Battered 'em (Pt. 2)

History will show that not all the records went the champions-elect's way this season and that will be because of how Watford outplayed and destroyed them on Saturday evening. The younger Watford Boy and I got to celebrate three initially unexpected goals - two by Sarr and one from Deeney - as the Red's unbeaten run came to an end.

10 men hold on

1881 has flags out every home game and the little man enjoys waving them. Unfortunately that one was one of the highlights of this game for him, as the 'Orns, down to 10 men after a Britos foul that - from 100m away - drew a collective intake of breath from the Rookery, held on to get a point in a goalless game with the yet-to-score Seagulls.

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.

Celtic and Rangers in the Premiership? Goodbye England.

The addition of the Old Firm to the Premiership is a ridiculously backward notion that threatens England`s chances of ever again lifting the World Cup or even winning the European Championship for the first time.

Recently the idea that the two Glasgow clubs, Celtic and Rangers, could join the English Premier League has been raised again. It is an idea whose time has come and gone, but still one that is resurrected evey couple of years when the Premiership is searching for a form of change for change`s sake.

The idea is so outdated as to be embarrassing, largely because it is completely out of tune with today`s political realities. In addition, it could result in the disappearence of the English national football team (as well as those of the other 3 home nations).

Politically, the failure of the Treaty establishing a Constitution for Europe (and more recently the Lisbon Treaty) to receive approval from voters in certain European states are undoubtedly mere blips on the road to greater integration. The suggestion that the Old Firm join England goes against this trend.

More significantly, the Scottish Parliament is controlled by the Scottish National Party – committed to independence north of the border – while the Conservatives look highly likely to win the 2010 UK general election and simultaneously seem unlikely to improve on their current number of Scottish MPs (1 out of a possible 59).

The tension caused by an English right-wing party ruling a left-wing Scotland with no support there will only increase the strength of support for Scottish independence. There was a similar problem during Margaret Thatcher`s heyday, but at that time, Scottish constitutents were more significantly over-represented in Westminster (the “West Lothian question”).

Whether or not Scottish independence comes to pass within the next five to ten years, including Rangers and Celtic in the Sky-Setanta-Playstation-Coca Cola-Premiership can only be harmful for prospects of the future existence of an England team. At the moment, England, Northern Ireland, Scotland and Wales each have national teams despite the fact that they are part of one political state: the United Kingdom.

There are already many European FA voices opposing this situation (it is not unrelated that there is no GBR Olympic football team and the 2012 London Olympics will not see Englishmen playing our national sport). If the Old Firm join England`s league(s), it can only strengthen the argument that the home countries should lose their preferential status.

So, in other words, the already long odds on any future international success by “England” would lengthen to infinity with their non-existence. The Old Firm`s integration into English football is a proposal most likely to be supported by the richest “English” clubs (owned by Russians and Americans – hardly nations with great footballing histories), which will harm the national sides.

Moreover, why any Premiership team outside the G4 would want the Scottish teams in their league is also a mystery. As Motherwell chairman John Boyle recently said, “Turkeys don`t vote for Christmas”. Bolton`s chairman, Phil Gartside, sees a 36-team Premiership as the way forward. I disagree.

Gordon Strachan probably got it right a year and a half ago or so when he predicted a European league that included Celtic and Rangers. Football can not buck international trends and since European Union labour law has an important impact on the beautiful game, there is no reason to suggest that its meta-politics do not.

I hope that the G4 and Old Firm will float off into a European “super-league” that will prosper for a decade or so then suffer the ignominy of failure based on a fatal combination of distance and ennui. Hopefully the English Football League will have reorganised strongly enough by then to refuse the G4 back into the top tier and – if they are allowed reentry at all – they should start where United FC and AFC Wimbledon did – in the tenth tier of English football or below, with the most minor of the pantheon.

In the meantime, the Football League could change its laws to make the game fairer and more beneficial to the nation it is supposed to serve. A cap on player wages, protection from foreign ownership, a minimum number of home-grown players and a fairer distribution of TV money would be a good start.

Global Football Justice

It is time for global football justice and the revolution must start in England.

It was only in 1997-8 that “the big four” took the top positions for the first time. The second occasion was 2003-4, the third in 2005-6 and since then they have shuffled the Champions League positions between them in each of the following three years. There was a “bored by the big four” Philosophy Football T-shirt a couple of years ago but if it is only in the last four years that the Premiership places have been absolutely sewn-up, the relatively recent addition of European Champions League dominance has added an extra level of tedium.

