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SEASON 25/26 REPORTS AND STUFF
SEASON 2025/26 game 19 December 30th 2025
 Nottingham Forest 0 Everton 2Garner 19, Barry 79
As Old Uncle Boff used to say, "If you don't know where to start, fuck off back to Retford." Well we can't do that, because we never lived in Retford, so we'll have to start somewhere else.
Markymarks should have shown some humility and given Nuno what he wanted. Instead, he publicly humiliated him, made his position impossible by demanding a more progressive style and recruiting something called an Edu whose job it was to buy a random selection of unsuitable players, then discarded him. But that was okay, because Nuno got the blame.
Not satisfied with this, Markymarks compounded his error by engaging an idiot friend of his called Impostecoglu, who immediately set about alienating everybody connected with the club by playing football's equivalent of Bazball and being unpleasantly stupid in the process. Markymarks came to his senses and sacked him. The Great Plan - to take the club back to the days of glory - now lay in tatters. But that was okay, because Impostecoglu got the blame. The Edu, meanwhile, faded into the background.
Now Markymarks had got himself in a fix. He couldn't spend more money on recruiting a proper manager, so he had to make do with what was left - the unemployed Sean Dyche. This at first seemed to be a decent choice. After all, the Great Plan had now been reduced to a matter of survival, and Sean Dyche was good at that sort of thing, wasn't he? And together with Stoney and Woaney, we could call them the Three Musketeers.
And things seemed to be going okay, until recently. What promised to be a slow drag upwards has stalled, and the wheels are spinning. A Sean Dyche can only do what a Sean Dyche can do. Battle relegation by playing austerity football. Survive. Come seventeenth.
And last night we got the worst of it. The sad thing is, Sean Dyche doesn't have the imagination required to make him tactically agile. He relies on what he calls sound practice and hard work. Sound practice appears to mean passing the ball sideways and backwards until everybody fucks off home to Retford. It does not mean fancy stuff like incisive passes and accurate shots. At its very worst, it results in stupid football.
Forest v Everton was stuffed with stupid football. The Spanish have a word for the kind of infuriating slop that Forest served up. They call it mierda. This particular pile of mierda involved sending in cross after cross onto the heads of Everton's centre backs in the forlorn hope that the ball might break Tarkowski's neck and fall at Jesus' feet. There appeared to be no thought of delivering set pieces with some degree of precision, of playing the ball along the ground, of attacking their full backs and cutting it back, or drawing Everton out and playing decent passes through the middle to Jesus' feet, or even giving Jesus a striking partner. Dyche's tactics were based on the delusion that Chris Wood was still playing up front, albeit with a different haircut. Anyway, Taiwo came on, presumably because he is a big bloke who could take advantage of the endless supply of aerial crosses. Sadly, Taiwo doesn't do headers and doesn't do goals, and his appearance only served to emphasise how badly the club is losing its way.
So it has come to this - Stress eating his pullovers again, Forest playing stupid football for 17th place, praying that Nuno fails at Wet Hams, with the manager blaming the whole thing not on tactical stupidity or unimaginative preparation or delusional game plans or dwindling motivation, but on lack of cutting edge.
We players and fans are all beginning to suffer from Dyche Fatigue, which will get worse before it gets really bad, and it will get really bad. So pray for us sinners, strap yourself in, assume the crash position, and try not to mierda your pants.
Happy New Year, by the way. Where's Edu?
The game was bad enough. Listening to some foul-mouthed drama queen spill his beans on MeTube was worse. No more of that. Family business calls.
Back later.
Everybody with even half a brain knows that this football business is absurd, but last night's match
proved to be as daft as you can get. Apart from one or two flashes of competence, nothing much seemed to work as it was meant to, like a cuckoo clock made by an idiot.
The real problem, of course, was the context. Nuno's history with Forest and Wet Hams added a thick layer of emotional complication. Two teams struggling near the bottom of the league table jacked up the tension. The stadium at the Stratford Theatre of the Absurd echoed to the sound of empty seats or half hearted protesters. Given these circumstances, no wonder the football was, as my mate put it, "a bit mental".
It quickly turned out that this match would be decided not by the quality of football but by Saint Bedlam the patron saint of lunatics. Good stuff, like shots from CHO and Neco Williams, went unrewarded, while weird stuff ended up in the back of the net. That Wet Hams corner, conceded after Hutchinson's silly attempt at a Cruyff turn, was not intended to reach Murillo's head, but as soon as it did, the more unstable Forest fans (which means most of them) concluded that Forest were going down - despite the match being only 13 minutes old and the season barely half over. The anxiety turned to a kind of furious depression later when Wet Hams scored their second after yet another of those dodgy corner decisions which always seem to go against Forest. Not long afterwards, however, Saint Bedlam intervened in the form of VAR, overturning the goal because some poor Wet Hams bloke was offside by the thickness of his shirt. VAR being the laughing stock it is, most people suspected that their decision let the ref off the hook for his earlier blunder. Anyway, the Forest fans gave their heads a wobble and their faith was restored - not in Forest or their unimaginative manager, you understand, but in the general randomness of things.
Not long after the VAR business, Dominguez equalised for Forest with a spectacular backwards header which looped into the Wet Hams net in the only spot it could never be saved. This achievement appeared to send Dominguez mad. It was either a brilliant goal or a brilliant flick into the danger area, but in either case it was brilliant. What it was meant to be didn't matter, because by now this game had gone beyond reason and was wandering around like a noisy drunk in a car park.
The match continued to stumble its way through an oblivion of wretched passes and frustrated fans until it became clear that it had 1-1 written all over it. It had 1-1 written all over it because we reckoned that critical matches like this never decided anything and both goals had probably been flukes and neither side deserved to win anyway so we'd take a point and live to fight another day. As Old Uncle Boff used to say, "Most people are bloody stupid", and this match was proving him right.
Saint Bedlam had one more trick up his sleeve. I've no idea whether Aureola's misdirected punch warranted a penalty, but VAR did, and that was good enough for the Forest fans, whose brains refused to engage in debate because they had turned to scrambled egg. And anyway, VAR owed us a few.
MGW fired the penalty straight at the goalkeeper who moved out of the way, and after a period of decent game-management Forest forged their first league victory since they beat Tosspots 3-0.
The result meant that Forest went seven points clear of 18th placed Wet Hams. And that was all it meant. It did not mean that Forest were suddenly a good side, or that Dyche was a good manager, or that Forest would move up the table or that Forest would get relegated, or that Dyche would get sacked or that Nuno would get sacked. The only certainties to be drawn from this match are that life can be a bitch or an angel, and that predictability is the currency of fools.
Arse next. Go on, predict that one.
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Villa 3
Wet Hams 1
