The campaign for real rivals

[NB: this article also appears in the latest issue of Clap Your Hands, Stamp Your Feet]

Be honest now: do you miss derby games against Luton?

No, me neither. The news story a few weeks ago about a march through Luton by the racist thugs of the English Defence League (which was founded there) reminded me of the element among the Hatters’s support that always made derby days so deeply unpleasant.

The good news is that there’s a real chance that Watford and Luton Town will never meet again in a competitive football match. Luton are three whole divisions below us now, and every season they spend in the Conference weakens their finances and fanbase.

In the meantime, we’re free to start a new rivalry. After all, there’s no law that says two football teams have to be yoked together for all eternity, and there are plenty of cases where rivalries have shifted as circumstances changed. For instance, Nottingham Forest realised years ago that they weren’t going to meet their near-neighbours Notts County very often, and turned their attentions to another County in the next, um, county. Forest v Derby is now a bitterly contested, um, derby in the East Midlands, while Notts have fostered a more realistic rivalry with Mansfield Town.

So what does it take to create a new derby? I’d suggest that the two key elements are proximity and frequency. The perfect rivals are close enough for the two sets of fans to meet in everyday life, and of a similar standard, so that the two teams play each other most seasons. A bit of history helps as well, of course.

On that basis, let’s take a look at the five clubs that are based closest to Vicarage Road and assess their qualifications to be our new rivals:

Barnet

Distance from Vicarage Road: 9.01 miles
Previous league meetings: 0
Pros: It really isn’t that far from Watford to Barnet, and they’re even in the same county. They have a similar nickname (Bees) and strip (yellow and black) – it’s almost as if they aspire to be us.
Cons: Two cup ties (the only competitive meetings between the two clubs) aren’t enough to build a rivalry on. Unfortunately for Barnet, they’re only a few places higher up the pyramid than Luton, and the chances of the two teams ever meeting regularly are remote. Maybe they could take the Hatters off our hands, though…
Rivalry rating: 1 (out of 5)

Brentford

Distance: 12.07 miles
Meetings: 60
Pros: Like the Hornets, Brentford (another bunch of Bees – what is it with north-west London clubs and stinging insects?) have strong roots in their local community. As the only team in the western half of London outside the top two divisions, they’re sorely in need of a proper derby match. Oh, and Griffin Park has pubs on all four corners of the ground.
Cons: Fans who started supporting the two clubs since the 1970s will have few memories of previous meetings to draw on. There’s no sign of hostilities being renewed, either – though it only needs Watford to have one bad season or Brentford one good one.
Rating: 3

Queen’s Park Rangers

Distance: 12.18 miles
Meetings: 105
Pros: After the war, large numbers of bombed-out residents of Shepherd’s Bush were rehoused on the newly build South Oxhey estate, on the southern edge of Watford. As a result, Watford-QPR matches in the 1960s were extremely ‘tasty’. It was a proper rivalry, in other words, and there’s no reason why it couldn’t be revived. Especially as we’ve played Rangers more than any other league club, as far as I can make out. Their sugar-daddy owners are a further reason to dislike them. And I haven’t even mentioned their manager…
Cons: That manager could be on the verge of propelling them out of the Championship and into the Premiership. If that happens, and they stay up in their first season, it may be a while before we play them again.
Rating: 4

Arsenal

Distance: 14.40 miles
Meetings: 16
Pros: In our Division One days, we had a satisfyingly good record against Arsenal, and the 1987 FA Cup quarter-final win at Highbury remains my all-time favourite away game. These days, of course, we’re nothing but poor relations, but that’s no bad thing when it comes to stoking the fires of enmity. Also, there’s no shortage of Gooners in the Watford area, so there’s plenty of scope for banter.
Cons: Sadly, the chances of Watford and Arsenal ever meeting regularly are remote. In any case, the Gunners’ long-established rivalry with Spurs isn’t going to end any time soon.
Rating: 1

Fulham

Distance: 14.46 miles
Meetings: 18
Pros: Yes, I was surprised to find that Fulham is the fifth-closest club to Watford, too. I’m really struggling to find anything to hate about them, beyond the obvious – and even the way Mohammed Al-Fayed bought success for Fulham pales in comparison with the more recent exploits of the owners of Chelsea and Manchester City. Noble history, glorious riverside location… Nope, I’ve got nothing.
Cons: See above.
Rating: 0

So there you go. QPR and Brentford look like our best bets, with the Rs front-runners, provided they don’t get promoted at the end of the season.

