847 Our City Ground Stadium (1/2)
The number of fans who traveled to the City Ground Stadium increased as the time for the last match of the Premier League drew near.
Twain would sometimes drive by the City Ground Stadium when he made his way home from Wilford, and he would see the entrance to the stadium surrounded by hordes of flowers and Nottingham Forest scarves that swayed gently in the wind.
He knew that all those items had been left behind by people who wanted to bid farewell to the City Ground Stadium.
The red City Ground Stadium was reflected on the clear surface of the Trent River. On the opposite end of the river was the Meadow Lane Stadium, which served as the home ground for Notts County.
Twain and Dunn were working in two separate places that were situated very close to each other, but the two have never met each other after they bade farewell a year ago.
There were two days left till the last match of the Premier League. Twain drove over to the City Ground Stadium after finishing his work for the day. The sun was close to setting by the time he reached.
There was a greater number of Forest fans who had made their way to the City Ground Stadium to say their farewells today. The fans knew that they did not have much time left on their hands. The City Ground Stadium would be demolished during the summer after Forest played their final match in two days' time, and a new sports and recreation center would be built in its stead.
Twain parked his car by the river and turned on the stereo. He listened to Dolores O'Riordan's gentle voice as he admired the scenery of the City Ground Stadium against the backdrop of the setting sun.
A feeling of warmth surged up from within him as he gazed at the stadium. He would have felt nothing but coldness inside of him right now if he had not gone through the life that he did.
He had fought for 11 years in this very stadium. He had always complained about how small the stadium was, and how it was not able to house more spectators and thereby lead to greater pressure on their opponents.
Evan Doughty eventually came to agree with his sentiments as well. The size of the stadium did not reflect the results, standing and reputation of Nottingham Forest.
Twain did not change his opinion about needing a bigger stadium, but he still felt a little reluctant now that he had to bid farewell to it.
He did not buy flowers, attach a card to it and leave it at the entrance of the stadium like the rest of the fans did. All he did was recline against the bonnet of his car and gaze at the stadium with his arms folded before his chest.
Eleven years might have passed since he transmigrated, but Twain still vividly remembers all the emotions that he felt in the stadium when he was first placed in charge as a manager.
He felt a sense of belonging to the City Ground Stadium when his team sent West Ham into a frenzy by scoring two goals consecutively. He liked the fervent atmosphere in the stadium, and he enjoyed the cheers and singing voices that came from the stands. He did not regard those sounds as cacophonous. To him, they were sounds that were even more pleasant to listen to than the best music in the world.
He was 34 years old back then, but he was 45 now. Those 11 years had become a part of his life that he was unable to erase.
To the City Ground Stadium however, 11 years was nothing more than a tenth of its ”life.” It had quietly stood by the Trent River for a long period of time, and it had seen the rise and fall of Forest.
All the heroes who left a name for themselves in history did so on its grounds, and it was much older than all the trophies in the trophy room.
It did not matter how arrogant and conceited Twain was as a person. Even he had to bow before the stadium.
One hundred and fifteen years passed in the blink of an eye. Everything that happened during all those years had now become nothing more than a part of history. The City Ground Stadium might be bathed in golden light right now, but its red exterior was still conspicuous even if viewed from a distance.
Countless people left bouquets of flowers before it as a way of remembering and saying farewell to the stadium.
Twain was lost in his thoughts as he leaned against the bonnet of his car.
Someone recognized him from afar and approached him.
”Tony?” The person who approached him squinted his eyes to look at him. He could not see properly due to the glare of the sun.
”Kenny. It's been a while.” The person standing before Twain was the boss of the Forest Bar, Kenny Burns.
”It has definitely been a while since you moved houses. What could possibly have led you to leave your bar behind and make your way over here? How could business be more important than saying goodbye to a dear friend?” Burns pointed at the City Ground Stadium behind him.
It was only then that Twain noticed that Burns was holding onto a bouquet of flowers like the rest.
”Do you have the ticket to the last match of the Premier League?” Twain was going to give Burns one if he did not have the tickets.
”I'm a season ticket holder, Tony.”
Twain chuckled. ”I've never seen you at a match before.”
”I will definitely go and watch the last match. Also, it won't just be me. Some of my friends will be coming down too.”
”Brosnan told me that he's trying to plan some farewell event for the City Ground Stadium, and that he was trying to gather some of the ex-Forest players for it. Looks like he has already reached out to you?”
Burns nodded his head. ”I would've attended it without his invitation anyway. It's a shame that the boss can't make it.”
The ”boss” that he was referring to was not Tony Twain but Brian Clough instead. Clough was Burns' manager back then.
”Mrs. Clough has also agreed to attend the event,” Twain said.
It was great that Mrs. Clough could turn up at the event, but both of them were well aware that Mrs. Clough would never be able to replace the boss. Neither of them meant to disrespect Mrs. Clough with those sentiments, but that was just how they felt.
The conversation died at the mention of the deceased Clough, and a silence settled between the two.
Against the setting sun, Dolores gently sang, ”I had a dream, strange it may seem… Open my eyes, I realize, this is my perfect day… Hope you'll never grow old. Hope you'll never grow old. Hope you'll never grow old. Hope you'll never grow old…”
”Tony…”
”Hmm?”
”There's something that I've been meaning to say. I hope you don't mind.”
”Go on.”
”I have to thank you for not saying that you would get people to forget about Brian Clough even though you've achieved great results at this club.”
Twain snorted. ”Ha! I'm not a fool. I really respect the boss as well.”
”It doesn't matter how well the club is performing right now. To us, the boss and what he has achieved are irreplaceable. I suppose you can say it's just us being obstinate.”
Twain smiled and said, ”If you dare to say that there is someone who is better than him as a manager, then a stroke of lightning will flash across the sky and hit you on the head. I don't want to be hit by lightning, and I'm sure you don't either.”
Twain's words caused Burns to laugh, and the slightly despondent atmosphere between them dissipated as a result.
Twain was actually alluding to something with his words. Several years ago, when a team led by Nigel Clough, or Brian Clough's son, faced off with Manchester United in the FA Cup, a reporter asked if he agreed with the statement that Ferguson was the most outstanding manager in the British footballing scene, to which Nigel Clough responded, ”It's hard for me to say because of my family connections. If I said Sir Alex, a bright light might come crashing down from above and hit me on the head! I wouldn't say I was the best manager in the business. But I was one of the top ones.”
Those were the words that were said by Clough, and they have also been inscribed onto the base of Brian Clough's statue that was situated at Old Market Square.
”You two are a little alike…” Burns shook his head as he looked at Twain. ”I think he'd be proud of what you have achieved.”
”No.” Twain disagreed with Burns' remark. ”He'd have scolded the living daylights out of me on the papers. Just because I said that the referee was unfair.”
Burns smiled happily at Twain's words. After a while, he averted his gaze back to the stadium, and his mind wandered off again.
He began reminiscing of his younger days where he fought with Manager Clough and his teammates. The stadium was still the same as the one that he played in back then, and even the cheers sounded the same, but the people from back then were long gone.
Now, the stadium was about to be demolished, and the only things he had to remind himself of those times were the memories within his mind. But, there would come a day where he would turn old, and his memories would get foggy.
When that day comes, what can I use as proof that my memories are real?
Twain's mobile phone that he left in the car rang. He reached into the car to grab it. It was a phone call from his wife Shania asking him when he would be coming home.
”Ah. I'm currently at the stadium, and I ran into Mr. Burns…” Twain explained to his wife over the phone.