To boo or not to boo? That is the question.

Over the past few years, the East Midlands derby has been played out to a symphony of jeers and catcalls, the like of which would make even Mussolini blush. What’s more, the thunderous boos will most likely provide the soundtrack to today’s encounter, no matter what happens on the pitch.

Football stadia become but poisonous pantomimes when two bitter rivals such as Nottingham Forest and Derby County meet. But what is it that compels grown men and women to boo with such verve and conviction when derby day comes around?

Personally, I just don’t have it in me to pull off a good old fashioned boo. I have tried to master the art but I just can’t muster up enough hatred, even when faced with our fiercest foes.

As I have mentioned in previous episodes of ‘The Red Revolution’, I practise my booing technique whilst passing fields of sheep on the motorway … but for all my endeavour in the pursuit of an aggressive battle cry, my feeble boo sounds more like a cow that’s been kicked in the groin.

If truth be told, I rarely feel the urge, or see the need, to express myself in such a way. Though, many fans seem to boo whether the occasion warrants it or not.

Over recent years the increased hissing and hollering has been largely down to the number of players (and managers) who have, bravely or foolishly, crossed the divide from one side of ‘Brian Clough Way’ to the other.

In light of the inevitable abuse that accompanies moving to your club’s arch nemesis, why is it that so many players opt to venture over to the ‘dark side’?

Some Reds fans have suggested that Derby has become something of a feeder club for Forest. All Derby’s best players eventually end up at the City Ground, whilst Forest give the Rams first refusal on any players who become surplus to requirement.

Perhaps, more realistically, the reason is purely geographical. These players fear going too far South, where people drink strawberry flavoured lager and jig about on chimney tops with Dick Van Dyke. And they fear going too far North, where life is nowt but battered Mars bars and Byker Grove. So they stay in the East Midlands; where it’s safe!

Footballers do not necessarily want to uproot their families and migrate to a different part of the country every time they move clubs. There are many factors that can force a player’s hand – quality of schools, availability of houses and, in the case of Kris Commons, proximity of KFC.

Often, though fans cannot necessarily be expected to sympathise, a move to local rivals is the most practical choice for the modern footballer … especially when the old enemy are desperate to have you!

Although I know I risk a public flogging for this mutinous announcement, I don’t think Nathan Tyson, formerly of Forest, is a player who warrants being booed. He was an essential member of the squad that got us promoted from the dank cesspit known as League One, he was ‘Man of the Match’ in his last game for the club against Swansea in the playoff semi-final defeat (2010/11 season) and, whilst wearing the famous red shirt, Tyson gave everything he had to the cause.

Had he signed for any other club, his return to the City Ground last year would have been met with polite applause. As it happened, and precisely because he had joined the Rams, Tyson’s substitute appearance was greeted with vicious hostility.

The negative reaction of the fans is even stranger when you consider what a gentleman Tyson used to be. He even helped out the groundsman by collecting the corner flags up at the end of games.

In truth, the man who provided that precious flag-waving memory would have known exactly what was in store when he signed a contract at Pride Park. Similarly, Kieron Freeman will expect the same treatment here today, should he feature. Neither truly deserve your boos.

I fully expect my words to fall on deaf ears. Fans have an irrational contempt for players who dare return to their former club donning the enemy colours. Over the past few seasons the heckling has become even more intense and uncompromising. Even Nigel Clough, who went from Forest hero to Derby’s chief shepherd over the course of sixteen years, can’t escape the frenzied jibes!

Whilst I disagree with what you boo, I will defend to the death your right to boo it.

Football supporters pay enough money, and invest enough time and emotion, to boo whoever they wish.

And of course, very occasionally it’s actually deserved!

Robbie Savage, former Derby captain, used to bask in the glory of his own villainy. Whatever club he played for, whatever club he played against, Savage was a magnet for abuse and hatred throughout his career. He minced around the field with the thick skinned arrogance of a man who was booed out of the womb!

Then, of course, there was Kris Commons, the tubby winger who all Forest fans love to hate. Having publicly declared himself a loyal Forest fan whilst secretly plotting an escape to Pride Park, Commons was relentlessly taunted as nothing more than a pie-eating mercenary … or words to that effect.

The chorus of boos that greeted both Savage, when he mockingly waved his Derby scarf in the City Ground centre circle, and Commons, when he wobbled his belly like a bowlful of jelly, were completely justified. They pretty much demanded it.

So, I’m not saying there is never a cause to boo. I’m asking fans not to cheapen the boo by going gung-ho on any former Forest player whose ever had a lamb dinner or watched an episode of Shaun the Sheep.