Obviously, I’m not expecting the boys at the back of the Rookery to sway their anti-Luton chants for anti-Rangers ones just like that. But over time, as new fans join the ranks who’ve never seen Watford play Luton, chances are they’ll turn their attention to another club. And why not? At least you can spend an afternoon or evening in Shepherd’s Bush without having to worry about getting your head kicked in.

Something to celebrate

The concept of Tax Freedom Day - the day of the year when we start working for ourselves rather than the government, essentially - is well established. (This year it’s May 30th, by the way.) I think there should be an equivalent term to describe the day when Watford’s Championship survival is assured for another season.

Passing the 52-point mark - universally agreed as ensuring that relegation is all but mathematically impossible - on Saturday was certainly a great relief, even if we did it in rather strange circumstances. Last season it took us until late April, so celebrating Championship Survival Day* in mid-March is a great improvement.

And there’s much more than that to celebrate, too. Leaving aside the imminent takeover - which may, if nothing else, lead to the Vicarage Road pitch being relaid - we currently have a club that seems to be functioning well at almost every level, from the CEO to the youngest youth trainees. It’s been particularly heartwarming to see the contribution Watford’s youngsters have made this season, from Marvin Sordell’s goals to Matty Whichelow’s impact as a substitute and Adam Thompson’s confident performances at the back. It’s a sign of how well the system is working that the likes of Ross Jenkins and Lee Hodson are viewed almost as veterans these days, despite being 20 and 19 respectively.

So now we can relax a little and enjoy the rest of the season. As I wrote a few months ago, it really wouldn’t be a good thing for us to get promoted, but a final league placing of around ninth or tenth, which is eminently achievable, would represent a successful season for a club of such limited means. It would also tie in with Graham Taylor’s oft-stated, and admirably realistic, ambition for Watford to establish itself as “a top-30 club in English football”.

*All ideas for a better name gratefully received…

If it sounds too good to be true…

I got the call a few days ago. I’d been expecting it, having heard about this scam from other members of the Watford Mailing List. Because I was curious as to how it worked, I let the caller give me his entire spiel. I’m still none the wiser, though I have a couple of ideas.

The caller was from a New York-based firm called Harris James Associates. He was contacting me about my shares in Watford Leisure plc: would I be interested in selling them? He said his firm is representing a multinational company that wants to buy a majority stake (ie 51%) in Watford Leisure, on account of its “special assets and licences”. Later he also said that the deal was tax-related.

He claimed that 43% of the company’s institutional shareholders have already made a commitment to sell their shares, and wanted to know if I would do the same. The price would be between £8 and £17 a share, to be paid 30-90 days after the transaction was completed. There would be a requirement to lodge a bond as insurance against the deal falling through, but the “good news” was that the purchaser would pay most of that, and I would only be required to contribute a small amount.

Finally, he asked for my email address so that he could send me a confidentiality agreement that I would have to sign before proceeding any further with the transaction.

Now obviously I have no intention of going along with this scheme. As the old saying goes, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Watford Leisure plc shares are currently trading at 5p each, and their peak value in the past 12 months was 11.25p. So why would anyone possibly want to pay £8 each for them? It would have to be one hell of a tax dodge.

So, assuming it is simply a scam, how does it work? My initial thought was that it might be something to do with the bond that was mentioned, with the “small amount” eventually turning out to be a significant sum. That would fit the pattern of other well-known scams, such as the “You have won the [name of country] lottery” con, where you’re asked to send a fee to an intermediary, who will then pass on your winnings to you.

Alternatively, maybe it’s as simple as harvesting bank details. They already have my name and phone number, and presumably my home address as well; if I gave them the details of my bank account, they could wreak all kinds of havoc.

