Brian Clough, Trevor Francis and the Nottingham Forest fire that ignited a passion

I can still picture the very moment that changed my life forever. It was a night in May, the 30th to be precise, at the end of the 1970s, a decade that had dawned with the end of The Beatles, seen the rise and fall of glam-rock and was now witnessing the rise of punk and new wave. 

Being only seven years old I was completely oblivious to all this and my world was consumed with running around in the garden, eating sweets and avoiding being beaten up by my two elder brothers.

However this night, things were different. I knew it must have been a very special night as for a seven-year old I was being allowed to stay up way beyond my usual bedtime. Then it happened. I am not sure I can tell you the exact time it happened but it was a moment in time that helped to define who I am and shaped the course of my life.

I was perched on the edge of the sofa as John Robertson skipped his way down the left wing. For an overweight smoker, he sure looked graceful with a ball at his feet, weaving his way through the light blue-shirted defence, toying with them like a cat with a ball of wool. It is such a familiar scene in my head. I know I watched it live but it has been replayed so many times on TV that the moment has become somewhat diluted.

One thing I know for certain is that when Trevor Francis dived to head the ball into the Malmo net, my life as a sports fan had changed forever. I am, of course, talking about the time that the best football manager ever (no arguments there, no debate to be had), inspired a small provincial club, Nottingham Forest, to be crowned the Champions of Europe, beating Malmo 1-0.

I may have always been destined to be a Nottingham Forest supporter, though at the time I was showing no interest in sport whatsoever. My mum and dad were both born in Nottingham before they moved south, and my dad had made his way out to Munich for the 1979 European Cup Final. But we all know that as a youngster you can be influenced by any number of external factors, namely who wins the most cups. This was obvious to a kid growing up in the 1970s surrounded by Liverpool fans.

From that time, my life as a sporting fan was determined. I was on a course that was set for early glory, mid-term contentment and ultimately failure and disappointment. The path of Nottingham Forest is well known to any footy fan of my generation.  A small club that achieved a level of success and glory that could not have been scripted.

However, Brian Clough found his spiritual home and settled down to work his magic and transform the club from a middling Division Two side to one that was winning Division One, two League Cups, two European Cups, a Super Cup, a Charity Shield, and experiencing a record-breaking 42-game unbeaten run, all within the space of three crazy seasons at the end of the decade.

But I don’t want to be thought of as a glory hunter; after all, considering their current plight you would not necessarily be proud of being a Forest fan. I was just a young boy proud of supporting my team and finding myself with a real passion in my life. It became consumed with all things Forest as my room found itself bedecked with Forest wallpaper, Forest posters, Forest key rings and Forest scarves. It was a great time to be a Forest fan - news and pictures of the team and their players was everywhere.