A Day Long Awaited

I took my son to the Vic for the first time. I don't want to overstate it. It's a moment I have been anticipating at least since I asked my wife to have my baby, always hoping for a boy. However, "dream come true" is perhaps a bit too much like hyperbole. I felt proud and excited to take my little Watford Boy to the ground I'd been to probably a couple of hundred times with my dad (though not one stand remains from the first matches I went to) and then taken my nephew to sixty or seventy times.

This was my first visit - and I was in the Rookery again - since The 1881 were formed, a group which I heard about from Luke's friend David. They had placed flags around the stand, which were waved ahead of kick-off by those closest (I have to admit I didn't realise at the time that they did not belong to particular people and we didn't wave one. Next time we will.) It looked great but the chanting/singing seemed little better than I remember. The swearing was pretty much the same, though. I'm not complaining - just wondering how long till my 5-year-old picks some of it up.

Despite the exhortations of my Watford Boy (which made me prouder), Bournemouth went ahead and stayed there till after half time when our talisman and captain scored. I threw the little man into the air several times to ensure he remembered the moment. After Bournemouth had gone ahead again, I was fearing a second defeat in two matches for the little man, who'd seen the Crystal Palace semi last year, and was admittedly more rapt then (Wembley Stadium does have something on Vicarage Road, after all).  
 
Luckily, substitute Isaac Success rose high to head in a second equaliser. My little man went up and down again and loved it. It was end to end stuff and there were four goals. A good first home match. Since our opponents hit the woodwork three times, a draw was ultimately


also a good result. Hopefully we can do better in the next match he sees, against Hull.