If anyone reading this has any other ideas, do post a comment below. I’m intrigued to know exactly what’s going on here.

Would you Adam and Eve it?

I see that Watford defenders Lee Hodson and Adam Thompson have been called up to the full Northern Ireland squad for their game against Scotland tomorrow night. Obviously I’m pleased for them, and it’s further proof that our youth development system is working well. But what do their call-ups say about the state of British football?

Lee Hodson is a promising full-back, no doubt about it, and at 19, he’s got plenty of time to develop. He’s started 43 times for the Hornets – but most of those starts were last season. Yes, he’s in the team at the moment, but we all know that he’s only there until Malky can get Andrew Taylor back from Middlesbrough, or an alternative loanee who can play at left back so that Lloyd can move back to the right.

He looks like a wizened old pro, though, in comparison to 18-year-old Adam Thompson. I’ve seen Adam’s entire senior career, as it happens. It was the League Cup 2nd round game against Notts County at the start of the season. That’s it. One first-team game, in a team packed with similar tyros - and Northern Ireland think he’s ready for international football?

The thing is, that one League Cup tie is probably the only competitive match Adam has ever played against a team of grown-ups. Reserve team matches, as far as I can tell, are basically an opportunity for clubs to field a team of under-21s – the current youth team and recent graduates. The days when they were peppered with senior players trying to win back a place in the first team are seemingly long gone. So Adam’s entire career to date has consisted of games against players his own age, or a year or two older.

Like I say, this is no reflection on two talented youngsters who will hopefully have long and successful careers. I feel for Northern Ireland manager Nigel Worthington, though, whose talent pool is so shallow that he has to pick players with minimal experience just to make up a full squad. It’s a further indictment (as if any were needed) of the way the Premiership’s riches have largely gone into the pockets of foreign players, while reducing opportunities for talented youngsters from the British isles to play at the highest level. Heck, even Fabio Capello has been reduced to picking the odd Championship player. Where will it end?

It’s not a *@%&ing panto!

Okay, I know people are strapped for cash at the moment. I certainly am, but I still wasn’t going to miss a home FA Cup tie, and £15 seemed reasonable to me for a 4th round clash with Brighton.

Obviously not to my fellow Rookeryites, though. Of the six seats to my left and right, only one was occupied by its usual resident. Taking the same block of seven seats in the row in front of me, there was only one regular; in the row behind, two. That makes five out of 21 season ticket holders who could be bothered to watch Watford play in the only major tournament we had any chance of winning this season.

In their place, for the most part, were families with kids. And I mean young kids – the ages of the ones around me ranged from five to eight, I’d say. I was nearly nine when I went to my first match, and I don’t think I’d have been able to concentrate on 90 minutes of football much before then. But I hope I wouldn’t have spent the entire game kicking the back of the seat in front of me, as the irritating brat behind me did. Or whining for a hot dog, or chasing a balloon up and down the row, like his pals.

The two boys directly in front of me were positively angelic by comparison. Possibly a bit wet, judging by the fact that their parents had brought a blanket to wrap round them, but fair enough, it was bloody cold. In the second half, though, whenever Watford were on the attack and people in the Rookery stood up, Dad would hoist one little lad onto his seat and Mum the other. This clearly took a lot of effort, so the parents were unwilling to lift them down again until the excitement was definitely over. As a result, I spent far more time than I wanted to staring at the backs of two little boys while the ball was down the far end of the pitch.

Don’t get me wrong: I know we need to encourage the next generation of fans to come along to Vicarage Road. But one of the reasons I choose to sit behind the goal in the Rookery is so that I’m surrounded by passionate, noisy fans (though those terms are relative when it comes to Watford fans, obviously). If I wanted to spent an afternoon surrounded by whingeing brats with short attention spans and an obsession with junk food, I’d go to my local multiplex. Now I understand why Graham Taylor created the Family Enclosure all those years ago.

Confessions of a groundhopper

I’ve seen a few non-league games over the years, mainly featuring Kingstonian, who my friend Stuart supported for a while. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of getting closer to the grass roots of football – the knowledge that everyone in the ground is there because they love the game, and their club, rather than being motivated by money or fame.

