“Rivalry adds so much to the charms of one's conquests.”- Louisa May Alcott

Having the East Anglian derby back after a hiatus of nearly five years is undoubtedly a tremendous addition to the footballing calendar, whilst also reigniting a strangely transformative experience for both sets of typically phlegmatic fanbases.

With much more in common than perhaps we care to admit, the rivalry transcends families, friends and colleagues for a few hours of rumbustious and draining theatre.

Saturday lunchtime brought hostility that no other fixture brings forth in this part of the world. I was led to recall the image of our late Labrador; an otherwise placid, daft, and bouncy soul, who would turn into a nowty bad-tempered bastard at the mere sight of Mr Tumble on the telly growling and carrying on to such an extent that to hear Justin Fletcher's voice 10 years on still raises the cortisol levels in our house.

So too, the emergence of 11 men in yellow and green converts otherwise quietly spoken, genial pensioners in the Cobbold family enclosure into mad-eyed, ranting loons spitting forth the sort of invective that would make a docker blush.

The derby just hits different, nerves and anxieties that just are not felt at any other time in the season and an emotional energy that drains from your body like syrup.

A goal against is like watching your pet get wrongfully euthanised by an ex-lover, whereas a goal for is like being given a vodka enema, £1 million and a date with Eva Longoria. The human body is not capable of withstanding such diametrically opposed emotions across any period of time- it just won’t cope.

The game itself did not disappoint as derby games so often do, the finer details can be debated in pubs up and down the county, but the long and the short of it seems to be Town's that penchant for conceding ‘dafties’ in their own net at home, combined with an unusual profligacy in front of goal denied them what would have been a deserved victory.

Norwich were extremely well organised, diligent and tidy without being particularly incisive and in fairness did not look like a lower-half team.

An occasional dalliance with moving the ball forward and beyond the halfway line into relatively promising positions was soon stunted by the collective acceptance that at no point should anyone in yellow congregate away from Angus Gunn in case he forgets where he is, gets bored and wanders off somewhere to do some colouring.

Ashley Barnes played the role of the villain effectively by booting Vaclav Hladky in the first minute before spending the rest of the afternoon looking for someone to fight but not really being able to keep up.

Sam McCallum shone at left-back in a pulsating and engaging battle with the ever-willing Wes Burns throughout the afternoon. The George Hirst/Shane Duffy match-up is one to keep an eye on in the return fixture and was a throwback to when forwards and defenders gave as good as they had got, rather than histrionics, appealing for free-kicks and general impersonations of a mime artists being tasered.

Norwich seemed increasingly intent on denying any space during the second half, a reaction to being opened as quickly as a Glasgow pub during Hogmanay in the first half, first by Wes Burns and Conor Chaplin, then Nathan Broadhead (twice).

After going 2-1 up, perhaps a little fortuitously, they shuffled back into position, doubling up and rotating the ball neatly through Gabriel Sara as Ipswich probed for openings they couldn’t find. One wonders that with a bit more ambition, they might have posed Ipswich some further questions and even won the game on the break.

With all ten behind the ball protecting the aforementioned Gunn, Norwich were keen to limit space for Town's penetrative front three to operate and the game looked to be heading to a surprise away win.

Burns's equaliser was sensational and raised the roof and felt largely out of the blue at the time but underpins a character about this team that increasingly don’t know when it is beaten.

Norwich seemed to settle for a point after the equaliser and doubled down defensively, stifling the space to such an extent that small space-time vacuum started to appear between the halfway line and goal whilst Duffy and Mclean were so deep by the end of the game, they might have been on Constantine Road ordering a burger and fries.

So content were Norwich that the wheezing Barnes dropped into midfield presumably soon to be deployed bending over in front of his own net to block any the goal and any sunlight to secure the point for his team.

For Town, Burns’s goal did not spark the lift-off we had hoped despite Broadhead's curling effort being brilliantly clawed out by Gunn where Omari Hutchinson couldn’t quite sort his feet out.