Any initial tinge of patriotic pride in seeing Arsenal, Chelsea, Liverpool and Manchester United playing in the latter stages of the European tournament should be extinguished by the thought of their Russian and American owners or their lack of English or even British players. These days there is rarely an underdog to support: Portsmouth in last year`s FA Cup, Aston Villa for a while in the league this season (also US owned).

The only level of failure that these teams now know is not reaching the semi-finals or finals of the FA Cup and Champions League. Finishing fourth in the Sky Barclays Setanta premiership is still rewarded with ridiculous cash once the preliminary joke rounds of the European tournament are played out. How boring for the rest of us, but how uninteresting it really must be for the fans of these teams too.

At my club, Watford`s level, a 2-0 win at Doncaster is a triumph against the possibility of relegation while a 1-0 defeat at home to promotion-chasing Birmingham is accepted as not unexpected. Resignation and surprise still exist for fans of most of the G88 (the minor gods in the pantheon that is the football league) and without them a fan`s life is incomplete. Schadenfreude exists too, for us below the biggest, and perhaps for the local fans of the top teams too. It is the “plastics” who will not know that joy of a bitter local rival suffering.

The economic effects stretch to the cost of attempting to play with the big boys. Leeds descent into administration is well documented and Charlton are just the latest of several teams whose inability to “bounce back” has seen them slip into the third tier after the obligatory cost-cutting exercises. The ripples go beyond the lower leagues. Elsewhere in the world, attendances fall when matches clash with a “big” televised Premiership game.

Something must be done. The arguments are there: a player draft, a cap on wages, a minimum number of home-grown players or club ownership being put in the hands of the fans. Alternatively, the majority of the G88 could get together to demand a restructuring that brings (most of) the Premiership back under Football League jurisdiction (if the Big 4 want to float off into a European Super-League, let them). It won`t happen yet. The big four dominate English football like the G8 dominate world economic policy. The seeds of rebellion exist though. Viva Football Justice.

Champions

Watford v Newcastle United

13^th May 2007

It might have been the wrong sort of rain that delayed the train to Watford but I had to call Joss and tell him to leave and meet me at the Vic; Phil gave him a lift to the top of Harwoods Road and we met on the corner near the Red Lion, where I watched part of the Toon Army braving the rain topless in Hawaiian shorts. After locking up we got in too late to see the nurses lead the footballers out. I’d seen Noreena Hertz on the BBC News this morning and she’d mentioned that her campaign had the backing of more than 250 Premiership footballers, a fantastic success.

We took our seats for the last time this season and perhaps ever (Joss would like to sit higher up next year and I agree, though the atmosphere at the front is far better than in the middle). We sang “Yellow Army” and “Owen’s going home” (after Freddy Shepherd’s comments this week) and the Golden Boys, when they weren’t slipping over, had the better of the play. Will Hoskins, Douglas Rinaldi and Marlon King all got themselves into promising positions but failed to test their keeper, Shay Given.

Typically, Newcastle scored with their first on-target shot of their match as Kieron Dyer slotted past the onrushing Ben Foster, in his last game for us, after Jordan Stewart failed to cut out a through ball. The Newcastle fans in the Vicarage Road end didn’t seem that loud in celebration but maybe it’s because their singing before that had been so impassioned.

We went in at half-time a goal down and the best news of the day came when our girls’ team were paraded as champions of their league after a 12-0 victory. The Premiership title was decided in ManU’s™ favour last weekend (when Chelsea could only draw at Arsenal) and Charlton’s fight against the inevitable was over by Monday evening, so the real question today was who the third team to go down would be. After 45 minutes, West Ham were winning at ManU™ and Wigan were 2-1 up at Brammall Lane, meaning their hosts, Sheffield United, would go down if the scores all stayed the same.

Ten minutes after we’d eaten our half-time bananas, Lee Williamson unleashed a sweet half-volley that went just wide. A minute or two later, Adrian Mariappa came down the right and crossed. Newcastle’s Nicky Butt stuck out a hand and Watford had a penalty, our third of the season. It was Marlon King who stepped up to take it and slot it into the bottom left-hand corner to give us a one hundred percent conversion rate and him his fourth goal of the season, a tally second only to Hameur Bouazza’s, who has been given compassionate leave.

