It’s the first game we look for when the fixtures are announced. It’s when you’re so called mates become part of something that you despise beyond expression.

It’s when, for 180 minutes a season, the level of performance doesn’t matter. Only winning will do. You can’t explain it, whatever ‘it’ is, comes with being a fan of either us or that small club down the road.

Living where I do, right on the border in Derbyshire with an NG postcode, it’s simple. You’re black and white or you’re them (Or you could be some funny club from the Premier League, whatever that is?).

Turn left out of my house, walk to the first pub you find and you’re in good company.

Turn right and do the same and it would take a braver man than me to order a lager wearing my home shirt. The Co-op next door provides a more than amusing No-Man’s Land on Saturdays, with a choice word or two more than likely to be heard while clutching a pint of milk.

Thankfully, my family are all black & white, so there was never any danger of me going to the dark side. As I wasn’t around for Clough Seniors reign over both clubs, I’ve always loved reading and hearing about classic encounters and Pop-side battles from years past.

What I love almost as much is some Florist ‘supporter’ pointing to those silly stars and reminding me that they won a cup, years before they were born. Half can’t tell me who even scored in those games and I always reply that we won the FA Cup in 1946 but you don’t hear me bleating on about it. Nor do you see me wearing a shirt with ‘GSE Fridges’ on the front…

Of course, this weekend will see the tabloids have a field day on the Clough Junior Vs The Odious little sweaty, fat Scottish man and his history with both clubs. I don’t want to disappoint so I’m offering odds of 2/1 Nigel wins on points, 8/11 for a KO and 25/1 that Billy doesn’t mention himself once in the third-person during the post/pre-fight, sorry, game interviews…

I’ve a few favourite moments to date. I’ll steer clear of the obvious ten-men and recent cup win at the Sh**ty ground and go for Bucko’s late winner at home two seasons ago.

Given that we’d just lost our captain to an injury that he still hasn’t returned from and after a few unsavoury exchanges between the supporters, the raw emotion was something rarely experienced at Pride Park and something I wish I could have bottled and sold on. I’d have made a fortune.

Worst memory would have to be a certain refereeing performance (I still can’t say his name.) The elation of ‘scoring’ with the last kick, scraping my shin to bits on the seat in front and ending up three rows down, then looking up and seeing Nathan Tyson running towards me is something I think will stay with me forever. By that I mean the shock of Tyson actually running without getting injured.

I hate injustice at the best of times, but is there any worse cherry on the cake than Lee Camp strutting away like a peacock on acid??

Answers on a postcard.

As for this weekend, I’d be lying if I said I was confident. The law of averages suggests a wrong result, although we can look at Leeds as proof that this isn’t always correct.

What worries me is we seem incapable of shutting teams out. What I wouldn’t give for our skipper to make his return this weekend. The script is there, but this isn’t Hollywood.

This is a time for heroes, for puffed up chests and rolled up sleeves, for finger-nails to be chewed off both north and south of the Co-Op, for someone, anyone, in black and white, maroon or the ‘Thunderbird’ strip, to become part of the Rams folklore and with their actions, writing a story that we will tell little Rams to be passed from generation to generation.

Come Saturday afternoon, I hope I’m turning left out of my house and tasting the sweet smell of success and Red-dog tears, rather than putting my earphones in and needing to wear a mask to safely get a fresh loaf.

Derby day eh…bring it on.

Photo: Action Images

Manchester City Polls