Some will say that I’m taking the whole issue too seriously and that meaningless booing is all part of the pantomime that is modern football. I ask only this … do we really want to draw comparisons between our beautiful game and a worn out old pantomime? I can’t think of anything worse.

Do we really want players dressed in sequins, with silly blonde wigs, spouting irrelevant camp drivel? We’d just be playing to Robbie Savage’s strengths.

 

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

 

Nothing represents summer like the sight of an impromptu twenty-five-a-side game in the local park; jumpers for goalposts, shirts versus skins, mothers impeding the field of play to give unwanted dinner updates. It’s football in its purest form.

A couple of weeks ago I was saddened to see the local youths, usually seen belting a football to one another, running down the street at a frantic pace, hurdling over parked cars as they passed them. One was holding a flaming torch aloft, another swung a hammer in his hand and the third was carrying a bow and arrow. It’s fair to say that the Olympics truly have inspired a generation. Even a local policeman got into the spirit of things, sprinting after the youths, clutching a relay baton in his hand. It made you proud to be British!

But the Olympics weren’t just about raising petty crime levels, the overwhelming spirit of the games captured us all and ensured that football was temporarily forgotten about. Even those like me, who vowed to stay loyal to the beautiful game, in sickness and in health, committed many forms of Olympic adultery. In fact I was so inspired by the Olympics that I went out and bought a new plasma TV, even though I had to give up my gym membership in order to pay for it. Such is life.

Sadly, whilst the likes of Mo Farah and Jessica Ennis were capturing the hearts of the nation, football was being admonished like a petulant child. It sulked on the ‘naughty step’, castigated for previous misdemeanours, lectured on how to be more like its estranged Olympic sibling.

“Football can learn a lot from the Olympics.”

I must have heard that phrase a thousand times in the wake of the games. Unfortunately, as wonderful an idea as it is, the words are so hollow and naïve they could form the chorus of a One Direction song.

We all knew that football had its problems long before the Queen parachuted into the Olympic Stadium and, in reality, as enjoyable as it proved to be, the games taught us little or nothing about how to cure football of its ailments. Football and the Olympics are intrinsically different; making comparisons between them is ultimately pointless.

Take the issue of ‘diving’ as an example. Olympic Bronze medallist Tom Daley’s Double-Arabians were very easy on the eye, but put him on a football pitch and his dives wouldn’t be nearly convincing enough. Where were the screams of agony, the obligatory clutching of limbs and the miraculous recovery upon the brandishing of a yellow card to the culprit?

Unfortunately, the aforementioned cheating and bad sportsmanship that has become an inherent feature of our game will not simply disappear because a few grey-suited men with rose tinted spectacles order footballers to ‘be more like the Olympians!’

We are only a couple of weeks into the new season and already we have had footballers on strike, managers assaulting linesmen, and referees’ authority undermined at every turn. The football disease runs too deep.

It’s not just players and managers who are under scrutiny either. Many anti-football drum beaters are wagging disapproving moral fingers at supporters, specifically those who attend armed with javelins of hostility.

This is, of course, in stark contrast to the soul-warming sportsmanlike environment of the Olympic Stadium. An overwhelming feature of the games was the incredible value of passionate home support. It’s a far cry from the poisonous cauldrons of angst and tribalism that modern football stadiums often turn into on a match day.

Inherent within the game is the edgy rivalry between teams that simply doesn’t exist within the Olympic sports. The football mentality dictates that we remind our fiercest rivals of all their shortcomings; whether it’s that their trophy cabinet is bare, their star player is grossly overweight or that their fans have been known to engage in controversial farmyard activities.

The spicy atmosphere of the stands manifests itself on the pitch. What’s more, most fans wouldn’t have it any other way.

Even if games became ‘home fan only’ affairs, the football experience would not be one of unbridled positivity, such as we witnessed in London this summer. In football, supporters tend to accept nothing less than perfection. No matter how endearing their effort, we cannot help but curse the hapless striker who so consistently fails to hit a cow’s backside with a banjo. This is not the Olympic way.

The Olympics teach us to rally behind competitors who give their best. In football, there is simply too much at stake. We fans have invested too much, both financially and emotionally, to treat our football teams with the care-free warmth we so readily offered our Olympians. Winning is everything in football.

It’s true that there is too much money in the game. It’s the very poison that taints the game’s image; it’s what makes football so deathly serious, so relentlessly cruel and so difficult for outsiders to understand. In that sense the game of football is a victim of its own success. If it weren’t so compelling, there wouldn’t be a problem.

