A Bit Smug and Gloaty? Yes I am, thank you very much: A Mid-Season Review of Watford FC’s 2010/11 Championship Campaign

As it’s been a little while since my last football-related blog post you’ll forgive me for indulging in a little gloating, won’t you? It’s just that, well, Watford are doing awfully well of late. We were hotly tipped for relegation at the beginning of the season, and with a relatively inexperienced manager and depleted of some of last season’s key players, with very little money to speak of to spend on any new ones, and competition from undoubtedly one of the strongest groups of opposition that the Championship has ever seen, you could understand why. Prior to kick-off back in July and August, Watford fans spoke with stars in their eyes of the possibility of reaching the dizzying heights of mid-table, and that was the absolute best we could hope for. Just to avoid the dreaded drop had to be our main aim for the season.

But then a strange thing happened. Buoyed by, amongst other things, the decision of John Eustace to remain at the club and take the captain’s armband rather than signing for rivals Leeds, and the signing of a couple of promising young players on loan, Watford started the season brightly, daring to win their opening match away at Norwich, one of the sides tipped for greatness this season. We all held our breath and wondered... Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad after all? Things levelled off a little after that though, and we all screwed our heads firmly back on after the initial flurry of excitement, and settled in for the long haul. And then, in September, it all went a bit silly again, as we had the audacity to win some more games, the highlight being a 6-1 demolishing of last season’s League 1 stars, Millwall, on their patch. We seemed to become quite good at winning away. And in Danny Graham and Marvin 'Score-dell' Sordell a strike partnership was born which had to potential to be one of the all time greats. Well, in the dreams of Watford fans it did, anyway.

There was a blip in October as I attended my first match of the season, against Scunthorpe at Vicarage Road, a miserable affair which we lost 2-0 and we’re all best off forgetting about. Sorry about that everyone, I’ll just stay oop norf in future and not get in the way of our triumphant march for glory.

And then what happened? Erm... we seemed to lose 3-2 quite a lot. Annoyingly. But it proved that we did not have any trouble finding the back of the net, an affliction which has affected us in recent seasons with varying degrees of severity; never have we seen quite such a glut of goals as we have this season, and it’s truly delightful. Malky Mackay has put together a young, exciting, adventurous and pacy side, not afraid to attack, or to be creative.

And so we dragged our heels into December on the back of a couple of dull draws, but proceeded to turn the 3-2 scoreline that had been our albatross in recent weeks to our advantage, beating Leicester at the Vic, and sparking a run of form the likes of which we couldn’t even have dreamt of before the season started. On Friday 10th December, in front of the BBC cameras, we took our bold and fearless side to the league leaders, QPR, and systematically broke them down with style and grace; it was a joy to behold. Suddenly the potential we glimpsed flashes of back in September was being writ large, and people were starting to take notice of little Watford, sneaking up the table. We continued our barn-storming run with another thrashing of a top side, beating Cardiff 4-1 at home – so that’s the top two teams beaten, in consecutive matches. Ten goals scored in the last three games. New Year’s Day? Another three goals and a clean sheet against Portsmouth, this time in front of the Sky cameras? Don’t mind if I do. Can we play on TV every week? A nice little away win at Scunthorpe brings us bang up to date, and tops off our streak at five wins on the bounce, and seven games unbeaten. If I were a statto I could probably prove we were the top side in the league form-wise, but I’m not. And I’m lazy. But I’m assuming we are!

John Eustace: Who's the Daddy? Er, I do believe it's you, sir. Pic from watfordpics.co.uk

So what now? There’s basking in reflected glory, which is always nice for a while, but we all know that nothing good lasts forever in sport, Watford fans more so than most. The bubble will burst, it simply must; it’s just of case of when, and how, and to what protracted and painful extent. Injuries have taken their toll on our already small squad; the loans of Andrew Taylor and Jordan Mutch are yet to be extended, and with the ever-ominous transfer window open, it seems just a matter of time until, in addition to the almost inevitable departure of Scott Loach to a Premiership side, others of our players may be the subject of interest from rival clubs, having doubtless attracted attention during our recent run of good form. On a lighter note, I’d wager that as a shoe-in for December’s cursed ‘honour’, the Manager of the Month award, it could be gaffer Malky Mackay who is our downfall; if it’s not from having that notorious hoodoo bestowed upon him, then it could be a case of him being tempted away from Watford, attracting interest himself recently, most notably from Alan Pardew at Newcastle, but rumours also abound linking him with the vacant managerial post at Burnley. He’s been a revelation since his period in charge began, making waves rather than ripples in the Championship pond so far this season, not afraid to play untested youngsters (in many cases it’s been down to necessity rather than boldness, but I fully believe he would have thrown them in even if it weren’t a matter of not fielding a full squad!), and forming a tight-knit unit of players who seem determined to perform for him week in, week out. I’d buy him a beer and a pie.

In short, I just want to wrap ‘now at Watford’ up in cotton wool and never let it go. Do I want us to get promoted? Well, yes – in the sense that I want us to win every game, so by extension, of course I want us to be playing to the best of our abilities and the against top opposition. Is it the right thing for the club? That’s a debate for another pint in another pub on another day.

Having established that our little bubble of brilliance probably isn’t going to last until next weekend let alone until the end of the season, I’m off now to sit in my Watford-themed shrine, squeeze my eyes closed and not open them again until the season is over and whichever outcome is least damaging to the club has occurred. Okay? And unless you all have stronger constitutions than I, I suggest you all do the same! Happy New Year everyone!

Joke's over now, okay?

You get what you wish for, so they say. And ‘they’ as we all well know, are eminently wise. This weekend was a case in point. I said I couldn't cope with my teams doing well. And what a sorry state of affairs I was presented with as a scathing riposte.

