Watford 0 Hull City 0 (20/04/2024) 21/04/2024

1- Watford and Hull City have an odd relationship.

Or rather, an odd lack of relationship.  Odd in that despite having spent a reasonable number of recent seasons in the same division – 8 of the last 20 – there’s not much of a narrative, little story line.  They’re the neighbour you pass in the street;  you know their name and you know that so-and-so knows them but you’ve never spoken to them yourself.

And this despite our shared histories overlapping at significant moments… but always in a sort of incidental way.  They happened to be the team who, rather than a Palace or a Bournemouth, an opponent whose trajectories have seen them become fierce rivals at particular times through circumstance.

Back in 1979, our last game of the season saw us need a win to seal promotion to the second tier for only the second time in our history under Graham Taylor.  This was achieved handsomely, a 4-0 triumph confirming successive promotions to escape the lower divisions in which we’ve only spent 2 years since.  Hull just happened to be the victims, lying in upper mid-table; “the Hull game” remembered fondly by those that do, but the Tigers’ biggest role was in labelling it.  

Our next encounters were nine years later;  an FA Cup tie that went two two replays (remember them?  back in the day when not every lingering jar of soul had been greedily licked clear) which the Hornets eventually navigated on our way to a Quarter-Final defeat at Wimbledon (John Fashanu’s handball, by the way, still pisses me off).  Each of those ties was overseen by a different manager – the outgoing Dave Bassett, the caretaker Tom Walley and the newly appointed Steve Harrison.  The Tigers side included recent young Hornets Richard Jobson, Charlie Palmer, Alex Dyer and Neil Williams; Steve Terry would join them that summer, but for all Andy Payton’s scurrying around Hull’s name was mere detail.

Another twenty years on, Aidy Boothroyd’s side lost to City over two legs in the play-offs – indeed lost both legs, in the end… but City, who were ultimately promoted, were merely the side who drew the lot of putting us out of our misery after an astonishing and pathetic collapse in the second half of that season. Any contention arose not from City but from Kevin Friend’s decisions to disallow a Danny Shittu header and then dismiss John Eustace.  The fight displayed that day was too little, too late.

Five years further on it was Hull who benefitted from our failure to see off Leeds United on that impossibly tragic final day as Gianfranco Zola’s swashbuckling side failed to crown a fine run that had gotten going in October.  Once again, Hull were bystanders;  Dominic Poleon, Jack Bonham, Jonathan Bond and even former Hornet Malky Mackay, who took his already promoted Cardiff side to second place Hull and got a point to open the opportunity of automatic promotion, would all play more significant roles in the afternoon.

Four years more and an overeager Marco Silva is on his way up the greasy pole, swapping Humberside for Hertfordshire.  Both contentious moves, both locations mere stepping stones with barely a year passing between his appointment at Hull and his departure from Vicarage Road (and a good deal less with his mind on his current job) but none of the many players linked with a move from City to Watford that summer (Eldin Jakupović, Josh Tymon, Kamil Grosicki, Tom Huddlestone, Andy Robertson) would move to Hertfordshire (a decision they surely all regret) and lack of relations with Hull City remained unaffected in the long term.

That summer did see the (second) coming of one Tom Cleverley to Vicarage Road.  Today, another incidental encounter with the Tigers on a day when, with our season all but over, the need for his first home win and the club’s first since November really needed putting to bed.

2- Not that the fans had flocked to see it.  For all that Tom’s albeit stopgap appointment has provoked an upturn in mood, this was still a dead rubber and “you never know, we might even win this week” remains a tough sell.  We were half an hour later in than normal due to One Thing and Another, but the concourses were quiet, there were no queues for anything, the stadium felt empty.

It wasn’t, of course, not quite.  Plenty of hellos were said and hands are shaken as we navigated our way through the GT concourse and down into the Rookery, Daughter 2 rolling her eyes bashfully at each.  It would be a sorry thing if we were entirely reliant on the football itself for entertainment after all, and Joe and Pat would, one assumes, have knocked the trips over from Ireland on the head long since were that the case.

And good job really, because our start wasn’t one to get the blood racing or fists pumping.  We retained the ball reliably enough, but did so inconsequentially and largely in our own half;  when Hull gained possession, which one two occasions happens as the result of a slack pass from the still not-quite-got-his-head-around-this Ismaël Koné, they were all over us in far more dangerous areas with wide men Omur and Philogene causing us immediate problems.  The penalty was no great surprise…  it hadn’t quite “been coming”, but we’d looked get-attable.

Ozan Tufan’s name was being chanted from the far end before he lined up the kick; the Turk has nine goals for the season and has even lasted the full 90 a few times, so we may have to accept that he’s a slightly better player than the tubby caricature who encapsulated our recruitment inadequacies of three years ago.  Nonetheless, his spot kick was entirely consistent with that caricature;  feeble and rueful, well within Daniel Bachmann’s reach and reach it he did.  It speaks volumes of both the goalkeeper’s performance and the limpness of the kick that this doesn’t even make his top three saves of the afternoon.

3- The most immediate consequence of the penalty save was that the level of niggle in the game was amplified.  Watford’s support raged at the visitors’ propensity to hit the deck easily;  the away end no doubt perceived instead an attempt by the home side to kick the shit out of their opponents.  In truth there were elements of both, perhaps exaggerated by a refereeing performance that comprehensively failed to command respect even if it never entirely lost control of proceedings.  An ongoing spat between Jaden Philogene and, astonishingly, Ryan Porteous was the most prominent; the Scot, along with the rest of the Three Amigos at the back, picked up a yellow as eight were shared between the two sides.

Hull continued to have the better of it without ever quite threatening to overwhelm us.  Tufan came closer than he had from the penalty spot from slightly closer in, receiving a knock-down with his back to goal in front of Bachmann’s right hand goalpost and executing a sharp, quick backheel, denied by fine reflexes from the goalkeeper.  The visitors looked like what their position in the table suggests – half-decent, which in turn implies half not-decent, the latter accounting for the fact that they haven’t even been able to keep pace with a flaky Norwich side and as such probably shouldn’t be under any illusions regarding readiness for the top flight.

As for ourselves, our own attacking limitations were showcased by our inability to create much worth writing about; a lot of what we managed on the break ended up with Jamal Lewis on the left and one of several fair deliveries found the relatively unattended head of Asprilla on the far side of the box.  He’d be near the top of the list of players you’d want attacking a shot on the volley, but bottom of the list to attack with his head, a badly directed effort going criminally wide.   Dennis, meanwhile, was having a tame afternoon… disappointing in the context of a feisty encounter albeit he’s still carrying that knock.  His best effort came at the expense of a better passing option and flew well wide on the spin.  In almost a season and a half at Vicarage Road, he has been involved in three home League victories… a statistic for which he is far from solely responsible, but damning nonetheless.

4- The second half was, eventually, much brighter;  Yáser Asprilla got hold of the game and the double substitution that introduced both Ken Sema and Mileta Rajović left us looking a lot more potent.  Hull remained dangerous on the break despite having less of the territory in the second half, Bachmann again called into action to beat away a fierce Carvalho free kick, and then to execute a double save to deny first Jacob and then a follow up from Sharp.

But most of the action was again at the Rookery end.  Sema was an immediate threat, making mincemeat of a tiring Regan Slater who was replaced within ten minutes.  Whatever the remaining problems with our side/squad, Ken ain’t one of them;  slightly concerning to see him approaching the last year of his contract.

Hugely encouraging, too, to see Mileta Rajović looking as much like a proper target man as he has in a Watford shirt…  battling, getting in the way, getting his head to things, laying off.  We are past the stage, too, of remarking on his taking free-kick duties from the left of the box or of being in charge of the long throw in attacking positions.  Both were in evidence here, his whipped free kick forced a straightforward but necessary save from Allsop from close to the edge of the box.

But the biggest obstacle to our achieving that much awaited victory remains the lack of confidence in front of goal.  Perversely given our record when shooting from distance – and our associated propensity for doing so – we look tentative and anxious in the box.  Matheus Martins is the poster boy for this, a ghost of the erratic but usefully cocky forward of the first half of the season.  He was at the end of the best chance, a fine Asprilla delivery from the right with time to take a touch, choosing instead an anxious volleyed slice which flew wide of a gaping goalmouth.

5- At the end of the game it was the visiting players that were the more visibly distraught, understandably so with more material objectives at stake.  Whilst not out of the play-off race the Tigers are now outside candidates… but presuming they don’t make the top six, our role was incidental, as is traditional.  A side who happened to be in the way as things slipped out of reach rather than the root cause of Hull’s distress.

As for the Hornets, Dave suggested during a brief congress on a quickly empty Yellow Brick Road after the game that a win, finally, against Sunderland next week would seal the job for Tom longer term.  One suspects that that win might be necessary for all concerned, reassurance that the decision is based on evidence as much as sentiment.  For the time being, Tom has achieved the aims he set himself – a win against Birmingham and reasons to look forward to next season.  As evidenced by the irrational levels of excitement that greeted confirmation of our trip to Middlesbrough on the final day.

Yooorns.

*Bachmann 5*, Andrews 3, Lewis 4, Porteous 3, Sierralta 3, Hoedt 3, Koné 2, Kayembe 3, Asprilla 4, Bayo 3, Dennis 2

Subs: Ngakia (for Andrews, 65) 3, Rajović (for Dennis, 73) 4, Sema (for Lewis, 73) 4, Martins (for Bayo, 82) NA, Ince, Livermore, Pollock, Morris, Hamer

Watford 0 Preston North End 0 (06/04/2024) 07/04/2024

1-  This morning, we cleared out the container.

It’s been sitting in the car park outside the centre for as long as I can remember, and it was full of crap.  If that were all there was to it life would have been easier but there was actually useful… no, essential stuff in there too, nestled amongst the crap.  In the build up to every theatre group production Chris makes positive noises about “sorting the container out”.  In the event, despite his best intentions, we end up lugging out the stuff we need – flats with which to construct the set, doors, batons, costumes, curtains, cables, paint, glue, shoes, wigs – for the duration, then shoving it all back in, padlocking the doors closed and trying our best to forget about it entirely until the next one.