Yesterday my better half and I drove up to the town of Ossett in West Yorkshire, where she grew up, and where we’d been invited to a family party in the evening. I had the afternoon to myself, and I was pleased to discover that Ossett Town had a home game against Colwyn Bay in the Northern Premier League. Sorted.

So at 2.45 I strolled up to the gloriously named Stade France (formerly Ingfield, but now sponsored by local scrap merchant Eddie France), right in the centre of town – only to find the ground mysteriously empty. The game had obviously been postponed, for some reason.

Dispirited, I was walking back through the town square when I bumped into one of my wife’s friends and recounted my tale of woe. “Are Ossett Albion at home today?” she asked “You could watch them instead.” I said I didn’t know, but I was willing to go along on the off-chance if it wasn’t far. It wasn’t, and five minutes later I found myself outside the WareHouse Systems Stadium, where there was clearly a match going on. I paid my £3 at the turnstile (there was only the one) and asked the bloke behind the counter who Albion were playing. “Town,” he replied, as if I should have known that. Somehow I appeared to have stumbled upon a local derby.

I took up a position level with one of the penalty areas, on the top step (of three) of what I suppose you could call a terrace and surveyed the scene. There were roughly the same number of people on the pitch as there were around it (the small stand on the opposite site, with half a dozen rows of seats, had one solitary occupant), but all the noise was coming from the pitch. That’s one thing about football at this level; you can hear every word the players, manager and referee say. To be fair, the air didn’t turn particularly blue, though the Town coach did spend most of the match moaning at the referee, like a cut-price Alex Ferguson.

The standard of the football was… okay, I suppose. There were plenty of moments of skill from both sides, but rarely enough in a row to create the kind of football that’s pleasing to the eye. All too often the ball pinged back and forth as one team, then the other, conceded possession cheaply.

At half-time (0-0) I took a stroll round the ground, just because I could. I’d been too shy to ask anyone about the match, for fear of exposing my extreme southernness in this bastion of northern masculinity, but when I drew level with the occupant of the stand, I asked him how come this local derby was taking place. That’s when I learned that what I was actually watching was a reserve match.

It was tempting to leave at that point (I don’t even make the effort to watch Watford’s reserve matches, never mind anyone else’s), but I didn’t. For one thing, like any true football fan, I wanted to see who won. Besides, there was something evocative about the setting that I was keen to nail down. As the light dimmed and the Yorkshire accents clashed on the pitch (“Fooking ’ave ’im!”), with the moors looming behind the ground and the constant hum of the generator that powered the floodlights, I was oddly reminded of the legendary football match in Kes. (Yes, I know that involves schoolboys and takes place in broad daylight, but still, that’s what it felt like to me.)

The game opened up in the second half, as Albion pressed forward and Town’s defenders lost the plot. Albion scored two in a matter of minutes and could have had a hatful. Time and again they sliced through the defence to create a one-on-one or two-on-one situation, only to waste the chance with a poor shot or final ball. Town scored a very late penalty to make it 2-1, but there was barely time for the restart before the ref blew for full-time.

By this time the temperature had dropped several degrees, and the home fans’ joy at the result had been tempered by reports coming in of a 6-0 defeat for the first team at Chester, so no one was going to hang around to cheer the players off the pitch. I certainly didn’t, at any rate.

At the party that night, I told a few people that I’d been to watch Ossett Albion Reserves play Ossett Town Reserves, but I don’t think any of them got it. They doubtless thought that living in London had made me a bit soft in the head. Still, I reckon I’ll go back another time –preferably when the first team are playing. For one thing, Albion play in gold shirts and black shorts…

Wow!

There’s no other word for it: this afternoon’s demolition of Cardiff City was simply stupendous. Add in a similarly stylish performance against QPR and the win against Leicester before that, and you have to conclude that this Watford team is in the middle of a purple patch.

