“Where was Brian Clough most at home, Derby or Forest? And where did he really belong?”
The fan pauses to consider the two-part question and takes a long drag on his cigarette. He burns it almost to the filter, and flecks of ash swirl around him and stick to the upturned collar of his windcheater. Eventually he replies, slowly, letting the butt drop from his nicotine-stained fingers onto the wet concrete, where the embers softly hiss and glow for one last time before going out. “That’s obvious, isn’t it? It’s got to be Derby, hasn’t it? He lived here, didn’t he?”