We had plenty more chances in the second half but they were just about all off target. Michael Owen was stretchered off with what was later diagnosed as mild concussion. My “Owen’s carried home” song was met by a “Shut up, mate” from the guy directly in front. “Fuck off” I replied sweetly. The whole ‘making friends with other fans’ thing never really took off. Theo Robinson came on to make his premiership debut (cue puzzled looks) and then, in the ninetieth minute, “England’s number one” was substituted and serenaded and Alec Chamberlain came on to play what was his last game for us too.

We deserved more than Newcastle from the game but a draw was not unfair. As the team took its bows and did half a lap of honour that didn’t really include the Rookery (much to the annoyance of some around us), we could reflect on a season that saw us do far better than when we were last up (1999-2000) but still not well enough by at least ten points. The half-time scores in the games that affected the relegation battle did not change and Sheffield United come straight back down with us.

“We’ll be back as Champions,” we’d sung as the manager, who signed a new, improved contract at the beginning of the week, thanked us for our support. Who will we lose, though? Danny Shittu has made noises and Hameur Bouazza could be too good to stay. Perhaps even Marlon King will be in demand. I don’t think we’ll have it as bad as the Blades or Charlton, but it’s unlikely to be the same Golden Boys next season. If it’s not promotion next year, there’s always the girls’ team.

Something from nothing

Reading v Watford

Saturday 5^th May

Jun and I picked up a waiting Joss at Euston and tubed to Paddington where we were commended by some passing Millwall fans for our “passion” in the face of relegation. After Rod and Air turned up, we commenced the half-hour train ride and then got onto a 79 bus for the impressive Madejski stadium. I predicted defeat since Reading are still playing for a place in the UEFA cup whereas pride was insufficient motivation to get us anything at Sheffield United last week.

Sat high up in the South Stand, we had an excellent view of the action, the first-half of which saw Reading attacking the goal below us. Ben Foster (“England’s number one,” again, we have short memories) made a couple of crucial interventions and the debutant Cedric Avinel was lucky not to concede a penalty that Leroy Lita was looking for. Watford started without Clarke Carlisle (suspended after the FA looked at his actions last week), Jay Demerit (given a break ahead of international duty) and Hameur Bouazza. Douglas Rinaldi went off injured after only ten minutes Avinel looked slow and clumsy and was carded before being substituted at half-time.

The atmosphere was better than at the Vic: chants often echoed around the whole stadium but it was the Reading fans to our immediate right that usually led. One of their chants involved the notion that Reading in Europe was “insane” but when the good-humoured Watford crew at the back of the stadium sang “Scunthorpe on a Tuesday night” in return, the reply “Europe on a Thursday night” was a tad unimaginative.

We went for refreshments but it took more than the whole break to get served so I missed the first ten minutes after the restart but not too much action, apparently. Jun had said she thought we could take them and I was inclined to agree if only because they penetrated but didn’t look capable of getting past Danny Shittu or Foster. So it was that a free kick led to Danny Shittu being in so much space he was able to pass the ball into a half-empty goal. The five of us celebrated but I still thought we’d be lucky to hold out for a draw.

Foster made another fantastic one-handed save at point-blank range and, coming into the last ten minutes, I feared the worst. I went to tell Rod about our propensity for letting in late goals but he said Joss had already told him and it was clear that the younger Watford Boy was enjoying sharing his knowledge. Five minutes before the end of normal time Tommy Smith weaved down the left and crossed. Their American keeper made a hash of it and Marlon King was there to head in from a yard or so out.

Two goals away for the first time all season and three points to the Golden Boys meant that Reading’s European tour seems highly unlikely if Spurs’ form remains consistent. The most vocal area of the home crowd erupted in fights as we sang “We’re shit and we’re two nil up,” to rub it in. At the final whistle, the Watford fans stayed longer than the majority of the Reading fans despite the home side doing a lap of honour. Then it was bus, train, tube and Joss was heading back to Watford and his dad, content with a victory and watching the scraps amongst the Reading fans.

Firsts

Watford v Portsmouth

Easter Monday, 9^th April

I got up earlier than I wanted to with legs and neck still aching from yesterday’s exertions as goalkeeper and defender in Regent’s Park (I had a great game: my team mates called me a “professional” keeper). After breakfast I pocketed my season ticket (with a little Post-It I’d written “gloves” on (the ones I used in the park are falling apart)) and cycled to Euston, trained it to the Junction and rode to Kerry’s. She made me a cuppa and Joss and I walked to the ground. I said I expected a draw today but felt that was hopeful after our defeat and their victory two days ago.