Footballers, for the most part, work just as hard as competitors from any other sport. They haven’t landed upon fame and glory by chance. Unfortunately, because they have so much money, they have become completely detached from supporters, often from reality.

The sport-loving nation cannot relate to the modern footballer in the way it related to our Olympic heroes. This is true whether the players are humble, honourable, intelligent professional athletes with passion and integrity, or whether they are Joey Barton.

I loved the Olympics. Any human being could draw inspiration from the courage and determination displayed by our Olympians. But to say “Football can learn a lot from the Olympics” is as useful as saying “Football can learn a lot from The Lion King.” They are worlds apart.

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

 

                                                            David Batty

 

Jamie Carragher          Gareth Southgate        Stuart Pearce               Ashley Cole

 

David Beckham          Frank Lampard           Paul Ince                     Chris Waddle

 

                                                            Steven Gerrard

 

                                                            Darius Vassell

 

Substitute: Ashley Young

 

No, this is not my all time England XI. I don’t know which would be a worse judgement call, David Batty in goal or a Leicester reject up front? Strangely, apart from that, it’s a pretty strong line-up.

 

These twelve players represent the unfortunate souls who have missed for England during penalty shootouts. It seems that no matter how we prepare, Englishmen have an inherent psychological defect that prevents them from converting penalties when it matters most.

 

For those who think I’m exaggerating the problem, just take a look at the statistics. Since 1990 England have competed in ten international tournaments, six of which have ended with us being knocked out via a penalty shootout. We have only once been victorious, against Spain at Wembley during Euro 96. We went out of the same tournament in the next round, having lost to those damned efficient Germans in yet another penalty shootout.

 

Back in 1996 we were actually fairly good at taking penalties. We scored ten out of a possible eleven penalty kicks, with only Pizza enthusiast Gareth Southgate missing. In that particular tournament it was understandable for people to blame our semi-final exit on good old-fashioned bad luck.

 

Since then, a regretful pattern of penalty trauma has emerged and it’s no longer feasible to blame our failings on bad luck alone. Over the years, England have scored only 66% of their penalties during shootouts, conceding 81% of those taken against them.

 

The only countries to boast a worse record are Gabon and Costa Rica, both of whom have conceded 100% of penalties taken against them in shootouts. Fingers crossed we draw one of these two in the knockout phase of the 2014 World Cup in Brazil.

 

Tonight fills me with utter dread, because I know there is a real possibility this cup tie could go to a penalty shootout! Not only will it be a venomous reminder of how English hopes were dashed in Kiev this summer, but there is also a chance Forest’s fate could lie at the feet, or perhaps in the mind, of an Englishman.

 

This time last year, with England’s Euro 2012 hopes in mind, I campaigned for the abolition of penalty shootouts, but having received no response from Sepp Blatter, I’ve had to resort to trying to solve the puzzle that has plagued football-kind for the last twenty years: why are Englishmen so bad when it comes to penalty shootouts?

 

Gerrard, Lampard, Beckham and our very own Stuart Pearce were all considered expert penalty takers as they took the dreaded walk from the centre circle. Some of the other names in the lineup would not have inspired such confidence, but all would have dispatched their fair share of successful penalty kicks within the comfort of the training ground. All this matters little.

 

The scoring of a penalty in the high-pressure environment of the shootout has absolutely nothing to do with ability. It doesn’t matter if you are the most technically gifted player in the world; anyone can miss a penalty. Some of the best players the world has ever seen – Baggio, Shevchenko, Pirlo, even John Aldridge – have all missed crucial historic penalties. It’s all about having the right mentality in that key moment.

 

So why is the English mentality so consistently wrong when it comes to taking a penalty kick?

 

Perhaps if we kept possession of the ball better throughout the hundred and twenty minutes before the seemingly inevitable shootout, our players would be less physically and mentally tired and would be in a better frame of mind when they come to take their crucial kick.

 

It’s worth pointing out that in the Euro 2012 quarter-finals England were completely outclassed by Italy. It was a minor miracle that we managed to keep the score at 0-0, only to be knocked out, yet again, on penalties.

 

Perhaps players like Ashley Young, low on confidence after being run ragged by the fluid Italian midfield, stepped up lacking the self-belief that is required for such moments of intense pressure.

 

I would never blame an individual player for missing a penalty; I am bringing up the example of Ashley Young to illustrate that an inherent lack of confidence could be the cause of the penalty saga that has now spanned three decades.

 

Andrea Pirlo, who scored the pivotal game-changing penalty for Italy, had been the player of the tournament up to that point and so subsequently exuded boundless confidence, as he delicately kissed the ball with his laces. He made it look so, so easy.

