The Clough Statues

...are now whittled down to a shortlist of three, and can be seen at the Council House this week. It has to be said that none of the proposed statues look much like Cloughie at the present time, and are a bit underwhelming. When you're up against something as skill as this, you have to come stronger, I'm afraid. Anyway...

Les Johnson: I like the pose, but it's totally unsuitable for a statue that will be on the streets of Nottingham. As anyone who has ever walked past the statue of Robin Hood by the Castle will know, it is almost obligatory for anyone having their photo taken with it to cup Robbo's bollocks and laugh, as if they're the first person to ever think of doing such a thing. That pose there is leaving the great man's cobbers completely unprotected. And if I ever saw some sucky bint on a hen do handling my idol's junk on King Street, I would not be responsible for my actions.

Keith Maddison: This is the most Clough-like pose, even though it's inevitable that some pisshead in the Square will assume that some metal bloke is 'fronting up' to him and will charge over to have a go. However, I'm not enamoured of the face, the Umbro logo on the sweatshirt, or the rolled-up trackie-bottoms making it look as if Cloughie is wearing the kind of boots sported by Monkey whenever he was giving some demons a kicking or trying to convince Pigsy that the woman he was trying to get his trotter over was actually a Slug-Monster.

John McKenna: Despite the more obvious Forestisms in this one, it's my least favourite. Some Notts meathead is bound to piss up against the logo and start a civil war, and it looks like Cloughie has commemorated his retirement by wrenching the Forest badge off the side of the Trent End and is pegging it for a bus.

In their defence, however, the accompanying busts look a lot more lifelike facially than the statues. Both the statue fund and the Council are soliciting opinions, so get involved.

Kiss This

Congratulations to Duncan Hamilton, who won the William Hill Sports Book of the Year today for Provided You Don't Kiss Me, his account of being Cloughie's inside man at the Post during his time at Forest (And congratulations to LeftLion, for predicting that he'd win said award ages ago). This makes it the second Notts-related book to win the Will Hill in recent years, the other being Gary Imlach's My Father And Other Working Class Football Heroes.

When we interviewed Hamilton a few issues ago for LeftLion, he was still in a state of shock about how much interest he was getting from the book, but I can't imagine why. It's absolutely mint, even though it's not the most comfortable read for any Forest supporter looking for a comfort blanket in these more troubled times for the Tricky Trees. If you haven't read it yet, you must.

Ten things you won't see in Notts during Euro 2008

So, thanks to England stinking like a teenage boy's bedroom last night, there will be no Euro 2008-related tomfoolery for us next year. I was doing the LeftLion pub quiz last night, so I missed it - but I was witness to the longest sentence the Fish Man has ever said (which went along the lines of "They were fucking shit", and then mumbled a bit). When it was all over, I felt the usual feelings of loss and regret that inevitably come when England fuck it up. But then a shower of Stone Island-wearing gibbons came in, and the one with the hairstyle that looked like he'd submerged his head in a chip pan and then dragged a rake down the front of it called me 'scum' for not being there to cheer 'The Boys' on. Then I started laughing.

Just as well we're out, really, as we would have been just as shit then as we are now. But before we all do Cross of St George-like slits on our wrists, let's all calm down, take a deep breath, realise what we won't have to put up with next year, and be grateful.

1. There won't be shops selling England tat months before it happens
Seriously, they ought to call it Man-Christmas or summat. Speaking as someone who texts everyone he knows on New Year every two years with a message that goes “Yessss! It’s World Cup/Euro year! Get IN!”, even I get pissed off with non-sport shops flogging mank from March onwards. I mean, does anyone really need an England air hockey game or an England executive pen set? And I'm not even going to talk about England fish shapes or England garlic bread. Fuck that.

2. You won't see England flags everywhere
In 2002, the AA estimated that the country was wasting millions of gallons of petrol due to the drag factor caused by people strapping plastic England flags to their cars. More importantly, the RAC estimated that hundreds of thousands of cars look absolutely shit. And do they really have to have ‘England’ written on them? Have you ever seen a stars and stripes with ‘America’ on it, or a swastika bearing the legend ‘The Nazis’?

