Monday we climbed the “incense burner” (557 metres above sea level) and at the top, first a solitary guy and later an excited group of students asked if they could have their photos taken with me. One of the males of the group commented that I looked like David Beckham (I don’t remember the glasses and earrings phase either).
Tuesday we headed in the same approximate direction to Yuanmingyuan to see the ruins of the Imperial Palace an Anglo-French force destroyed in 1860. Again I was invited to be in a couple of photos. Later, we met up with a friend from London, Maria, who planned this coincidental trip last year and we met her brother and a couple of her cousins, one of whom is David Lee, a Hong Kong movie and TV star. At the restaurant where we ate they got out the camera and took his picture and requested an autograph, then inexplicably asked me to sign too (later I wished I’d signed Tony Blair). At the bar of the five star hotel we went to later, people stopped talking and pointed (not for me anymore) and one awestruck girl came over just to say hello. Jun was pretty starstruck too. A text from Joss indicated that Richard Lee is making a bit of a name for himself as a penalty saver, performing the feat again tonight as Watford squandered a 2-0 half-time lead to draw 2-2 at home to Cardiff. JJ and Hoskins scored but Priskin got himself sent off (again) and we were apparently under the cosh from then till the end.
Taking an old computer up to Sarah’s house meant catching a train to Bushey and going back to Carpenders Park, the first part of which journey I did with my brother and Kasey (who’d been particularly talkative when they arrived the previous day), allowing the HP tower to fall onto the platform as I disembarked. Fortunately, it proved to be in good working order and I left that and our old map of the world from the bathroom before saying goodbye for a year. I cycled to Kerry’s and gave Joss a football and my rollerblades, which he was soon trying. One unused item after another, we are emptying the flat: the local charity shop has benefited too.
Joss and I had to squeeze under the locked gate for the hospital car-park that is a regular route to matches. Had someone simply failed to do their job adequately or was it spite? This was a question that recurred within the context of the match and the most astonishing footballing decision I’ve ever been witness to. As Joss commented after the match, it had everything a football game might: injuries, a penalty, a disallowed goal, a sending to the stands and then some.
Goalkeeper Mart Poom was substituted just minutes after the start when he came out to head the ball outside his area and went over the top of an opponent, dislocating his shoulder. His replacement, Scott Loach, was kept busy (Reading had started on the front foot and looked like they could be in for a hatful), stopping a couple of point-blank attempts. Although the Royals looked likely to score, the events of the 13th minute are going to be on a future “What happened next?” section of A Question of Sport: the BBC describe it as “farcical” and “one of the strangest goals ever”, though they should have used inverted commas towards the end of that phrase.
From a Reading corner, John Eustace and Noel Hunt went up for a ball, which the Watford no. 8 seemed to win and send over the goal line a few yards the linesman’s side of the post. Another Reading player tried to keep it in, hooking it back for a third to head against the crossbar (after Loach’s fingertips), it rebounded back into play, there was a third shot parried and then whistle went. There were no appeals, everybody assumed it was a corner or goalkick but the referee’s assistant - Nigel Bannister – had told the ref it was a goal and despite the outrage on and off the pitch, it stood.
The anger and disgust engendered by the injustice at least brought the crowd to life. Along with the predictable hostility (“Cheat”, “Wanker”, “You don’t know what you’re doing” and “You’re going home in a Watford ambulance”), came the self-other merging that is required for great support and we went through the litany of tunes. Whenever the ref was at our end again and the abuse had died down, I led the shouts of the question we wanted an answer to. “Who scored, ref?” “What was his name?”
Discussing it with two guys behind me I correctly (according to other, later, sources) assumed that the mistake had been the assistant seeing the ball cross the goal line and believing it was between the posts. Nevertheless, it hardly makes any sense: a Reading player wouldn’t have been trying to prevent it crossing the line if it were between the sticks. It was suggested at the time and has been since that Reading should just have let Watford score, but as I said in the ground, I read in a “You are the ref” column in The Observer not so long ago that a referee couldn’t allow that type of gamesmanship to stand.
With us still down at half-time (Jobi McAnuff had been taken off injured before that), there were more reports from fans of what media sources were saying and – though it didn’t need it from where we sit at the front of the Rookery – the unfairness was confirmed. When Bannister came on (to boos) and over to us to check the nets, I took up the shout again but he was laughing off the catcalls by looking at one of the Reading players and pointing at himself in “Do they mean me?” mock-surprise. Perhaps at that stage he still didn’t know what he’d done? We discussed that too.