 

It may be that the cumulative effect of all those famous misses has spawned a negative national mentality when it comes to taking penalty kicks. As soon as extra time ends, the football loving English public bow their heads in readiness for defeat; sub-consciously, the mental approach to a penalty shootout may well be the same for our players. If we expect to fail, how can we hope to succeed?

 

There’s no single reason why England so consistently loses shootouts; equally, there’s no magic solution that can transform our penalty-taking fortunes. A successful penalty taker needs to be confident, self-assured and decisive; three things that don’t come all that naturally to polite, self-doubting, over-thinking Englishmen. Granted, footballers would normally ooze the arrogance required to mercilessly bury a penalty … but under the spotlight of an all-or-nothing shootout they become just like every other Englishman, terrified.

 

We have to somehow change our collective mindset and nurture the self-belief required to win a penalty shootout. No amount of practice will help our players; it’s all about building an impenetrable fortress of mental strength within our national psyche.

 

Or we could just try and win the game in ninety minutes!

 

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

These days, fans of Championship clubs live in hope that eventually, if they’re extremely fortunate, their club will get taken over by a billionaire. Over the past decade, it has become the most likely method of securing safe passage to Premiership glory.

Strange then, that when the moment finally arrives, most supporters greet the news with somewhat caged celebration. For many it seems too good to be true.

Whilst the more optimistic amongst the Nottingham Forest faithful greeted the news of the Kuwaiti takeover by booking the day off work in order to drink champagne through a funnel, others exercised a greater degree of caution.

It’s understandable that, whilst excitement and expectation bubble away in the City Ground today, a wary anticipation still lurks, albeit silently. The majority of experienced football followers have learned to look the proverbial gift horse directly in the mouth.

There is good reason why those who bleed red blood won’t allow themselves to get too carried away, just yet. We only need glance across the River Trent to witness debris from the scene of a takeover gone wrong. The Notts County revolution turned out to be an underwhelming false dawn.

Furthermore, the fact that once proud Portsmouth are flirting precariously with extinction, thanks to the misgivings of foreign owners, has instilled in us all a stark realisation; the cost of securing large scale investment could well be impending doom.

But fear not. The Kuwaiti takeover is of a different ilk.

Every sinew of my football shaped soul tells me that the Al-Hasawi family, unlike many who’ve gone before them, are not soulless tycoons, seeking to parade our beloved club as a crude fashion accessory. They are football people, who genuinely share our passion for this great club and its illustrious history. They want to be a part of it. They want to move us forward.

The takeover doesn’t have the feel of a power-crazed consortium delving naively into something they don’t truly understand. Rather, the Al-Hasawi family appear to have vast experience of managing sporting ventures such as these. They have been calculated and thorough in their approach to obtaining ownership of Nottingham Forest and I fully expect this to continue over the course of their tenure.

If you need proof, look no further than the appointment of Sean O’ Driscoll as first team manager. It was not only a refreshingly shrewd appointment, in terms of his managerial prowess, but it also signals the owners’ desire for Forest to play the sort of football the fans so desperately want to see.

In my twenty-odd years following the club, I’ve found Forest do best when playing attractive passing football. Forest fans don’t want to see pretty football for the sake of it; they also believe it to be the route to success. O’Driscoll is a football purist, with a wealth of coaching and managerial experience, and as such he is the ideal choice.

Although he achieved great things at Bournemouth and Doncaster, I believe it’s the visible impact he had upon the players’ confidence and the team’s style of play last season that convinced the Al-Hasawi family he was the right man for the job.

Perhaps the owners’ only mistake was to use the word ‘iconic’ within their original specification for the post. It was a word that journalists desperately clung to like a drunk clings to the last remnants of a Friday night kebab. Personally, I would much rather have a good manager than an iconic one!

In the midst of managerial speculation, we were linked with Harry Redknapp, Glenn Hoddle, Gordon Strachan, Roy Keane and Mick McCarthy. Considering that, in accordance with these rumours, we seemed to be working our way through the Euro 2012 pundits, I was just pleased we didn’t end up with Andy Townsend.

With Sean O’Driscoll safely at the helm, I genuinely couldn’t wait to renew my season ticket. Unfortunately, my trip to the ticket office threw up a nasty surprise. They tried to charge me £800-00!

I was about to question how it could possibly be so much, when I had one of last season’s matchday programmes pushed in front of me. I had foolishly declared that if we ended up signing Adlene Guedioura (who was on loan at the time) I would pay double for my 2012/13 season ticket!

