Nottingham Forest: The Club That Time Forgot (But They Keep Sending Postcards Anyway)

As Swansea City prepare to face Nottingham Forest, it’s only polite to acknowledge the rich heritage of our opponents. After all, it’s not every day you play a club whose greatest achievement is still being talked about in black-and-white. Forest fans are a rare breed—equal parts historian, romantic, and delusional optimist. They don’t support a football team so much as they worship a museum exhibit.

Let’s start with the basics. Nottingham Forest won the European Cup. Twice. In the late 70s. This fact is repeated with such frequency that one suspects it’s part of the GCSE curriculum in Nottinghamshire. Forest fans will tell you this unsolicited, often before you’ve even asked what time kick-off is. It’s their version of a handshake.

The City Ground itself is a charming throwback to the days when footballers smoked at half-time and defenders were legally allowed to carry hatchets. The atmosphere is electric—if you enjoy the sound of middle-aged men shouting “Cloughie would never!” every time a pass goes sideways. The away end offers panoramic views of scaffolding, regret, and the River Trent, which is arguably the most fluid thing associated with Forest’s midfield.

Now at the helm is Ange Postecoglou, fresh from his stint at Spurs where he briefly convinced everyone that defending was optional. His tactical approach? A thrilling blend of high lines, inverted full-backs, and midfield rotations that look great on a whiteboard and catastrophic in real life. It’s football as philosophy—beautiful when it works, but Forest fans may soon discover that “Angeball” requires more than just blind optimism and a squad built like a clearance rack.

Postecoglou’s arrival has sparked a tactical identity crisis. One week they’re pressing like rabid terriers, the next they’re retreating like Victorian poets. The players look confused, the fans look nostalgic, and the ball looks increasingly like it wants to be anywhere else. Watching Forest try to play out from the back is like watching a toddler attempt quantum physics—ambitious, adorable, and utterly doomed.

Let’s talk about the fans. Oh, the fans. A passionate bunch, certainly. But also the only group in football who can simultaneously claim to be underdogs and European royalty. It’s a delicate balancing act, like insisting your Fiat Punto is a Ferrari because it once drove past Maranello. They’ll tell you they’re a “sleeping giant,” which is true—if by “giant” you mean a slightly above-average Championship side with a superiority complex and a commemorative DVD collection.

Their social media presence is a masterclass in revisionist history. Every goal is a “statement,” every draw is “part of the process,” and every loss is “a learning opportunity.” The Forest Twitterati are quick to remind you that Brian Clough once walked these halls, as if that somehow excuses the fact they’ve just been outplayed by Luton Town.

And then there’s the squad. A dazzling array of players, most of whom were signed during a single caffeine-fueled weekend in 2022. There’s a Brazilian left-back who’s allergic to defending, a Belgian midfielder who thinks pressing is something you do to trousers, and a goalkeeper who’s still trying to figure out which of the 17 centre-backs in front of him is actually supposed to be marking someone. It’s less a team sheet, more a roll call of football’s witness protection programme.

Swansea, by contrast, arrive with a sense of purpose, a coherent tactical identity, and the refreshing ability to string three passes together without bursting into flames. While Forest fans chant about past glories, Swans supporters are more interested in the present—and in watching their side play actual football, rather than a chaotic game of pinball disguised as a tactical plan.

Of course, Forest will be favourites. They usually are, in their own minds. But Swansea have a habit of upsetting the narrative, especially when the opposition is busy writing their own Wikipedia page mid-match. Expect Forest to dominate possession (of the ball boys), create chances (for the opposition), and ultimately leave the pitch wondering how a club with fewer resources and less ego managed to play them off the park.

So here’s to Nottingham Forest: the only club where history is more important than reality, where every match is a tribute act to a team that hasn’t existed in decades, and where the fans genuinely believe they’re one win away from a Champions League spot.

May the Swans glide in, ruffle feathers, and remind Forest that football is played in the present—not in sepia tones.

We’re delighted to welcome Jack The Hack to the JackArmy.net editorial fold. With a pen dipped in sarcasm and a knack for exposing football’s most bloated egos, Jack brings a fresh satirical edge to our coverage. Whether skewering opposition fanbases or lovingly mocking our own, expect every column to be equal parts wit, bite and tactical mischief.

Is Jack a he, a she or just a sentient embodiment of Swansea cynicism? We’re not entirely sure and frankly, we’re afraid to ask. What we do know is that this debut piece sets the tone for what’s to come: fearless, funny and unapologetically Jack. Keep an eye out for future dispatches from our newest contributor because when the Swans take flight, Jack The Hack will be there to narrate the chaos.

Remember the views of Jack The Hack are very much tongue in cheek and not intended to offend.