There was so much to admire today: Will Buckley’s speed and trickery on the wing, leading to Lee Naylor’s humiliating substitution with less than half an hour gone; the strength and movement of Graham and Sordell up front; the tireless running and challenging of John Eustace and Jordan Mutch that stopped Cardiff ever dominating the midfield; and a solid 90 minutes from the whole back four, even if the Cardiff goal did highlight their unfortunate tendency to give opposing strikers too much room at times.

All this and not one but two penalties for the Hornets – and we even scored one of them, which is frankly remarkable. (Cudos to Danny Graham, too, for having the balls to take the second after making such a hash of the first.) Oh, and they actually scored three goals at the Rookery end, equalling the total for the season to date, I believe.

All in all, I haven’t enjoyed a football match so much in ages. As with last season, however it ends up (and I’m still not taking anything for granted), you have to give Malky credit for making Watford so damn good to watch.

Get with the programme, pt. 4

And so, finally, to Stamford Bridge for Chelsea v Watford on Saturday November 1st, 1986, a Today League First Division fixture. I have no memory of Eddie Shah’s long-since vanished newspaper sponsoring the league, but I remember the match. A 0-0 draw on a cold, grey autumn afternoon. A dull game, made worse by being forced by the police to wait inside the ground for ages afterwards, supposedly for the home fans to disperse – though we suspected it simply gave the local bovver boys time to get in place for an ambush. It was raining by that time, and then they switched the floodlights off, and I vividly remember a sense of over-riding grimness that corresponds to so many accounts of football in the dark days of the mid-80s.

This may well have been the first Watford game I travelled to from my own home, as opposed to my parents’. Having graduated the previous summer, I’d moved into my first shared house in the autumn, a few weeks after starting my first job. I suppose I still used my parents’ house in Bushey Heath to store stuff, though, which is why this programme was there.

Like I say, Stamford Bridge was a grim place in those days, and Chelsea were anything but a glamour club. Some of the names that lined up against the Hornets that day mean nothing to me at all now – Tony Godden, Darren Wood, Keith Jones. There are no fewer than three who would go on to play for Watford (Keith Dublin, Joe McLaughlin and Kerry Dixon), but the most impressive name on the team sheet to me is that of Pat Nevin, the punk rock-loving, NME-reading exception among professional footballers.

Both teams were near the bottom of the table at the time, but the most striking statistic is the average home attendance listed there: Watford’s was 17,009 (close to our best ever), but Chelsea’s was just 15,528. Chairman Ken Bates’s column is full of phrases that suggest a beleagured club: “John Hollins [the manager] has my full support”; “I want the players to know that I am totally behind them”; “We have enjoyed the good times, let’s stick together in the rough”; “As for the knockers – stuff them”. You tell ’em, Ken.

Instead, it’s the Watford team that is healthily stocked with internationals – Barnes, McClelland, Jackett – not to mention classy players like Tony Coton, David Bardsley and Kevin Richardson. Indeed, I remember that we were disappointed not to win that day. Yet when Watford were drawn away at Stamford Bridge – now the closest ground to my home – in the FA Cup 3rd Round last season, I didn’t even bother to go, so certain was I that we would be soundly thrashed. It’s ironic to think that we were the club that used to get slated for buying success through our millionaire owner…

Get with the programme, pt. 3

Finally, a programme from a home game: Watford v Notts County, a Division 1 fixture from Saturday September 10th, 1983. I have no memory whatsoever of the match, which must have been one of the few I managed to see before going back to university for the start of my second year. I can tell you that we won 3-1 (I wrote the score on the team page, as I continued to do for many years), with goals from John Barnes, George Reilly and Charlie Palmer – the only one he ever scored for the Hornets, according to Trefor Jones’s Watford Football Club Illustrated Who’s Who.

The Notts County team that played that day is studded with familiar names: future managers Martin O’Neill and Nigel Worthington, legendary hardman Brian Kilcline, a sprinkling of foreign exotics – Aki Lahtinen, John Chiedozie, Rachid Harkouk – and the late lamented Justin Fashanu. It’s odd, looking at the league table in the programme, to see County ahead of their local rivals, but behind ours – now a non-league club, of course.