Let this be a lesson to you all; never put anything in writing!

The reason I made this audacious claim at the time was that it seemed so unlikely we could sign a player of Adlene’s immense calibre. His arrival at the club on a permanent deal signifies that the whole club has stepped up a level.

Having already proven that he’s a class above this division, Adlene Guedioura, renowned for being able to behead an otter from 30 yards, was the best possible signing Forest could have made. It’s a landmark signing that has subsequently triggered the capture of a host of impressive players.

The most wonderful thing about football is that it never truly ends. As the final whistle blows on the last game of one season, we each start looking forward to the opening day of the next.

Finally, it’s here … and thanks to the Al-Hasawis we can legitimately dream about our club becoming great again.

It surely augurs well for Forest that the literal meaning of ‘Kuwait’ is ‘fortress built near water’. With the unyielding support of those who proudly stand within it, the City Ground, alongside the River Trent, could be an impregnable fortress once more.

Come on you Reds!

Follow me on Twitter:                 @Dave_Abbiss

First of all I’d like to take this opportunity to end speculation about my future as a columnist for Nottingham Forest Football Club. You may have seen reports in the tabloids linking me with a move to bitter rivals Derby County, but I must implore you to ignore this pure fabrication. I’m totally committed to this club and wish to end my career here, when such time comes to pass.

Photographs of me sat in a seedy underground tavern with Nigel Clough, Nathan Tyson and Shaun the Sheep have been taken completely out of context. Furthermore, rumours about contract negotiations stalling because I demanded to have a programme stand named after me are grossly exaggerated.

With that in mind, I’m happy to announce that I’ll be returning to the helm of ‘The Red Revolution’ next year, with more obscure Jonathan Greening/Jesus references than ever before. I can’t wait.

Despite the fact that it’s been a disappointing season, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed writing for the programme this year. Regardless of this, I would never have left my beloved Forest, not even if Barcelona had come in for me. No matter how the team fares, us supporters aren’t afforded the privilege of jumping ship.

Unfortunately, with regard to the modern footballer, there is no guarantee of such loyalty. The harsh reality is that those who have shone in the Championship this season could well be prized away from us by the lure of the Premiership. Even if we manage to hold onto our star players, it’s almost inevitable that the squad for the 2012/13 season will be much changed from the one we have now.

This begs the question … when it comes to rumours about arrivals and departures at the City Ground this summer, how can we separate truth from fiction? How can we know which stories to believe?

Luckily, help is at hand.

Once the season is over I shall be casting aside my notepad and feathered quill, replacing them with a deer stalker, pipe and magnifying glass. Despite the advice of loved ones and paid professionals, I’m quitting my day job in order to start my own detective agency. The solitary aim of this venture is to scrutinise every single Forest related rumour that rears its head throughout the summer, filtering out reality from the vast sea of shameless fantasy.

Throughout my twenty-odd years as a football fan, I’ve never endured a pre-season without being subjected to a minefield of lazy journalism. Unfortunately now, with blogs, fan forums and social networking sites coming to prominence, it’s worse than ever before. It only takes one flicker of conjecture and before long a fully-fledged rumour has manifested across every available channel of information.

That’s not to say that there aren’t a few noble journalists out there, trying to get the truth about our football club out into the public domain. Unfortunately the informed voices often become mere whispers amongst a gabble of guesswork and deceit.

But fear not … here are some tips to help you in your quest for the truth:

 

1.             As sad as it is, the vast      majority of national newspapers don’t really care about Nottingham Forest      anymore. Their attention is focussed solely on the clubs at the top of the      Premiership. You will occasionally see the odd two-line transfer rumour      about us … but such fragments must be treated with caution.

Language and content are very important. If the story is completely unsubstantiated, using jelly-like phrases such as ‘are thought to be interested,’ with no quote or justification to back it up, then it’s probably just been placed there to humour us attention-deprived Championship fans. You’re better off relying on local newspapers as a source of reliable transfer/takeover information.

2. Beware      of rumours that seem altogether too convenient. If the story is one that      you could have conjured up yourself, then it might just be that somebody      else has done exactly that, and simply published it somewhere.
3. As      entertaining as they can be, fan forums are full of sensational lies.      Rumours that start with lines like ‘my mate’s mum is a cleaner at the City      Ground and she heard …’ or ‘I saw Andy Reid in PC World and he told me’      are most likely to be utter tripe.
4. Twitter      can be a great source of news. It’s often where stories break first.      Follow local journalists, Forest players and players who we are linked      with … but beware of fake accounts!
5. As      boring as it sounds, nothing is official until it’s formally announced by      Forest. Sky Sports, BBC Sport and the Nottingham Evening Post are very      reliable sources, but sometimes you are best to ignore everything else and      just wait for things to appear on the official website. It can save a lot      of heartbreak.

