisted, but then had the half thought earlier in the morning that I could make the trip. A cheapo train ticket to Stratford could be snaffled up, and then £15 to sit on my hands alongside the most miserable fan base in the PL - that’s West Ham, not Forest, btw.
Come full time and I’m pleased that I opted for the telly coverage instead. It was a miserable first half for both teams. The game was a race to the bottom to see which manager wanted to lose his job first. Both Nuno and Dyche were in serious danger of being turfed out during the half time break.
Forest has zero attacking threat up front. Jesus cut a lone figure - and not for the first time, etc. The best thing I can say about the first forty five minutes was that I rather liked the old school Umbro badge on the West Ham kit.
Murilo’s OG was unfortunate. At least it might divert the gaze away from him from any circling European super power clubs. And there ends my first half notes.
The second half wasn’t much better. I feel for these players after being fucked around by Forest with three managers in one season. Oh go on then - why not try a fourth? It can hardly make matters any worse.
There’s the usual SHOUT OUT to Neco, and now also Ola. Both of them never let us down.
A surprise addition to this reliability category for Forest is VAR. Bloody hell. We looked down and out at 2-0 down. The thought of VAR intervention didn’t even cross my mind as Nuno leapt up for his little jig along the touchline.
Dominguez did well to get us back in the game. I’m now firmly of the opinion that we can’t waste £25M on Luiz, with Sangare also back with us hopefully soon. Dominguez does the job.
I was all settled to take a point away from the London Stadium, and then have a rethink about what the chuff comes next. The punch to MGW in the face was just what Forest needed. POW! Right in the kisser, etc.
Don’t take the penalty, Morgan. DON’T TAKE THE PENALTY, MORGAN.
Oh shit. He’s taking the penalty. Just don’t do your stupid hop, skip and a jump thing then.
Bloody hell. We’re 2-1 up. This was a game that deserved a negative deficit for goals being scored. How three were managed throughout the ninety minutes is beyond me.
It was heartbreaking to see Nuno look so crushed at FT. It was even more heartbreaking watching him hug the Forest players he became such a father figure to.
Oh Nuno. Why oh why couldn’t you keep your mouth shut during those early pressers? Ride it out. We’d be top eight, riding high in Europe and the whole Forest fan base would still be on the piss with you.
Meanwhile we’re left with Dyche. We all knew it would develop to be played out like this. We all know what the ending is likely to be with the Big Fat Greek.
What a horrid, DIRTY DIRTY game of football to watch.
Never again.