We didn’t start well and Pompey went about their business largely unchallenged so it was no surprise that Matthew Taylor had plenty of time to curl in a shot beyond Ben Foster with little more than quarter of an hour gone. The fans in blue, who’d already been quite loud, sang “Let’s all have a disco” and danced in the Vicarage Road end. Going behind did at least serve to rouse the Golden Boys and Tamas Priskin, who’d given the ball away in the run-up to their goal, dribbled well in their box and found himself tripped for a penalty just before the half-hour mark.

Joss pointed out that Darius Henderson’s absence meant someone else had to take our second league penalty of the season and it was Hameur Bouazza who stepped up. I shouted to their keeper, David James, that the achievement of a Premiership record number of clean sheets would not occur today and the Algerian international strode up and coolly proved me right. Further pressure from us followed as we howled at James whenever he had the ball (his facial hair was a tad excessive) but the final goal of the half was a complete surprise. The ball was knocked out of the area and our captain, Gavin Mahon, who has not performed at Premiership level this season, ran in threatening to unleash a left-footed half-volley that I fully expected to reach the back of the stand. Instead, he smashed it with glorious technique into the top corner of the net for his first goal of the season and perhaps the best Watford goal I’ve seen for many years. The kick-off was followed by the half-time whistle: a high to take into the dressing room.

We started the second half as we had ended the first and Priskin got his name on the score sheet for the second time since joining. Since the previous effort was in the abandoned game with Wigan, this goal counted as his first and he ran down the touchline to celebrate with Marlon King, who was sitting behind the bench. The fans went into celebratory mood and our players didn’t let up though Portsmouth had a couple of chances. “Boozer” Bouazza had a shot saved by James and later another shot was parried but he latched onto the rebound to get his second and give us four goals for the first time in the Premiership. “We want five”, we sang, and Boozer seemed especially keen to make that happen, with two long-range shots that went wide. Portsmouth’s sub netted one but when I led the “Let’s all have a disco,” chant a minute or two before the final whistle, the whole of the Rookery joined me in dancing and singing in merriment.

At the final whistle, “England’s number one” turned and threw his gloves into the stand and I caught the right one. Had the second been thrown in the same direction, it would have saved me a purchase and they would’ve been used in Regent’s Park this Sunday. As it was I gave the sweaty thing to Joss but made him promise not to use it/take it out of the house. We bumped into Jake and Matt in the shop and then walked back happy with our three points and the confidence boost ahead of the FA Cup Semi-Final on Saturday. Joss showed the glove to his mates in the close outside his house and his friend Louis exclaimed “Lucky bugger”.

Almost there

Watford v Chelsea

Saturday 31^st March

Only the sports pages of The Guardian prevented me from heading over to Watford more than two hours before I needed to be there: I hadn’t been aware the kick-off was at 5.15. Still, I had to be there earlier than I would if Joss’ bike hadn’t been stolen a couple of weeks ago. Sarah and Ethan were around, but Kerry was in bed when I got there. Joss and I left just after half four and he chatted about his friends at school, his maths teacher, the films he watched in lieu of ‘drama’ and ‘discovery’ lessons and described a Spanish test he’d done well in that seemed to be made up exclusively of the only vocabulary and expressions he knew. It reminded me of when he said he’d had a test on capitals in September 2005 after we’d been learning some.

We were there early enough to enjoy a bit of pre-match atmosphere (a “bit” is all there is) and within three minutes of the game starting, Darius Henderson had left an elbow in the air that John Terry’s face moved to fill and we had a break that the Watford players used to continue their warm-up. Watford had early pressure that led to a couple of corners and Steve Kabba, working hard up front, had a fantastic overhead kick tipped over by Peter Cech. We certainly looked the more likely to score for the first half-hour, with Chelsea’s attacks relatively lacking in vim until Didier Drogba somehow picked up a pass behind our defenders just outside the six yard box and was still judged onside. His turn and stab at goal was blocked by Ben Foster with his left foot and the relief in the Rookery was tangible.

I’m not sure if it was just today but the Rous stand seems to have become increasingly vociferous and involved and I think that the variety of chants from the Rookery has increased over the season, but particularly since the turn of the year and the fun at Fulham. Curly was on good form next to us today, performing a Cossack-style dance he was desperate for Andriy Shevchenko to see but that had to suffice with laughs from the fans around him. We taunted Frank Lampard with his absence from England’s team for the midweek Andorra victory and chanted “Roman’s rent-boys” to the rest of the team and “Sacked in the summer” to the manager.

