Nottingham Forest 1 - Cardiff City 2 (12/9/21)

 

(The things you do for love!)

One of my husbandly duties is to accompany C to the Forest matches when our son B is working and unable to use his season ticket. This is rarely a pleasant experience and frequently occurs on an exceptionally cold, damp January afternoon with 90 minutes of angst and a sorry defeat.

One such occasion occurred yesterday afternoon. Against expectations it was a surprisingly mild day and I succeeded in delaying our arrival at the ground until the teams were coming out, thus missing the hideously loud music played over the speaker system just prior to the match.

Initially the Forest defence seemed intent on giving the ball away to the Cardiff strikers at every opportunity, prompting me to enquire of C whether the rules had changed since my last attendance. Is the home team supposed to give the visiting team a little help for the first x minutes?

After that they settled down, as did the referee, who seemed to be using a different rulebook for the two teams. Holding, shirt pulling, tripping by the Cardiff defenders resulted in an immediate whistle and a free kick - in their favour. In fact any kind of foul they committed risked a yellow card against the offended Forest player. On the other hand the few accurate passes that found their way to a Forest attacker would result in a dubious offside or other infringement. Throw-ins were invariably given to Cardiff and one wondered if the officials were wearing blue-tinted contacts, or were simply colour-blind.

Nevertheless, 20 minutes in, Forest took the lead with an excellent goal which not even the officials could fault.

This is when the anxiety really kicks in. A one goal lead means nothing at the City Ground. I can relax if the team is 3 clear goals ahead (as if) but anything less simply means stress. Heart rate up, blood cortisol and adrenaline up, vasoconstriction..., basically widespread discomfort and unpleasantness until the match finishes.

At half time I stand to stretch my legs and glance over the barrier towards the away supporters, who are always in the stand below where we sit. And find a gentleman, 35ish, looking at me, right hand raised in a V-sign (NOT the peace kind) yelling "Fuck off"! 

Now this chap may well have many reasons to be in an angry state. Perhaps he was abandoned by his mother as an infant. Perhaps he's just come out of prison for an offence he didn't commit. Perhaps his wife has just... Actually I don't care. There is no excuse for being rude to some random bloke who happens to be innocently glancing from the stand above him.

In the spur of the moment I opted not to respond in kind but actually blew him a kiss!!! (In retrospect a peace sign would have been much better.) I turned away immediately (and made a point of not looking down at the away supporters again) but not before C pulled me away from the barrier. (I have, regrettably, form when it comes to angry exchanges with rude away supporters, namely some exceptionally abusive people from Coventry, but that's enough about that.) 

The second half proceeded as expected, with my anxiety only subsiding once Cardiff had scored their second goal. Relief! The match was lost! Though this didn't entirely prevent that imposter, Hope, from appearing towards the end of the game and restarting the stress all over again.

This dire experience came fast on a whole unscintillating evening I was obliged to spend at a live Question of Sport performance the previous day. I just didn't try hard enough to dissuade the young B from a career in hospitality, did I?

Worse, we now owe B-  since the QofS ticket he was unable to use was a birthday present!