This morning, we cleared out the container.  It helped that the sun was shining, which in part surely abetted the handsome turnout.  The were all sorts of folks present, only two of whom will actually find their way onto stage during the next production but any amdram group is necessarily a large extended family and many hands make light(er) work. Things were lugged, sorted, carried, sawed down, thrown out, arranged.  There were worthy people making tea and coffee, brave people crawling around under the stage lugging out long forgotten bags of even more crap.  People with power tools, people carrying things and plenty of standing around drinking tea. There was, it must be confessed, more willing incompetence than direction…  those with any expertise at all were thinly spread, the rest of us floated about desperately looking for an unclaimed job. Jude and I spent a happy fifteen minutes constructing a set of plastic shelving, establishing that it was still functional and then packing it away again.  Daughter 2 mucked in quite literally… using her own particular set of skills in sorting through an ancient bag of mostly revolting and possibly dangerous makeup and was rendered speechless by an unlabelled pot of green something that was quickly disposed of.  By the end of the day everything would be removed from the container, sorted, disposed of or replaced and the necessary for the next production lined up and ready to go.  Daughter 2 and I, needless to say, had made our excuses and headed for Vicarage Road long before.

2- The sense of a shared passion, of being part of something bigger and experiencing it with people who are similarly minded and similarly motivated isn’t unique to the theatre of course.  This, too, is surely part of what supporting a football club is all about…  the football matters, up to a point, and our mood is overly dictated by the vagaries of the team’s success or lack thereof.  But at the heart of it, the Thing that we support isn’t the players or the owners, the stadium or the colours or the badge – though they all represent the football club in different ways.  It’s the community.  The spirit, the sense of shared belief.

This is true despite the fact that Watford have a distinctly unimpressive trophy cabinet and will not spend much time in the consciousness of many other football fans in any normal week unless they happen to be facing us at the time.  Other people’s indifference is utterly irrelevant.  This is our club.

On which note, what a bloody wonderful thing Preston North End’s gentry day is.  It’s not new, it’s been celebrated in this way for nearly twenty years…  and I’m sure I was aware of it before today.  But we’d never seen it, never hosted until now the annual celebration of Preston fans, players and friends recently lost.  There are bowler hats all over Vicarage Road.  Not just one or two blokes having a laugh, which would have been fine in itself, but sported by hundreds upon hundreds in the away end.  Many have gone the whole hog and suited up, enough such that the spivvy suits aren’t unusual either, they’re everywhere.  Before the game, we are told, a wreath has been laid at the grave of former PNE invincible and Watford boss John Goodall in the Vicarage Road cemetery.  And the away end is full.  Not just busy, full.  Anyone who’s done the reverse trip knows that Watford to Preston is a bloody long way, PNE don’t have the biggest fanbase in the division and an outside chance of a play-off place isn’t going to do the job on it’s own.  Folk have come down specifically for gentry day, that’s what fills their stand.  It’s absolutely beautiful.  It’s poetry.  PNE celebrating their own people, their own reality.

3- Unfortunately, the game is shit.

There was a degree of inevitability about this from the moment that Daughter 2 and I took our leave of the hard work (and tea drinking) going on in North Bedfordshire of course, such behaviour would never be rewarded by that long-awaited home win.  Nonetheless it’s a numbing thing, a cold shower after the relative thrill of the Easter fixtures. 

On the pitch, Preston are a charmless breeze block of a team…  grey, solid, uncompromising and without decoration or accoutrement.  That the game follows the trend set by both of last season’s encounters with Ryan Lowe’s side is not all down to them, of course… our own limitations are cast into sharp relief by the afternoon, any overexcitement after the Leeds and West Brom performances quickly doused.

But the joylessness of the spectacle owes a lot to the nihilistic approach of the visitors.  Many a side has thrived in this division with a solid, obdurate team that is set up to allow opponents to crash against them with enough magic dust up front to nick a goal and a win here and there.  Hell, any number of Watford teams have employed that blueprint, Sean Dyche’s side and Quique’s team that comfortably survived our first season after promotion both good examples.  

None have followed it this absolutely.  None have interpreted the blueprint as a religious document to be followed unquestioningly, absolutely and dogmatically.  None have prioritised the suffocation of space in the final third to quite such a degree, none have so readily substituted magic dust with, frankly, more concrete in the shape of a brutal forward line of elbows and shoulder barges.  That Ryan Lowe’s relatively high water mark as PNE boss hasn’t seen him taken to Preston hearts is much easier to understand having seen the team play, let alone after three games in two seasons of fist-chewing tedium.  This is the sort of football that will see a manager turned on as soon as it fails to be successful and even, perhaps, before that.

4- Really, any attempt at a blow-by-blow would be doomed to failure from the off.  There weren’t any blows for starters, not that didn’t involve people colliding with each other; the closest that either side came was a header in the opening minutes that either came off Whatmough or his marker and squirrelled  its way around Daniel Bachmann’s woodwork.  Other than that the story of the “blows” is in quite how the few that came along were blown…  Jamal Lewis, frequently the attacking outlet since playing around the outside of the breeze block proved easier than bludgeoning through the middle of it, was on the end of a reasonable half-chance in the closing minute of each half and shanked the both. The first, a rare unattended ball in the Preston area, more forgivably clouted over with his weak foot; the second at the end of a good move in the second less excusably well wide.  The visitors had far less possession but made as much with it in terms of clear chances, Hughes executing the most spectacular miss of the day by slicing across an open goal in front of the Rookery and almost hitting the corner flag before the break whilst Keane came rather closer with a first time shot in the second half.

But long before the end it was clear that what residual enjoyment was to be bled from the afternoon would come from the fact that Richard Walker had been let loose with the microphone again.  Having long perfected the art of finding comedy in both the introduction of the ever-growing column of mascots and the participants in the fabulously futile “hit the centre spot” half time challenge that doesn’t involve humiliating anyone involved, the chucking-the-mike-down “f*** this” drawled, hopeless announcement of Preston’s last sub (“Coming on for Preston….  number 17.”) captured the mood of the stadium entirely.  The whistle blew, we went home.

5- Tom Cleverley may or may not be a football genius.  Time will tell, and the first disappointing performance of his short tenure doesn’t prove the case either way.  Elements of the team look much stronger for the new shape and thus for Cleverley’s influence…  defensively we look much more solid, four goals conceded in four games a figure distorted by two worldies, “could maybe have closed down better” notwithstanding.  Tom Dele-Bashiru continues to sparkle in that midfield and was again the pick of the bunch here, at the centre of a second half upping of the tempo that saw us at least threaten to play through Preston’s rearguard.  This improvement has been backed up by Tom’s post-match assessment, the need for more risk-taking when teams are sitting deep against us.

The next week brings two further tests against top six sides of the sort that have brought our best recent performances – I won’t make Ipswich (rehearsals trump driving to Suffolk midweek) but hope to be at Southampton.  Hopefully those that travel will enjoy performances akin to those against Leeds and West Brom against opponents less likely to sit back than Preston were.

But you do suspect that any lasting, permanent improvement rather needs us to get around to clearing out the container.

Yooorns.

Bachmann 3, Andrews 3, Lewis 3, Porteous 3, Sierralta 3, Hoedt 3, *Dele-Bashiru 3*, Kayembe 3, Asprilla 3, Bayo 3, Dennis 3

Subs: Chakvetadze (for Kayembe, 62) 3, Rajović (for Bayo, 62) 3, Koné (for Dennis, 82) NA, Ince, Martins, Livermore, Pollock, Morris, Hamer

West Bromwich Albion 2 Watford 2 (01/04/2024) 02/04/2024

Less may or may not be more, but it’s better than nothing at any rate.  Concise thunks, rather than an attempt at a report, befitting that they’re starting at 9.30pm before the grindstone tomorrow…

1-  “Please hang on….”

The guy next to me hasn’t struck up conversation in the two and a half hours that we’ve been standing here.  This despite the extremely close quarters that the narrow seating berths impose…  actually sitting down is out of the question, even standing demands a degree of co-ordination, sideways-onning and forbearance.  

But the whispered entreaty isn’t for my benefit.  Nor is it merely giving voice to anxiety, a futile call to the team of the sort that we all indulge in to give us the illusion of a degree of control or influence.  This is completely subconscious and is a sentiment shared throughout the noisy away end.  Points from a home game against the form team of the division and a difficult away trip are fine, late equalisers notwithstanding.  A win would be fabulous.  A win would see us galloping into the home straight.

It didn’t happen.  Which matters in one sense, and not at all in another.  The former, because see above.  The latter because this is suddenly huge fun again anyway.

2- It’s not even as if Albion had been knocking on the door, really.  Leeds’ equaliser on Friday was fortunate in the timing and manner of its arrival, but whilst we felt hard done by, it was a tickets-raffles situation.  There had been balls bouncing around our area looking for a leg to deflect off at regular intervals during the last twenty minutes.

I find West Brom less objectionable than most of our rivals, all things considered.  But whilst they too persevered they had none of Leeds’ verve, had applied very limited pressure and as frustration had been voiced around the Hawthorns the home fans began to trickle away.  Indeed, we had been threatening to extend our lead ourselves, Andrews getting himself on the end of an excellent move that ended, as so many, with Jamal Lewis free on the left sending in a ball which the right wing-back did well to reach but stabbed unwittingly at the keeper – either side and it was in. Minutes before Darnell Furlong, one of many names crisscrossing today’s teams, dumped an equaliser past Bachmann that his father would have been proud of I’d been pondering whether there were any Southampton tickets left.

There had been none of the frenzied bloodlust that had characterised Friday night.  Indeed Albion started much the stronger, but we’d established a foothold and were punching our weight by the interval.  In the second half we pinned the hosts back for long periods, our play characterised by retention of possession, yes, but quick quick slow, often involving brave passes to players in tight corners, trusting their ability to play their way through such situations.  Emmanuel Dennis and Tom Dele-Bashiru in particular thrived in this regards, Dennis through belligerence, TDB through being in complete control of his balance, of where the ball was and where he was going to send it.  Nothing untidy, nothing done by accident.

3- A word for Mileta Rajović, who got a proper run here for the first time in Tom’s three games to date.  I’ve been fooled by suggestions like this before that haven’t been followed through in subsequent games, so let’s see but…  one of the frustrations with the big striker has been his reluctance, perhaps inability to weaponise his size.   He grapples, he competes, though his total lack of acceleration makes him less of a nuisance than he might be…  but he’s not shown enough evidence of an ability to bully opponents.

