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SEASON 25/26 REPORTS AND STUFF
SEASON 2025/26 game 1 August 17th 2025
 Nottingham Forest 3Wood 5, 45+2 N'Doye 42  Bentford 1Thiago 78 (pen) Mere words cannot describe the quality of that match, so here are 26 of them.
AWESOME
SEASON 2025/26 game 2 August 24th 2025
 Palearse 1Sarr 37 Nottingham Forest 1CHO 57 If you're the guy who insists that Nuno is "dragging the club's name through the sh*t", I'd like you to explain who provides the sh*t. Is there a sh*t factory near where you live? Or perhaps Amazon does a sh*t delivery service. Is it human sh*t, or a lower quality sh*t like from dogs, bulls, horses or sheep? And how on earth does a great big club like Forest get dragged through this sh*t in the first place? Is there a sea of it? I think what you've done is confuse "sh*t" with the media. I can understand this. Both smell alike, taste alike, and come from the same place. And to be frank, both are better ignored.
We did our best to ignore the ...which turned out to be a bit of an anti-climax. Yes it did. It was not the "feisty affair" we had been promised. It was not even a particularly hostile atmosphere, unless you think that a hostile atmosphere must include a drum, a megaphone, a vile banner and Sarr cheating all over the place. To be honest, the match was quite scrappy. If the Forest scrappiness was caused by the off-field distractions, then Palearse must have suffered in the same way, because for great stretches of the match, both teams were guilty of sloppy mistakes. Perhaps the real reason for the patchy performance was that this was only the teams' second league game and neither side was fully settled or prepared. We've watched a few matches over the last weeks and most of them were messy, disconnected affairs. The quality will improve as the season goes on. This is how Forest's quality will improve...
☀ N'doye will get fitter, sharper, probably play on the left, and do several pieces of magic per game instead of just one. Anyway, by the end of the match we were definitely on top, what with Igor's cracker and Hutchinson's near thing(s). The Forest kit was beautiful, Antony Taylor did some stupid things but no more than most referees would have done, and people went home and may have had jam for tea. All we need now to ensure a really promising future is for Nuno and Marky Marks to sort out whatever problems remain. Perhaps, if you're part of the sh*t we're being dragged through, you should leave them to it.
SEASON 2025/26 game 3 August 31st 2025
Nottingham Forest 0 Wet Hams 3Bowen 84, Paqueta 88 (pen), Wilson 90+1
This was just rubbish from top to bottom. There was a lack of focus, and no wonder, considering the swarm of distractions that had invaded Forestworld over the past month or so...
Too much going on = lack of focus = crap performance.
FAKE NEWS
There has been so much misreporting of this game, we felt it our duty to put the record straight...
BOOK 5 CHAPTER 5
"Where are we going?" asked Mister Strum.
"We are going North," replied the Olde Gentleman. "To the land of the Shy Moor Folk."
Strum shuddered. He had vague but disturbing memories of the Shy Moor Folk. He remembered people talking to dogs, collecting milk bottle tops, and having one-sided conversations with windows. He also remembered a distinct lack of light.
Strum considered his next question carefully.
"Will we live?" he said.
It was a question which called for reassurance, something along the lines of "Don't be silly - of course we'll live. Now stop worrying and shovel some more coal."
But the Olde Gentleman said nothing, as if he hadn't heard the question at all.
*****
Nothing happened for many minutes, then continued to happen for many minutes more. The weather was murky, and the track ahead disappeared into an indefinable horizon. The Big Red Train rattled along at a pace which railwaymen liked to call "comfortable". Then events took a surprising turn, at least to Strum.
Through the door at the back of the cab strode a bulky, heavy coated figure with a grizzled frown where his face should have been. He glanced at Strum for a dismissive second then turned his attention to the Olde Gentleman. "What are you doing here?" he said. "I thought you died years ago."
The Olde Gentleman's mouth betrayed a whisper of a smile. He turned to face the newcomer, and said, "This, Mister Strum, is our Chief Engineer. Our Chief Engineer is responsible for the maintenance of the train. Chief Engineer, meet Mister Strum."
"Never mind all that," snapped the Chief Engineer. ""We're not going fast enough. Where's the bloody regulator on this thing?"