3. You won't see chatty estates looking like a big concrete garden fete
As soon as the Christmas decorations come down (March), up go the fucking England flags. Funny how the people who get the shittiest end of the stick from their own country are the most patriotic, eh? The good news is that flying a cross of St.George at home doesn’t automatically make people think you’re a racist anymore. The bad news is we still haven’t got flagpoles in our back yards, so people invariably trap ‘em in the upstairs window, which is wrong. Does the US national anthem go “Oh say does that Star-Spangled Banner yet hang out of Daz’s back bedroom?” If you’ve got your flag in your bedroom window, you can’t open the bastard during the hottest time of the year. For as long as two months. That’s minging as fuck.

4. You won't feel like you're in the Trent End circa 1982 when you're in the pub
People who moan about all-seater stadiums love international tournaments, because they can go to Walkabout or somesuch and relive the ‘good old days’. You have to get there at least an hour early to get a good spec. Then you get wedged in against a load of pissed-up twats, struggle to listen to what Gary Lineker has to say and are forced to listen to crap music for half an hour. Like the old-school experience, you get a cack view of the action whilst being swept along in a sea of humanity, having the word ‘cunt’ bellowed in your ear by some nob-end who keeps making wanker signs at a television screen. At half-time, you have to piss into an overflowing sink. Someone keeps throwing up a half-full pint pot whenever England score, there’s a hot dog stand at the back that’s in danger of being overturned, and when you leave the place there’s three police vans and an ambulance outside.

5. You won't have to deal with bell-ends standing in the middle of town after England games, showing off
In Italy or Argentina, people bomb about on scooters after games waving flags the size of Viccy Centre about, and it looks dead good. In Nottingham, Tez from Carlton hangs round the Lions with his shirt off and a flag tied round his waist, bellowing and sticking his arms out like he was at a New Model Army gig, having a go at people who are on their way to another pub for ‘not being England’. There’s a reason for that, Tez; it’s because we’re not cunts.

6. You won't have to deal with the same bell-ends singing ‘No surrender to the IRA’ in pubs for no reason whatsoever
Can someone remind me what qualifying group the IRA were in this year, please? And isn’t it funny that the twats who sing this are always the ones staggering round town on St Patricks Day with those fucking stupid Guinness hats on?

7. You won't have to deal with pubs burying themselves in a blizzard of England mank
Down comes the ‘No Football Shirts’ sign in the window. Up go loads of photos of twatty models in face paint and signs that scream ‘Watch England Games Here!’ Oh, okay then, I was just going to shut my eyes and imagine what the game would be like until you said that.

8.You won't have to put up with spacky girls in market T-shirts who don’t know what the fucking fuck is going on
I’m glad to live in a world where football is understood and appreciated by intelligent women. I just can’t stand the ones who clog up the pub in Italy crop-tops (because it’s always Italy, isn’t it? It's never Ukraine or Andorra), or T-shirts with crappily suggestive footy puns like ‘Score with me', 'I have great ball control' or 'Jizz on my tits for England'. They’re just there to cop off, argue with each other over which one’s Wayne Rooney, get bored after ten minutes, and start comparing the tattoos on their arse. Back to Jumpin' Jaks with you, trollops.

9. You won't have to sit in a pub, watching England suck harder than everyone on Forest Road after 7pm
Remember how horrible it was last year. Remember how much wrangling and bartering you did to get out of work early enough. Remember how you would sit outside a pub at noon for half an hour, so you could get a good seat. Remember the pinch-faced, expletive-laden faces of your compatriots in the pub, as the Golden Generation displayed all the finesse and flair of a dribbling post-coital dog's cock. Remember it all, and be grateful you won't have to go through it again.

10. You won't have to cope with the inevitable misery of England getting knocked out
Yes, men do have periods. They usually come once every two years, after England go out against a proper team. All the usual symptoms are there; listlessness, an inability to be rational, general mardyness at being lied to and betrayed and a complete trashing of the living room when your partner says “Why don’t you watch Wimbledon instead?”

(PS: If only the England team had displayed the passion and commitment that this local footballer did)

Look at this. No, just look at it.