Although the County game was Watford’s first win of the season, the really significant fixture was the next one: the first leg of the UEFA Cup 1st round tie at Kaiserslautern the following Wednesday. Graham Taylor’s editorial is headed ‘Many thanks – now Europe’ and he spends much of it appealing for Watford fans not to disgrace themselves in Germany. Very much a sign of the times, when hooliganism was at its height.

Meanwhile, the fixtures page is mostly taken up with details of travel packages still available for fans wanting to go to the tie. Prices range from £47 for an economy coach trip to £135, which gets you a charter flight from Luton to Saarbrücken, a night in a hotel and a continental breakfast. I wish I’d had the money, or just the gumption, to make the trip (I was studying German – maybe I should have offered my services to the club as a translator), but I stayed home and listened on the radio instead.

The programme as a whole is a lively affair, though surprisingly thin. It’s printed half in colour and half in black and white, and whoever planned the layout doesn’t appear to have thought it through. Thus the reserve team report (with no pictures) and the kit sponsors page are in colour, while the pictorial spread on the recent Open Day, and another two pages of photos from recent games, are in mono.

The overall impression, though, is of confidence: from the large logo on the front cover to the bold yellow and black on the back, this is the programme of a club that knows what it’s achieved and is proud of it. And why not? We’d never had it so good.

Get with the programme, pt. 2

I remember more about this one: Hillingdon Borough v Watford in the 2nd Round of the FA Cup on Saturday December 11th, 1976. I went with a schoolfriend and his dad, who drove us there; it may well have been my first Watford away match. It was freezing cold – much like today, in fact – and I have a very clear memory of sitting in the car after the game, listening to the other FA Cup scores on the radio as we queued to get out of the ‘car park’ (a rutted field at one end of the ground) and waited for the ice on the windows to melt.

I remember the game, too. We were stood directly behind one of the goals (the Leas Stadium didn’t run to terraces), and Andy Rankin let in a soft goal right in front of us. It may well have been an equaliser, but the Hornets eventually won 3-2 against the Southern League side to go through to the 3rd Round – where we lost to another non-league outfit, Northwich Victoria, by the same score on an even colder day in January 1977. I can still picture myself huddled against the radiator in my bedroom, listening to the result on the radio.

The Hillingdon programme is written in an appealingly gauche style. “Here’s to an exciting win with preferably Boro’ going into the hat for the third round draw,” it says in the introduction (the pages aren’t numbered), while the Blues Corner column (written by ‘The Voice’) adds that “after the way our boys played against Torquay there is every valid reason for us to look forward to another league scalp”.

The gaucheness extends to the adverts. Who could resist ‘Dancing in the social hall’ on Saturday 18th December from 9pm to 11pm with Tangent, or the Christmas Eve Special from 9pm to midnight with Midnight Riders? Presumably these acts came from the Norman Jackson Agency, prominently advertised on the inside front cover: ‘For Dance bands, Hawaiian, Steel and Gypsy bands, beat groups, discotheques, toastmasters, folk groups and all forms of cabaret. Speciality: Stag shows and hen parties.’ The fact that they were still hiring out ‘beat groups’ less than a fortnight after the Sex Pistols’ notoriously sweary appearance on Bill Grundy’s ITV teatime show is almost impossibly quaint.

Mike Keen’s Watford team that day included players who would go on to play an important part in the glory years, such as Keith Pritchett and Roger Joslyn, but also long-forgotten journeymen like Tony Geidmintis and Peter Coffill. The ‘pen pictures’ give the birthplaces of the 18-man squad, and they’re all in London or the Home Counties, apart from Andy Rankin (Liverpool), Terry Eades (Cambridge), Arthur Horsfield (Newcastle) and Bobby Downes (Bloxwich).

As for Hillingdon Borough, they went bust in the late 80s, though they’ve since been resurrected and now play in the Spartan South Midlands League alongside the likes of Oxhey Jets and Tring Athletic. Still, as the programme I have in front of me notes, they did beat Luton Town 2-1 in the 2nd Round of the FA Cup in 1969, and you’ve got to say hats off to them for that, if nothing else.