Squashed

Watford v Fulham

Monday 2^nd October

After work I had a squash match with Paul (Sheffield United/Leeds) and had told him we’d win 2-0 tonight before he won a mammoth game (19-17) and the match, to take him ahead of me overall for the first time. Cycled home and then, after a shower and a bite to eat, to Euston for the train. However, though I’d been allowed to on the Tuesday of the West Ham game, this time I was stopped from taking my bike on the packed commuter train and I had to take it back out and lock it up. Missed my planned train and had to request Phil come to pick me up. The roads were extra busy in Watford too so we didn’t get back to Kerry’s until about 7.15. I gave Joss “Asterix in Britain” and a couple of posters (one of the planets, one of life on earth) that I’d got from last week’s Guardian as a slightly belated birthday present (his main one, as I reiterated, is his season ticket). He told me about his other prezzies and the grand total of £120 he’d received. Ten pounds for every year in Watford.

Phil then gave us a lift to the hospital (that’s the point on Vicarage Road where you have to turn left down Harwoods Road – where I was brought up – on match days) and getting out of the car I had a message from the Aussie couple saying they were at Pinner and could I leave the tickets somewhere and they’d pay me afterwards. So, I asked the guy at the “Burger Grill” to hold onto them until they turned up and felt I had to buy Joss something as a sort of thank-you for the favour. A double Cheeseburger cost me £4.50, and walking round the ground it struck me that Joss had not thanked me for the birthday presents or the burger. Maybe it was the combination of being knackered from squash, getting to Watford late and the hassle with the tickets but I was pissed off. After I bought two programmes and while Joss was still eating the enormous mound of processed-flesh-in-a-bun, I pointed it out. He thanked me then. When he finished the meal and I handed him a programme, he took it without a word. Obviously, I mentioned it again.

Chatting about the game, Joss also came up with 2-0 as a score. Heidar Helguson, Watford’s top scorer for a couple of years who was sold to Fulham for £1.3 million before last season, was given a genuinely warm welcome and kick-off was minutes after we got in. The Rookery was in exceptionally good voice, though Curly was missing, and there was a guy to my left for the first time this season but still other empty seats in our row and around. The first part of the first half was pretty scrappy, with the ball up in the air far too much and Fulham generally winning it with their heads in defence. Zac Knight, their 7-foot defender, was all over Marlon King even though he should’ve been able to win the ball in the air without holding King down. Mike Riley was giving us nothing and the first time we got a free kick, after about 20 mins, we celebrated like we’d scored. Not that long afterwards, we did. Marlon beat the offside trap and though he was slipping and looked like he’d fall, he managed to knock it to Niemi’s left and in. His 100^th career goal. Yeehaah.

That’s how it stayed till half time and we stayed in our seats and saw two co-Rookery enders win 4-year season tickets in some draw. Lucky sods. Fulham kicked off the second half and within 12 seconds (with no exaggeration – unlike the Zac Knight height figure) a cross went across their box, the bloke next to me said “2-0” and Young proved him right. I gave him a good thump on the back before jumping up and down with Joss as per usual (when we score). Heidar had a chance within 10 minutes but Ben Foster got down low and fast and held it. Two chants ensued: “England’s Number One” (the Man Utd goalie in his second season on loan with us has been called up for the England squad) and “You should’ve stayed with Watford” to H. By this time Joss and I were rather self-congratulatorily proclaiming we’d been right. I was even considering trying to get a “3 points to the Golden Boys” chant going.

There was a bit of hassle up the other end and we used the pause to serenade Foster again. He turned and acknowledged us to a cheer. A couple of minutes later, though, he dropped a cross under pressure and the ball was in the back of the net. My neighbour and I agreed that we were lucky to get a free-kick for a push on him. Nevertheless, after a Fulham substitution, they pulled one back with 20 minutes to go and you could feel the collective nerves jangle. Another Fulham change, five more minutes of pressure, a Foster slip and the ball is in the back of our net again. H has done it on his return (the law of the ex-player: that they’ll always score against you but yours will never score against their old club).

The free newspaper I picked up going into Euston (the first time tonight) had an article on WFC that referred to the ‘secret’ team-building exercise that the Horns went on last week. In the meantime, the boss has been talking about how we are due to put a few past someone soon. Sheffield United beat Middlesbrough on Saturday to leave us as the only Premiership team without a win and now we’ve lost a 2-0 lead. A few heads seem to go down and players are shouting at each other. Some of the fans at our end try to rally the team but… A few minutes later, another scrappy goalmouth scramble and H puts pressure on Francis after Foster fails to collect a ball and he pokes it into his own net in front of us. All around me, fans start to leave. We kick off for the third time in the half. Alone, I am shouting “Yellow Army”. Alone. Five ,six shouts. Alone. The players seem to gee up a bit, though (unrelated to my shouting) and I see the ball drop to Young. It’s a straight line from me to him and on to an empty section of the Fulham goal. As he connects, I am up and cheering first. It’s in. We’ve pulled it back. Well, we’ve thrown it away and then pulled it back. 3-3 final score. A game that some of us saw as an early 6-pointer ends as a 2-pointer. Three points would’ve taken us from 19^th to 15^th and been a big relief before the international break. One point doesn’t change our position second bottom to Charlton, who we visit after the game at Arsenal on 14^th.

We trudge out. Mine is one of the many heads in yellow shirts shaking in disbelieving unison. When Joss and I meet Steve and Tamara, who haven’t got the money for the tickets, she says it was an exciting game. “For the neutral,” I add. Hoarse and tired, I try to make a semblance of small talk as we wander down Harwoods Road on the look-out for a cash machine. The first newsagent has one but it’s out of order. Fitting. Joss and I walk ten minutes out of our way but we have to accept that it’s not going to happen. I direct them to the Junction (they’d come on the Metropolitan Line – a journey about an hour longer – which is why they were so late) and they promise to catch up with me in London over the coming days. Joss and I turn around and head back to Kerry’s. We talk about his birthday Playstation2 game and I ask him about his Spanish and try to teach him a few phrases. When we get in Kerry makes me another cuppa but I am too tired to be interesting. Phil gives me my third lift of the evening and I get home about 5 hours after I left.

My body is knackered but my mind doesn’t let me sleep properly. I am a Frustrated, Exasperated, Disappointed – Upset, Pissed-off fair-weather-fan.