He bullied West Brom here.  His forty minutes or so was aggressive and effective…  somehow he no longer seemed to be lumbering slightly haplessly after the game but was very much at the centre of it.  Competing for headers he had little chance of winning but leaving something on his marker anyway, just to let him know he had a scrap on his hands.  Pushing away challenges and spreading the play as teammates scampered away from him.  Bellowing at Emmanuel Dennis’ selfishness (yes, really) as the Nigerian picked up the pieces after Palmer had pushed away a TDB drive and smacked a shot against the post from a ridiculous angle rather than pulling back for the Dane to tap in.  Arguing with fellow sub Martins, claiming rights to a free kick won on the edge of the area… Martins prevailed and curled a shot gently into the keeper’s chest, a Rajović set piece would have been morbidly fascinating.  Finally, flying in at the far post to stretch and turn in yet another Lewis cross; the celebration was in front of the away section and screamed both joy and relief.  We screamed with him, a fine moment irrespective of what happened subsequently.

4- Actually the worst moment of the afternoon, now that we’re reconciled to our disappointment, was the passing of another significant landmark.  The Abbey Stadium in 1991 saw the first, the emotional blow of someone younger than me playing for Watford (in that ridiculous blue chessboard kit of all things from memory) only slightly tempered by the subsequent development of the miscreant into Richard Johnson.  The first Watford manager younger than me was the next…  Brendan Rodgers, whose rapid and clumsy relocation to Reading might have been met with more vitriol than it probably deserved as a result.

So Zavier Massiah-Edwards being an exciting new name on the teamsheet was briefly a fascination, but googling revealed the sorry truth…  that I was only an indulgent substitution away from watching someone younger than Daughter 1, and thus by definition a small child, playing for the Hornets.  This is a bridge that any parent will have to cross, of course;  I concede that it’s not really reasonable to hold this against Massiah-Edwards for too long (and of course he hasn’t taken to the field yet…).  But I’m going to need a lie down and/or a stiff drink when it happens.

5- The question on everyone’s lips, evidenced both on social media and in the stands before the game, is whether Tom gets the gig at the end of the season.  He’s demonstrably suggesting nothing of the sort, which is entirely proper.  Probably not significant that his interim team was drawn entirely from existing ranks within the club…  financially expedient for a holding position as well as names and faces that he clearly trusts, so not indicative either way.

For me… the hope is that we’re still asking that question by the time we finish at Middlesbrough in a month or so’s time.  If that’s the case, if he’s kept the team positive and playing, nobody on the beach, meeting the challenges of opponents wising up to his approach – his biggest achievement today the reset that propelled us into the second half – then he’ll have succeeded in his objectives.  Beat Birmingham, confirm survival, then leave us looking forward to the next one.  He’ll certainly have made it much harder to look anywhere else, and would be a popular appointment.

As for me, I bought those Southampton tickets anyway…

Yooorns.

Bachmann 4, Andrews 3, Lewis 4, Porteous 4, Sierralta 3, Hoedt 4, *Dele-Bashiru 4*, Kayembe 4, Koné 3, Dennis 4, Bayo 3

Subs: Asprilla (for Koné, 56) 4, Rajović (for Bayo, 56) 4, Martins (for Dennis, 74) 3, Livermore (for Kayembe, 85) NA, Massiah-Edwards, Ince, Pollock, Morris, Hamer

Watford 2 Leeds United 2 (29/03/2024) 31/03/2024

1-  Timing means that this is going to be a different sort of report.

There’s only so many hours in the day, dear reader, and a kick-off at 8pm on Good Friday doesn’t leave you much wriggle room if you’ve got a good hour’s drive once you’ve gotten out of Watford, only to drive back the next morning for an Event.  Thus, I’m writing this 24 hours after kick off and much as last night was thrilling we’re passed the stage where any “big learnings” piece, let alone a blow-by-blow, adds much.  So this is going to be largely vibes.  But such vibes. 

The Event in question is a Batmitzvah,  our invite coming from Felix and his wife, parents of the daughter in question.  Felix has been my neighbour at Vicarage Road – Daughters 1 and 2 permitting – since he walked into Leeds University Union wearing the grotesque blue-and-white chessboard away kit of the time well over 30 years ago.  The next two years saw many trips around England, including dicing with trouble with scarves flying all the way back up the M1 after this fixture in 1992. 

It’s my second visit to a synagogue;  the first, a mere 20 years ago, for his wedding.  This time there is heavy if cordial security…  without wishing to wander into reckless territory, indicative that irrespective of faith there are some foul people in the world.

None of them are here, though.  This is a fine event all round which concludes with a lot of food at a Bushey restaurant.  Many of the guests are of an appropriate persuasion of course, and are bound even stronger on this occasion. There’s an odd giveaway noticeable by anyone paying attention, a sparkle in the eyes akin to the blue glow of the Fremen in Dune.  Daughter 2 has it in spades, so too Felix’s brother and nephew.  Felix and his son have it, and they didn’t even make the game due to their pre-Event duties here but it’s contagious and undeniable.  His Dad, Joe, sums it up best.  “I’ve not enjoyed a game that much in years…”.

2- Wind back to Friday evening.  Let’s say…  8.45ish.  Emmanuel Dennis is haring towards the Sir Elton John Stand and the stadium – barring the rammed away section – is collectively doing its nut.

This is Vicarage Road  at it’s finest…  an evening kick-off, for one thing.  This stadium is ours and home.  We know it’s special for all sorts of reasons that might not be immediately apparent to a neutral, let alone a rival.  But even the most journeyed supporter would surely concede that there’s nowhere that quite sucks in the darkness like Vicarage Road on such occasions.  

It’s also noisy.  Daughter 2 and I are fuelled, as is long traditional, by the stunning Tandoori Chicken and Masala fries with curry sauce available in the Upper GT concourse… I mean, don’t go telling everyone because we wouldn’t want to have to queue for it or anything but jesus.  

But even those not similarly rocket powered are noisy tonight.  Birmingham was obviously critical in this regard… never mind the performance, feel the points.  Anything less than a scruffy win and this game would have been met with trepidation and yet another glance over the shoulder but that’s all gone now.  “Bring. It. On.” is the subtext.  Bigger they come, harder they fall.  

It helps that the opening half has been extraordinary.  Furious, aggressive, wild, merciless and all but unprecedented. And having seen our lead stolen by a fabulous finish from the remarkable Summerville… well.  This goal is…  perhaps one of the goals of our season – though the number of times that Dennis has held on to the ball too long and f***ed it up on previous occasions rather takes the edge off that perhaps.

But it’s undoubtedly the moment of the season so far.  A prize sealed, perhaps, by the ferocious challenge by Dennis on Cooper that featured in the build up, a great big “f*** off, pal” (of which more below) which already had everyone’s adrenaline going such that when the ball was planted past Meslier a primal scream followed.  Just NOISE.  By half time, my voice was gone.

3- Come Monday night, everything might have changed.  Come Monday night we might have travelled up to the Hawthorns, haunted as it is by the ghosts of Bob Taylor and Lee Hughes and drubbings past, and been thoroughly undone.  Perhaps they’ll have watched this video and thought “right… we do this, and this and a bit of that” and unpeeled Tom Cleverley’s new dawn like a banana.

Until then, Tom Cleverley (with nods to Kavaja, Lathrope, Gilligan) is a football genius, so let’s enjoy the heck out of it.  So much of what had changed just seemed so utterly sensible.  Like… putting players in positions where they can do things they’re good at, enlightened, modern, namby-pamby thinking that it was – and often in places that Leeds didn’t expect them at all.  So you have Vakoun Bayo as a wonderful, hurtly, pain in the arse, underneath every long clearance forward and not particularly having to hold the ball up because suddenly he’s one of a two and has Emmanuel Dennis, spiky and venomous in his own right, prowling around next to him.  You have Tom Dele-Bashiru as a sort of human protractor, popping up like whack-a-mole to create an angle, quick-pass, twist into space.  Or maybe create an angle, twist into space, quick pass if he’s feeling cheeky. He’s a critical cog.

Jamal Lewis in particular benefits from being pushed forward to wing-back and spends the game galloping down the left flank, a cute line in outward-curling lobbed passes from Porteous into his path a particular highlight.  Ryan Andrews, one suspects, will similarly enjoy his new liberty once he doesn’t have Crysencio Summerville to worry about.

Behind them, Dan Bachmann is now protected by three centre-halves, who elaborate on the themes suggested at Birmingham by snapping the ball along the now shorter distances between them much more quickly than we’re used to seeing it swing across the back…  but also by allowing themselves be bloody centre-halves now and again.  How much has Mattie Pollock in particular been desperate to be allowed to be a defender?  He, Sierralta and Porteous clear things that need clearing, as far as they can clear them.  They head things that need heading.  They shout at things that need shouting at.

And, yes, they kick things that need kicking.

4- Because the other attractive characteristic of the performance is an overdue level of violence.

Heaven knows there are some big bastards in our team, but with very few (if notable) exceptions – that’s you, Ryan Porteous – you wouldn’t have known it for much of a season in which we’ve been too supine too often.  Patience is, I suppose, a virtue but there comes a point where one really has to lose one’s rag and start demanding things as everyone who has ever parented a teenager will tell you.

And this is the most impatient performance we’ve seen for a very long time.  But…. disciplined with it.  For while Dennis and Bayo are hurtling around, Dennis back in the Tasmanian Devil form that characterised his better performance two seasons ago, and as a team we’re chasing down any whiff of controlled possession in the Leeds half our defending is much cuter…  standing players up, not jumping in, not overcommitting.  Jockeying, hassling, demanding. “Come on, then!”.  And then, when you see the whites of their eyes, kicking them up the arse.

Meanwhile in midfield, Edo Kayembe is rumbling around like the heavyweight unit he always should have been, ploughing through tackles rather than around them  Even Yáser Asprilla is doing his bit, seemingly tasked in the second half with being the irritant that cuts of Joe Rodon’s surges forward at the knees… the Welsh defender had followed an inhuman challenge to deny us a 2-0 lead with a surge through midfield to instigate the move for the equaliser, then caused havoc with a similar run later in the half but was given short shrift after the break.

Leeds don’t like it.  At all.  Summerville reacts early to being bullied out of possession by shoving his adversary two handed – with a more demonstrably insecure referee all sorts of cards could have been thrown around but, implausibly, we see none at all.  Dan James spends more time rolling around on the floor than not.  Patrick Bamford earns every inch of the derision he receives from Daughter 2 for flopping around inconsequentially for ninety plus minutes, waving his arms in the air.  Late in the game sub Jaydon Anthony channels all of his side’s peevish frustration into a snide rake of his studs down Porteous’ shins as the pair back away from a throw in at the Rookery end before stumbling backwards over his enraged adversary.  The ensuing handbags are quickly disposed of before Porteous earns the second biggest cheer of the afternoon when Anthony sits up in front of him on the GT stand touchline like a bouncing ball asking for a half-volley on the edge of the area and he launches his adversary into the hoardings.  Ludicrously, neither protagonist earned a card for either incident.

