Burnley 2 (The rest we know)

Hold on to your hats, boys and girls! Another bumpy ride beckons. You have been warned.

Instead of leaping for my laptop the moment I'm home like I usually do, I thought I'd better give myself a day or two to cool down (and that doesn't include letting the current cold snap play its part either) before reflecting on a week which must surely be about as dismal as it gets where Forest(nil) are concerned.

And having done that, it really feels no better. Having read the various fans' postings on Fan Talk following the sale of Big Wes to The Crisp Bowl (or whatever it's called now), and that a big Prem club is now able to make full use of a promising young striker whom we repeatedly chose to ignore, there really is little more to add apart from sharing their sentiments one hundred percent. Losing Big Wes like this at one time seemed unthinkable, even recently, yet who'd begrudge him of a move to a club where ambition at least remains in their vocabulary? To Big Wes, I say all the best, and thank you for being the rock on which our first team has been built for so many years. In contrast, I now have a little poster stuck to the window of my car with a picture of a tombstone, inscribed with the words 'RIP Nottingham Forest'. Above, it reads: 'Doughty did this' ... and beneath it: 'Arthur helped' as an expression of my rage at the contempt in which the fans have been held and their intelligence insulted. Well what else are we to think after the cataclysmic chain of events which started with the unforgiveable sacking of a man who delivered results, and which has since brought us to the total and utter freefall trajectory we're now in? The tears of rage shed by not only this fan but doubtless thousands of others over the past few weeks must be amounting to torrents capable of flooding The Trent.

And with those thoughts still banging inside my head, I approached Nottingham in preparation for the match with feelings last felt whilst contemplating the imminent break-up of a relationship a few years back, ironically during the same season we headed for - and ultimately achieved - relegation from The Championship. Here, it was that burning question which won't go away: will I be renewing my season ticket this summer, especially if we go down again? Next to thousands of other loyal fans that probably sounds rather lightweight, but add the cost of fuel plus around five hours of travelling time for every home match, especially in this economic climate, and the way that frustration far outweighs enjoyment by monstrous proportions at the moment with little sign of it ending, I'm afraid something may well have to give. I so hope it won't come to that, but I'm not prepared to spend the rest of my weekend in a grump on the back of the string of defeats we're experiencing lately. My girlfriend's cat is getting very worried!

Examining our record against The Dingles paints a mixed picture. It is well known that trips to that godforsaken dump called Turf Moor over the last twelve years have brought mainly frustration (with one notable exception, it has to be said) topped off with the humiliating defeat suffered there four months ago. The reverse fixture on the other hand (again with one notable exception) has usually been quite the opposite, making this one - despite the grim state of things - a distinctly winnable fixture. We did after all achieve that in our last relegation season, one of the last three games to be played, which gave us at least a week's reprieve. In those terms, today's game was really THE must-win, and failure to achieve that would pretty much spell out our fate.

So, were we to rise to that challenge? Fat chance. We all discussed before the game the importance of being first to score, unlikely as that may be for Forest(nil) these days, and I even had this to ponder over with a Dingles fan at tea time, though this was before I had a chance to look at our starting line-up. Despite the inclusion of our latest loan signing (brought in no doubt to soften the blow following Big Wes' exit) as a sign of bolstered resources (and the imminent arrival of Higginbotham and Wootton at least gives us a modicum of hope), it looked almost unrecogniseable to how it was just a few short weeks ago, but my overall assessment of the line-up was summed up in two words:

We're dead.

Granted, we had a makeshift central defence once more with Chambo completing his 3-match ban, and to say this debut for young Lascelles was deep into baptism of fire territory was putting it mildly. Yes, we've been crying out for him for ages, but what a horrible time for him to enter the fray (though credit to the lad he made a decent enough fist of it). With Guedioura joining a five-man midfield this begged four massive questions to which we STILL have no answers:

- You play a lone striker (and a distinctly out-of-form one at that) for a home game for WHAT reason, exactly, Cotternil?

- WHY your best striker with hitherto the greatest chance of scoring (Tudgay) is left on the bench?

- The player the game (never mind the fans) cries out for (Radi of course) cannot even MAKE the bench BECAUSE...?

- And, while we're at it, we know that Reidy has proved to be at his most effective when coming off the bench, but tonight was introduced with heads well down and the game long gone FOR WHAT PURPOSE?

