You knew it was coming. 22nd March 2014, now at the fantastic IMO PRide Park Stadium.

We all ‘hate’ Leeds (in a sporting sense), that’s a given, but the enmity between Derby and Forest runs deep, especially since the 70s and the unresolveable argument about whether it’s the quality of the silverware (derby) or the quantity (forest) that means more. Personally, I have more lingering hate than most, a rare Derby fan in a senior school riddled with forest fans meant I carried scars and a lifeline occasional twitch from the ‘attention’ I got for my allegiance

There have been hard fought encounters over the years, but my preference in our Local derbies has been the easy win, early goal then race away with it sort of thing, such as the fairly recent Kenco Cup 4-2 or the Razac 3-0. I had a good feeling about our chances this time round and given Billyboy’s recent Trumpesque level of unhingedness, I reckoned a bet on a double of a 5-0 victory for The Rams followed by a forest sacking by the following wed might be in order. That was what I scribbled on my betting slip when the flunky came round our table before, and I knew William Hill we’re offering 180-1 on that because I’d phoned earlier - my tenner put down was bravado as much as anything, the ‘our table’ was a table in the exec suite, my invite from a Nottingham building firm, all round the table forest fans

I sat amongst them in the corporate seats down in the corner where The Yard restaurant now has its back entrance, and you know how the first half went, forest were a rabble, we were on fire and let’s be honest everything that could go our way did

There was a quick drink and a snack at half time but few round the table had the appetite, the only levity brought about by the flunky announcing that the onsite gambling license didn’t allow custom bets and only my 5-0 stood at half the odds. Some round the table still saw Forest coming back, someone offered to buy my bet for £100, I was hanging on.

You also know how the second half went, I saw Johnny’s thunderbolt from ‘right down the barrel’, and as Patrick Bamford dived theatrically I laughed towards the guy next to me and realised he, like all the rest of my friends for the day, had gone. So they didn’t see Bryson smack the ball in the net and himself and that exciting, fun to watch team into folklore.

And you know what? Despite the betting slip in my pocket, when the faithful started singing ‘we want six’, so did I.