You’d have thought that Leeds, a team whose reputation was built on sharp edges and hailing from a City with similar character, would indulge in less pearl-clutching than most in response to this but seemingly not.  Seems that self-awareness is in low supply in West Yorkshire. Bless.  Tiny violins out all round, I think.

5- No, we didn’t win the game.  Noticed that.  Detail.

Having successfully prolonged our ferocity into the second half and kept a firm grip on the initiative, things changed when Emmanuel Dennis went off, ostensibly to protect a groin injury that already looks vastly less of a problem than it did at Birmingham.  It’s an expensive change to have to make, since Ismaël Koné never quite tuned into the inensity of the game.

Vakoun Bayo, meanwhile, was dead on his feet by midway through the half;  somehow he made it to the 89th minute but he wasn’t not the only one to slow down as the half progressed.  Leeds had most of the possession for the final quarter of the game and for all that we were the better side of the ninety this could have been a loss and a very different feel in the end. Dan Bachmann in particular, with a couple of fine stops not least from Anthony in the dying embers, saw us through as Leeds compensated for their lack of penetration with a bloody-minded perseverance that earned them a point but didn’t burgle them all three. 

Nonetheless.  Given a fairly feeble haul against the league’s strongest teams this season, a point from a side who had been 13-1-0 for the calendar year and hadn’t conceded from open play over the same period (let alone twice) is not to be sniffed at.  

Tom’s commitment was to get us looking forward to next season.  Much more of this and we’ll all be getting quite carried away.

See you at the Hawthorns.

Yooorns.

Bachmann 5, Andrews 3, *Lewis 5*, Pollock 4, Sierralta 4, Porteous 5, Dele-Bashiru 5, Kayembe 4, Asprilla 4, Bayo 4, Dennis 4

Subs: Koné (for Dennis, 58) 3, Ince (for Asprilla, 80) NA, Rajović (for Bayo, 89) NA, Martins, Grieves, Chakvetadze, Livermore, Morris, Hamer

Watford 1 Coventry City 2 (09/03/2024) 10/03/2024

1- The scenes at the end of the game are heart-breaking.  

The players look hollow.  Or rather, Wesley Hoedt does.  He’s the only one I wait around long enough to applaud as Daughter 2 has really had enough and is already down the tunnel.  His eyes betray the same haunted, vulnerable, beaten look that permeates the Rookery.  Perhaps a blessing that he’ll be sitting out the next two games, the first minutes he’ll have missed this season.  He needs exorcising more than exercising.

There are a few angry, red-faced men shouting at the players.  This isn’t fair, the narrative of this one is transparent and lack of effort isn’t part of it, unlike an absolute lack of belief exacerbated by having stolen defeat from the jaws of victory.  There are a few applauding, sparks of confrontation between the two parties.  But most troop out quietly with the same dull, numb emptiness in their eyes whilst the unwelcome, noisy visitors from the midlands enjoy that finest of things, a hard-earned if scarcely merited away win.

It’s difficult to know who to blame.  The players, yes, up to a point but having pulled that first half from somewhere sympathy is more appropriate than blame.  Not the referee…  the penalty looks a bit soft on the replay, the lack of censure for the foul on Chakvetadze disappointing but he kept a difficult game flowing for the most part and was intolerant of Coventry’s aggression in the face of our first half dominance.  The manager?  Well, perhaps.  But events overtake me as I type, so we’ll come to him later.

2- He had chucked the cards in the air again before kick off.  Often accused of being inflexible in his approach, his attempts at mixing it up have been less convincing than his earlier commitment to an inconsistently effective dogma.  Some selections, most recently the re-introduction of Andrews and earlier Pollock, seem to have been capitulations to pressure, others a haphazard “let’s see if this works”.

It would be hypocritical to criticise this lack of clarity too much.  Our own pre-match routines and superstitions have long been abandoned in a similarly desperate flailing around for something that might please the fortune fairies and improve our form.  Wednesday’s lucky chocolate had seen ig’s old staple, the mint Aero, adopted for the first time while Daughter 2 abandoned chocolate altogether in favour of a lollipop (both choices revised today, a home point inadequate however much an improvement).  We’ve come by train given the recent resumption of the Bedford-Bletchley service, a sedate trundle through things called Fenny Stratford and Apsley Guise that takes 45 minutes to cover roughly 15 miles as the crow flies. Heaven knows what impact that had. The real silver lining of today’s outcome, the only silver lining is that it doesn’t set a precedent involving lunch choices.  Having ambled around the town centre, we’d somehow ended up in Taco Bell.

Back in the stadium, whilst Dan Bachmann has retained his place after a characteristically eventful evening on Wednesday the midfield and forwards are shaken up with Koné and Kayembe returning for the absent Livermore and for Asprilla, moved back to a wide position as Dennis starts down the middle with Chakvetadze coming in for the injured Ken Sema.  Another tweak, perhaps a more interesting one, sees the sides switch ends with the Hornets kicking towards the Rookery in the first half, contrary to tradition.  Since Coventry then kicked off, this was presumably at our own instigation.

3- The visitors start like a train, because why wouldn’t you?  Jake Bidwell, who has always looked like, smelled like, had the aura of a second division left back, slugs a shot wide of Dan Bachmann’s left post.  You’d like to think that his swallow dive in the right general direction would have obstructed the shot had it been on target.  

The atmosphere is muted, sullen.  This season’s anthem, or at least 2024’s anthem, “football in a library”, regales us from the packed side of the Vicarage Road end.  The other stands in the ground are desperately patchy;  according to the official attendance there are only 2000 empty seats but it looks like an awful lot more.  The Totally Football Show this week hosted a fine rant by Seb Stafford-Bloor on Tottenham’s forthcoming ticket price hike in which he highlighted the privileged position that a football club has… it’s clientele desperately want to buy the product.  It takes an awful lot, supporters will put up with an awful lot before they vote with their feet because this is about so much more than the quality of the football (or lack of it).  It’s people, friends, family, traditions, habits.  Abandoning a lifelong commitment takes a lot of doing, however sensible.  Nonetheless Felix, who I’ve sat with at home games pretty much since we met during our first term at Leeds in 1991, had sloped in shortly before kick-off sheepishly admitting that he couldn’t face Swansea during the week.  He’s far from the only one.

So it’s a barren landscape, a blasted heath.  And yet as we survive City’s early assault and start playing some unusually punchy football of our own, green shoots are quick to emerge.  The people are desperate to be entertained – eight (now nine) home games without a win in the league yes, yes but on top of that we have enjoyed just 23 home league wins from the stands over the last five years, a figure distorted by promotion during a lockdown sandwiched by relegations, but nonetheless.  We’ve survived on meagre morsels for a while now, it doesn’t take much to put a smile on faces.

So as we start to rattle at Coventry, on the front foot, pinging the ball around, the crowd is quick to warm to it, the “I remember this, this was happiness, right?” murmurs evident.  Much of our attacking play is focused down our left where Giorgi Chakvetadze, so often a source of hope of late, is cutting inside and flowing around Coventry challenges like water while Jamal Lewis is having one of his flame on days, hammering down the flank and into challenges with an aggression that isn’t really his trademark; one shoulder-to-shoulder surprisingly seeing the not inconsiderable bulk of Bobby Thomas flying into the hoardings.  Coventry respond to this perhaps unanticipated challenge with rugged brutality to which referee Bobby Madley is quickly intolerant.  City fans will cheer ironically when they’re finally given a decision later in the half; not kicking our players incessantly would have been a more straightforward means of evening out the decisions rather more quickly.

Emmanuel Dennis is more effective down the centre than he has been wide of late, even if he hangs onto the ball for too long as is his way, and his passes to teammates rather force them away from the action instead of towards it.  Nonetheless Edo Kayembe, back in the side and looking suddenly much more like his old self, applies a corrective touch before flinging a shot across Coventry’s bows.  Collins pushes it away, Asprilla is sniffing after the rebound. He doesn’t reach it and is offside in any case but this is actual attacking play all of a sudden and We Like It.  Another attack down the left, Dennis flicks on and Asprilla is arriving again…  uncontrolled contact, narrowly and unwittingly wide but he was there like Nigel Callaghan would have been.  GT would have approved.  Another attack down the left, Chak doing his glidy thing before teeing up Koné whose shot skids across the face and wide.  

When it comes it’s a set piece, off the training ground and no shame in that.  Andrews, who has been positive and energetic when given a chance on the opposite flank, takes the throw, nobody tracks Porteous’ unusual break from the pack towards the thrower and he manages to execute a reverse lobbed header with his impossibly twisty neck muscles that drops over the helpless Collins and inside the far post.  The celebration is almost muted, we’ve forgotten how, but the sun is shining suddenly.

4- It doesn’t last, obviously.  As we continue to look positive it is beyond dispute that we could and should be further ahead…  but this is a hypothetical truism, something that you know to be correct but which seems divorced from a game in which we’re still on top so what’s the problem?  

By the end of the half we have two.  Coventry have shown signs of life, but Eccles tricking his way into the box is still incongruous… Bachmann charges out, Eccles pushes the ball sideways and goes over the challenge which was clumsy enough to deserve the outcome even if, strictly speaking, it was incompetent enough perhaps not to merit a penalty at all – obstruction for lying in the way and thus an indirect free kick feels more appropriate, Eccles having initiated the contact.  Either way, the impressive Haji Wright clubs his spot kick well beyond Bachmann’s dive and from nowhere the scores are level.

Minutes later  Giorgi Chakvetadze, by some distance the star of the first half, is felled by a cruel and deliberate foul that sees him fall and twist with weight on him, leaving him punching the turf.  Bobby Madley has been quick to punish Coventry’s earlier transgressions so the lack of punitive action here is a little surprising and such is clearly Val’s perspective from the touchline.  The Georgian recovers to end the half but doesn’t reappear after the interval, his replacement pointedly confirmed as caused by injury over the tannoy.

The combination of the two developments changes the game completely.  We still have possession, but even our better chances – another shot from Koné whilst falling, a header from Hoedt to a left wing set piece – lack conviction.  We are retreating back within ourselves, whilst the visitors bring on Ben Sheaf and Callum O’Hare on the hour;  not sure why they’re on the bench, but testament indeed to the depth of City’s squad if those two are now on rotation.  The visitors are the better side for the last half hour, and if they barely create a chance they create enough, a fine strike from Wright again but demonstrative of our fragility as Porteous is isolated on the edge of the box just as he was when Eccles skipped past him on his way to earning the penalty.  There is no suggestion of a fightback.