The overall verdict on Cotternil's strategy: CLUELESS. And all that Dogberry-style attempt to justify it and reflect on what went wrong afterwards in the post-match interview just gets ever more painful to listen to.

So, to that all-important first goal. We're all too painfully aware of it not happening within twenty or so minutes from the off, then everything going into a downward spiral the moment the visitors nab one on the break, despite a bright start. So compact that little sequence down to just over ninety seconds, and that was surely our cue to be heading for the exits. A cross from Trippier wide out to the right evades Lascelles and, more significantly Camp, and Jay Rodriguez who inflicted so much damage on us back in September was there to reinforce his reputation for punishing mistakes was in prime position on the far post to head in from blank range.

You know the routine by now: split second of stunned silence followed by loud celebration by some 2000 Dingles followed by deathly hush in a freezing cold atmposphere elsewhere. There may have been an initial response from the red shirts, and you would have thought a string of corners (which once upon a time was one of our most potent weapons) might just have restored parity. The reality was all too familiar however, as McGugan's kicking was way off the mark, the alternative in Reidy languishing on the bench, and the third (Radi) no doubt languishing in the stands, and the only real pressure we actually exerted was forcing the corners in the first place. From then on it was a lost cause, and more often than not Burnley looked dangerous on the break, albeit with little end product - hardly necessary though with an early advantage which looked in little danger given our own perpetual lack of goal punch. Guedioura showed initial promise going forward, but by half time had been guilty of wasting chances, not that he was on his own of course.

To be honest, I wish I'd left at half time because it only got worse, save for the one comedy moment of the game which at least woke the home fans up when Rodriguez spectacularly missed a penalty after a clumsy tackle by McCleary. It wasn't as if there was the distraction of home fans waving like semaphones since this took place at the Bridgford End. You had to feel sorry for the fans in Row Z over the corner flag being forced to duck during suppressed laughing.

But the joke was destined still to be on us as Rodriguez made amends ten minutes later in almost a carbon-copy of the opener. Trippier's cross from the right, dodgy defending ... you know the rest. The only real surprise of the entire night was how Rodriguez failed to clinch his hat trick, as the game had taken on a pattern not entirely dissimilar to September's debacle where every mistake, negative move and stray pass we cobbled together allowed Burnley to look like Champions League contenders, such was the gulf in the two sides - something not seen since, wait a minute, all of two weeks ago in that disgraceful non-performance at Leicester in the FA Cup which had me crying into my beer down at my local.

And as Burnley looked more assured, we just looked totally on the ropes wishing for the towel to be thrown in. We had by this time reverted to a more conventional 4-4-2 with Blackstock and Tudgay on, but in all honesty this was how it should have started. The fans did their bit to try to lift spirits, but the prevailing mood was one of resignation, with that all-too-familiar sinking feeling in the freezing cold atmosphere. With five minutes still to go it was time to cut losses and begin yet another long drive home to Preston, and before there was any risk of being chased along the M6 by gleeful Dingles fans. In the event, my phone was still white hot with texts from work colleagues residing in the Burnley area all too ready to turn the knife. Needless to say I would be giving our base office five miles away a very wide berth the next day. The £10 ticket prices had once again totally backfired since all I could hear from the stands as I left were chants of 'We want our money back', and who could blame them when they might easily have argued they should have been paid the same amount for simply turning up?

Not even tonight's Red Revolution programme article could lift my spirits as all I could see was the results of all the ill-fortune and shocking decisions to beset the club since last summer. Whilst I agree with the logic that winning the majority of games to stay in touch with the leaders isn't going to be necessary this season, if we don't start winning ANY games very very soon we're going to need to win the majority of whatever's left just to stand a chance of staying in The Championship. Of course there'd be nothing more cruel to the club and the fans if that started happening like it did the last time we dropped from the Premiership, ending the season with three straight wins after already mathematically down and rendering them totally meaningless.

Finally, I never thought I'd find myself saying this, but here goes. The half-hearted chants of 'Bring on the D3rby' which could just about be heard at one point during the game rather reflected another once unthinkable situation: that tickets for Sunday's game at Prideless Park remain unsold, let alone make general sale, televised coverage or not. It may be a well-established fact that the form book counts for nothing in local derbies, but to save further embarrassment with the mess we're in right now, if we carry on with the rubbish performances of late, quite frankly we may as well not bother!