A diary of one man's utter failure, depression, frustration, cock-ups, and poverty, starting in August 1947
My mates were away on holiday, so I wrapped myself up in a great coat, scarf, flat cap etc (it was very cold), took a beef dripping sandwich, apple, and bar of Fry's 5 boys chocolate, and set off to the match on my own.
There was a big crowd, and I made me way to the East stand at the front wall, behind the dug-out.
At half time, I struggled through the crowd to get a Bovril drink, and somehow managed to get back to my spot without spilling too much.
Just as I was biting into the apple, a surge of bodies forced me and everyone else nearby, to be squashed up against the low wall, fearing another surge coming from the yobs behind, I threw away the apple and Bovril cup, to free my hands to use to help stop me being crushed against the wall.
At which point I found myself being man handled and dragged over the wall by two nice policemen, who gave me a dead-leg, crammed my arm up my back, and frog-marched me into the car park, and secured me in a large black maria!
I stood in the cage in the back of the black-maria, confused, about what I might have done to warrant being here? Occasionally, the doors would open, and a protesting yob would be added to our number.
I could hear that the match had finished, and after about half an hour or so, the doors opened again, and some police officers accompanied by a couple of police dogs pulled out a few of the incarcerated, me included, into the car park, and suggested we go forth and multiply!
Presumably those still in the van were to be prosecuted, we in the car park were cautioned.
I found out much later, why I was removed from the ground. A neighbour had been standing near to where I was on the East stand, and had seen it all happen, and explained it to me.
As I was being taken involuntarily into the wall by the surge of fans behind me, the apple I threw away to allow me to use my hands to protect myself from the wall, had landed on a policeman's helmet!
Ah well, at least I understood why the bobby had dead-legged me, and caught my head on the cage door twice as he implanted me in the black-maria now.
Oh.. Forest lost the match too!
1969, and my mates begged me to stop going to Forest matches!
Mick said I was a 'jinx on them'.
Bill said I was the 'kiss of death to them'.
Frank said I was a 'curse on them'.
Alf said I 'cast an evil eye on them'.
They then pointed out that I'd only been to 6 matches that season, that resulted in:
Versus Man United Lost 2-1
Versus Derby County Lost 1-3
Versus Leed United Lost 6-1
Versus Burnley Lost 5- 0
Versus Leeds United Lost 4-1
Versus Coventry Lost 4-1
and could I please stop attending?
I laughed this off as rubbish.
The next season, after I attended my first match versus Arsenal, and they lost 4-1... I did stop going!