You may have noticed that May Contain Notts has been willfully Forestcentric of late, and for that I can only apologise. But then I rummage through a box of old shit, turn up a souvenir programme of Forest's 1978 League Cup win, find the following advert, and vow to have it scanned in, blown up and framed in my living room as soon as humanly possible. Seriously, look at the quality of this;


OK, my thoughts;

1) Note how only Kenny Burns and Frank Clark seem to be paying any attention to that massively-out-of -proportion hunk of Co-Op steak in any kind of approving manner, which probably explains why the former now looks like this. John McGovern seems a bit scared by it, while everyone else seems to be attracted to something else - possibly a Black Forest Gateau the size of a shed in the corner.

2) We already know that Cloughie regularly prepared his teams for big matches by locking them in a room and getting them larruped - but did Forest really train on gargantuan slabs of red meat as well, and if so, how come the 1978 Forest squad are all still alive? Hadn't pasta reached Nottingham yet or summat? Thank Christ Channel 4 hadn't been invented yet - I couldn't have taken the sight of my beloved Forest queuing up to be harangued by Gillian McKeith, holding their own shit in Tupperware boxes.

3) I know 1978 was a long time ago, but was a hunk of Co-Op dead cow really 'the best' that was 'good enough' for the Super Reds? I know my Dad used to bring it home from work when he was a lorry driver there, but then again he brought home some mushrooms from his mate in the pub the other week that were absolutely lifting with maggots, so I wouldn't exactly rely on his culinary opinion (when me Mam had stopped screaming at him for being so fucking chatty, he pointed out that he still intended to eat them, because 'there'd be a bit o' meat in 'em'. Then she started screaming again).

4) Since when has anyone described people who shop at Co-Op as 'discerning'? Yeah, I go there every now and then, but only because Lidl don't sell hummus or pitta bread. That's not me being 'discerning' - that's me not being arsed to go up the road to Tesco Express. When I worked as a lift boy at the Co-Op taking fat Mams to the top floor, there were many descriptions that flickered across my mind. 'Disgusting' was one. 'Discerning' certainly wasn't.

5) I know Photoshop wasn't around them, but Christ on a crisp packet - look at the shoddy cutout job on Frank Clark...

6) All in all, it shows just how much things have changed. Once upon a time, 'training on beefsteak' was the sign of a successful, well-off athlete at the peak of condition. Nowadays, it sounds like an insult directed at someone's Mam on the top deck of the bus when the schools turn out.

Forest's Mega-Bog

(I wrote the following for the latest edition of When Saturday Comes. I'm sure they won't mind if I reproduce it here...)

The village of Gotham in Nottinghamshire is famed not only for inspiring an early name for New York (and Batman’s stomping ground), but for being mad. Legend has it that when the locals heard that King John was making a detour through the village (thereby forcing the creation of a Royal Highway that the villagers would have to pay for), they went on an orgy of mentalism – drowning eels in a tub, riding around on horses with sacks of corn on their shoulders to take the burden off their horses, painting green apples red, etc – in order to scare the King away.

900 years later, and the ancestors of the Wise Men of Gotham are in danger of being comprehensively out-madded by Nottingham Forest, who plunged new depths of delusion - and managed to give Notts County fans even more to laugh about this summer – when out of nowhere, they announced that they were to move out of the 30,602-capacity City Ground (their home for 109 years) to a 50,000-seater mega-stadium four and half miles away in Clifton, smack on the doorstep of Gotham.

Bearing in mind that a) Forest are still in League One, b) they’ve only just managed to scrabble their way out of debt, c) although they have the highest average attendance in the division, it’s still 10,000 or so short of capacity, and d) they never managed to pack the ground out even when they were European champions, you may be wondering what the name of God they’re gibbering on about. So am I.

“It would be fantastic for Nottingham. It would say that Nottingham is a forward-looking, dynamic city that has confidence and self-belief,” announced Forest chief executive Mark Arthur, as he waved about artist impressions of something that looked like a massive toilet bowl with a red seat at a press conference in June, pausing every now and then to submerge another eel’s head under the water. “There are many (Arsenal supporters) who didn’t want to leave Highbury, but anyone who has visited the Emirates Stadium will say ‘wow’. What a place to watch football. I would say to any fan that they should visit somewhere like that, see what it looks like, see what it feels like. And perhaps we will go for a slightly scaled-down version of that.” Well, Mark, it’d be nice to visit stadiums like that a couple of times a year, but we can’t. Because we’re in Division Three. Which is a massively scaled-down version of the Premiership.