"We must excuse our Chief Engineer, Mister Strum," said the Olde Gentleman. "He is an impatient soul who has no time for niceties. Neither, it would seem, does he have time to do his job properly."
"Meaning?" growled the Chief Engineer.
"Meaning the maintenance of the guards van. The couplings are unsafe. Too much speed could overstrain them. It would be unwise..."
He never finished. The Chief Engineer barged past him and pulled the regulator full open. The train accelerated in a series of lurches until it reached a steady speed. The grey countryside streamed past the cab window. Above the noise of the engine and the rattling wheels, they could hear the roar of excited voices.
"That's more like it!" shouted the Chief Engineer.
And in many ways, he was right. The barrier that the Shy Moor Folk had thrown up to halt the Big Red Train's progress was breached with easy violence. The cab was sprayed with splinters and blood and bits of something which Strum didn't like the taste of, but at least they were all alive.
The Chief Engineer turned to face the Olde Gentleman. "Keep the speed up," he said. "No slacking off now, eh?"
"We're going too fast," said the Olde Gentleman, to which the Chief Engineer replied, "You worry too much, mate." Then they could hear the cheers again
as he opened the door at the back of the cab. " It'll be right, mate," he said, and left.
Fifteen minutes later the guards van couplings gave way. The carriage, connected only by power and brake cables, twisted like a breaching whale and crashed onto the tracks, smashing open the superstructure and disgorging everything from metal panels to teaspoons out of its broken back. Unable to maintain its speed, the train slowed, dragging the carcase of the guards van behind it in a shower of sparks.
It was not long before the Chief Engineer reappeared. He seemed fraught. "Is this as fast as she'll go?" he said.
The Olde Gentleman sighed, and said, "I'm afraid it is. Mate."
I honestly don't know what to say. At half time I was a bit giddy. At full time, the sentiment "Forest would have gladly taken a point" was only a token of disappointment. All I was left with was an imperfect blend of euphoria and doubt.
The euphoria came from a first half in which Forest were, in large parts, brilliant. I'm old enough and lucky enough to have seen Cloughie's Forest in Europe, but I never saw them play football like this. Mister Anderson was just world class. Jesus looked a born striker. After going ahead, the Bettys ended up being played off the park. It was like a dream. And, like all dreams, you had to wake up, didn't you?
I don't know what Pog said at half time, but Forest seemed like a different team in the second half. I suspect Pog's notions of game management are a confusing mixture of "slow it down (to conserve energy) and score more goals (because we're bound to concede)". The slow-it-down bit allowed the Bettys into the game. Forest's passing became sloppy and occasionally suicidal. The score-more-goals bit brought on attacking substitutions who could neither score nor hold the ball up. Things ended up looking directionless. Some of the players looked a bit broken.
There are many excuses for not winning. The heat and the humidity weighed heavy. Murillo and Aina were badly missed. The officiating seemed daft at times. Forest were away, at one of the competition's better sides.
But the doubts remain. Losing leads in every game may be part of a learning curve or it may be a result of misguided tactics. Pog says "the wins will come". It would be nice for everybody's sake if we could knock the vowels out of Sndlnd on Saturday.
There's something I'm seriously concerned about, and it's not the chaos that Pog has brought to the club - that was entirely predictable. It's the fact that some fans are desperately clinging to the idea that this mess is somehow Nuno's fault, or indeed anybody's fault apart from Pog's. This failure to face up to reality is leading to serious divisions in the fanbase while providing Pog with an endless supply of excuses.
This match, for example, was lost because Nuno stood up for himself and didn't like the direction in which the club was going. It was lost because this season's Wood is a shadow of last season's, because McAtee is as effective as a leaf, because Bakwa is not the glittering star people said he was, because Dominguez was never as effective as we hoped he would be, because Luiz and Murillo were missing, because the defence has gone to pot, because the Europa League has seriously buggered up our season. Oh, and the refs, always the refs. You can't blame Ange for any of this.
You can't blame Ange for any of this. Which is another way of saying he's not responsible for any of this. And if that's the case, what's he doing here?