 

I’d like to close by wishing you all an excellent pre-season. Thanks to all those who have used my Twitter account to pass on kind sentiments or suggest ideas for ‘The Red Revolution.’
Keep the Red flag flying high!

 

 

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

Placing my vote for the Nottingham Forest ‘Player of the Year’ award is traditionally one of my favourite pastimes. I’d usually lock myself away throughout the voting period, reviewing the footage from the season at hand and witling the squad down via a cruel process of elimination, before releasing white smoke from my chimney to indicate that a winner had been chosen.

Having received strongly worded letters from both neighbours and the local fire brigade, I decided to abandon tradition this year. Instead I will be unveiling my personal nomination in today’s ‘Red Revolution’.

Over the past couple of seasons it’s been particularly hard to pick a ‘Player of the Year’ for Forest, because there have been a plethora of worthy candidates. This season the process has been difficult for a completely different reason.

I’m sure our players would be the first to admit that things haven’t exactly gone to plan in the 2011/12 season … but I still genuinely feel there are a handful of players whose overall contribution deserves special praise.

After losing at home to Derby County, things appeared so bad that I thought I might be in with a chance of winning the award myself. I’ve only got a very small mantle piece and so it comes as a great relief to me that, since that day, five excellent candidates have come to the fore.

Before I reveal the five I feel ought to be considered for the award, it is worth mentioning that a few of the squad who have made exceptional contributions to the season have been reluctantly omitted from my thoughts, purely because they’ve only been available for half of the season.

Dexter Blackstock has been outstanding over the past few weeks, having returned from injury midway through the season. His tireless and intelligent efforts when leading the line have played no small part in our recent turnaround of fortunes.

Danny Higginbotham has proved to be a very shrewd January loan signing. He is a superb organiser with a wealth of experience, and we look a significantly better side with him in it.

Last but not least, Adlene Guedioura has been phenomenal since joining us on loan from Wolves. He’s like an Algerian Roy Race. I’d don a Derby shirt and ride a sheep bareback down the A52, if I thought it would convince him to sign a five-year deal with us.

These players have certainly been a major influence during the latter part of the season but my final five candidates have been selected because of their contributions throughout the entire campaign.

Chris Gunter has not only been Forest’s most dependable and consistent player throughout the season but has shown amazing spirit and endeavour in even the most hopeless of times. He’s as bombastic when thwarting wingers as he is when blitzing down the right flank. He’d be a very worthy winner.

Joel Lynch has had something of a breakthrough season. There was a moment in the season, as he nonchalantly glanced in the equaliser in the home tie against Ipswich, when Lynch looked a cast iron certainty for the award. He looked imperious on that day, throwing his body into challenges and arrowing forty-yard diagonal passes with pinpoint accuracy. He was like a modern day Robin Hood.

It’s been a landmark season for Lynch and I can’t wait to see him back at the heart of our defence next year. I guarantee he’ll get better and better.

Marcus Tudgay was deemed surplus to requirements by Steve McClaren and it’s testament to his ‘never say die’ attitude that he’s managed to fight his way back to prominence. It’s an attitude that is there for all to see on match days, as he relentlessly charges down defenders and leaps above people twice his size to win headers. Tudgay was particularly instrumental in Steve Cotterill’s opening few games but has scored some invaluable goals throughout the campaign.

            It’s also been a remarkable season for Garath McCleary. His legendary four goal heroics at Elland Road have given him every chance of being Forest’s top scorer this season, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he picked up the ‘Player of the Year’ award aswell.

His frightening pace and bamboozling feet have always made him a player full-backs fear to play against, but this season it’s his emphatic finishes that have ascended him to Championship stardom. In addition to his oozing talent, it’s also evident that he’s worked incredibly hard at becoming a better player when not in possession. He’s a truly excellent candidate for this prestigious award.

Despite the fact that I would warmly and sincerely applaud any of the players I have already mentioned, were they to be presented with the ‘Player of the Year’ award, my own personal choice would be none of the above.

I’m plumping for a man who has consistently galvanised the City Ground with calculated strokes of his left boot, a man who has inspired those around him and left gaping onlookers awestruck, a man who has single-handedly brought us victory with his craft and ingenuity. I am, of course, talking about Andy Reid.