The atmosphere stayed hot and the backing inspired the Golden Boys. Before the hour mark, Tommy Smith scored his fourth goal of the season after penalty-area head tennis. All of us had the same idea for a song; “1-0 to the Golden Boys”. Not long after that Aidy “Betty” Boothroyd was sent to the stands for saying too much, making ref Stuart Attwell even more popular. There were constant problems with two balls on the pitch; it was a shambles and I kicked off “Sign on, with a pen in your hand, and you’ll never ref again”.
That was forgotten quickly as John Joe O’Toole passed to Will Hoskins and ran on to collect the ball and pass it wide of Hahnemann: cue “2-0 to the Golden Boys”. And then it all died.
The injustice righted, the fans quietened, the zest went from the team and it all went back to Reading domination. They had a goal disallowed and then with three minutes left and John Joe O’Toole also off injured (Al Bangura came on), Reading got a penalty from what was said to be a Jay Demerit tackle. They scored (shame for Loachy, who played really well), the points were shared and the result, if not the entire day’s proceedings, was fair.
Within a few minutes of our slightly late arrival – and as three stewards strolled to their seated positions in front of us – the stench of rotting garbage wafted into the Rookery. It was not that, however, which kept the 13,000 fans quiet, but the rubbish being played out on the pitch. The Horns were uninspired and Plymouth, bottom of the table without a win, were able to pass better and move faster. On the half-hour, they put together a fine combination that culminated in a curling shot inside Mart Poom’s post in front of us and the team went off to boos at half-time. Despite the intermittent recurrence of the pong, the Yellow Army was in better voice in the second half but not for the first time this season, the response team’s heavy-handedness with the standing fans at the back of the stand led to chants of “stand up if you hate stewards”. On the pitch, our captain Jay Demerit had his hands above his head as the ball was crossed into the area and from the resultant penalty Argyle scored their second away goal of the night and season. Two-nil down the team stepped up a gear and Tommy Smith had a cross-shot converted by John Joe O’Toole to put us in with a hope. Meanwhile, Joss was warned by the leader of the fluorescent jackets that he’d made two obscene hand gestures and one more and he’d walk. I called him a naughty boy. Then the same guy and several of his henchmen came to cause trouble with the cheer-leading Liam (Curly) I have mentioned several times before and none of us could follow the game as we protested their over-reaction. The game finished with a 2-1 defeat but it was the misuse of authority - rather than the result or the inexplicable reek - which stank.
I shared the journey to Watford Junction with Trevor and Kasey, who’d stayed at ours Friday and were heading back after 26 hours of games and play. On the train, my niece was quieter but as stuck to her father as ever. A fortnight previously we’d walked along the canal to Camden but, though it was close Friday, it was typically grey and we curtailed the same trip. The sun was out for the football though, even at the later kick-off time of 5.20. I said temporary goodbyes and cycled to Kerry’s to walk with Joss in my sweaty Blissett t-shirt and as we neared the stadium we heard a cheer that could only have been for a goal for the visitors and so it proved. The guy behind us, who asked me Tuesday to look out for Fender valves in Tokyo when I told him I was going to Japan, told us that Poom had messed up a clearance kick and the attacker whose feet the ball landed at capitalised. I asked if he knew the Carling Cup draw and informed him that we had West Ham home, which Joss had guessed when I said it was a Premiership team. The Horns looked bright for the first ten minutes we saw but Tamas Priskin seemed off the pace (again). Ipswich played some nice stuff though and looked like they could add another but Poom was making up for his earlier error. John Harley had a great diving header rebound off the post but as the Tractor Boys taunted us with the usual numbers, the fans were having a hard time getting behind the team until after half-time when they were attacking the Rookery end. The second half saw the Golden Boys with renewed vigour and momentum. John Joe O'Toole had come on for the championship debutting defender Joprdan Parkesand provided the attacking edge that comes along with his (sometimes) headless chicken running. It was fifteen minutes before the energy paid off and John Eustace headed in from a corner. Watford continued to pile on the pressure and even when Jobi McAnuff hit the bar from a few yards off, I remained optimistic. I was right to be so. McAnuff had another shot parried with minutes left and JJ was there to head in the rebound, give us 3 points, and leave us eighth in the league.