What he appears to be doing here is conducting an experiment with ingredients of varying quality leading to a terrifyingly uncertain outcome. Those players out there looked neither coached nor organised. The play, until Jesus and Hutchinson came on, was tepid and pedestrian. Losses like this, especially to cloggers like Sndrlnd (no offence), will erode the bond, so carefully nurtured under Cooper and Nuno, between players and fans.
A bloke said to me a while ago that Pog was always going on about winning trophies. "Trophies," he said. "Not titles, or sustainable progress, or stability, but trophies. It wouldn't surprise me if he was prepared to sacrifice our league status for another shot at that cup."
I told him not to be so daft, because that wouldn't be in the best interests of the club.
LEGENDS OF THE FALL
And what happened next, Grandad?
Well, next we had a Europa League match against a Danish team called Midgety Land.
Where the midgets come from?
Well...
Like in Gulliver's Travels?
Look, do you want to hear this story or not?
Yes Grandad.
Right, anyway, you have to remember that this was a very special game - the first European game at the City Ground for a million years. The stadium was decked out in all Forza's finery, there was a light show, and everyone was anticipating a glorious return to winning ways. They had even wheeled out some players to say stuff like "Ange is a serial winner" and "Once it clicks, Forest will be unstoppable"
What's an Ange, Grandad?
I told you before, don't you remember? The manager who always looked like a disappointed wombat.
The one whose brain was made of crap? I told my Daddy what you said and he said you were a wicked man for using naughty words.
And in many ways your daddy was right. Does he still wet his pants, your Daddy? No matter, let us return to our tale. Where was I?
Everybody was looking forward to beating the Midgets.
Yes they were. So, of course, the Midgets scored first, then Forest equalised, then Midgety Land scored two more, then Forest scored a penalty, then the game was over. Forest had lost 2-3. People keep saying that there are more important things than football, but the only thing I could think of was sacking the idiot manager.
But why, Grandad, why?
Because of Angeball, which as far as I'm concerned involves the abandonment of defensive discipline, not replacing injured players before they get even more injured, the faulty selections and shapes, the complete dislocation of defence, midfield and attack, the lack of any coherent attacking intent, the destruction of player confidence, the lack of research or preparatory drills of any kind, the stubborn insistence on losing match after match...
Stop it Grandad, you're going red!
I've always been a Red, damn you! Do you want to know what happened after the final whistle? I'll tell you what happened. Mister Markymarks the owner thundered on to the pitch and beat Postecoglou to death with a television. Then he sank to his knees and started wailing "Forgive me, Forest, for the mistakes I have made." And then he cried, great big globby tears that only a repentant billionaire can shed.
Wake up Grandad.
What?
Wake up. You fell asleep. You were going to tell me what happened after the match.
After the Midgety match? Was I? Do you know, I've completely forgotten. I don't suppose anything happened really. I suppose that's why we're playing Derby next week.
A PILE OF CRAP
Piles of crap are made up of crap, but this crap can be divided up into individual pieces of crap, or at least small bits of crap stuck together like out-of-date Coco Pops. Itemised below are these individual elements which contributed to the overall crappiness of this game.
CRAP 1 The atmosphere. The Geordie faithful generally sound like an out-of-control herd of cows, but for the first half they just browsed on their own crap as Forest's new-found defensive discipline kept them at bay.
CRAP 2 The officials. The main man was Mister Hankey, and his bias/incompetence stank the place out like that farmer spraying chickenshit over the fence onto your bathroom window. The Spiffs committed 16 fouls, Forest 15, yet Forest received 4 yellow cards, Spiffs none. At one point, Joe Linton kicked a spectator to death with an iron boot, and no action was taken. Actually, that's not true, but you know what we mean.
CRAP 3 Ugly. The Spiffs are an ugly side. The crowd look and sound ugly, the players play like demented animals, and Gordon looks suspiciously like something from 28 Days Later. Eddie Howe has the face of somebody who has walked into a door. Some of this may not be true, but we don't care any more.
CRAP 4 The game. The game itself was horrible. Even during that first half, when Forest played with the discipline and organisation of a Nuno side, and even showed some nice touches going forward, we felt that the pressure would tell eventually, especially as Wood was misfiring again and nearly all Forest's attacks stalled at the sharp end. Plus they failed to acknowledge that playing it out from the back might lead to trouble. At half time, however, the verdict was that Forest had sort of coped well, and might even nick a win in the magical world of Youneverknowland. In short, the first half was not exactly crap, but had the potential to be so.