Reid, who has racked up the highest number of assists this season, has also proved to be a true leader of men on the pitch. The combination of his ravenous appetite for the ball and his wand-like left foot has re-ignited his love affair with Forest fans; he may be seven years older but I genuinely believe he’s come back better than ever, which is perhaps the highest compliment he can be paid.

Andy Reid has given me a reason to renew my season ticket next year and, in my view, his contribution deserves the highest acknowledgement.

 

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

 

Dear Adlene,

First and foremost, I would like to assure you that this is not a begging letter. Rather, it is a selfless attempt at offering you some valuable career advice, free of charge.

My recommendation to you, based on the information at my disposal, is as follows: put in a transfer request at Molineux and join the Red Revolution, post haste. As far as I can see, it’s the only sensible option.

You may well think my attempts to lure you to the City Ground are fuelled by an ulterior motive but I can assure you that my only concern is your welfare. I genuinely think moving to Nottingham Forest will prove to be the best decision you ever made.

Ambition is one of the finest qualities a person can possess, when it is pure and well-placed. But too many footballers are driven by a dark ambition, namely the ambition to be in a higher league and to earn more money. Beware … all that glitters isn’t gold!

Don’t go the way of so many men before you, strangled by their own misplaced ambition – Macbeth, Mussolini and, to a lesser extent, Micky Quinn – instead sign a contract with the Tricky Trees and we can truly achieve great things together. It would fill me with great sadness to think of you in any other colour than red next season.

I implore you to realise that at Nottingham Forest you have found a place where you can fulfil your ambition, where you can flourish and become a timeless legend amongst supporters who have already taken you to their hearts. Looking at it from the outside, it would appear that you are very much at home here … and we are genuinely thrilled to have you! It’s a win-win situation.

Speaking objectively, Nottingham Forest is unequivocally, and beyond any reasonable doubt, the single greatest sporting club in the universe. When you consider the fact that we have won two European Cups, a League Title and the much sought after Zenith Data Systems Cup, the likes of Wolverhampton Wanderers pale in comparison.

Furthermore, the city of Nottingham is the finest of places you could ever wish to live. It’s a centre of unrivalled culture, boasting Nottingham Castle, the Tales of Robin Hood, Ye Olde Jerusalem (the oldest pub in the world) and a late-night renegade Greggs that serves Festive Bakes all year ‘round.

What has Wolverhampton got that could rival this? It’s just a small town in Walsall, so I’m led to believe.

I suppose there is still an ever-fading sliver of hope that Wolves might just survive this season in the Premiership. If this happens I would, of course, understand you wanting to return to fight for your place in their starting line-up, but it’s worth mentioning that there are advantages to being a Championship player … especially as it would only be for one season, before our inevitable promotion.

There are 46 games in the Championship, compared to the Premiership’s pitiful 38. You look like a player who positively cherishes every second of game time and, if my maths is correct, there’s an extra 43200 seconds in a Championship season, compared to a Premiership season. Furthermore, by my reckoning, that’s approximately an extra 48 shots for you to belt goalwards, without remorse.

This leads me nicely to my next point: us Forest fans cannot get enough of your long range shots! We whole-heartedly embrace your speculative strikes from distance. Long have we suffered players unwilling to shoot from outside the six-yard box. Long have we needed a man, who can behead an otter from thirty yards, using either foot. As far as I’m concerned you can shoot from anywhere you like. I actively encourage it.

But it’s not just your emphatic shooting ability that we all love. You’ve intoxicated us faithful Reds with your magnetic midfield performances! Your tireless running, dynamic passing and gutsy tackling have made you an immediate fans’ favourite.

If you stick around long enough, you could be rubbing shoulders with Robin Hood and Brian Clough in Nottinghamshire folklore. If you stay at Wolves, the best they’ll offer you is sharing a bag of peanuts with Noddy Holder.

Nottingham is a modern city, right at the cutting edge of world affairs. The City Ground itself appears on the latest Iphone advert, and you can’t get much more cutting edge than that. By contrast, Wolverhampton was used to film the Mordor scenes for the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy. They didn’t need to modify it or use computer graphics. It was more of a documentary than anything.

I should mention at this point that I actually live in Wolverhampton, so I’m legally entitled to convey untruths in order to convince you to sign for us. As you know, it’s really a quite lovely place to dwell, providing you avoid the gaze of that Giant Eye in the middle of town. Nottingham is better though.

Despite my initial claim, this did turn out to be something of a begging letter. It’s been a pleasure to have had you at our club. Your performances have brought a smile back to a face that has aged fifteen years in one season. I wish you luck whatever you decide to do next.