So what’s wrong with the City Ground? You’d understand reasons for a move if the stadium was a dump, but it’s not. There were plans to expand the stadium to 46,000 in lieu of a return to the Premiership (which have now been swept under the carpet). It’s a short walk from the train station, and a stone’s throw away from the home of the oldest professional club in the world and a world-famous cricket ground, making it one of the most concentrated areas for sport in the country (and it’s conveniently located near to the only Hooters that still exists in the UK, but let’s not talk about that). According to Arthur, that’s not good enough for go-ahead, vibrant, eclectic Nottingham; “If the World Cup were to come to England in 2018 or 2022, then this would be a stadium worthy of staging the tournament’s matches.”

Ah, yes. I totally forgot that the FA – who, as you’ll recall, would be incapable of organising a piss-up in any of the 350 or so pubs in our fair city – were on the verge of claiming the World Cup. And when that absolute 100% cast-iron certainty happens, Nottingham will have a 3-1 chance (with Leicester and, Derby - who announced stadium-expansion plans on the same day) of hosting the East Midlands games. Never mind the fact that Nottingham’s participation in Euro 96 was conducted under a swathe of empty seats. The opportunity of hosting Potatovia v The Peoples Republic of Macaroon and two other less prestigious games is far too glittering a prize for Nottingham to cock its nose up at.

And if the World Cup actually does come to England, and Forest’s new MegaToilet beats out Pride Park and the Crisp Bowl, what then? How are Forest going to double their gate in a decade, when it’s obvious that the football boom is not going to get any bigger and the ladder has been pulled up on all but four clubs in England? More importantly, how can anyone predict with any certainly that Forest are going to be a Premiership club by 2018, when recent form shows that they’re just as capable of local derbies against Hucknall Town in the Conference North next decade?

It’s only when you look past the bluster and the glossy brochures that you realise what’s going on. As mentioned in a previous WSC article, Forest and Nottingham City Council have butted heads over a previous loan (for Euro 96), which the former tried to weasel out of. They appear to be on amazingly good terms now, and the Council are welcoming the move with open arms (the local councillors in Clifton, on the other hand, didn’t even know about the proposed move until it was announced to the press).

The council own the strip of land that backs onto the Trent, and they would love to make use of the City Ground for more of the same. Listen to the words of Ray Valenti of Natrass Giles chartered surveyors without wanting to put this magazine down in order to wipe the drool off your fingers; “750,000 sq ft of floor space with a value exceeding £250m….could attract a medium-sized food store operated by a premium brand such as Waitrose…this could be the location for the five-star hotel Nottingham has so far failed to attract…The demise of soccer (yes, that’s what he said) at the City Ground will be celebrated with a new Trentside landmark that even Ol’ Big ‘Ead would be proud of!” No, mate, he would have smacked you in the teeth.

Nottingham, like every other moderately-sized factory cities in England that doesn’t have factories anymore, is going through an identity crisis and reacting to it by chucking money up the wall on building projects and hoping one or two of them stick. The Forest move displays the depressingly familiar deluded logic that states that, if you build another Top Shop five minutes walk from the old one, you’ve suddenly created a Retail Mecca. And if you’ve spent the last few years building ‘executive apartments’ in the hope that there’ll eventually be industries here that actually have executives, or erecting loads of hotels in the hope that people will come here for more than stag dos, why not build a 50,000-capacity stadium out of the way in the expectation that Forest will eventually become a Big Club and sell it out every other week?

The people of Gotham had a method to their madness. The people who run Nottingham Forest seem to be just mad.

What The Fuck Is This Rammell?

The new football season (which started approximately two minutes after the last one) saw Forest and Notts scraping draws with Bournemouth and Grimsby respectively, but we're not going to talk about that. Oh no. We're going to talk about Nottingham Forest's decision to nob off Sherwood the Bear as their mascot and replace it with that gimp up there. Over to Mark Arthur, who has already appeared in this blog as the bell-end who wants to move Forest to a big toilet in Clifton;

Reds chief executive Mark Arthur said: "When people think of Nottingham they think of Nottingham Forest, they think of Brian Clough, they think of Trent Bridge - and they think of Robin Hood.