There were a couple more good saves from Foster before the break but standing in line for a pizza pod and a hot dog, we were inclined to feel that this was one of Watford’s best team performances of the season and to dream of three points (yet still be delighted with one). “Jose is a girl’s name” Mourinho made all of his substitutions within fifteen minutes of the restart but Watford still had the best chances of the game: Kabba rushed wide a shot from six yards and Damien Francis, who worked hard all game had a good shot stopped on the right before another Kabba drive was cleared off the line by Cech, who was matching Foster. We could and should have put one of those three in and won a famous victory. Instead, in the second minute of four added on, Shevchenko crossed for the substitute Salomon Kalou to rise and nod in.

The Chelsea fans who hadn’t made a noise most of the game were understandably overjoyed to have stolen it at the death to stay six points behind ManU™ and with West Ham and Charlton both winning again, the gap between us and everyone else just keeps widening. I resigned myself to relegation a few games ago, so that’s not the worry but it’s hard not to have taken anything from this and end Chelsea’s title ambitions at the same time. On the walk back Joss asked who I thought man of the match had been and I said Francis, but it had been a good team performance: at Stamford Bridge there’d been a gulf between the two sides that wasn’t evident today.

Having dropped off Joss, I had to rush off to get down to New Malden in Surrey for Kahori, Maya and Mina’s leaving party. We saw them on Wednesday but on Monday they head for a new life in Japan and this might be the last we see them for a few years. New beginnings: I think I am due one too.

It's fun to lose and to pretend

Watford v Everton

Saturday 24th February

I cycled to Euston, locked my bike there and tubed to Speakers Corner to give out CAAT London leaflets about our March 19^th protests at the No Trident/Troops Out/Don’t Attack Iran march from there to Trafalgar Square. Jun and her friend K came down and we walked together asking if people were interested. We probably gave out two hundred and fifty and I met a few activists I knew and some I’d seen emails from.

I do not support an immediate withdrawal from Iraq but felt happy to offer my support to those calling for a diplomatic solution to the stand-off with Iran. As for replacing Trident with Trident Two, much was made of the number of schools or hospitals we could build with the money we’ll waste on replacing our nuclear weapons before such a decision needs to be made. The Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty, which the UK is a signatory to, calls for eventual disarmament and we are planning our nuclear weapons for the next generation. From Trafalgar Square and condemnations of UK foreign and domestic policy (the best was when a speaker suggested that British soldiers not be allowed to work anywhere they don’t speak the language, in an echo of government comments on “citizenship” in the UK), I got back to Euston and took my bike onto a new Silverlink train.

Kerry was in bed when I pulled up at four, and Joss didn’t come back until about twenty to five but it was the fact that I waited for the full-time results before we left that made us late for the game. The programme sellers were gone and we had to wait for half-time before we could buy them, by which time we were two goals down. In the twenty third minute, Richard Lee blocked a shot into the feet of two Everton strikers following up and Manuel Fernandez got there first. Within two minutes Andrew Johnson had sped through and been brought down for a penalty he converted. It was over and the Rookery was still warming up.

Most of the noise was reserved for Johnson, who may already have dived before we got there, calling him a cheat and lots of other names. Joss relished it and now faces back into the stand during the newly-adopted “We’re the front row,” geeing up the crowd but I stuck to facing forward and the Watford songs today. Tamas Priskin, brought on for Darius Henderson, made a lot of good opportunities for himself in the second half but none hit the target. Still, it was something to cheer.

We left early and were already cycling in the darkness of Cardiff Road when we heard a cheer that I took, correctly, it turned out, to be a third Everton goal in stoppage time. Charlton had thumped West Ham 4-0 earlier, so we know two of the three going down. Charlton must be feeling confident ahead of their visit to the Vic next Saturday. With one point out of our two home games this week, I am not.

Joss and I practised Spanish a bit before I headed back for Jun’s pasta and we went on to meet Julie and others in the Fullers pub on Tottenham Court Road near where we used to work. A pint there and we paid a fiver to get into the studenty Mean Fiddler for a bop on an empty dance floor before the band came on. Bussed it home for three and bought an early edition of the Observer that didn’t have our match report. I can just deny it.