CRAP 5 The game. The only thing that could go wrong was that the Forest players would have to listen to Pog's half time team talk, be thoroughly confused by his instructions, and give away 2 goals in the second half. God knows what he tells them, but Pog second halves are not a beauteous thing to behold. Perhaps he told them to dick about in critical positions and give away free kicks and penalties. We'll never know. What we do know is that his substitutions, especially taking off Yates, made Forest far more vulnerable and just as unlikely to score. The second half was like the kind of crap you get when you bag up CRAPS 1 to 4, dump it in the boot of your car, and spend the next few days wondering where the smell is coming from.
CRAP 6 The mood. We don't know what your mood is, but ours is pretty sour. What we find really crappy is the continuing attempts to shift the blame for our predicament away from the manager and owner. A minority of people seem convinced that Nuno is to blame, but they sound more and more like MAGA supporters employing that weird form of doublethink they have over there.
CRAP 7 The future. What's really crap about all this is that, one way or another, Forest are buggered. On the one hand, Pog leaves, but it's improbable that any manager worth his salt would be willing to take on this club with this owner. On the other hand, Pog stays, promising "it'll be right" till we all get sucked into the devil's butt-hole and find out what hell is really like. We understand it's quite crap.
CRAP 8 Waiting to see what does or doesn't happen. Good luck everybody.
POSTEGONLOU
The Daily Frap can confirm that Mange Postecoglou has been relieved of his duties as manager of Nottingham Forest forthwith. A club statement read "This has been a difficult time for the club, what with the owner hiring a complete buffoon who proved to be not only the most fraudulent operator in the history of this great club but also a bit of a wazzock."
On his way out of the club, Postecoglou fired back at reporters with "No worries mate. I've already started a new set of excuses, so I'll easy blag my way into some other job."
This paragraph was intended to go into great detail about what led to Postecoglou's sacking, but it was just the same old cut-and-paste bollocks and frankly we couldn't be arsed.
The new head coach of Nottingham Forest is (turn to page 17)
No report on this one, because we were absent without leave, and missed all the bloody fun.
This report is from an unverified source.
Sean Dyche's first Premier League game in charge of Nottingham Forest ended in defeat as the Muffs moved up to second in the Premier League with a victory founded on cheating, muffdiving, some one-eyed refereeing, a doghole of a stadium, an effing drum for God's sake, and probably being the better side.
Forest, 2-0 winners over Porto in the Europa League on Thursday, were second best at the 11000 seater Viagra Stadium, but they fell behind in unconventional circumstances when Marcus Tavernier's corner sailed over impeded goalkeeper Matz Sels and straight into the net. Forest were aggrieved at the decision to award the Muffs a corner in the first place, with Tavernier's cross appearing to hit Neco Williams and rebound off the Muff winger's foot before not even looping out of play. The Forest captain presented the referee with a 24 page document listing multiple reasons why the goal should not stand, but the referee claimed he was too busy to give a f*ck.
There was little the visitors could do about the Muffs' second, though, as some bloke with a really weird name collected a loose ball before arrowing a low shot into the bottom corner from 30 yards for his fourth goal in three Muff appearances. A better defensive performance would have seen him closed down before he could let fly and possibly have his head stomped on too. Or preferably Ratboy Kluivert's head. No offence.
The second half was less of a mismatch, but the Muffs' lead rarely looked under threat as Forest have obviously given up on this goalscoring thing apart from penalties. They almost reduced the arrears through Morgan Gibbs-White late in the second half, but one-armed goalkeeper Djordje Petrovic produced a fine one-handed save to deny the England international. If his shot had gone in, then the score would have been 2-1, according to contemporary number theory.
The win moves Andoni Iraola's team four points behind the leaders Arse, while Forest remain in the relegation zone after suffering their sixth league defeat of the campaign, thanks mostly to the antics of some antipodean dumbass.