...and they also think about guns, and knifings, and people shoving glasses in each other's faces, Mark. Why not have a big fluffy gun on legs that shot out footballs?

"Sherwood Bear was a popular character, but in all honesty, some children were a little bit scared of him. He was a bear after all."

Eh? Was he going round biting people's faces off and diving on Forest supporters snap tins? Or was he a bear in the NG1 sense of the word? Actually, Sherwood the Terrifying Predatory Homosexual Bear Who Wants To Have Bum-Sex With Your Kids looks like this;

...and the only thing young Forest supporters are scared of is being stuck with following a shit club in Division Three and getting laughed at in the playground by kids with Man United and Chelsea pencil cases.

If you're that arsed about it, there's a campaign to save Sherwood, and you can read about it here. I wouldn't normally get wound up about things like this, but the idea of Robin Hood being sponsored by Capital One makes me want to puke my ring until my entire digestive system hangs round my neck like a chain.

Coward Of The County

We've not had a footballer-gets pissed-and-acts-like-a-twat story for a while, have we? Say hello to Mick Vinter - who played for Notts in the first Sirrel era - who copped a suspended sentence for knocking a female friend about after his usual 10 pints a night. According to the victim, she suffered 'nasal problems' after the assault. Judging by the picture, it looks like Mick has been suffering those all his life.

In other news;

It appears that Gordon Ramsay is in town to shoot an episode of his TV show, I'm An Aryan-Looking Cunt Who Treats People Like Shit In Order To Hide The Fact That I Do A Ponces Job

Some poor cow from Highbury Vale gets slapped with a £522 fine for dropping a nub-end in the Not As New As It Was A Month Ago Old Market Square. Fucking hell, how big was it? Was it blocking the tramlines or summat?

Oh, and our genitals are getting more scabbier than this time last year.

I've Always Hated Chelsea.

No, I have. Ever since 1973, when I spent weekends at me Nana's on the old Arkwright Street (above the TSB, where the playground opposite the Poet's Corner is), and one of the bastards threw a brick through the window. narrowly missing me when I was playing Haunted House on the dining room table. I hated them then, I hate them now, and I'll even keep hating them when Roman Abramovich either gets bored or toppled and they end up with the kind of debts that make Forest's look like a lottery win. I lived in London for 13 years, and in all that time I only met one Chelsea supporter who wasn't a glory-hunting bandwagon-jumping ponce or the type of neanderthal who should have been experimented on by Boots. Just one.

Forest, do this one thing for me; either beat those bastards or crop some of them out of the season. Do this, and you can hold full-on IRA-style dirty protests in any pub in town you like.

A bad day to be a County, sorry, Notts fan

Not only did Forest pull an incredibly impressive performance out of their, ahem, arse today, but according to a survey by Littlewoods, Notts County have been crowned as the worst professional football team to support in England over the last 20 years. So as well as being the most violent, crime-ridden city in the known universe, we've supposedly got the most suicidal football supporters in the UK an'all. Ha ha! Stick that up your ringpiece, Hull!

Fans were asked to identify the factors that caused them the most anxiety when following their favourite's fortunes. A number of 'stress factors' are identified, including sacking managers, missing out on promotion, going into administration, losing in the play-offs, the 'yo-yo' effect of promotion and relegation, regular defeats at home, losing games from being in a winning position and losing in cup finals.

Hm. I dunno what Wimbledon fans will have to say about this, but I'm not so sure that the Maggies are the worst team to support in Notts, never mind anywhere else. It has to be said that out of the numerous 'Pie people I know, it takes a lot to piss them off (in fact, the only thing that really galls them is when you refer to their club as 'Caan-teh'). Although supporting a club that has been in the shadow of their rivals for the past 50 years takes a lot of stoicism, it's better to accept your lot than live on past glories and follow a team who has gone into chronic decline as Forest (rated as 47th worst) have, surely?