The mouse roars

Manchester United v Watford

Wednesday 31^st January

Drawing into Manchester Piccadilly Station at about twenty past six, Joss commented on the wet platforms. While much of the city has changed since I studied there between 1989 and 1992, the weather remains a constant element: reliably drizzly. We walked over to Piccadilly Gardens and got onto a packed tram for Old Trafford with foreign fans and a drunk local. I wiped my glasses dry again.

Joss (who already knew we’d drawn Ipswich at home in the fifth round of the cup) forecasted 3-0 to the Golden Boys for the night, the first time he’s been so unrealistic, in my view. I think this (and his refusal (a) to say whether he preferred Wayne Rooney or Christiano Ronaldo and (b) to be impressed by the stadium later) is a mark of his complete conversion to the yellow side. After the warranted abuse we hurled at their fans later, there can be no going back.

Outside the stadium we got talking to Anders from Sweden, a Watford fan who’d been converted after playing “Football Manager” back in 1998, and had spent £20 getting from Stockholm to Stanstead and a further £200 getting from there to Manchester. Al Gore would not be impressed at that ratio. To add to his expenditure, he’d put a tenner on Damien Francis scoring the only goal in a 1-0 Watford victory, at 35-1. He talked about our last stint in the Premiership and I explained a little to Joss about the victories over Liverpool and Chelsea in the 1999-2000 season.

We said our goodbyes (though he was just five rows in front of us inside) and took our back-row seats about 25 minutes before kick-off among fans who’d already started shouting encouragement to the team warming up. The rest of the stadium was quiet (due perhaps to the fact that it was mostly empty) and we could read the seats at the Stretford End but not the “big” screen. As though we’d willed him into appearing by mentioning his winning goal more than seven years previously in the 1-0 win at Anfield with Anders, Tommy Mooney was a few rows down in a flat cap (looking slightly Michael Stipe-like) and being celebrated.

Well, the Yellow Army’s enthusiasm far out lasted the resistance of the eleven men on the pitch. After twenty minutes Jay Demerit was penalised for pulling back Ole Gunnar Solskjaer in the box (though it looked like the hobbit had handballed it first) and Ronaldo dummied (meaning a bunch of players encroached) and scored from the spot. United toyed with us and perhaps thought they didn’t need to try too hard but we defended well against such nonchalance though hardly threatened them. United fans’ shouts for Rooney were hijacked by us for Mooney (turning into “Sign him up”) and we offered to sing for them as per. A minute or so before the break with the score still 1-0 (to the referee) I joined in the “Time for prawn sandwiches” chant and had to explain it to my nephew.

United were all over us to an even greater extent in the second half but it still took 15 minutes for their fans to wake up. Then Lloyd Doyley, who wears the same number shirt as Joss (but isn’t 12 years old) put his head on a cross and got himself an own goal. The lad played a massive part last season but hasn’t featured so much this. Painful to start here and do that. More painful because the inevitability of a goal had finally kick-started home support just a minute or three previously. Doyley’s almost seemed a response to that. I started a “We’re gonna win 3-2” chant, but it wasn’t until 11 minutes and two goals later that the idea took off. This time it was “We’re gonna win 5-4” and we got a laugh.

There were the usual songs for the team but with the competition over, the focus on the quiet of the stadium consumed us. “Your support is fucking shit”, “4-0 and you still don’t sing”, “We sing cos we love our team” and even two rounds of “United” (to do as we offered) were followed by “Worst support we’ve ever seen”. In addition, our support split to “We’re the right side over here” and “We’re the left side over here”, which has inexplicably been Joss’ favourite since the game at Craven Cottage. Aidy broke his rule and waved during the game to us when bid to, and we left still shouting.

The greatest disappointment was not the score but the fact that I never heard the roar of 70,000 people. Deyika picked us up and we had take-away pizza at his place on the eleventh floor in Moss Side, from the window of which you can see the ground. Miho and I watched Desperate Housewives on E4 while Deyika beat Joss three times at Pro Evolution Soccer 3.

Thursday 1^st February

The paper on the train home (and Aidy’s email) related the fact that we’d signed three more players (Gareth Williamson, Cedric Aninel, Johan Cavalli) and taken another (Douglas Rinaldi) on loan just before the transfer deadline. We may have resigned ourselves to going down, but the manager is insisting that we are preparing for the future (he doesn’t admit that this means promotion next year).