Watford, 29 November, 2008

Off, then, to Watford, never a sign that things are going especially well. Their staff range between supremely friendly - I'm sat next to one during the game - and downright hostile. This season, they've moved the press room from a portakabin to, um, another portakabin. The new one is cracked, the lighting doesn't work properly and it's freezing. Their traditionally cold and traditionally doughy food is traditionally poisonous (I'm exaggerating for minor comic effect, I think) so I stocked up before-hand. The press box is in a condemned stand and the televisions are tuned to Sky rather than, say, the game. I can't see one of the goals because of a giant beam. "What are you doing here?" I ask the only person I know properly. "What are you doing here?" he responds. We tut in haughty unison.
The game against Doncaster Rovers has its moments, but they're all from the visitors, who're a joy to watch but wouldn't know a cutting edge if they impaled themselves upon it. I
Afterwards, we meet Brendan Rodgers for the first time. Like many a first time manager he promises openness, a more luxurious style of play (not, frankly, an especially difficult option vis-a-vis Watford post Adrian Boothroyd) and that "pressure" should be renamed "privilege". I ask him what he's learned since 3 o'clock. He smiles and answers an entirely different question. We'll review him in six months.
Doncaster manager Sean O'Driscoll's hangdog demeanour isn't a red herring. He mutters, ever so quietly, about being complimented on his team's style of play too often and getting too little reward. At least that's what he probably said; I couldn't quite hear.
We'll all have better days. Well, hopefully we will. It's alright being so relentlessly optimistic, but what if we don't though? What if no day in the rest of our lives is better than this one? Just a thought.