In fairness, Norwich’s defensive solidarity and discipline earned a deserved point against a team 10 points clear of third, and that was pretty much all she wrote.

Whilst a draw wasn’t the worst result for Town given the week's results, it did feel like another opportunity missed and a point gained for the visitors that they would perhaps be happier with, and the 14 year wait for victory goes on for Town.

At the end through, the sight of the away end bouncing like pre-menstrual teenagers at a Justin Bieber concert was both amusing as it was enlightening.

Going back five years to February 2019 at Carrow Road brings back painful memories of a deeply traumatic afternoon where the death by a thousand cuts decline became arterial for Ipswich and the club was soon to meekly surrender its place in the second tier with yet another humiliating afternoon.

Quite a statement for a team that dealt exclusively in humiliation and self-immolation that year, including particular highlights of drawing with Preston despite them being without a goalie for half an hour, losing at home 2-3 to Bristol City and Millwall in comical staring-down-the-barrel-shooting-yourself-in-the-face circumstances, and celebrating a 1-0 backs-to-the-wall victory against Rotherham as though the advancing Roman Empire had been thwarted.

It was a pitiful, wretched mess. Lambert, like a beered up geezer on a stag do trying to look hard in front of his new mates, decided to start a fight with the Norwich bench presumably to detract from the brainless, guileless slop being offered up by the worst Ipswich Town team to have worn the colours.

It would, at least, have represented some kind of slim justice had the policeman charged with calming down his maniacal display decided to cuff him and get him packed off to the station to have his collar felt, something that would have unified both sets of fans.

The afternoon's heavy defeat underpinned the cavernous gap between the clubs both culturally and on the pitch, and for the first time in a lifetime felt as though the derby would be consigned to pasture for a long time.

Norwich City were off to Premier League football under our Daniel Farke and his Machiavellian sidekick Stuart Webber with progressive and modern set-up, bountiful academy and sustainable aspirations for a club going places. Ipswich were headed down to League one with an owner asleep at the wheel and the prospect of Josh Harrop coming in on loan.

But here we both are, five years later, who would have thought it? Norwich celebrating a point gained against a newly-promoted team as though Jeremy Goss had just slapped one in the top bin in Munich all over again.

Ultimately, and all joking aside, both sets of fans are perhaps glad that this unique game is back again in the national consciousness despite the baggage it comes with. The ‘Old Farm’/ ‘El Tractico’ derby has been a rather one-sided affair for over a decade, and the gap between the two clubs might have grown to be continental rift were it not for those glorious boys and girls from the Arizona state pension fund.

Whilst money alone does not guarantee success, (those of a certain age will remember the unedifying sight of Town fans waving £20 notes at their Norfolk cousins following the Marcus Evans takeover of the club in 2007), it goes a long way to levelling the playing field.

Under Evans, derby games were like gangland fights armed with a water pistol. After years of being out-thought off the pitch and out-gunned on it, it is nice to have a team, manager and fans in union and players we are all in love with again. Bring on the return in April.

ElephantintheRoom added 07:13 - Dec 21 Harking from north Suffolk I have never understood the ‘scum mentality’ that seems to have taken root in recent years. It presumably comes from a festering jealousy that Norwich have often been on an upward cycle this century whilst Town’s recent trajectoryhas been largely downwards in the last 40 years - so Town supporters have only distant memories or nothing to sustain the through the lean years. Having long since moved away I have no idea if there are people that regularly watch both teams which geography and the fixture list made much easier than going to away games and some good natured rivalry between friends who supported each team. Somehow I doubt it. The decline in spectator behaviour was rather embarrassingly illustrated by obsessive idiots shouting ‘scum, scum, scum’ at some geriatrics in a car - and the absurd reaction of posters on here seeking to justify such pitiful and embarrassing behaviour. The odd kick off times have made a difference too Enjoyable read though I’m not sure money levels the playing field = the relationship between league position and wage bill has remained constant into the money doping era. And I’d probably want Jennifer Lawrence and Margot Robbie for my dream date as Grace Kelly is no longer available.

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