England's Number Two

Tottenham Hotspur v Watford

Saturday 17^th March

From Euston to Seven Sisters, Joss and I talked about the match on TV last week and he commented on how good Bouazza’s goal had been. We talked about the subsequent drawing of ManU or Boro, who replay on Monday, and wondered about where we’d have to head to see the match. Jun and Faisel are already signed up but Rod will be in Mexico and therefore unable to make it. I’ll make a couple of other calls when the opponents and venue have been set to see if others want to get in on it.

We walked up the High Road, a few hundred metres from where I used to share a flat with Sue at Clyde Circus, and on amongst the stream of white-clad fans towards the Lane. Having decided against the programme seller with a small queue we were disappointed to discover the regular guy in the away stand was off sick. We were in early enough to see the guys training and hear that Spurs had left Dimitri Berbatov, who has been white hot, Aaron Lennon and Robbie Keane (each red hot) on a sizzling bench. They are replaying Chelsea on Monday after a 3-3 draw at Stamford Bridge. Early chants from our end included “3-1 and you fucked it up” in reference to the lead they lost that day.

More to the point, though, was the fact that they’d scored three against Chelsea in a run of hitting threes and fours in the League and a successful UEFA Cup run. This is a much better Spurs than we played four and a half months ago. They looked threatening from midfield but Jay Demerit and Danny Shittu contained Mido and the Jermaines – Defoe and Jenas – who were indisputably a second string. It was only when I had decided for sure that Jenas wouldn’t score that he did five minutes before half time and, although Ben Foster could do nothing about a header into the bottom corner, our boasts that he was “England’s number one” seemed blunted in the presence of his clean-sheeted rival.

We got our programmes and Joss went for chocolate in hot liquid and cold solid forms, with money from his dad, who’d taken him to Watford Junction. Watford looked as lacking up front as they have most of the season but it was a freak goal just after the hour that will make posterity. Robinson took a free kick outside his area and it looped all the way into our box. Under pressure, Shittu left it for a surprised Foster to deal with and he couldn’t. “That’s why you’re number one,” they chanted as the rest of the team ran back to congratulate England’s keeper. I only heard one fan mention Croatia…

That killed us, though we responded to their fans with a few rounds of “Yellow Army”. They didn’t look particularly like scoring again in the following twenty minutes but then Hossam Ghaly let off a deflected shot into the bottom corner and we had to go through the whole “Yellow Army” thing again as our own were deserting us for North London’s streets all around. By way of consolation for those of us who stayed, Tommy Smith ran to the goal line and crossed for Darius Henderson to get his third of the season and we got our biggest cheer of the game.

We walked out and back down the High Street. A guy in a passing car shouted “Going down with the Hammers” and I replied “Shut it”. When we caught up with the car at the traffic lights a bit further up he seemed rather aggressive in asking “Shut what?” but I smiled at the programme I was studying and ignored him. We got back to watch the second half of England’s defeat to Wales in the Six Nations with Mum (Nanny) & Brian (Grandad) and then went for pizza and bowling in Finsbury Park. Jun came second to me and I took a pound off Joss for his unwise bet as he slipped to third.

Away at Home

Plymouth Argyle v Watford (FA Cup Quarter-Final)

Sunday 11^th March

This is the first Watford game we’ve missed this year. I’ve been in bed, then working, watching an exciting Chelsea v Tottenham draw, messing around on the computer, doing a little housework and watching England beat France in the Six Nations rather than spending that time sitting on one of the 10am coaches laid on free to the fans by the club to compensate for the six o’clock kick-off. It is not technically correct to say we’ve missed it as it is live on BBC1, but Joss is at his home and I am at mine. If it had been a Saturday, I would have given it more consideration.

