A Derby County shirt with the name of England’s all-time leading goal scorer printed on the back is something I’ll keep forever.
Yet very rarely will I wear it outside right now.
Living in Nottingham as a fan of Forest’s fiercest rivals is never dull.
Watching one of last season’s derbies in the Southbank bar, with a Rams shirt underneath my jumper, was an experience I probably won’t be repeating. As the traditional rendition of Mull of Kintyre was belted out ahead of kick-off, I felt like it was going to be a long 90 minutes.
For better or worse, a Derby goal never arrived. My emotions never did spill out, but it was still a battle to refrain from reacting to a narrow miss or strong tackle.
In a usual season, Nottingham Forest visiting Pride Park would be the first date I’d look for when the fixtures are announced. Given that there seemed little chance of being able to be there in person, I’ll admit I wasn’t as hyped as in years gone by.
You see, for me, it’s the atmosphere that makes these games so special, so addictive, so unique.
From uncontrollable passion one minute, to being silent with nerves the next, it’s 90 minutes that are emotionally draining.
Before moving to live in ‘the dark side’, a semi-joking phrase often used by family members, I spent four seasons sat just a few seats away from the travelling supporters.
On derby day, you always had a choice to make.
Back your club with passion and entertain an off-field battle with the Forest fans across the barrier, hidden behind police officers and stewards who were often caught like rabbits in headlights when a ball hit the back of the net.
Alternatively, you stay focused on the match because you’re nervous enough already, without getting stick off a father and son listing off every expletive in their – limited – vocabulary.
The answer was normally a combination of the two. If you give it out, expect it back. And boy, did it come back.
Football fans are more often than not depicted as being Neanderthalic and thuggish, yet the creativity and wit of their chants could sometimes be considered literary genius. Unfortunately, without giving this article a parental guidance warning, I can’t disclose many examples.
A rivalry with such a rich and frantic recent history means that there’s rarely a shortage of topics to choose from.
Whether it be Derby’s infamous and record-breaking, for all the wrong reasons, campaign in the Premier League or Bobby Zamora’s last-gasp winner to break Derby fans’ hearts in the play-off final – always quick to sympathise with their rivals, Forest fans wore masks with the striker’s face on the next time the two sides met.
Yet Derby have their own taunts too, both Deforestation Day back in 2014 when Craig Bryson scored a hat-trick in a 5-0 thumping and when the Rams, against all odds, won 2-1 at the City Ground in 2011 despite playing 85 minutes of the match with ten men.
However, there are occasions when that pre-match dilemma of how to handle the nerves of an East Midlands derby disappear within moments of kick-off: twenty four seconds to be precise.
Back in 2017, before most in Pride Park had a chance to take a breath, Matej Vydra sent a curling effort into the bottom right corner from outside the box.
There’s dream starts and then there’s that. Like the Czech forward’s strike, my mate’s portion of chips went flying too. Rows of seats fail to exist when a goal against Forest goes in. It was one of my fondest memories of the East Midlands derby, especially as we never looked back and earnt a 2-0 win that day.
Yet, my very first introduction to the rivalry taught me that it’s not all limbs and triumph.
With Derby’s home match against Forest in the 2014/15 season neatly poised at 1-1 as we entered injury time, the worst happened.
It was a steep learning curve to the rivalry seeing Derby-born winger Ben Osborn fire a bullet finish past Lee Grant and reel away into a mob of red shirts.
Beer bottles flew into the air in slow motion. It felt like I’d lost hearing in my right ear as the roars and screams of elation to my left, from the away section of the ground, were in stark contrast to the cold silence of the home contingent.
The pain or, hopefully, elation, may not be as intense on Friday evening given that I’m not in the stands, surrounded by strangers – who in moments of ecstasy, as any football fan will tell you, become like your nearest and dearest – but I’ll still channelling my love for my club through the television screen.
Derby day. It can be the highest of highs, or the lowest of lows.
By Pete Trifunovic