You know what they say, about chickens counting and eggs hatching... Foolishly, I thought I'd escaped going to Watford this year. But then QPR decide to win the Championship there (or do they?), there’s a rum story emerging, and off I go. I don't know why I dislike Watofrd so. It's up the road, which makes it less of an event although I never think that when I pootle off to the Emirates, jaunty spring in step. But it's horrible to get to, there's no parking and no wi-fi (I'm advised not to use the pay-for wi-fi since it's said to be unreliable) and, well, it's Watford isn't it?
The problem with all that whining - and, sensitive soul that I am, the prospect of Watford slightly undermined my week - is that it's not even fair, although every hack I speak to feels the same way. The people are friendly, they do a mean chilli, plus moist cake at half-time and the weather's so clement that I sit on the empty terraces stuffing my fat face thinking life is quite good. Actually. All things considered. It's alright at Watford: there, I've said it.
Moreover the main stand might be condemned, but it's not condemned for her majesty's press. We have it to ourselves, so there's a lot of quiet and a bit of space. And the hackbox is full of people I like, even if my view of the goal at the Vicarage Road End is obscured by a stanchion. When I come back a gentleman sporting a Watford tie offers me a bottle of beer. I take it and save it for later.
Anyway, what should be very simple is now very complex. QPR ought to win the title, indeed mathematically Tommy smith and Adel Taarabt‘s goals means they do. The three points may have been run of the mill but there’s trouble at t’mill since the upcoming Football League investigation into the excellent Alejandro Faurlin's signing might cast them into the play-offs pit if The Sun is to be believed. Or have no bearing whatsoever if QPR are to be believed.
I've no idea and there are reasons for believing both parties, but surely the wheels of justice could have turned slightly quicker. Look at it this way conspiracy theorists: at least the Football League knows how many points to deduct to save face, if not save themselves a legal challenge.
This cloud of precedent-free legal bile means it's a slightly surreal, slightly downbeat afternoon. Watford have nothing to play for, so they're in frisky mode, QPR just want to get the job done, so they're in efficient mode. It's not pretty, but they get the job done with a little to spare. The table says they're the best team in the Championship, so they must be, but I've only seen them here and at Leeds and they look a little short of Premier League quality.
Taarabt's obviously the real deal, Paddy Kenny still has it and Faurlin will be a star in the top tier, but Heidar Helguson? Matthew Connolly? Wayne Routledge? Are they going to terrify Stoke City or Bolton Wanderers? They're not, are they? Still, there's money there and I understand that money talks, even if it rarely speaks to me.
Foolishly, Watford have announced their plans to celebrate a year of mid-table mediocrity by doing a lap of honour. QPR’s hoards want to celebrate, so some of them invade the pitch. The slightly hysterical announcer ups the ante by haranguing them in the manner of an irked but worried parent and a few saunter down to the Rookery End to have a look at the Watford fans. Some police horses on the pitch make what is in fact a fairly good natured romp seem slightly more dramatic and sinister than necessary. Nobody gets hurt, quite a few people get arrested.
Afterwards I hide my beer, speculate about QPR's fate and guess that Neil Warnock won't say anything of note. He doesn't really, bar having a pop at The Sun, which more than ever makes me think their source was genuine. He won't even commit himself to expanding on "I like what my barrister's said" means his barrister has said things will work out, ie they‘ll still be promoted. Presumably it must. Ever the chipper beagle, Warnock fills in the time that we'd all rather he spent wildly speculating by praising first himself and then his players. And why not? He's done a fantastic job. And so have his players, whatever happens.
I’m home in half an hour.