The atmosphere was tremendous, putting us in mind of the good old days when the atmosphere was better than it has been since the good old days. It was a sign that this match was as vitally important as any in the recent history of vitally important matches. Etc.

Forest's goal after 4 or 5 minutes was explosively significant. It gave the Forest players that surge of confidence which would allow them to play the way the new manager oviously wanted them to play, whilst reducing the Sheep to an ashen faced shambles for most of the first half. The goal came from a Pinillos cross into an eighteen yard box which Rowett had obviously instructed his troops not to defend at any cost, and Zach Clough nicked the ball home, while goalkeeper Carson looked like a man who had embarrassingly wandered into a women's lavatory.

Sadly, the early goal and Forest's ensuing dominance also convinced our success-starved fans that we were going to batter the Sheep into a fleecy pulp. "We want five!" somebody cried, only half joking.

Forest played their passing game exquisitely, but only because Rowett had obviously instructed his troops to give Vaughan all the time and space he needed. But despite the stupidity of the Sheep's game plan, Forest couldn't make their superiority tell. This, of course, was, is, and will continue to be, worrying.

The Sheep belatedly found a little threat, mainly through the efforts of man of the match Tom Mince. However, we are convinced that the reason Mince misses so many opportunities is that each one provides him with lingering solo camera time. Instead of being mobbed by team mates, he can gaze wistfully at the cameras wearing that why-isn't-my-obvious-quality-rewarded-with-a-goal look so beloved of narcissistic underachievers.

The second half was just stupid, just really stupid. Conceding two goals to those two characters was just unforgiveable. Vydra does nothing, nothing, except score against Forest, and Nugent is a grinning, slack-jawed journeyman who will probably never score another goal in his life. Both goals should have been dealt with by the Forest defence, which once more went frustratingly absent at critical moments.

Those twenty minutes or so when Forest seemed certain to throw away a match they could be winning were tough indeed. It felt like standing behind a truck filled with the rubble of Fawaz's terrible demolition of our hopes, and the tipper was beginning to rise. When the rubble finally cascaded onto us, we would be buried in the bottom three, down amongst the dead men.

But despite the protests of stupid people, the crowd was in general supportive, and the Forest players recovered their determination to fight back. This was made easier as Rowett had obviously instructed his troops to stop all this silly attacking business and secure victory by falling back. This was not a wise move, considering the crapness of the Sheep's defence.

As time ran out, and the tipper truck prepared to shed its load, Fox headed wide, Vellios thumped one against the post, and Brereton was denied a penalty. Beneath the oohs and aahs there came that familiar undercurrent of creaking sphincters. Then came the goal - a corner swung in, the Sheep defence under obvious instructions, again, to mark the wrong people, and there was Pinillos to bullet home an unstoppable header. The ensuing roar was so intense it was more like a crack. Pinillos was buried in a chaotic, sodden pile of bodies, people ended up in the wrong seats, and somewhere else, Nob End equalised against Blackbum. The tipper truck stalled, at least for the next fortnight.

Despite the euphoria, obvious problems remain. What to do about Britt? How to maintain a decent passing game under pressure? How to stop losing away? These are, of course, Mark Warburton's problems, but we like him, because he may sound like a south London car salesman but is so obviously a proper manager with a proper support team and such a clear idea of how he wants Forest to play that we trust he will get the best out of the players. He should have been here earlier.

As for Rowett, well, he has the impossible task of trying to figure out what "The Derby Way" is, apart from a convenient excuse for sacking people. Good luck to him.


Sadly, days later, the deal fell through.

Sadly, days later, the deal fell through.
"I met with several who I liked and two were very good candidates. Both have said it is a position they would be interested in, in the summer.
"It is a very important, sensitive position for the club. We want to get somebody in who cares about the club. We will continue to work on this but we may have to be patient."

SEASON 2016/17
01 06.08.16 FOREST 4 BURTON DOWN 3
02 12.08.16 HOVE 3 FOREST 0
03 16.08.16 BENTFORD 1 FOREST 0
04 20.08.16 FOREST 4 WIGGUM 3
05 27.08.16 FOREST 3 LEED 1
06 11.09.16 VILLA 2 FOREST 2
08 17.09.16 FOREST 1 NORRIDGE 2
09 24.09.16 WENDIES 2 FOREST 1
10 27.09.16 FOREST 1 COTTAGING 1
11 01.10.16 BRISTOLS 2 FOREST 1
12 14.10.16 FOREST 3 BOREMINGHAM 1
13 18.10.16 BLACKBum 2 FOREST 1
14 22.10.16 FOREST 1 CAERDYDD 2
16 05.11.16 FOREST 1 Q. P. LADIES 1
17 19.11.16 DIPSWITCH 0 FOREST 2
18 25.11.16 BARNSLEH 2 FOREST 5
19 02.12.16 FOREST 2 NEWCASTLE 1
20 11.12.16 SHEEP 3 FOREST 0
21 14.12.16 FOREST 1 NOB END 1
22 17.12.16 FOREST 0 WONDERBRAS 2
23 26.12.16 UDDERSFEEL 2 FOREST 1
24 30.12.16 NEWCASTLE 3 FOREST 1
25 02.01.17 FOREST 0 BARNSLEH 1
26 14.01.17 BOREMINGHAM 0 FOREST 0
27 21.01.17 FOREST 1 BRISTOLS 0
28 25.01.17 LEED 2 FOREST 0
30 04.02.17 FOREST 2 VILLA 1
31 11.02.17 NORRIDGE 5 FOREST 1
32 14.02.17 COTTAGING 3 FOREST 2
33 18.02.17 FOREST 1 WENDIES 2
34 25.02.17 WIGGUM 0 FOREST 0
35 04.03.17 FOREST 3 HOVE 0
36 07.03.17 FOREST 2 BENTFORD 3
37 11.03.17 BURTON DOWN 1 FOREST 0
38 18.03.17 FOREST 2 SHEEP 2

Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time; and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing.