A heroic mission. Win or draw at Old Trafford to reach the final of the League Cup for the first time in Derby’s history. A quest readily accepted by the black and white of Ramkind.
Build up. Old Trafford. Trafford Park. Park. Walk. Manchester Ship Canal. Burger Alley, Fairground smells, souvenirs, scarves, badges, red, white and black in harmony.
Understated Red Neon. “Do you know where you’re going love?” an elderly blue rinse asks. “Been here before?” “Wait till you get inside, best ground in England.” Too polite to answer. Too polite to point out Wanchope. Too polite to point out Christie. Too polite.
East Stand, climb through red caged steps to the Second Tier, pausing for breath. Pause becomes slow motion queue as two tree sloth’s having lost their tree pour out Budweiser with the same care normally reserved for vintage wines. If only it tasted half as good, and cost half as little.
Pitch side perfectly positioned behind the goal, way up high. Black and White scarves wave, wave, swirl and shout allegiances.
It’s eight o’clock, game underway, the Rams refuse to sit back, Commons curls left, left of the goal, narrowly wide of Fosters post. A sharp intake of breath, the Ooh’s revealing closeness and nerves.
It’s not to be. United attack. Nani dances with Teale. Tentative lovers avoiding a first touch. Inside, inside, the right foot unleashed, the perfect arc of a diver, Carroll leaps like a Salmon snatching at a fly too high and the net bulges. And the scores are level. And the Rams heads drop.
And we go again. And we concede again. John O’Shea, left back, leaves satellite navigation at home, pops up in the penalty area, Teale pops forward hand in air, a fruitless facilitation formula which gifts O’Shea the simple task of poking the ball home.
Tevez makes it three, unmarked 5 yards out, simple header. Game over. Or is it?
It’s half time but the Rams far from daunted have had their chances. Commons. Davies shooting for the moon when a simple pull back revealed a pair of white knights waiting to lance the Red Devils boil.
Chances spurned, like in the first leg. Second half and Savage replaces Davies. A Welsh dragon spraying 50 yard passes to perfection yet still opportunities are lost. Hulse heads over, the away fans groan.
Green caught by Evans. A penalty.
Barnes snatches the ball and like a proud parent refuses friendly approaches. Green dismissed, Savage too. Barnes patience personified pushes the ball home. 3-1, one more needed for potential salvation.
Ronaldo responds however after Carroll commits hari-kari by tumbling Tevez in the box. An ugly challenge perfectly suited to the United forward.
The Rams respond again. Barnes scores his second from a free kick off the inside of the post.
Moments left and the Rams cannot force the third to level the scores on aggregate and insure extra time.
Final whistle. Defeated by the odd goal in seven. Pride in the performance. A father stands and applauds, a son sinks to a seat and sobs, his first ever cup semi-final lost. It means the earth just like it did to his dad in 1968. 68 was the start of something good. Clough was in charge.
In 2009 Clough is in charge. In Clough we trust.