Watford v Darlington (Carling Cup 2nd Round) Tuesday 26th August
Realised at a Euston bike-stand that I’d left my keys at home; boarded a train 25 mins later that was cancelled after another 10; squeezed onto a second train which was also cancelled (lost my earphone plastic); had to sort out the fact that Joss’ season ticket hadn’t loaded the payment. We hadn’t missed much when we got in though. Watford were shooting towards us in the Rookery and Tamas Priskin did have a chance not long later. As against Bristol Rovers in the first round, the team was a combination of the young and the bloodied. Lewis Young started and showed potential but Tamas Priskin and Will Hoskins up front together only once produced a move that impressed: a touch and flick that came to nothing. Young had a shot prevented from crossing the line by Hoskins but Damien Francis scored not long afterwards and we were more concerned with half-time breaks than our lack of domination against a League Two side with two points in three games (a mere 28 more than our erstwhile rivals). There were warning signs as the second half dragged, not least Scott Loach making a very good save low to his left. It was how the evening started, however, that means I could have predicted an injry-time equaliser and extra time. Penalties loomed until substitute John Joe O’Toole netted to relieved cheers with minutes left.
Jun, Julie and Jo joined me for the trip from Euston to Watford where I reminded them that we could go top with a victory tonight. Phil came in with Joss to make a row of six of us watch the Hornets outplayed, outfought and outthought after a bright opening period. John Joe O’Toole stood and watched as a loose ball was simply played wide then crossed in for Sunday’s semi-final losers to open the scoring and the cat-calls started after the Rookery had begun with a wall of sound. There were boos at the half-time whistle.
The second half was two minutes old when the visitors scored again and within another seven minutes (in which Nathan Ellington had a header cleared off the line in front of us) they had added a third and people started leaving. I tried to get things going with “Wem-ber-ley, Wem-ber-ley, we never wanted to get promoted automatically” but nobody joined in. It was the same story with “Aidy Boothroyd’s banana army” later and after JJ (family friends of whom we had met Sunday) missed a sitter from three yards, it was a case of waiting it out until we could get back to the Moon Under Water. In the garden of the pub, another spectator opened his conversation by inviting agreement with the word that makes up the heading for this post.
Each of the last three meetings between these sides has ended with honours even but Charlton would have been expecting better when they went in at the break 2-0 up. Betty’s rousing speech in a huddle on the pitch after the break galvanised the team (as did John Joe O’Toole’s second-half appearance (Tuesday’s red card has been rescinded)) and we were level ten minutes after the break. JJ got the first and Danny Shittu made up for an earlier own-goal by heading in again at the same end for his current rather than former team. This was a better point for us than for our promotion rivals.
Had to walk from the Junction to the stadium via the pub cos I can’t take the bike on the train. Joss was in before I got there and I joined him with programmes and finally returned his Simpsons Movie DVD. Tommy Smith missed his first game of the season (knee) and Captain America is still out injured. The new boys: Mat Sadler, John Eustace and Leigh Bromby all started; Collins John (from Fulham on loan) is yet to get fit.
We started well and the Rookery picked up where it left off ten days ago. Shooting towards the Vicarage Road end, we kept their keeper busy and he looked good for it. They hardly had a chance down our end until about the fortieth minute. Last man Adrian Mariappa made a hash of a ball by committing himself too early and it was past him and being chased by two on two. Steven Clemence, who was by no means certain to get the ball, pulled up indicating he’d been tugged from behind by John Joe O’Toole, our Irish international, and did a whole dance (no song) when the ref gave nothing. I started off a “drama queen” chant but it didn’t last long as the assistant referee summoned the ref over and after a lengthy consultation, JJ was red carded and the Foxes had a free-kick twenty yards out.
Fortunately the free-kick came to nothing but the Yellow Army responded well to the injustice (Bromby was a covering and therefore JJ was not the last man) and after a few expected “You’ve only got twelve men” chants, started into the whole repertoire. Within a few minutes, however, songs gave way to cheers as Darius Henderson poked in a Bromby cross-shot and the ten men went in one up at the break.
The second half was all about the noise the Yellow Army brought. We didn’t stop and even the middle of the Rookery, and parts of the East Stand and Rous were getting involved. Fortunately, the intended effect came to pass rather than the Watford players just stopping in amazement on hearing positive noise from the stands on the side of the pitch. Against constant pressure but no real chances, we held out for all three points and there was a massive celebration at the end. Henderson ran his legs off closing things down from the front and is definitely our post-King hero.
Watford v Wolverhampton Wanderers (FA Cup 4th Round)
Saturday 26th January
Row R of the Rookery in our third match away from our normal seats provided another better view from which to see Watford concede a goal after just four minutes, Richard Lee stuck in the mud as a lob went over him. I’d already had occasion to glance at the guy next to me and share a couple of disconsolate nods so even after less than 300 seconds this was not a complete surprise.
The rest of the first half was less than enthralling and our less-than-full-strength eleven only had one shot on target, when a Nathan Ellington free-kick was tipped round by their keeper. Marlon King has finally left, joining Wigan rather than Fulham, and we had Tamas Priskin and “The Duke” up front, with ten starts and two league goals between them for the season. Priskin was right off his game and, despite a couple of good touches, Ellington generally still looked less than up-for-it.