5- And so midway through the writing of this report the news breaks that has been coming, however reluctantly.  Ten months is probably not far from average for a managerial tenure these days and any number of statistics will support the fact that most clubs in this position would have taken the same steps by now, not that this will prevent any tired hacks from wheeling out tired gags.

One half of the paradox is that much of the stuff that I put in the Leicester report when recklessly pinning my colours to the Ismaël mast still holds.  Much… not all.  The lack of throwing players under the bus didn’t survive Norwich, for example.  But… you’d still acknowledge that he instilled discipline, that he gave the team a shape it had badly lacked.  That he improved a good number of the players, that he found albeit sticking-plaster solutions to deficiencies in the squad without bitching about them (TDB at right back, making a nuisance of his limited centre forward options), that he managed to keep most of the squad fit most of the time through diligent rotation.  The passing of time, what happens next, might see him end up with more credit than he’s leaving with.

Because the other side of the paradox is that our form and performances, notwithstanding half an hour or so here, have been what Joe on the WhatsApp chat accurately summed up as “ridiculously bleak” for some time.  Our seven defeats in nine are a catalogue of horror shows, almost all of which prompting an “oh yeah that was awful” on reflection.  Millwall.  Norwich.  Jesus, Huddersfield.  I’m rehearsing for a play at the moment, two-thirds of the principle actors in which are of a Watford persuasion.  Weekly comparison of notes has been a repetitive and mirthless affair.  However reluctantly and whatever the conspiring factors and environment that contribute to our situation, this call feels sadly unavoidable.

And so, Tom Cleverley.  An “interim” position, a charge who one hopes will do enough to steer us over the line, a low bar that should be attainable given the number of clubs below us.  He can at least count on renewed and unequivocal support from the stands, though I’m sure he’d prefer a kinder baptism of games than Leeds in his first at home and West Brom away three days later.

Either way, best of luck Tom.  You may need it.

Yooorns.

Bachmann 2, Andrews 4, Lewis 4, Porteous 3, Hoedt 3, Dele-Bashiru 3, Kayembe 3, Koné 3, Asprilla 3, *Chakvetadze 4*, Dennis 2

Subs: Bayo (for Chakvetadze, 45) 3, Martins (for Dennis, 64) 3, Ince (for Koné, 76) NA, Rajović (for Asprilla, 86) NA, Grieves, Sierralta, Pollock, Morris, Hamer

Millwall 1 Watford 0 (03/03/2024) 03/03/2024

1- “Come oooon, I’ve got work on Monday!”

It’s a rare bit of gallows humour.  6/10 for wit, but better than nothing.  Any attempt at humour, any positiveness at all is in short supply, standing as we have been for over half an hour in the uncharming walkway that channels visiting supporters from the away end up to South Bermondsey station.  This at the end of an afternoon which has seen us travel to The Den – still a “new ground”, however perfunctory and despite being thirty years old – to witness another miserable failure of a performance.  It’s the last thing anyone needs.

One presumes that the intention behind holding us up here as the home crowd funnels past and up to the platform is to segregate the fans as the quarter-hourly trains slowly scoop up supporters from the platform.  Quite why this is deemed necessary after an unremarkable game held in unremarkable atmosphere is a little difficult to understand…  none of us, not even every-gamers consulted once we finally drop into a train carriage, remember this happening before, not even on more contentious afternoons and nor does our contact in the home end.  In the impatient huddle there’s an elderly man leaning on a stick, there are kids being gently, slightly nervously protected as the inevitable happens and provocative shouts and chants are exchanged between the passing sets of supporters, albeit with a yellow safety net separating them.  It’s all a bit pathetic, like being trapped in a nightmare, and if the threat of something really kicking off remains a mercifully remote possibility, I’m conscious of Daughter 2’s presence in this regard for the first time in a very long time.  For her own part she merely looks bored, as she has done since kick-off.  It’s difficult not to sympathise.

2- The day isn’t a complete washout;  reaching this low bar is always the aim of course, however challenging the circumstances and Borough Market has provided the safety net that it so often does for this fixture – weather and timing permitting, which today they have done.  Paul took the lead, easily followed, tall and sporting his Inter hat. “I’m just wandering”, he confesses, but such is what Borough Market demands with it’s overlapping smells and stalls and people from every corner in every corner and stacked on top of each other where corners are full.  It’s an absolute joy – tasters of nuts and chocolate and cheese thrust at you as you pass, the only challenge deciding quite what we will label as “lunch”.  Daughter 2 and I settle for pitta breads stuffed with meat and all means of salady stuff and yoghurty stuff, both of which disappear quickly and absolutely.  Paul wanders off and returns with arancini and something similarly Italian with ham dangling from it.  We then amble along the Thames in the sunshine, past HMS Belfast and up to Tower Bridge.  This will prove the highlight of the day.

Things are still fairly enjoyable on the short train hop from London Bridge.  Things fall for us (for the last time on the day) and we get to the platform twenty minutes before departure, allowing us to grab a table as the carriage fills up around us.  It’s boisterous but good natured – two tables behind us are from rival camps and exchange stories, jibes and cans to the happy astonishment of a group of Dutch passengers who seem to be on a Zian Flemming-inspired visit.  After a four minute roll to South Bermondsey we’re out and in the away end, the rear entrances to which have been opened out into a sunny and comfortable, fenced-in fanzone.  The Spanish lady serving from the chip van calls everyone “my baby” which causes Daughter 2 to roll her eyes, but far rather than than a long queue for something inedible.  At any rate, it’s still a decent afternoon.

Then the game starts.

3- “You’re f***ing ****!  What are you f***ing doing?  You’re f***ing ****!”

It hasn’t been a great start.  Millwall are boisterous from the off;  we look hung over.  Edo Kayembe swings a boot at the ball and clumsily takes out his opponent instead in the first minute;  clearly a foul, but Gavin Ward feels the room and sets a suitable tone of irritating, pedantic inconsistency for the afternoon by booking Kayembe and then not booking Millwall left wing-back McNamara for a similar foul minutes later.  By that time Jake Livermore has given away a stupid, cheap free kick with a shove in the back that was probably visible from the crowded alleys of Borough Market.  Zian Flemming takes an ambitious shot that deflects off the back of the jumping, twisting Asprilla and squirms past Ben Hamer who, one imagines, might feel he could have done rather better, deflection or otherwise.  I briefly think of the Dutch tourists from the train as I slump backwards.

Mister Angry is right behind me.  Right behind me.  With the benefit of hindsight, I’m grateful that he calmed the hell down quite quickly since I was in danger of taking issue and making a miserable afternoon so much worse, these conversations have a track record of going so well after all.  To my right is a rejected Paul Whitehouse character from the Fast Show.  All pent up frustration, he is tormented to the point of utter incoherence…”No…. yes… no…. oh you f***ing….  that was NEVER a foul ref, NEVER a ****ing…. oh you ****”.  It was a foul.  Obviously.  

We look pretty much exactly like you’d expect a limited side low on confidence who’ve just let in a perverse early good to look.  Tentative, anxious.  The ball swinging across the back (“Hamer’s on!!!  Hamer’s on!!!”) as Millwall settle in front of us.  Asprilla is at the apex of the midfield, Dennis wide right, Sema wide left and Bayo down the middle.  As so often, this feels like a good idea but then turns out not to be.  Dennis has a particularly clunky first half, miscontrolling here, not concentrating there.  Bayo is the pick of the forwards throughout, once crashing down the left to fire a snap-shot (albeit comfortably wide) into the side netting, and on more than one occasion making a fist of taking the fight to the hosts with some hurtly energetic running.  Sema however is largely forlorn throughout and Asprilla lost in the morass.  Once he escapes down the right late in the half and is taken out, inevitably, by McNamara who wouldn’t have been as willing to pick up a yellow, to “take one for the team”, if he’d been booked for the earlier incident.

At the other end, the bawly shoutiness of the away stands is affecting more than one of the back line.  Ngakia and Hamer miscommunicate catastrophically, allowing the ball to run past them both.  We are saved by the pace and direction on the ball, Sierralta able to recover to block Watmore’s effort from an unfavourable angle.  If Hamer was largely at fault there, Ngakia had nowhere to hide when pondering in possession, looking for a pass from his own box despite the whole stand shouting “Man On!” as he was ambushed from behind by the forward that he really should have remembered was there.  We got away with it again, but it was not a happy stand at the interval.

4- That Millwall were also terrible is of no consolation after the event, quite the opposite.  But it did at least mean that we were able to affect some kind of control on the second half, by the end of which we probably merited a point – albeit from a game without much merit to be dished out either way.  Tom Dele-Bashiru’s half time introduction in his more traditional midfield role in place of the still-getting-back-to-sharpness-not-to-mention-booked Kayembe sped things up, since whatever his other limitations Dele-Bashiru’s schooling at Manchester City makes him adept at snappy, one touch passes.  He stood out in this regard, and our attacks suddenly had the suggestion of potency.  Very little in actual threat, you’ll understand, but at least a suggestion that hadn’t been there before, our best chance coming when Sema and Lewis combined down the left and the latter squared for Bayo to fly in and shoot wide under heavy pressure with Sarkic having left his near post wide open.

Ryan Andrews’ introduction was predictably popular;  his gallopy overlaps promised more than he delivered, it’s true, but again the suggestion of a threat is better than none at all if only to sow a seed of doubt, and at least he wasn’t giving the ball away with the abandon of the admittedly rusty Ngakia.  Mileta Rajović’s cameo was notable principally for the debut of a long throw that might cause some problems for a defence without Jake Cooper in it – the unfortunate side-effect of this resulting in our centre-forward being stuck on the sidelines for a set piece lost on few, but beggars can’t be choosers.

5-  The game ended with angry, bawly youths leaning over barriers to make hand gestures at the team, slightly reluctantly corralled by captain Hoedt into acknowledging the support.  Those who were at Blackburn last season will be able to picture the scene… Emmanuel Dennis, who’d had a slightly less inept second half, taking the Daniel Bachmann role of bravely if futilely trying to engage.