Set against the backdrop of Ange Prepostecoglou's disastrous reign, the atmosphere prior to Forest's Europa League win over Porto felt like a breath of fresh air as the home fans showed their support for former Burnley and Everton boss Dyche. Sunday's defeat, however, only served to underline the magnitude of the task facing the 54-year-old at Forest - although better teams will come unstuck at the 11000 seater Viagra Stadium this season. Note that. Better teams will come unstuck at the 11000 seater Viagra Stadium this season.
Forest succumbed naively to the Cherries' dark arts in the first half. They appeared so nonplussed by the referee's casual negligence, and that such a mimsy nickname should attach itself to a bunch of what the French call sales bougres, that they managed only one touch inside the Muffs' half and only one shot on target - through full-back Williams. Not through him, obviously. By him, perhaps.
Forest were rightly frustrated at the officials' decision not to award a goal-kick in the build-up to the Muffs' opener, but Sels will have to take his share of the blame for Tavernier's goal, despite being nudged by Tyler Adams as the ball sailed over his head. Exactly why he should share the blame despite being nudged by Tyler Adams has not been made clear.
Dyche responded to his team's insipid first-half display by replacing Douglas Luiz, Callum Hudson-Odoi and Igor Jesus with Ryan Yates, Omari Hutchinson and Taiwo Awoniyi at the interval - and Forest certainly started the second period with greater urgency. Cynics will say that the improved
performance owed much to the Muffs backing off,
but the three substitutes added much needed toughness and energy to restrict the home side's attacking ambitions. Gibbs-White's late effort, however, was by far their best opportunity of the contest, leaving Dyche with plenty to ponder before next weekend's game at home to in-form ManUre.
Forest fans, though fully aware that they are in a relegation dog-fight, are mostly optimistic about Dyche's ability to steer them to safety. Some, however, were so overwhelmed by the 2-0 defeat that they careered through the streets screaming "We're going to get relegated!" before being beaten up by local pensioners. Others muttered darkly about something called The Edu which had apparently poisoned all the fish in the Trent before disappearing from view.
Dyche himself is under no illusions about the work that needs to be done to encourage a more consistently confident outfit, and to discourage the recruitment of partially sighted referees. He stressed that this was really a 1-0 loss away at one of the best and most "physical" teams in the Premier League, and that anybody wetting themselves at this stage of the season should see a urologist.
EVERYBODY KNOWS...
One of the more forgettable matches, so here are the player ratings in beans..
Victor - another in a seemingly endless line of Brazilian blow-up rubber goalkeepers.
Savona - handsome, talented, of lissom thigh and sturdy mien. Good lad.
Malenkovic - the story goes that he once took a dislike to a wall because the bricks were not set in Flemish bond so he knocked it down with his head.
Morato - like all the defence, apart from rubber John Victor, looked comfortable against what turned out to be no more than a light breeze.
Williams - best at everything. Especially penalties.
Sangare - looks good when no one is sitting on him, like a comfortable armchair.
Yates - did okay. Should have scored. Didn't.
McAtee - if it looks like a leaf, and plays like a leaf, it is probably a leaf.
Dominguez - buzzes around to some effect, but not as much effect as if he was played in the middle or whatever.
Gibbs-White - not much is going for MGW at the moment. Missed a penalty. Played like an over-enthusiastic dick.
Kalimuendo - little guy, seemed a bit lost. Does anybody talk to him? Does he understand stuff? Is he afraid of doing things wrong in case Dyche eats him? Sadly, we may never know.
Subs - Abbott (energetic, promising), Ndoye (fluff), and Murillo (God knows).
Dyche - clearly went mad towards the end of the match Seemed to be labouring under the delusion that defenders were more of a goal threat than attackers, or that Sturm Graz were a clear and present danger. Neither of these things turned out to have any chance of being true.
Sean Dyche explained why it had taken so long to give Omari Hutchinson his chance to shine in the Premier League. "The truth is," said Old Gravelpit, "we've been keeping him in the cellar, like you do with those little yappy-type dogs, you know, feeding him next to nothing, starving him until he was ready to snap your hand off if you got too close. You saw what he did when he was let loose - tore the Leeds defence to shreds."
And so he did, but my word we had to wait for it. After a fairly enthusiastic start, Forest dropped their usual defensive bollock when Savona was too slow to retain the ball and Nmecha fired home past Sels. There were curses, not loud but deep, and mutterings of "God we're bloody awful".
