Blistered and hoarse

Watford v Manchester United (F.A. Cup Semi Final)

Saturday 14^th April

All talk of whether an F.A. Cup run is a good thing is long forgotten as Watford’s Premiership status slipped away (all but mathematically) games ago. Thus, it was with excitement that I woke up to make sandwiches and hot chocolate for the match at Villa Park. The Golden Boys have been in five F.A. Cup Semis (this was ManU™’s 25^th), and my attendance at this makes me a sixty-percenter. My first, twenty-three years ago, resulted in an expected win while my second, three years ago was a disappointing but not unexpected defeat. After ManU™ had thrashed Roma 7-1 on Tuesday of this week, Monday’s chant of “Bring on United” got put into appropriate context and this third semi was always going to require a surprise the likes of which we haven’t had since Luther Blissett scored two at Old Trafford in 1978 to win us a League Cup game when we were in the old Third Division.

I met Jan at the “Doric Arch”, the pub by the bus stops at Euston station and we had a couple of beers before we got on a train to Harrow & Wealdstone, where we disembarked for the specially designated train. There appeared to be only one other fan waiting and we chatted before he moved up towards the front of the platform. When it pulled in, we asked the guard if we could take First Class seats and gleefully did so, knowing that however many piled on at the next few stations, we would be comfortable. Trouble was, there was no piling on. Even at Watford Junction itself, the number of fans was in the tens and we had a quiet carriage (not just the First Class section) to ourselves. Watford’s ticket allowance did not sell out and the lack of atmosphere on the train was an obvious consequence: can we have cup fatigue? Are there fans out there seriously waiting for a final to “make a day of it”?

Jun had joined Jan and I at the pub and Joss got on at Watford (I’d posted his train ticket to him) so we had a little isolated sing-song. Jan, whose allegiance tends towards the Gooners, seemed surprised when I answered that I led chants at the Vic, but after I’d offered him a Watford shirt and he refused in order to stick with his Royal Blue “Suomi” T, Joss and I treated him to a round or two of “We support our local team”, which he took with good grace. I also tried out the chant I’d made up a good few weeks ago but haven’t used yet and said I’d put it to use at Villa Park. There was a short stop at Northampton which we took advantage of to stretch our legs and I greeted other fans on the platform with “we’re the first class, we’re the first class, we’re the first class over here”. One carriage down responded with “we’re the poor class” but other than that, spirit was lacking in the fans on the rails.

Jan slept. We detrained at Aston and sang the ten-minute walk to the ground in the company of the Yellow Army from cars and coaches. Inside, we had another beer (vodka and Stella had been imbibed en route) and took our seats ten rows from the front just as the Golden Boys (in yellow shorts as well as shirts again) finished their warm-up. The atmosphere was great - we were outnumbered and there were empty seats in “our” Doug Ellis stand, but the ground was echoing to songs from both sides - these were not the same ManU™ fans that were at Old Trafford in January. When the team emerged again from the tunnel we launched the Thomson Local confetti I had cut up this morning and half an hour’s scissor work was gone in seconds. Come on you ‘orns.

ManU™ had their big guns out (though Jun thought Ryan Giggs in particular looked bigger on TV) and within six minutes potato head Wayne Rooney had chipped in a goal to get us off to the sort of start I was fearing. Twenty more minutes blurred past and then Hameur Bouazza, who scored two on Monday and is our top-scorer, pulled off a fantastic overhead kick from a Tommy Smith header to put us level. We partied like it was 1999, a song I’d listened to in my pre-match build-up, but before we’d settled down Cristiano Ronaldo had latched onto a Rooney cross and we were behind again. From the position we were in it wasn’t easy to see exactly how effective Watford’s attacks were but we had our fair share and perhaps were unlucky to go into the break a goal down.

The second half saw the same Watford commitment to attack and try to win the game, which made for exciting viewing but plays into United’s counter-attacking style, not that it was immediately effective. We remained in contention but a second Rooney goal finished us off (we haven’t scored more than one away from the Vic all season). Kieran Richardson came on as a United sub and added to their total too and the only remaining heartfelt cheer was for our substitute Marlon King, who has missed the majority of the season with injury and who we’ve missed terribly. Apparently, there has been some interest in him from other Premiership clubs and I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Bouazza was a summer transfer target too.

It was a great day out: the best atmosphere of any game I’ve been to this season, and no Watford fan could have felt hard done by or expected more. We left singing and were chatted at by an obnoxious Watford fan and then talked to a Dubliner who’d flown over to support United. I felt justified in my oft-sung “We support our local team” number. We queued for fifteen minutes or more to sit in a full First Class section for the train back and played “I spy” again to while away what seemed like a much longer return journey. As we pulled in at the Junction about two and a half hours later, a couple of lads sang “First Class give us a song” and I belted out the song I’d told Jan I would try to get people to sing today (but hadn’t). These guys at least seemed to appreciate my effort:

Land of harts and hornets

Since eighteen eighty one

Golden boys forever

Watford’s marching on!

At home my right thumb still hurt from the blister that cutting up the confetti created and I was hardly able to speak but we caught the end of the highlights on MoTD and felt that we’d had a good day out. Que sera.