The fun wasn’t over of course.  Once the away fans were released from the tunnel queue after some forty minutes of simmering frustration and occasional anxiety we found ourselves neither well-placed nor aggressive enough to secure a place on the first train (Daughter 2 having made her views on squeezing into tight spaces very clear) and consequently boarded a train about an hour after having joined the back of that queue less than five minutes’ walk away.  Small mercy in that we managed to catch a Thameslink that got through Luton a matter of minutes before the earliest locals will have arrived to make their own escape, Villa’s winner smaller mercy still.

This defeat sees us still, somehow, in the top half of the division but only six points clear of the drop now at the top of a morass of teams that we might find ourselves dropping through quickly if we can’t find points from somewhere.  The sheer volume of bad teams is likely to save us from all but the worst of runs, but you won’t need telling that we’re already in miserable form.  Presuming that we do cling onto something resembling mid-table, you can’t help but be concerned with next season’s prospects.

But with two home games in the next week, as important as points is surely something resembling enjoyment.  From the Rookery End this week highlighted statistics supporting what is already evident – that it’s been a long time since we’ve been any good at home.  Heavens knows football fans take the rough with the smooth, you’ve got to have the bad days to enjoy the good days and so on.

But we could really do with a dose of something that wasn’t completely joyless this week.

Yooorns.

Hamer 2, Ngakia 2, Lewis 2, Sierralta 3, *Hoedt 3*, Livermore 2, Kayembe 2, Asprilla 2, Dennis 2, Sema 2, Bayo 3

Subs: Dele-Bashiru (for Kayembe, 45) 3, Andrews (for Ngakia, 67) 3, Koné (for Sema, 67) 2, Rajović (for Bayo, 79) NA, Martins (for Livermore, 86) NA, Ince, Pollock, Porteous, Bachmann

Watford 1 Huddersfield Town 2 (24/02/2024) 25/02/2024

1- As I was slowly removing my layers having sloped back to the car after the game prior to facing the M1, a similarly beleaguered soul trod glumly past and spoke, half to me, half to himself.  “Well at least the car park is empty.  Because everyone buggered off early.  That’s something I suppose”.

When you’ve actively supported Watford – or any fair to middling side, I guess – for any length of time you can usually readily recall from the back catalogue at least one miserable defeat against any regular opponent.  Glancing at the top of the Championship table…  Leicester: any number of perfunctory 2-0 away defeats of course (Vardy, pen) but particularly our most recent Premier League game with boss-in-waiting Rob Edwards in attendance.  Leeds: I missed Elland Road this season, but the Dominic Poleon game surely the worst. Southampton? Being smashed by a Rickie Lambert hat-trick a year earlier.  Ipswich? This One. West Brom?  Any number of defeats at the Hawthorns in the nineties with Bob Taylor or Lee Hughes running riot.

But Huddersfield is different.  For some reason the Terriers are associated not just with bad defeats, but step-change defeats.  Often defeats that stank of trouble behind the scenes, a barney in the changing room.  Defeats incongruous by virtue of their absoluteness – the most recent Ivić’s final game three years ago, others linked from that report if you’re feeling morbid.  This was another for that absurd catalogue, a defeat utterly self-inflicted and oddly supine.  We’ve been bad a few times this season, vaguely inadequate in some way more often still.  But rarely has it been possible to question the character of a performance.  This one?  Absolutely.  This stank to high heaven.

2- The Norwich game had a whiff of general disquiet too, the first such under Val to my mind.  The crime at Carrow Road was in not putting out of their evident misery a team that desperately wanted to be put out of their misery – and in somehow losing 4-2 in the bargain (though nobody will convince me the first crossed the line, “technology” indeed).

Huddersfield must have been feeling a bit of that at half time, since our first half performance had gone unpunished despite being almost entirely pathetic – and this despite a performatively vigorous kick-off which had seen Emmanuel Dennis kneeling in prayer over the ball as “Your Song” heralded the start of the game before standing to hurtle after an aggressive, immediate forward ball.  This was the tone of much of Dennis’ first half on his long-awaited first start since returning on loan – charging after things energetically without interfering with play in any way.  

Our first half problems were many, but stemmed principally from two factors that synergistically affected the opening period.  First, a clear tactic of having forward players hugging the touchlines…  Asprilla and Sema in open play, Asprilla and Dennis left upfield on the touchlines while defending set plays.  Second, whether at the instruction of new coach André Breitenreiter or otherwise that most German of traditions, the psychotic press. (As an aside, another very German thing is the unbending straightforwardness of the pronunciation of their language, as the numpty commentating on the OS highlights would have done well to note rather than insisting on pronouncing the two EI’s in the new man’s name inconsistently throughout – both rhyme with the English EYE).

This press was pretty much the only weapon in Huddersfield’s armoury, they looked a very limited side, but it was a good one with Jonathan Hogg in his element.  It saw them overwhelm our stretched midfield leaving the wide men isolated and often irrelevant; Ken Sema’s alarmingly complacent pass across our half to set Burgzorg galloping through was only the first time we allowed Huddersfield to run through the middle of our pitch towards the goal and wouldn’t be the last.  On this occasion a good Pollock block saw the striker’s effort spin upwards and drop favourably outside of the posts but as against Middlesbrough there was little to impede the visitors’ progress down the centre.  This despite what more than one overheard conversation pre-match recognised as our best midfield trio being back in place together, but Kayembe managed to get himself booked whilst looking as if he was running through a ploughed field and Koné may as well not have been on the pitch at all.  Both were removed on 26 minutes, a public statement which might have felt bold and decisive, Action needed to be Taken, but somehow didn’t.  Instead, it contributed to the sense of disquiet.

3- Koné’s absence was keenly felt – or rather the absence of a functioning Koné was keenly felt since his ability to smuggle the ball past pressure and into space when his flame is on was exactly what was needed to bypass Huddersfield’s attention.  Instead he sulked off down the tunnel, and our on-pitch performance remained similarly sulky for the most part.  Chakvetadze demonstrated more application but to only occasional positive effect, hunched shoulders struggling against the tide of the game.  Elsewhere whilst we had plenty of inconsequential possession there was very little movement…  Ben Hamer was on several occasions chastised for, having collected a ball and looked for a quick counterattacking opportunity not following through and executing but in truth he rarely had a mobile target to hit.  On the two occasions when his accurate distribution found Dennis hurtling into space the suggestion of a chance quickly dissolved… and these were almost more disheartening for having existed at all, the sort of thing you try when under the cosh at Man City or Liverpool, not at home in a Championship scrap.  Meanwhile Mattie Pollock, whose poorest performances have often seemed to have their origin between his ears rather than on the pitch, was one of several hampered by anxiety rather than inertia, taking an extra touch, being careful, slowing it down.

Our one moment of incision in the first half came, inevitably, from the boots of Yáser Asprilla.  Tom Ince had come on with Chakvetadze in that startling early switch – not the first time we’ve fielded him in a more central role but the first time he’d done so for this long (albeit he drifted wide often in the second period).  His movement stood out in a side so badly lacking it, slightly perversely given the criticism for lack of effort he’s sometime received himself… here, his superb diagonal run was worthy of Asprilla’s extraordinary laser-guided through ball having briefly appeared to dull an attack by cutting inside from the right, but the shot was too close to the keeper giving Nicholls a chance when better placement wouldn’t have done.  A fine move that stuck out like a sore thumb.

4- Things improved in the second half as so often, albeit from a low bar, and Asprilla was at the heart of most of what was positive.  In the last few weeks stories have surfaced of high profile interest in the next cab off the rank, and whether the stories have fed his performances or vice versa, or whether by coincidence he’s beginning to look like a 90 minute, dominant character rather than a highlights player with bags of promise, despite our fumbling form.  As we began to display a bit of defiance and resilience and fed him more of the ball he stood out by virtue of a willingness to take responsibility, to rise above the morass.  Ten minutes into the half he received the ball wide on the right and displayed grace, control and resilience to allow a challenge to bounce off him before wriggling past it and surgically rolling a ball in to Dennis in a crowded area.  The Nigerian’s first touch was perfect and impudent, fooling two opponents and opening up a space that shouldn’t have existed before smashing a right footed shot past the helpless Nicholls.

This could have been a pivotal moment.  With the large caveat that whatever had caused us to stink out the first half wasn’t going to be dispelled with a good goal but…  having patiently waited for Dennis to gain fitness and sighed at his non-performance at Carrow Road here, suddenly, was a Watford side with a confident, dangerous centre-forward.  A goal might certainly have made all the difference to him, and having all but burgled a lead we were surely set up to take the game away from Huddersfield, spurred on by a relieved and newly energised Vicarage Road (three Huddersfield fans having without irony maintained a “football in a library” chant at regular intervals since kick-off).

This new dawn lasted about two minutes.   By this point Dennis was prone on the turf, with Asprilla indicating to the bench and around half the stadium that the Nigerian had suffered a groin injury.  Off he went and on came Mileta Rajović who has suffered more than anyone from our limited striking options this season.  He’s younger than his 24 years in football terms having had precious little competitive experience before signing…  by making him our headline New Striker, by giving him the no 9 shirt expectations were raised.  As a gamble, or a rough diamond to quietly polish in the background, someone to develop rather than rely on he’d have been fine…  his goalscoring record is deceptive but no fluke, and if the rest of his game badly needs work then there’s (very) raw material to work with there.  Whilst accepting that we play with one central striker, that these are expensive things and that that heaven knows we can’t stockpile them, a couple of injuries having such a devastating impact on the team’s effectiveness is surely unacceptable.

If Rajović is limited, then the confounding issue is that a player who keeps having his deficiencies pointed out to him is going to suffer a crisis of confidence at some point.  He’s seemed pretty resilient to that so far, but the twisting header to fellow sub Martins’ left wing cross that careered away from the goal was utterly forlorn – despite which, and albeit in a very different stage of the game, he got himself into far more frequent dangerous positions than Dennis had.

5- Valérien Ismaël stopped rather shorter of throwing his players under the bus in his post match comments than he had at Carrow Road, but suggested that we were knocked off balance by the equaliser to an alarming extent.  To my mind we were stumbling earlier than that, for all that Huddersfield hadn’t really threatened since the start of the half.

We continued to fashion chances.  Rajović won a rare flick on, Ince – who was crashing around a little recklessly for someone on a yellow but rather that way than the other – propelled the ball further left on its trajectory before arriving unattended in the penalty area to meet Martins cross, a roll across the box comparable to Asprilla’s earlier contribution but without the finish, Ince slipping his shot across the face of goal and past the far post.  Later he would meet a left wing cross after a rare barrelling run from Sema but lumped it over.  Rajović got his head on two more crosses, one he sent over, the other well directed downwards but without sufficient power.  Chakvetadze did his own trademark thing of cutting in from the left onto his right foot and shooting across the face and narrowly over.  Near-ish misses, but something.  Chances.  The failings weren’t at this end of the pitch.