Yours Sincerely,

A Hopeful Fan

P.S. (Incidentally, if you need any help moving your stuff across the Midlands, I’d be more than happy to lend a hand.)

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss

As you may have gathered from reading previous editions of ‘The Red Revolution’, I have something of an obsessive personality. This frightening disorder is not confined within the parameters of Nottingham Forest Football Club either.

I’m prone to compulsive behaviour in all aspects of life and, after getting in with a bad crowd a couple of years ago, I developed a dangerous addiction. It’s an addiction that could well have resurfaced by the time June 8^th comes around.

Though the Championship season is drawing to a dramatic close, there’s no need to fret about a long vacuous summer without football this year. We are only 77 days from the 2012 European Championships in Poland and Ukraine. However, I must admit, I have mixed feelings about the tournament.

On the one hand, I am brimming with hungry anticipation at a feast of knockout football … but on the other, I am fearful that an old habit might consume me once again.

It was around this time of year, back in 2010, when I bought my first batch …       What harm can it do? Everybody else is doing it. You only live once.

Those were the whispers and taunts of my so-called friends, as I handed over the money. £1,247 later and I was irreversibly hooked.

I am, of course, talking about the dark and disturbing evils of the Panini sticker album.

The most annoying thing was that, even after all that pointless expenditure, I was nowhere near spiritual fulfilment. I’d got the entire New Zealand squad and 84 Dirk Kuyts … but half the album was still blank.

As for my beloved England, I managed to get most of the squad, but despite my best efforts Wayne Rooney remained missing throughout the entire tournament. I suppose it did give me an insight into how Fabio Capello must have felt.

This compulsion of mine might have been deemed socially acceptable had I have had some sort of child to palm blame onto. I did suggest that creating one might help with the project, but those close to me insisted it was unethical to bring a child into the world solely for the purpose of sticker collection.

The problem was that, being a mature young adult, I had no associates to swap unwanted stickers with. Spending weekday afternoons loitering around the local schoolyard, dealing Emile Heskeys to Year 6’s was frowned upon by the lunchtime supervisors … and eventually, having run out of money, hope of finishing the album was lost.

Of course the sticker addiction is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg; I make no secret of the fact that I am unhealthily besotted with football at every level. Although I realise that, when it comes to internationals, not all football fanatics are quite as enthusiastic as me.

Over the last decade or so, international tournaments have sorrowfully wilted in the shadow of the ever-expanding domestic game. It might be that the game is so generic throughout the world these days and subsequently the styles of play don’t differ between countries like they used to. Furthermore, the majority of players on show at tournaments are seen regularly in the Premiership or Champions League, which takes something away from the excitement when international games come around.

The biyearly disappointment of seeing England flunk out at the hands of cheating foreigners, far earlier than is ever hoped, has finally taken its toll on our country’s most ardent football fans.

Or perhaps, to put more realistically, it’s the fact that the English national team has given us absolutely nothing to shout about since 2002, when we last took a meaningful scalp by beating Argentina 1-0 in a fiercely contested group game.

At a click of my nostalgic fingers I will always be able to travel back to that day. After watching the wonderfully tense English victory, a bunch of us played football across the main road, cars triumphantly beeping their horns as they weaved their way around us. ‘Three Lions’ blared from every available stereo, as the nation proudly puffed out its chest and jubilantly waved the flag of St George for all to see. The tangible air of victory still stings my nostrils when I think about that famous day. We were invincible, if only for a moment.

Ten years on and, with regard to England, I’ve felt nothing like it since. Personally, I think it’s about time we made it happen again.

If I’m campaigning for anything it’s for the nation to rekindle its love affair with international football. That alone could be all that’s required for England to be great once more.

I implore you all to embrace Euro 2012 with every working limb, or else these precious international tournaments may one day be a thing of the past.

Throw a football themed party to coincide with the opening ceremony. Make all your guests dress as representatives from each of the competing countries. Put on a spread that embraces all sixteen cultures and ply your guests with intoxicating Polish lagers that will make them want to somersault through the streets when Radi scores the opening goal of the tournament.

The games are on terrestrial television at 5pm and 7.45pm, so there’s no excuse to miss a second of the action. It’s not like when the tournament was held in Japan and Korea and you had to reset your biological clock just to negotiate the erratic match schedule. There’s no need to feign leprosy to get days off work … just crack open a bottle of Tyskie and let the tournament consume you, body and soul.

But be warned, if you find yourself preparing to remortgage your house for sticker money … you’ve probably gone too far!

 

Follow me on Twitter: @Dave_Abbiss