Although Notts have been prodded with the shitty end of a very pointy stick for ages, there are twentysomething Forest fans walking about today who know nothing of going into the Square to see the European Cup being waved off the balcony, or seeing Forest break Ajax and the like over their knee. It's them who I really feel sorry for.

And what about Mansfield (59th worst)?

Er, I'll be off to the shops, then...

Half time: Nottingham Forest 2, Charlton 0.

Tantragate II: You've Shit, And You Know You Have

It's not that often that LeftLion gets a bona fide scoop (for want of a better word, as you'll soon find out), but by deploying every erg of my highly-trained journalistic ability (alright, by walking into the right pub last night and being buttonholed by the bar staff) I can divulge that there's something about the 'Forest players getting pissed in town' story that the Evening Post and the national press are holding back, and there's more to the story than meets the eye. Or nose.

It turns out that the Forest party called into another, hitherto unmentioned bar in Hockley that night. I've been asked by the staff not to mention which one, due to the fact that a) they're still talking to the police, and b) they don't want it put about that Third Division footballers drink there - but rest assured that much badness a gwan.

45 minutes of CCTV footage have been passed on to Bobby Copper, and the misdemenours documented include;

• The trashing of a very tasteful Hockley Xmas tree


• Someone piling up assorted rubbish in an ashtray in an attempt to set fire to a table


• Random cuntiness aimed at the good people who drink there.

All very minor, I'm sure you'll agree. But the coup de gras was when the Forest party assembled in the Gents (for whatever reason, I dunno), which was when some poor sod on the bar asked them to leave, and encountered one of the players already mentioned in previous reports with his trousers round his ankles. After the Forest party left, the same bar chap discovered that someone had shit on the floor of the Gents.

It's not often in one's life that you get to see photographic evidence of a Forest player's excrement. I had that 'pleasure' tonight, and were it not for the fact that my Bluetooth is shagged up on my laptop, you could have had it too. This, my friends, is the real reason for the police involvement. Yes, I've been given the name of the accused player, but at this moment in time I feel the need to keep me mouth shut and cover my arse - which is what said player should have done.

Oh, and they're playing Charlton in the Cup today. If they pull off the impossible and actually beat them, every member of the Forest squad is invited to come into my house and curl one off on the living room carpet while I'm having me tea.

Tantragate

The usual stories that dominate our local media were blown off the table yesterday by the shocking revelation that some men in their early 20s with more money than most sometimes act like twats in pubs.

We've had this story many times before, but it usually happens in relegation seasons (you might remember the story of the 1992 Forest Xmas do when various players in Panto costumes ended up tired and emotional whilst being so rooted to the bottom of the Premiership you had to send a search party out to find them in the newspaper tables). The main differences between then and now is that Forest aren't going to get relegated, and wasn't an internet in those medieval days, and a pissed-off bloke on a forum didn't have the means to start what is, in the main, a massive non-story (but a very entertaining one).

Let's have a pick at it, shall we?

Me and my friends were in old revolution

Oh dear. Bad start.

at about 7 o'clock when in walked John Thompson, Jack Lester, John Curtis, Neil Harris, Scott Dobie, Barry Roche and Ross Gardner. Junior Agogo was not far behind. I initially thought what cheek you have to be out after an absolute hammering but realised they were mainly young lads and deserved an occasional drink.

No argument there. When you're had a shit day at work, the natural inclination is to go straight out on the mash. Problem is, I can't think of a workplace equivilent of a 5-0 battering by Oldham that doesn't involve accidentally burning your factory down, or being caught masturbating on your bosses desk.

It was after about three minutes of them being there that I realised how rude, dissrespectful, and arrogant they were - John Thompson just smashed a glass on the table, totally deliberately, and made a girl working there clean up his mess.

I think he's refering to the bloken glass, and not casting aspersions on John Thompson's toilet-training abilities.

John Curtis had his feet on the table, Jack Lester and others all threw drinks on Neil Harris as a "joke" before Harris decided it would be funny to slide tackle two stools

Oh my God, I've heard about videos like this...

...n take out John Curtis, resulting in 3 players on the floor and 2 chairs. After this massive show of disrespect, all players were happily laughing their heads off, obviously already battered at about 7 o clock.

