With our confidence dragging around our ankles and patience running out, anything might’ve happened here. Anything didn’t happen here, which is a sign of…well, “progress” would be too strong a word. “Survival” would be a better one, perhaps.
Month: February 2002
I don’t ever recall hearing the Flintstones Theme Watford chant being sung by the Rookery (see Hornets in Harmony pages 31-33)
Watford’s manager Gianluca Vialli called on his team to win this game, and a second home fixture against Grimsby on Sunday, to haul themselves back into the promotion frame. But the plea fell on deaf ears here last night, and Marcus Gayle’s listening equipment must be of the cloth variety.
Ten o’clock pm. Final whistle. Swift exit for the train station, through the shouting, grumbling, miserable hordes. Except those who’ve stayed behind to abuse the team, that is. Stride quickly through the streets, checking my watch and wondering if, deep down, I ought to be feeling rather more angry and disillusioned. I’m unable to figure that out. Or maybe I don’t want to try too hard.