Instead, the Huddersfield equaliser was a disgrace. The dereliction of duty that had characterised the first half reared its head again:  Ward’s header was a good one but executed under minimal challenge from a sort of covering Ken Sema, now filling in at left back, but the space that Yuta Nakayama had been afforded on the edge of the box to tie his laces, have a bit of a stretch, wave at friends in the stand and then pop a cross in was extraordinary.  The winning goal ten minutes or so later  – also scored by Ward, who like Hogg had played in Troy’s comeback match eleven and a half years ago – was a better goal, less of an invitation, but we’d nonetheless managed to give the game back to an albeit fully deserving Huddersfield side having somehow gotten ourselves into a position to run away with it with half an hour to go.

Having so unequivocally pinned my colours to the mast in my last report, it’s with some surprise that I’ve seen things accelerate downhill since, three points at Rotherham notwithstanding.  For the first time this season we’ve stopped looking like a team, and if it’s difficult to quiet the whisper at the back of the mind suggesting that this might have been on the cards as soon as Dennis came back, there’s no doubt that Val is now under pressure.  How this pans out will shed light on the permanence of our commitment to a little bit more patience with bumps in the road, but given the poisonous air to yesterday’s performance I must confess to a degree of concern that events might have overtaken me before I got to the end of this report.

Yooorns.

Hamer 3, Dele-Bashiru 2, Lewis 2, Pollock 3, Hoedt 3, Livermore 2, Kayembe 1, Koné 1, *Asprilla 4*, Sema 2, Dennis 2

Subs: Ince (for Koné, 27) 3, Chakvetadze (for Kayembe, 27) 2, Rajović (for Dennis, 59) 1, Martins (for Lewis, 59) 3, Andrews (for Livermore, 87) NA, Grieves, Sierralta, Ngakia, Bachmann

Watford 1 Leicester City 2 (10/02/2024) 11/02/2024

1- Back in the days when we used to change our manager all the time (and I make this reckless statement in the knowledge that only seven Championship managers – answer at the foot of the report, kids – have been in situ longer than Valérien Ismaël…), announcement of the latest change of stewardship on whichever radio station would often be accompanied by a sanctimonious if unseen shaking of the head accompanied by a “Watford eh?  Why don’t they stick with their managers.  Look at (insert currently successful manager) – what if (manager’s club) had sacked them after a few months, eh?”.

Which, without for a minute wishing to argue against patience with managerial appointments, is an absurd line of reasoning.  If hanging in there was all there was to it, this would all be so much easier but clearly some managers just don’t work in certain situations, some run out of ideas, of energy, aren’t flexible enough, aren’t decisive enough.  Some are just bad.  Taking a sample size of one that’s inherently biased by virtue of the fact that a) you selected it and b) successful managers do tend to last longer than unsuccessful managers, clubs aren’t completely stupid and citing that as evidence in favour of sticking with managers is lazy and fallacious.

The trick, of course, is knowing when to stick and when to twist.  Actually the real trick is perhaps appointing the right person in the first place but… that as a given it’s on a case-by-case basis, are you better off persevering or making a change when pressured?  We know that Gino Pozzo’s tendency has been to favour the latter, but it speaks volumes that despite not many wins in however long and very few goals in just as long nobody’s even whispering it because here’s the point that this waffle has been meandering towards.

Valérien Ismaël is bloody great.

2- This didn’t start well, even without the context that after the miserable frustration of last weekend and the more chastening defeat at Southampton in the cup replay during the week, welcoming the runaway League leaders with our tired squad was kinda the last thing we needed.  Ten minutes in and despite a hurricane of a first 30 seconds which fizzled out quickly we’d lost Vakoun Bayo to a hamstring (Daughter 2 had stated an unwavering preference for Mileta Rajović pre match but managed a sigh as her nemesis limped off), Ryan Porteous was limping around uncertainly and our visitors were ahead thanks to a soft penalty that Ben Hamer went in the direction of but then seemed to hover in the air in indecision that prevented him from reaching it.

Ismaël has lamented our unforgiving fixture list, but the congested nature of the calendar may have worked for us here.  Leicester, too, have players out and a game midweek;  perhaps as a consequence – unless this is just what they do – the visitors seemed to gamble on our inability to hurt them since they appeared to ease off the gas at a point when going for the jugular might well have floored us (a quadruple-mixed metaphor, surely a first…). The outcome of the game might appear to have justified the gamble, but gamble it was nonetheless since it was never that clear cut a thing, even with Mileta Rajović at his most wholeheartedly ineffectual.

So instead of caving in (or being pressurised into doing so), we spent the rest of the half working ourselves a foothold.  True, we never did anything as reckless or impudent as threatening to score – Wesley Hoedt’s well directed but underpowered shot the closest we came –  but we began to move the ball around with a bit of confidence.  Ken Sema in particular seemed to relish his first League start since Boxing Day and careered up and down the left flank with joyful belligerence, suitably supported by Jamal Lewis on one of his “on” days.  Ismaël Koné was described by Matt Furniss on From the Rookery End this week as “clearly our best player” (or words to that effect) which, suddenly, of course he is.  He too played his game with a little bit of bullishness, a little bit of determination to ally with the deft touches and the swaying into unseen spaces.  So at half time, whilst we were still a goal down and hadn’t really threatened not to be I was vaguely encouraged… certainly I’d have taken this as the interval position with both hands as Daka kneeled celebrating his goal in front of the Rookery ten minutes in.

3- A prominent figure in the first half and throughout was referee Oliver Langford, an experienced official who first refereed us fourteen years and twenty (twenty!) managers ago.  He would leave the field at the end of the game to catcalling from the stands which struck me as excessive…  certainly the early penalty was soft and any contact by Chakvetadze accidental, fooled by Dennis Praet’s sharp turn on receiving the ball in the corner of the box rather than the result of a lunging challenge, but in the absence of a helpful camera angle on replays the best guide would appear to be the complete lack of protest on the part of the supposed miscreant and the muted and delayed response from his teammates – almost an afterthought, as if realising that such an award shouldn’t pass without any objection whatsoever.

Langford’s further crimes were largely in the second period, when our attempts to pull level were stymied by frequent offsides and similarly frequent attempts by the visitors to slow the game down.  Certainly Leicester did enough to merit a yellow card, however arbitrary the selection of the punished crime, for timewasting and Langford should have awarded such rather than merely gesticulating impatiently and indicating the adding on of time – which in itself addresses the wasting of seconds but not the disruption of the game’s momentum that such tactics achieve.  As for the offsides, it’s next to impossible to judge tight calls from behind the goal but both Leicester’s discipline and the referee’s assistant were surely more likely to generate decisions in the visitors’ favour than Langford himself.

Counting against all of this was a steely, almost heroic refusal on Langford’s part to pay any attention whatsoever to dying swans in blue all over the pitch from the tenth minute until the last, which deserves far more credit than it appears to have been afforded.  Patson Daka was the highest profile example, featuring as it did a squeal of pain, a lot of rolling around, and an unconvinced putting out of the ball by the attacking Hornets at the urging of their opponents.  This was followed by on-pitch treatment and a very uncomfortable shuffle to the sideline that provoked some temporary bashful reassessment of the situation in the home stands before a bored shout from further up the Rookery demanded, “why isn’t your bloody sub warming up then?”.  After which it was only a matter of time before Daka’s miraculous recovery was confirmed with a shake of the leg and a jog back into play, to a fully merited lack of sympathy.  At least four comparable incidents were completely ignored by the official; speculation as to quite how long it would take for a wounded Leicester soldier to quietly get to their feet and get on with it would have attracted side betting in the stands in a less engaging game.  As an aside, curious that two of the strongest sides to visit the Vic this season, both of whom relegated only last May, have also been the most objectionable for reasons unrelated to merely being better than us (which of course hardly sets them apart in itself). Evidence of this here from the fact that neither notorious shithouse James Justin, who lasted the ninety, nor serial irritant Jamie Vardy whose 18+7 minutes saw him involved in an incident that got both himself and Wesley Hoedt booked, stood out remotely from the morass of incessant whining, rolling, wailing, and “on the other hand, why not let Jeff take it?” set pieces.

4- As against Cardiff and, indeed, so often the introduction of the second wave on the hour changed the game.  By then, the visitors had scored the goal that had always seemed a strong possibility if not a racing certainty… sucking us up field, Ryan Porteous caught defending a high line in his characteristically one directional fashion and Leicester’s quicksilver attack flew past us mercilessly.  The sort of goal that Premier League teams score against Championship opposition.

That the second wave now includes Emmanuel Dennis, albeit still not fit enough to be employed from the start, makes a significant difference though, both to the viability of our team and to our threat in this game.  Suddenly, and even if holding the ball up as the most obvious missing link in this team would do isn’t really his game, we have a mobile and vaguely potent forward line. 

We had speculated in the first half as Leicester keeper Mads Hermansen confidently persisted in positioning himself to the right of the area as Leicester built from the back, almost in the Porteous position alongside Wout Faes’ Wesley Hoedt to give his side another progressive passing option, that we hoped that they would stick with this when Dennis and all his hurlyburly tasmanian devil aggression was introduced.  What we hadn’t expected at all was that Dennis wouldn’t need to ambush anybody – instead he was the grateful recipient of a negligent back pass from Harry Winks.  With his back to an empty goal, he had to accommodate that the pass was struck without the energy to run past him and set up a shot at goal – indeed, Leicester Paul later speculated that Winks mistook Dennis for his goalkeeper, still in the Porteous position and perhaps unadvisedly sporting a yellowish green.  Whilst quietly acknowledging that neither of our regular starting centre forwards could have been relied upon to capitalise on the gift there was nonetheless much to commend in Dennis dragging the ball into a shooting position and sending it beyond the despairing recovery dive of the returning goalkeeper.  