Steve Kabba was played on the right, new signing from Birmingham Matt Sadler started at left-back, Al Bangura began for the first time since the Carling Cup games and Malky Mckay was drafted in from semi-retirement. What happened to Douglas Rinaldi, Matt Jackson and Lionel Ainsworth? Surely they are the second string and need the games?
We were sliced apart twice more in the first half of the second period and an exodus of fans left to taunts of “loyal supporter” from the back row boys behind us. Even before they’d got out of the stand, they would have heard the cheer greeting John Joe O’Toole’s goal and I joined in “We’re gonna win 4-3” chants that looked possible for another couple of minutes but it was actually the visitors who had the last laugh, with their centre forward bagging his second in the last minute.
All the “que sera” songs were theirs and Bristol City won in the league to put us third again. If the rested players don’t pull something out of the bag at Brammall Lane on Tuesday, I won’t be the only one wondering whether it was all worth it (even at £10 a ticket for me and £1 for Joss).
Got back from work to watch the BBC live-text service describe Watford’s progress from being two-down to win 3-2 after goals from Marlon King, John Joe O’Toole (who’d started for Gavin Mahon, now being linked with QPR and Wycombe Wanderers) and Tamas Priskin (in for Darius Henderson). Aidy Boothroyd, who’d seemed reluctant to change things during our successive defeats, did what was necessary and as West Brom faultered (going down 4-2 at home to Coventry), the gap opened to four points again. Stoke, Sunday’s opponents, thrashed Shefffield United 3-0 at Brammall Lane.
Stoke City v Watford
Sunday 9th December
I checked train services to Stoke on Saturday but it wasn’t conducive to a fun day out and instead I slept through the match. A goalless draw meant we doubled our lead to two points following WBA’s win at Leicester yesterday. I have decided our new nickname should be the “Weebles” because we wobble but we don’t fall down (off top of the league).
I now have £100 on a three-year bet with Luke that on 7th December 2010, we will be in a higher league position than Oldham Athletic. Baby candy.
Danny Shittu went into today’s game as the in-form goal-getter, scoring all three in our two defeats in the week running up to this game: 3-2 at Barnsley and 2-1 home to Burnley while I worked on Tuesday. West Brom won one and drew one in the same period, closing the gap to two points ahead of another draw at Crystal Palace today before our 5.20 kick-off (SS1). This meant we would remain top even if we lost to a team who have had their own slump of late, failing to win in six.
Joss told me how he and his friend had enjoyed abusing the goalkeeper midweek in a game the programme said we didn’t deserve anything from but I was more concerned to get behind the Golden Boys today. I’ve been looking at and posting on the Watford Observer site, where there is criticism beyond the necessary, sniping and bitching from the worst type of “fan”.
Watford started well today but the early return of Adam Johnson to Middlesborough, which may not be unrelated to our recent poor form, has left us with fewer options and – on today’s televised showing – even more reliant on the long ball. We were pacy and committed, at least, but that wasn’t enough to break down the Robins though Marlon King hit the bar in the first half.
It took until half an hour into the second half for the deadlock to be broken and then it was the visitors who netted. Unfortunately, that was the cue for real frustration in the crowd and some started to leave. It was great, then, that John Joe O’Toole, who’d come on for the captain Gavin Mahon to the relief of many sections of the crowd, to draw us level with his head. A collective sigh from the Yellow Army had hardly stopped echoing when Bristol City scored again to take all the points.
I told Joss I wanted to stay behind and we clapped the players off, not that all of them seemed aware of the fact. Walking up Occupation Road I was still in the mood to defend what I’d seen as a reasonable performance and asked Joss, somewhat rhetorically I admit, if he agreed it was a fan’s role to support and encourage rather than criticise and boo, even after three defeats in a row.
Tuesday we headed in the same approximate direction to Yuanmingyuan to see the ruins of the Imperial Palace an Anglo-French force destroyed in 1860. Again I was invited to be in a couple of photos. Later, we met up with a friend from London, Maria, who planned this coincidental trip last year and we met her brother and a couple of her cousins, one of whom is David Lee, a Hong Kong movie and TV star. At the restaurant where we ate they got out the camera and took his picture and requested an autograph, then inexplicably asked me to sign too (later I wished I’d signed Tony Blair). At the bar of the five star hotel we went to later, people stopped talking and pointed (not for me anymore) and one awestruck girl came over just to say hello. Jun was pretty starstruck too.