As it is, I sit down with a smoke, a cold beer and a warm wife to a better view than the Rookery affords me. The Yellow Army seems sufficiently numerous at Home Park but this is a big day for Devon’s Green Army, loud and proud and hoping to avenge their semi-final exit to us in 1984, which has been much in the news in the run-up to the game, when my dad took me to Villa Park to see George Reilly head us into a first ever Wembley appearance. Apparently, years later the striker was viciously attacked by an assailant whose only comment was “Plymouth”.

We start brightly and have more of it than the team from the Championship and within twenty minutes Hameur Bouazza has swept a pass from Damien Francis in off the underside. Bootiful Boozer. Going behind galvanises Argyle, though, and they are the better team for the rest of the half, forcing a number of great saves from the returning Ben Foster. Watford seem to be playing for time from very early and the referee adds more than a minute to the official extra two. Not good BBC1 viewing, but I’d take a semi-final appearance over pretty defeat.

The second half was more of the same. I’m not sure I would have felt the same if I had been there, but sitting at home I was confident we could defend against everything they threw at us. We’d won 1-0 at West Ham and been outplayed by Ipswich in a win of the same scoreline, so it felt inevitable that we’d get to the 94^th minute without conceding despite their twenty or so attempts. Ben Foster, Danny Shittu and Jay Demerit were seaside rocks, “Watford” written all the way through them. Semi-final it is then, Watford’s third in five years. I’d love another 1-0, over Blackburn say, the only team definitely through so far: ManU™ drew at Boro), and an appearance at the new Wembley.

Off the bottom

Watford v Charlton Athletic

Saturday 3^rd March

I’ve given up on our Premiership status and also made a decision not to buy tickets for the FA Cup Quarter-Final being shown live at 6pm on SUNDAY, March 11^th. I told Joss yesterday when I phoned him to say I’d got tickets for the Spurs game. We will have managed fourteen in a row, which isn’t bad for a fair-weather-fan.

Cycle, train, cycle. Joss, predicting a defeat or a draw, let me in before I’d knocked and I played with Kasey and exchanged pleasantries with Trevor. Kerry and Phil were in bed. Pumped up Joss’ tyre and then Ebury Way-ed it. Joss managed, for the first time, to cycle the length of the long slope off Cardiff Road to the stadium, with me alongside. Lock up, queue, turnstile, programmes, seats, shout. There was stuff to get right behind from early in the game: we looked menacing. Gareth Williams started and was effective in moving the ball around and Tamas Priskin seemed sharp again, though fired a good early chance straight at their keeper.

Nevertheless, Hameur Bouazza had scored after quarter of an hour. Then Damien Francis, whose header from Priskin’s cross had been deflected into “Boozer’s” path for the first goal, got onto the end of a Tommy Smith pass for the second and we were laa-la-la-la-ing The Great Escape at 2-0 after twenty minutes. We rolled out all the usual: “Going down with the West Ham”, “That’s why you’re going down” and offered to sing a song for the visiting fans.

Boozer was on fine form and deservedly played the ninety minutes. His run from our half to the goal-line to cross deserved better than being missed by Priskin and Francis. It could have been three at the break but we had hot chocolate and felt okay. Off the bottom. Nineteenth is probably the highest we can finish, so lets celebrate it. Second-half chances for both sides came and went but our substitutions had a negative effect on the team’s performance and goals for the guys in black went in within minutes of each of the departures of Francis and Priskin for Johan Cavalli and Damien Francis respectively.

Again, the draw was greeted with boos by some elements of the Rookery and perhaps beyond. It is really unnecessary. Our performance today was relatively attractive and effective though we should not have sat back as we did. It does not warrant booing. Still, this period has been disappointing: two points from the three home games that included two “six-pointers”. Because West Ham don’t play Tottenham until tomorrow, we are off the bottom on goal difference for at least 24 hours.

We cycled back and practised Spanish and I took pics of Kasey on my phone, each of which appeared more out of focus than the last, before leaving after half and hour or so. Realised, in passing, that I should have played Joss at chess. I’ve already knocked over my king for the season.