![\"Stephen-Parker](\"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/www.nottinghamsport.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2022\/03\/Stephen-Parker.png?resize=150%2C150\" "\\"\\"")
<\/p>\nIs there anything quite like a match at the City Ground on a winter\u2019s night? Something about darkness intensifies the experience as senses shift into hyper-alert. Every smell becomes essence of, whether it\u2019s fags, beer or burgers. Every sight gains another characteristic, from a black velvet, rippling Trent, to a stadium so illuminated it has the appearance of an enormous alien craft landed from another planet. The emerald green pitch looks lacquered and players emerge from the tunnel as if kitted-out in Day-Glo primary colours.<\/p>\n
And then there\u2019s the soundscape. From wherever you\u2019ve arrived, hawkers\u2019 calls and fans\u2019 quips, incantatory chants and familiar songs bounce off the river\u2019s surface to echo and ring in the air. Far off, they are disembodied voices but, drawn towards the magnetic force that is the swell of supporters convening at the stadium, you catch sight – in this new light – of massed humanity and then get consumed by it. The tingle of anticipation in a game at night is shot through a thousand rows of seats with its own energy source, an electric current of expectation. It\u2019s an incubator for the cross-cultivation of the real and the romantic.<\/p>\n
Time was when I\u2019d be stood on the roofless, Bridgford-end kop, scarfed-up against a keen wind and topped with a bobble hat to keep off a shower of sleet. Either side of me, Dad and Granddad, in their upturned-collar overcoats, would act like a pair of groynes, repelling waves of fans who\u2019d lose their footing and surge towards the pitch. I never understood the danger as I was lifted and swept down, only to turn with a smile towards my frowning dad as he snatched me to him.<\/p>\n
Fixtures came and went through childhood. Leeds United, Fulham, Aston Villa and the rest, all got to strut their stuff at the City Ground. Dad took me to Saturday games, our pockets stuffed with Mum\u2019s morning-made pastries. Sometimes, he\u2019d rush home from work and we\u2019d make a night match. It didn\u2019t much matter to me who Forest played, I just wanted some of the magic on show under the floodlights. And so it went, season after season, until the time I was told – categorically – that I would not be going to the only game I had pestered him to take me to.<\/p>\n
The week up to the match had been full of my pleading and his silence. Dad didn\u2019t waste words at the best of times but this was a drought. It came at a time when there had been several points of contention in the household as I tried to assert rights-for-ten-year-olds. He\u2019d refused my request for \u2018Fab Four\u2019 Beatles wallpaper when my bedroom was decorated. Then a winkle picker saga lasted for weeks. I wanted some pointy shoes and dug my heals in (so to speak) but he was unmoved. Mum tried to reason – \u2018they\u2019ll deform your feet\u2019 – but the argument was lost.<\/p>\n
This situation was altogether different though. No discussion, no explanation and only a couple of days to kick-off. I followed the build-up in the Evening Post (which was really working up a head of steam for the fixture) and tried to share my enthusiasm with him. Then I wondered if I\u2019d upset him with my infatuation. Was that the problem? It was all over now, I told him, and he smiled. \u2018Cooled off, Have you?\u2019 he said. \u2018I can understand why they caught your imagination, what with that forward line. But, no, it\u2019s not that, Son. It\u2019s to do with safety and I\u2019d be worried for you. I\u2019m not even taking your granddad.\u2019<\/p>\n
I knew what he meant. Break-time talk at school that week was all about United\u2019s visit and Mum said she sensed excitement in the air on her way to work across the other side of the city. Still, I tried to press my case, that I\u2019d got over my love affair with Manchester United and, more specifically, with the Best, Charlton, Law forward line. I\u2019d even stopped emulating the latter\u2019s shirt sleeve, cuff-holding habit. But it wasn\u2019t to be. One of my most remembered night matches and I wasn\u2019t even there!<\/p>\n
I did get to stay up for Dad\u2019s return and I did get to understand why he wouldn\u2019t take me. On that January evening in 1965, over 43,000 fans packed into the Forest ground and, by his account, there was a steady stream of supporters being sat by the pitch following safety concerns. The exit was mayhem, he said. Then a deep breath. \u2018What a match, Son! Law snatched their goals, like he always does, and they\u2019re a good team. But so are Forest and Hinton\u2019s first goal was a scorcher.\u2019<\/p>\n
The game ended 2-2. United went on to win the league and Forest impressed with a 5th place finish. Next morning, I read the paper\u2019s match report before school, saw the photo of Law, arms raised in celebration, and went back over Dad\u2019s account until I could almost convince myself I\u2019d been there. Nearly sixty years on, I\u2019ll be doing the same come Wednesday evening\u2019s Carabao Cup semi-final against United. No ticket but pub access to TV coverage and enough memories to recreate the magical atmosphere of a night match.<\/p>\n
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