Why Wembley 1994 is unforgettable

I don't really know what Leicester are to us. They're not rivals - Forest are the rivals - but Leicester... they're tied to something in me that's never really gone away.

And it goes back to one day. Wembley. 1994 First Division play-off final.

I was 15. That's important, I think, because everything hits harder at 15.

Before that, Leicester were nothing to me. Just another game on the fixture list. We played them at the Baseball Ground, but I barely gave them a thought. That all changed in one afternoon.

Derby had this proper side that season - Lionel Pickering spending everywhere, Arthur Cox building something exciting until his back gave out and he had to stop. Roy McFarland stepped up and Derby somehow kept going.

It was a ridiculous season: score loads, concede loads, but in the second half of it, honestly, Derby were irresistible. Paul Kitson, Tommy Johnson, Mark Pembridge, Marco Gabbiadini, Paul Simpson... goals everywhere. It felt like something big was coming.

And with the Premier League still new and shiny and full of promise, I just wanted Derby to be there. I needed Derby to be there.

Then came Wembley. My second time going with Derby. The Anglo-Italian Cup the year before barely counted — half-empty stadium, bit of a novelty. But this was everything. Hot day, buzzing atmosphere, all of it pointing to Derby doing it.

When Tommy Johnson scored, I genuinely thought: "This is it. Derby are going up."

And then... the stuff that still bothers me happened.

Ball comes into the box, Martin Taylor gets smashed - absolutely wiped out - and referee Roger Milford, in the last game of his career, misses it. Misses the clearest foul I've ever seen in a Derby game. Ball drops to Steve Walsh. Tap in. 1–1.

And then the moment that still lives in my head. John Harkes goes through, rounds the keeper, and you're just shouting in your head: "Put it in. Just put it in."

And he doesn't.

And that was the Premier League right there.

Minutes from the end, Walsh again. 2-1 Leicester.

And everything in me just fell apart.

To make it worse, Gary Coatsworth - already on a yellow - makes another foul that would be a second yellow on any other day. Nothing given. Another decision gone.

And when the final whistle went, I just cried. Completely cried. Properly. Fifteen years old, Wembley way, tears everywhere. My sister Harriett just looked at me like she didn't know what to say. My dad Roger did what dads do - "Come on. Let's go."

We left immediately. No hanging about.

And then a Derby fan came up to me on Wembley Way and said: "It's alright, mate. We'll be back next year."

I still feel that moment, even now.

We went into London and I sat by the fountain in Trafalgar Square, still crying. Harriett didn't speak for two days. Just disappeared into her room. My mum Kelly was devastated.

Then we went to Garfunkel's before getting the train home, and as we sat down, Nat King Cole's Smile came on — with that line: "Smile though your heart is breaking" - and my mum burst into tears. It was like the universe was mocking us. And I just remember thinking: "How can football hurt this much?"

And then what happened after all that just adds another layer. Years later, Leicester go into administration. Wipe their debt. No points deduction, because the rules weren't in place. Brand new start. Then they get the Thai owners - brilliant owners, absolutely brilliant people - and they go on the most unbelievable journey: Premier League title, FA Cup, Europe, everything.

And I was happy for the story, genuinely, but there's always been that thought: Would any of that have happened if they'd been punished the way Derby were later punished?

Because when Derby went into administration, we got hammered. Rightly or wrongly, hammered. Points gone. Relegation. Years of struggle. Leicester had their clean slate. We didn't.

And since then, weirdly, we barely touch each other. We haven't played them in the league since 2014. One FA Cup tie in 2017. That's it.

So it's not a rivalry. It never has been.

It's just that day.

That moment.

That feeling.

Wembley 1994 is when everything changed for me.

It was anger and heartbreak and disbelief and a punch in the stomach you don't forget.

But it was also the moment I realised just how much football meant to me - how much Derby meant to me.

I don't know what Leicester are.

But that day?

That day has never left.