Watford, Watford, Watford. Likened to Real Madrid by Mark Bright on Radio 5 Live midweek apparently, this was clearly not the same team who had impressed in their win over Ipswich. Or if it was, they had had some kind of skill lobotomy; so devoid of ideas were my beloved team that I honestly think we could have played until Christmas and not scored. And for the top-scoring side in the division, that is worrying. And a bit odd. It was like the spark had been suctioned right out of them. I think someone must have told them I was there and they were feeling the pressure to perform. Bless them. The only team member on top of his game was Harry the Hornet, our mascot, who appears to have lost about 12 stone since I last saw him. He now dresses all in black and is the svelte equivalent of a mascot superhero. He has some pretty tidy moves too. And a massive drum.

Having recently been to see some live hockey matches and having not seen any live football in months, I found it quite difficult to get my head back in the game. For example, I was quite disconcerted that the staff at Vicarage Road hadn’t taken to playing bursts of fitting R'n'B numbers whenever there was a break in play. I was also disappointed to find that throw-ins weren’t sponsored by Phones4U. I found myself glazing over a bit whenever there was a section of play that lasted longer than thirty seconds. Although that may just have been because the game was flatter than a pancake. Laid flat, on a flat thing. In Norfolk. Or perhaps my attention span has been butchered into submission by hockey and I’ll never be the same again. I was highly amused though, by my Dad, who in a fit of misplaced political correctness, called the referee a follically-challenged twat. The man has class!

Things went from bad to worse on Saturday night when, forced to miss the Vipers game against the Cardiff Devils due to my foray darn sarf, I sat tensely in my parent’s home following the match on the Elite Ice Hockey League’s Live Scores page (which is about the most nerve-wracking method of following a sporting contest I have ever encountered, I might add). We lost again, which I was gutted about. Even worse, whilst reading the match report half an hour or so later, I let out an audible gasp upon discovering that promising Canadian forward Dale Mahovsky had to be treated after a goal was deflected in off his jaw and he lost three teeth! I concluded that ice hockey was just a big mean boys game and the Cardiff team must be a bunch of Neanderthals. How could they. Poor boy. He was one of the pretty ones, as well.

So that was that. Another loss for the Vipers followed on Sunday and I was left feeling particularly sorry for myself as another Monday rolled around, and this one a cold, damp and thoroughly autumnal one. I’ve changed my mind. Can I have winning back please? I promise I won’t complain about it ever again. I was only kidding, y'know. The internet clearly can't take a joke these days. Hmph.

A Ray of Hope

So in a week where football news has been dominated by our Lord Potato-head, we have finally had some resolution, thank his Rooney-ness. Yes, after a public dirty laundry-airing that Kerry Katona would have been proud of, Rooney and Fergie had a press conference-off earlier in the week, then cancelled some press conferences, before finally coming out with the Final Press Conference: Resolution Rooney. Yes, he’s staying put. All that hype, all that mud-slinging, all those attempts by Wayne to actually sound like a master of the English language (he wasn‘t fooling anyone), all for nothing. We end the week the same as we began it. Rooney is a Man United player. Wow. What a lot of knicker-twisting for absolutely no action. Give me strength.

But the footballing gods provided Manna from heaven this week in the form of Ian Holloway, with his general south-west heart-on-his-sleeve ranty-ness and his use of the phrase ‘you’re having me over, me old cocker’; diamond geezer! And more importantly, the reinforcement of my lovely little football club as one of the nicest, most family and community-oriented clubs in the country. Like a shot in the arm of those wearied by Rooney and his pathetic stropping, came a story to warm the hearts of all those who still hold out hope that football has some goodness left in its still-warm corpse, even if it is only the little toe.

Watford super-fan Don Fraser, a devoted fan who for many years has attended all matches despite his physical disabilities and has previously won Radio 5 Live’s ‘supporter of the year’ award, injured himself in an accident and was admitted to hospital (Watford General, situated in Vicarage Road itself, of course) for a hip operation earlier this week. As a result of this he was forced to miss our midweek encounter with Roy Keane’s Ipswich. This is no obstacle to Watford, however. The day after the match, the two goalscorers from the match Marvin ‘Scoredell’ Sordell and Stephen McGinn, visited Mr Fraser in hospital and delivered a DVD of our 2-1 win for him to savour. How nice is that. How much further away from the tarting about of that overpaid, over-rated cheating scumbag of a supposed footballing superstar can you get. And that’s my club, people. Proud? Am I ever.

To top it all off, I make my first appearance of the season at Vicarage Road (the football ground, not the hospital, barring a late-night red wine-induced disaster) tomorrow, and I hope that the winning streak will continue. Because if anyone deserves it, Malky Mackay and the hard-working, genuine set of lads he commands do. How I love my little club, still flying high at 3rd place in the Championship. That’s just 5 places below Liverpool, don’t you know.

Not to be outdone, the most annoying administrator ever to walk the earth, Andrew Andronikou, has today had yet another chance to fan his over-sized ego following the news that Portsmouth may yet again be up Poop Creek without a steering device. Doesn’t he know administrators are meant to be seen and not heard. Or preferably, not seen at all. I mean really, is he necessary? Never has one man had so much publicity over so little (obviously I am not belittling Pompey's dire circumstances, but rather, despairing over the day that an administrator became a spokeperson of such gravity. And I am one. Albeit, a less important one). He’s no better than the traffic warden who has just slapped a ticket on the prime minister’s car. Except, we might actually like him.

Best of luck to Pompey in bringing themselves back from the brink once again. and best of luck to my little team for in their match against another little team, Scunthorpe, tomorrow. As for Rooney, I hope his 'ankle' heals in good time for him to continue to do absolutely nothing for United for the foreseeable future.