We weren't bloody awful for long, however. A cross from the right was parried by Leeds goalkeeper Perri, the ball rolled out to Sangare, and the Ivorian midfielder sidefooted it firmly into the back of the net for his first goal for Forest since he arrived from the Dutch plastics manufacturer PSV Eindhoven.
Then it all became a bit bloody awful again. Forest's advances, though neatly constructed, were ultimately fruitless and pointless, like trying to sweep up leaves in a breeze. The main topics at half time were about
useless shots/final balls and the emergence of a new flu variant which would probably kill everybody in the crowd before Forest scored again.
The second half bundled along in the same way until Old Gravelpit decided it was time to unleash the dogs of war - Hutchinson the half-starved yappy type dog, Awoniyi the souped-up St Bernard, and Yates the Doberman Pinscher. Although Awoniyi and Yates contributed well, adding energy, control, aggression and threat to a match which was drifting off into a disturbed sleep, it was Hutchinson who was the real game changer.
A spectacular crossfield pass from Murillo drove the young man a bit wide on the right, from where he manoeuvred easily past a defender and
glided the ball into the perfect spot for MGW to glance his header into the net. Not long afterwards the young man skinned the Leeds left back and darted into the penalty area where he was felled by the same left back's clumsy intervention. Penalty. Dispatched with supreme confidence by England's Mister Anderson. Of course, Forest would find ways to test our nerves over the remaining minutes, but there were no real life-changing alarms. When the final whistle went, the Leeds keeper was still diving the wrong way.
The match held many significances, some of them quite odd. It was Sean Dyche's first Forest league win, and Forest's first league win since game one, the 3 - 1 victory over Bentford. The win provides comfort and confidence to a team and its supporters which is still healing from earlier disasters. It provides hope, too, that Dyche is finding ways to use the squad effectively. Other nice things were the appearance of Stephen Crean the brave train chap, the owner trying to look like somebody else, and the bloody great grin on MGW's face after he scored. The world has weighed heavy on his shoulders for months now, and it was time he smiled. And Omari Hutchinson proving that if you're good enough, you're old enough. How old is he - twelve?
It was a funny old day elsewhere, too. Wolves continued to sink into the tarn, like the House of Usher, the Muff bubble was burst good and proper by Aston Villa, there are dark mutterings about Eddie Howe at the Spiffs (yes, Elanga, you joined the wrong club), Palearse and Brighton produced a match which was less interesting than some bloke relating the life story of his great grandad's broken walking stick on The Repair Shop, and Liverpool, oh Liverpool, having their defensive trousers pulled down by ManCity. There's a deal of vulnerability about in this league, which means there's still a lot to play, and hope, for.
Sean Dyche's team - and his game plan - were exemplary as Forest recorded the biggest win at Anfield in their club's history. Goals from Murillo, outstanding at both ends of the pitch, Nicolo Savona and the superb Morgan Gibbs-White deservedly lifted Forest out of the relegation zone on the foundation of a first clean sheet in 20 league games.
That was the kind of victory, they say, you could see from space. Especially in that away kit, which glimmered magically for a hundred minutes across the fields of Anfield Road. But before we get carried away, let us admit one thing. We never dreamed we could go to Anfield and win again. "A draw would be magnificent, but we'll probably get battered" seemed to be the prevailing attitude. After all, Sean Dyche may have started putting a few re-building blocks in place, but matching Liverpool was surely expecting too much, too soon.
And that's the way it started - all hustle and worry and blocks and pressure and corners and hoofing and young Savona getting tortured by Gakpo and toil and sweat and shredded fingernails for twenty minutes. It seemed likely that Forest would concede at any moment, and if they did, there didn't seem any way they could manufacture a goal of their own.
Except none of this was true. The greater the pressure Liverpool tried to exert, the harder Forest pushed back. It became clear that, for the most part, Forest's defensive players were sharper and stronger than Liverpool's attackers. Every time a Liverpool player lined up a shot, two or three Forest players blocked his route to goal. It was almost as if the Forest players were enjoying their work, just like they used to in the best of days last season.