So far, so Lloyds No.1 on a Friday evening. But later that night...

We left to go bowling and didn't see them again until it was about 11 o'clock in Tantra.

Oh dear. The Happy Shopper Geisha.

At first only John Curtis and Neil Harris were there, chatting
up women.

"Ayup, duck...I'm in a third division football team, so unless you've spunked 400 quid or so on a season ticket, you wouldn't know who the fuck I am. Oh, and we're not very good - in fact, we got beaten like a Chipperfield chimp by Oldham Athletic the other day. Er, fancy a shag?"

before we left I went to say hello to the lads and told Harris I was there at Oldham. His reply was "I don't give a f"uck". I was surprised but said "Well surely you care a little, You play for Forest", and he replied "I don't care, I Wasn't involved so don't give a ****!"

I see Mr Rubbish Footballer's point, here. If I was on the bench watching my team getting crushed like flies, I'd be rubbing me cakey little hands together and waiting for the call-up to the first XI.

I was angered by this and made it clear that I, and many more had been there and were paying his wages and I didn't think it was right that he "didn't give a f*ck".

No, mate, let's clear this up right away. Nigel Daugherty pays his wages. You, as a Forest fan, are paying off the massive, crippling, Oh-my God-I-want-to-jump-off-the-top-of Viccy-Flats debt incurred by David Platt a decade ago.

We then had a 5 minute talk where I made it sure that I didn't blame him at all for the recent drop in form, despite his terrible attitude, and I just thought it was a little out of order of the lads to be so battered so early, especially after they had been hammered 5-0.We left on good terms, shook hands and wished each other the best for the new year.

Isn't being pissed great? When else can you have a conversation that goes;

"You and your mates at work are shit"
"I don't give a fuck that me and my mates at work are shit"
"Ah well, Happy New Year, mate"
"Yeah, same to you, duck"

About half an hour later, after a trip to market bar which was closed

D'oh!

we returned to Tantra.

D'OH!

Harris and Curtis got up and were on their way up the stairs when me and a friend started singing, after their disgraceful behaviour earlier in the night, "You're not fit to wear the shirt!"

Now this is a bit unfair. For one, would you like to leave a pub and hear people shouting "You're not fit to work a till!" or "Your sales targets are SHIIIT and you know they are!" Secondly, you can go into town on a Saturday dinnertime and see thousands of people not fit to wear a Forest shirt. Those things are clingy.

They both turned round and stormed towards us saying things like "What the f*ck are you saying" and "Who the f*ck are you to say that". This quickly moved on to "Lets go outside and I'll batter you". They were obviously drunk but I still couldn't believe the reaction. So aggressive.

Ooh, I think I can believe it, readers - can you?

The bouncers quickly got in between and Harris said "I wasn't even playing you Prick" and my mate said "theres a reason you weren't playing!" At this point, Neil Harris slapped my friend, straight in the face, a man that has supported Forest all his life and cares so so much about the club. The bouncers promptly threw both Curtis and Harris out. We were just shocked.

"...that he actually made contact, and didn't balloon his slap into the Hogshead across the road"

In a nutshell, a load o' fanny about nothing. Someone having a go at someone else happens a hundred times a night in town, footballers are more likely to go to horrible ponce-bars and be arseholes than not, and the people who follow them are always up for having a go when the team is playing like shit.

There's only one interesting question to come out of this - why do you never hear of Notts County players out on the batter? Do they stop at home and have piano lessons or go to drama groups or something?

A crap draw, followed by a good 'un

Forest might have been unable to do over Salisbury City in a lumpy game played on an even lumpier pitch in the 2nd round of the FA Cup, but they've been given a very tasty draw against the extremely rubbish Charlton. Shame they've got to get there via a replay first.

Despite being a Forest chap, I have to say that the best thing that could happen to Nottingham football would be a shameful knockout in the replay, followed by relentless Notts-baiting across town, followed by Notts getting promoted and Forest not (or, even better, Forest getting promoted and a massive bung scandal that sees Notts getting promoted two divisions in one go), followed by both clubs being bought out by billionaire oil magnates and rising to the Premiership together.

Sigh. I talk a right load o' wank sometimes.