Tradition has it that pranks, hoaxes, tricks and jokes should come before midday on April 1st. Any fool knows that. But not Wolverhampton Wanderers apparently or some pubs around the City Ground area. ‘We’re full,’ said a few. Others had queues just waiting to get into the place, never mind get a beer. Still, good humour prevailed, fans were upbeat and we finally managed a couple of pints.

To enter Forest’s stadium these days is a life-experience in itself. Bristling with expectation and excitement, the ground erupts when the team appears. It’s a bond between players and fans that’s been forged in no small part by Manager Cooper. He acknowledges our presence and generates a feeling of ‘come what may, we stick together’.

And we do. In a febrile Trent End full of choice vocabulary tailored to greet opposing fans (think what rhymes with ‘anchor’), the songs and chants and cheers produce a match-long wall of noise. And at no time do I hear any criticism or derisory comments aimed at Forest players.

It’s all encouragement and applause and so it should be. The full-time scoreline does not tell the story of the game. At times, Forest attacks are breathtaking, done at speed, with fluidity and a sprinkling of improvisation. Moves on the pitch, from high up in the stand, look to be balletic and performed with supreme athleticism. I ping a few photos and some video footage to my youngest daughter in Australia and her replies show she’s grasped the sense of occasion.

The short walk before 3pm to the ground from a pub finally willing to accept our money is over the bridge and by the Trent. It’s swollen from recent rain and laps high against embankment steps. Muscular and dark, it flows with purpose, on a mission, as if setting an example for us to follow the same path: strength in numbers, clear in purpose. The infirm, the very young, parents, clusters of folks in their prime, we are the current of humanity coursing its way harmoniously to the turnstiles. By the Anniversary Wall, some fans pause a moment. A chap nearby kisses his hand and reaches to touch one of the bricks inscribed with personal dedications. ‘My son,’ he says and moves on.

Is there ever a sound to match the cheer of a full-house when the home team scores? Its depth and volume and heartfelt tone is an energy that reaches to your core. Brennan Johnson’s fine finish following a slick Forest move culminates in the roar of delight that shivers through you. Come half-time, it’s all upbeat banter and lining up for the urinal and mass relief. An elderly flat-capped chap in front of me says, ‘Christ, some things never change, do they?’ smiles and makes a neat move to a vacant slot.

But we all know 1-0 is a slim lead and the more games you’ve seen over decades, the more you know just how fragile that can be. Wolves know that. Their bench knows that. A game that was already prickly turns very tetchy and comes to near-boiling point. Every referee decision is challenged and, suddenly, we have a side-show. Coaches and staff are scrapping until one from either side is shown a red card. A flurry of fouls back on the pitch and staccato play might disrupt any rhythm Forest try to create. Yet, impressively, they counter-attack with speed and we take part in collective groans as Forest near-miss a goal on several occasions.

Wolves, who’ve played ponderously and in the shadow of the Reds, get a lucky break – a deflection, I must clarify, in my neutral account! – and score. A trick! One shot in the match on target, one goal. So there’s no justice in April Fool’s tradition, then, and no justice in football. It’s goals that count. Wolves are crafty and cunning in fables and stories. On April 1st, on the football pitch, they are plain lucky.

Come full-time though, disappointment is soon shed in favour of a genuine admiration for the way Forest played. There’s reason to be proud of their performance. Their commitment never flagged, their drive for goals never wavered and they produced some high-calibre play which was a joy to watch. All of this, and more, is discussed at length when we find a pub at the end of a bus ride that has vacant seats and the quiet hum of folks enjoying an evening drink. Time to celebrate. Put aside for a while the fact that Forest didn’t win and gain three vital points. Sometimes, it just feels a privilege to be a football fan.

*Article provided by Stephen Parker (Nottingham Forest Correspondent).

*Main image @NFFC Brennan Johnson celebrates his goal against Wolves.