Sad

Watford v Newcastle (Carling Cup 3^rd Round)

Tuesday 7^th November

Just reached the 5.04 after being robotically denied bebicycled entry by an inspector with a personality problem and at Harrow & Wealdstone, Kerry rang with the news that Joss’ asthma was playing up and that he wouldn’t be able to come tonight. I bought birthday cards for Trevor (9^th) and Kerry (17^th) and then walked down the High Street past the One Bell, the site of Watford’s oldest pub, round the church and the almshouses and back round to the Harlequin Centre, Watford’s early-90s response to the Brent Cross shopping centre. It’s not as ugly as Manchester’s Arndale Centre before the IRA did the city centre a favour, but it ain’t Birmingham’s Selfridges either. From the train in poor light and with a can of imagination, its sheer size could almost evoke an ancient city wall. No treasure inside, though.

I was wandering half aimlessly but decided to approach the stadium from the southwest for a change, down past Watford Fields, where I delivered free papers once or twice, and back up Wiggenhall Lane for a bit of nostalgia before buying a ticket in the Upper Rous Stand for another change and deciding to top it off with a £3.10 pint of Guinness in the club-owned pub, the Red Lion, which I don’t think I’ve been in since I was 16, with Kerry and Luke’s father, Bob. I didn’t stick out as much today as I did then, not going too near the bar and wearing a white crinkly top that told everyone I’d just begun to buy my own clothes. The price of a pint seemed to be the only thing that had changed: the screen was showing a Jennifer Rush video and a bit later Sonia then Kajagoogoo. Jun has said I have to leave the glory-days behind but on this evidence I am not alone.

I am in the back row (Z) of the Upper Rous at about the halfway line amongst a little community of older male fans and I remember what the lockkeeper said about those who’d go to a game alone. The first half the Toon Army hardly stops and the Rookery is quieter than usual but the Upper Rous is virtually silent. It’s more chatting than chanting. I miss both, in the form of Joss and the Rookery. On the field, Newcastle were all over us and could have had a couple more than the one they got. Following a particularly poor minute or two in defence, half-time was greeted with boos from the end I’m normally in. Both fans and players performed better in the second half and I started shouting and found I was not alone, especially after Francis got a goal. We looked like we might get another but had to wait for the second half of extra time to do so, when I was sure Shittu’s rocket of a headed goal would be the one that won it. It wasn’t. Ten minutes later, Newcastle’s Parker ran through to flick it coolly over Richard Lee and the game went to penalties. I bid my neighbours farewell and went down and left to be nearer to where the penalties were taken from.

I didn’t talk to anyone in the pub, just stood around pre-sad and alone but words passed between me and the guys around me in the Upper Rous. The guy on my right asked, after half-time, what I’d do and later if I was going to Chelsea. The man on my left said “nothing personal, but I’m glad you don’t sit here every game, the girl who sits here is very quiet” and I replied “I’ve got a season ticket in the rookery, this stand needs to be louder”. Unable properly to engage, this fair-weather-fan had taken refuge in shouting and then had the cheek to judge these guys who’ve probably been going since before I was born. Maybe I thought my loud voice gave me justification but it is really about my big mouth. Anyway: fans talked to: 2, (better, sort of).

The penalties were in front of the Vicarage Road end and the Geordie Fans who’d sung their hearts out for the best part of 45 minutes and in doing so “won” the whole night, despite only managing a brief minute-reprise every ten or so after half-time. I went down to the aisle and watched from just about level with the penalty spot. Newcastle scored, we scored, they scored, we missed, they missed, we scored, they scored, we scored, they scored, we scored, they scored, we missed. 5-4 to them. How did that proverbial parrot feel?