The worry was that the other part of the formula - the rapid counter attack and clinical finish - was not yet in place. Until, quite suddenly, it was. Yet another headed clearance by Murillo reached Jesus, who cleverly turned his man at speed and delivered a pass for Ndoye to run on to down Forest's left, where Konate was panicked into giving away a clumsy and needless corner. Anderson crossed, Van Dyke's lazy header reached Murillo, who bulleted it low into the corner. Van Dyke blamed everybody else, Murillo celebrated with a good old-fashioned leap and a mile- wide grin, and the bottom fell out of Anfield's trousers. They almost fell down completely when within minutes Jesus scored Forest's second, but the goal was chalked off by a referee with x-ray vision and a var with nothing better to do than invent interesting new offences.
Liverpool tried to respond, but their efforts were half-hearted and Forest's defence remained disciplined until half time - and throughout the second half, to be fair.
We had our Forest back - or at least the beginnings of it. Dyche had taken us back to square one, which meant a team with the foundation of a secure and hardworking defence. Only in this way could the players build up enough confidence to move forward in attack. Add a sprinkle of creative talent, and you had a proper football team.
This simple truth was illustrated within a minute of the start of the second half. After a neat bit of play from Murillo, the ball ended up down Liverpool's right. Forest indulged in some dizzying interplay before delivering the ball to Neco Williams, who cut it back to Savona, from where the gawky young man passed it coolly and elegantly into the net. Van Dyke blamed everybody else. Anfield soiled itself. Forest took control of the match.
Perhaps not complete control, for the memories of throwing away 2-0 leads was still raw, but enough control to make Liverpool look like a bunch of old men and, in the end, humiliate them. The final instrument of this humiliation was Omari Hutchinson, who glided past Liverpool's left back with startling ease and unleashed a fierce shot which Alisson was forced to bat away through the penalty area. The ball reached MGW, who hooked it with power and precision into the back of the net. Three nil. Three nil. Three bloody nil. Van Dyke blamed everybody else. Alisson raged like a tramp who'd had his cardboard box stolen. No more pooped or fallen trousers, however, as most of Anfield had left, because they knew three nil could have been five.
We're not going to fall into the trap of rating players, because they were all in their own way magnificent. Sean Dyche is noticeably uncomfortable when asked about individuals, because his focus is on the team - team discipline, team harmony, team spirit, all that kind of stuff - and that's good enough for us. And he's also wary about getting carried away, merely calling this victory "a marker", as if it is just one step forward on a slow trek to survival. But even he must be privately surprised at the speed of travel. As the BBC (no, not the turnips on MOTD) said: Arne Slot's Premier League champions were looking to bounce back from a heavy defeat at Manchester City, but instead ran into a Forest side revitalised under new manager Sean Dyche and looking back to their best..
And that's good enough for now.
Things I will never forget about this match...
Didn't we tell everybody not to get carried away after beating three crap sides, didn't we? Yes we did, and look what happened. We go away for a few days and get back to find that Forest have lost at home to a side whose manager sounds like a giant organ.
We may have missed all the excitement of the Hove encounter, but reports have reached us that Morato was hanged after the match for being wank, that he replaced Murillo who was injured in the previous game he should never have been risked in thus suggesting that Dyche is proving to be a wank manager, a conclusion which was confirmed when he once more refused to start the spectacularly dangerous Hutchinson, all of which could have been avoided had the evil Nuno not shafted us, causing Marinakis to appoint some antipodean idiot whose short reign could well prove terminal in respect of Forest's Premier League status but never mind we have an away match on Wednesday then an away match on Saturday after which we will either have stayed where we are, crept up the table, or been dumped back in the Slough of Relegation from which few escape.
Never mind, we can all go mad singing our favourite song...
Our mate Cademy Yatesy |
The Grand Arse 3
This was not, as some would have it, a disappointing game. There were signs of quality all over the pitch, and the thrills and spills of this Premier League fixture were especially appreciated by the new influx of Australian fans who energised the forums with their rough-hewn wit.
Shy Moor Folk 1
Sndrlnd 1 
Spiffs 2
Chelsea 3
AFC Muffs 2
ManUre 2
Leed 1 
The Poo 0
Hove 2