The rest of the game gave the visitors a far more thorough examination.  The previously flawless Hermansen now looked edgy and bulliable, uncomfortably exposed in a busy penalty area at a corner after which a loose ball didn’t fall for us but could easily have done.  Dennis was played in down the right, bashed his way past Doyle and forced a smart stop from a narrow angle.  Hoedt provoked a better save after lurking at the far post to receive Chakvetadze’s in-swinging right wing cross before discovering he’d fallen foul of one of those offside calls.  Asprilla shot from distance, Faes deflecting the effort goalwards but not goalwards enough and we hunted down possession high up the pitch given the earlier encouragement.  Leicester, startled out of their comfort zone, were unable to raise their energy levels presenting only theoretical and occasional threat themselves though defending resolutely.  They would have richly deserved a scruffy, deflected equaliser but it didn’t come, many of the home ranks dead on their feet and unable to exploit seven minutes of added time.

5- So after not many wins in however long and very few goals in just as long, Ismaël is bloody great because he’s doing an awful lot with what he’s got with out whining, or blaming, or throwing people under the bus and is demonstrably building something.  On his arrival he flagged that a rebuild would take several transfer windows and that still looks credible despite the limited January activity as so many of his squad improve.  He’s imposed discipline – visibly, demonstrably – and a way of playing.  He’s accommodated having one (very young) fit natural right back and limited options for centre forward creatively and with humility.  He’s quickly moved on an unsettled Rhys Healey without causing Healey’s own commitment to waver remotely.  His notoriously predictable changing of the guard on the hour is effective more often than not whilst maintaining the fitness levels of those involved and exploiting our relative riches in midfield and in wide attacking positions – Vakoun Bayo’s hamstring injury an aberration this season in contrast to one of a very long list last.

Which doesn’t mean everything’s perfect or that he hasn’t and won’t make mistakes, but this appointment feels as strong and convincing now as it did last May, irrespective of our waning recent form.  More power to his elbow.

Next report will be Huddersfield.

Yooorns.

Hamer 3, Dele-Bashiru 3, Lewis 4, Porteous 3, Hoedt 4, Livermore 3, Chakvetadze 3, *Koné 4*, Martins 3, Sema 4, Bayo NA

Subs: Rajović (for Bayo, 3) 2, Dennis (for Sema, 60) 4, Asprilla (for Rajović, 60) 3, Andrews (for Martins, 61) 3, Ince (for Chakvetadze, 72) 3, Morris, Sierralta, Pollock, Bachmann

Longer Serving than Ismaël:   Mark Robins (Coventry, March 2017), Ryan Lowe (Preston, December 2021), Kieran McKenna (Ipswich, December 2021), Michael Carrick (Middlesbrough, October 2022), Carlos Corberán (West Brom, October 2022), Liam Rosenior (Hull City, November 2022), David Wagner (Norwich, January 2023)

More Recent than Ismaël: Erol Bulut (Cardiff, June 2023), Enzo Maresca (Leicester, June 2023), Russell Martin (Southampton, June 2023), Daniel Farke (Leeds, July 2023), Marti Cifuentes (QPR, October 2023), Danny Röhl (Sheff Wed, October 2023), Joe Edwards (Millwall, November 2023), Liam Manning (Bristol City, November 2023), Leam Richardson (Rotherham, December 2023), Michael Beale (Sunderland, December 2023), Steven Schumacher (Stoke, December 2023), Luke Williams (Swansea, January 2024), Ian Foster (Plymouth, January 2024), Tony Mowbray (Birmingham, January 2024), John Eustace (Blackburn, February 2024), (Huddersfield Town – vacant)

Watford 0 Cardiff City 1 (03/02/2024) 04/02/2024

1-  Sometimes I tell people things that aren’t quite true.  Not… lies, exactly.  Things that were true at one point, or sort of true, but the reaffirmation of sharing with someone else gives them a certainty and permanence that isn’t really justified.  And I occasionally catch myself and think “hold on, that actually isn’t right, is it?”.  “Watford – Daughter 1 can sort of take it or leave it these days”.  Well, yes, but only in the way that a freezer runs hot or cold.  “Daughter 2, meanwhile, is obsessed”.  Yes and no.  She’s always keen to come to the games, certainly.  Plymouth (A) was her idea.  Always ready to hear about developments in between.  Doesn’t… ask about them unprompted though.  And wouldn’t be caught dead watching games that she can’t make on the TV.  In both cases, to varying degrees, the repeated retelling distorts the reality.

Recently I’ve also been telling people that Watford are different this season.  “All the games are fun, even when we don’t win”.

2- Which is more true than it has been for a while, but the last week has demonstrated the hopeless, optimistic imbalance of the statement because this, in particular, was bollocks.  Cardiff were utterly unremarkable, the grey sludge of mid-table nothingness;  until they scored there was nothing to suggest that they were anything other than there to be put out of their misery.  Thereafter they justified their averageness by looking far better at defending a lead – competitive, pretty organised, robust – than they had at creating one.  Nonetheless, this was a game that we had no business losing.  “We would have lost that one last season” has been a popular mantra in this campaign…  for the first time in a while, we lost one of those games in this one too.

The quality of the goal almost adds to the insult.  Josh Bowler had been having an absolute shocker up to the 43rd minute and contributed little to the second half either until his withdrawal, but the strike and the turn inside that had preceded it were magnificent.  Which… highlights the risk inherent in the patient possession-based approach to the first half.  The metronomic keeping of the ball along the backline, and subsequently on the half way line as we slowly pushed Cardiff back, is a bit like employing Neil Warnock… fine as long as it’s working, utterly charmless as soon as it doesn’t.  Against a robust side adept at defending a lead, suddenly we had nowhere to go.

3- A triple sub on the hour mark changed the balance of the game completely.  Chaotic and ultimately fruitless though our resurgence was, this was much more credible and enjoyable than the soporific first half had been. Highlights suggested we’d come close a couple of times in the opening 45… a cross-shot from Ryan Andrews and a nearly-something when Asprilla was close to getting onto the end of a Lewis nod-down.  I remember these incidents as having happened but they mischaracterise our efforts, suggesting far more attacking potency than we were able to impose on the game.

The second half started with snappy passing and aggressive purpose.  Words had been Said.  Unfortunately this lasted until Cardiff’s first counterattack, at which point we retreated into our shells again.  Whilst keeping the law of other, which dictates that whoever is missing from the side at any point is The Answer and about to make a transformative impact, firmly front of mind it was difficult not to agree with Dad’s assertion post match that we miss Edo Kayembe and his bulldozer rampaging through the midfield.  Giorgi Chakvetadze was one of the few to impress at Hillsborough in the week and the news of his permanent retention the following day very welcome but he was lost here in a more withdrawn central role, outmuscled and largely irrelevant for an hour.

But the changes and the switch in mentality that came with it opened the game up, and Cardiff’s backline had to earn their corn.  Asprilla moved to the centre of the pitch with Emmanuel Dennis taking his place on the right;  in the past the Colombian has tended to disappear in such circumstances but the reverse was true here as his game ignited.  Ken Sema came on for Martins on the left and looked fully up to speed for the first time since his injury – would be no surprise to see him start at Southampton on Tuesday.  And Mileta Rajović was introduced for the ineffective Bayo… if much of his contribution involved disciplined closing down of Jak Alnwick he also battled and occupied multiple defenders at once, on several occasions executing a decent lay-off despite being outnumbered.

Koné, who was transformed from Wednesday night and was a constant source of a magicked-up yard of space and an increase in pace, got on the end of a move and clipped a shot onto the post.  Overlap after overlap came down our left where attacks were focused, and number of corners the results.  Twice, loose balls in the box didn’t fall for us when it was inconceivable that something wouldn’t nudge them over the line.  Dele-Bashiru came off the bench to crash a shot goalwards, too close to the keeper to demand anything more than competence but at least it was something.  Ben Hamer came forward for a corner, wasn’t marked and would have had a decent chance at a header on target had a less well-set teammate not gotten his head to it first.  Cardiff’s defence, enforced by further big blokes from the bench, were at full stretch. Much better from the Hornets, but why not this oomph earlier?

4- Prominent in much of this was Emmanuel Dennis, a Jamie Tartt signing who was the only new, senior addition to the squad over the transfer window.  Two sides to this of course.  On the one hand, the one thing every squad is missing is that most elusive of signings, the “twenty goal a season striker”.  In the Championship a fully fit and firing Dennis is incontrovertibly this, certainly as close as we’re going to get on our budget and could plausibly turn is into more than peripheral play-off contenders.  On the other… everyone’s heard or read the rumours of the disruptive nature of his influence the first time around. Nor were these unprecedented… a striker who scores twice at the Bernabéu in the Champions League does not get offloaded to a relegation-destined side on loan a year later unless things have gone wrong in the interim, while the consistent vehemence of the criticism offered by the likes of Tommy Mooney the first time around hinted at more than merely patchy performances in a struggling side.

On balance, for me, why not.  That the club have chosen to take him back, that he’s reportedly here on 30% of his contracted salary are both encouraging plus points;  if it goes badly the impact is fairly limited given that our chances of reaching let alone impacting the play-offs without him are moderate and the salary sacrifice above.  But it might pay off.  And it won’t be dull…  

Here there was evidence for both sides of the argument.  Dennis was certainly sharper and livelier than he’d been in his two briefer cameos earlier in the week…  direct, competitive, provocative, perhaps not quite there yet but a genuine threat, no longer a mere (heavy looking) passenger chasing fitness.  On the other… over-elaborating on the ball, holding onto it for too long on occasions, and once cutting to the touchline and shooting from an impossible angle into the side netting to the annoyance of team-mates in the box.  To be generous, he’ll be better able to impact games when he’s up to a full 90 minutes.

5- To provide a bit of balance…  the Plan might have been a good one.  Cardiff are better at defending than attacking so… if you don’t give them the ball they really are going to need to pull something special out of the bag to beat you.  The fact that they managed it doesn’t mean the plan was a bad one (even if watching it unfold was purgatory).

Secondly, we know that we’re not amongst the strongest sides in this division (for now…  though given the number of young talents in the squad we have reason to be positive for the future).  Given that, results like this are going to happen.  It’s not fun, but unless you’re convinced that we’ve developed sufficiently to expect to be able to take on all comers at this level then it comes with the territory.

Though with Saints and Leicester over the next week, we could have done with a kinder break here.

Not travelling to Southampton, see you next Saturday.

Yooorns.

Hamer 3, Andrews 2, Lewis 2, Pollock 3, Hoedt 3, Livermore 3, Chakvetadze 2, *Koné 4*, Martins 2, Asprilla 3, Bayo 2

Subs: Dennis (for Martins, 60) 3, Rajović (for Bayo, 60) 3, Sema (for Chakvetadze, 60) 3, Dele-Bashiru (for Livermore, 78) NA, Ince, Morris, Sierralta, Porteous, Bachmann