Watford: the basket case club that changes managers more often than I change my socks. Right? That’s Watford, right, the epitome of everything wrong with multi-club foreign ownership?
Wrong. Sometimes, the result of a football match isn’t the most important thing you take away from an away day and last night, I left Hertfordshire with a misconception put right. Don’t get me wrong, they are still a basket case when it comes to ownership and the itchy trigger finger, but Watford Football Club are so much more than their current predicament.
I’d been looking forward to Watford for quite some time. Vicarage Road was a ground I’d never visited, and there was something appealing about going to an old-school football ground, still entrenched in its community, under the lights on a Tuesday evening. It also kicked off a decent week of football for me, with Loftus Road to come on Saturday, another ground I’m really excited about.
I’ve always had this impression that Watford is basically London. Anything inside the M25 is London to me, which I appreciate isn’t geographically accurate, but it’s how my Midlands brain works. Actually going to Watford was quite interesting because, let’s face it, there’s absolutely no other reason I’d ever find myself there other than football.
From the moment we pulled into a school car park close to the ground, everything just felt right. Parking was straightforward, the away pub was nearby, and the walk to the away end was easy. Everything was nice and compact, exactly what you’d want from a traditional English away day. I didn’t go for a drink, but I could appreciate how convenient everything was.
There’s something special about a football ground lit up at night, and Vicarage Road looked magnificent. The yellow, red and black colour scheme somehow added to the atmosphere, and with a quarter-to-eight kick-off, it felt like a proper evening of football. I always liked their kits in the old Panini albums, and their badge is an untouched icon of the old-school shiny. I think ‘iconic’ is a good description of the Watford brand, which lends itself nicely to a night game. It’s the sort of occasion that reminds you why you spend half your life travelling around the country watching eleven men occasionally kick a ball in the right direction.
What really struck me, though, was the people.
The staff managing the car park couldn’t have been more helpful. The people in the club shop were lovely, and even a steward who didn’t necessarily know the answer to everything went out of his way to help. Everywhere I went, people were friendly, welcoming and seemingly happy to have us there.
What made that interesting was the apparent mood around Watford as a football club. I’d spoken to a Watford podcaster beforehand who was convinced Lincoln would win, that it would be embarrassing for them, and that everything was going wrong. There seemed to be an acceptance among supporters that things aren’t particularly good, but it hadn’t translated into the sort of miserable atmosphere you sometimes encounter at struggling clubs.
I’ve been to places where you can almost smell the discontent. Burnley recently felt particularly toxic, although that was concentrated among their travelling support. I’ve heard similar things about Preston despite me not being able to travel, and even Bolton felt as though things were crumbling around the edges a little.
Watford didn’t feel like that at all.
Perhaps it’s because they’ve endured so much instability that everyone has developed a slightly dark sense of humour about it. Maybe there’s a togetherness that comes from repeatedly watching managers arrive, unpack their belongings and start looking for the nearest exit. Whatever it is, there was a warmth around the place that I really appreciated.
I wonder whether Graham Taylor has something to do with my perception as well. His statue stands proudly outside the ground, and perhaps our connection with him made me more receptive to Watford than I might otherwise have been. I don’t know, but I certainly felt a degree of goodwill that I hadn’t necessarily expected. Bear in mind, as a kid, I was a two-team Tony alongside Luton Town, and Watford are their rivals, so a little bit of me might have felt resentment. I didn’t, because I’m not ten anymore.
I’m fortunate enough to attend these games in a media capacity, and I know some people think that means I’ve got it cushy. However, I’m there to work, and there are basic facilities you hope clubs will provide, but some are unable to. Watford went considerably further than some of the grounds I’ve visited.
The media room was spacious, everything was organised, and there were refreshments available. I know it sounds ridiculous, but a fridge stocked with Coke, Coke Zero and water, alongside the usual tea and coffee facilities, makes a difference. It’s a small thing, but it demonstrates that somebody has thought about the people working there.
The press conference room was probably the most impressive I’ve encountered so far. There must have been close to 100 seats, although only around twelve were occupied afterwards. It was almost comically excessive for the number of us there, but again, everything was professional without feeling remotely pretentious.
I also had the opportunity to go pitchside and record something about Graham Taylor for Watford, which was a lovely experience. I met Mike, who is involved with a Watford podcast, From The Rookery End, and he was brilliant. The local journalists were equally friendly, and there wasn’t a single interaction throughout the evening that left me feeling anything other than welcome.
What impressed me most was that Vicarage Road felt like a big club’s ground without feeling sanitised. It hasn’t become some soulless, gleaming monument to corporate football. They’ve taken a traditional ground, made it work for them, and retained its character.
In many respects, that’s what we’re trying to do at Sincil Bank. We’re making the best of what we’ve got, although I suspect visiting journalists can still see our League One roots in certain areas. That’s not a criticism of anyone at Lincoln, because people work incredibly hard with the facilities available, but Watford showed how an older ground can function at Championship level without losing its identity.
Even afterwards, I came away with a positive impression of their manager, Alessio Dionisi. He was expressive, passionate and open in his press conference. He had that wonderful expressive personality that somehow makes you feel more alive just being around him.
I liked Chris Davies at Birmingham on Saturday, and I’ve liked Nicky Hayen as well. There have been one or two managers I’ve encountered who haven’t particularly impressed me personally, but Dionisi certainly wasn’t one of them. I’d actually be disappointed if he didn’t last at Watford, although their history suggests that’s hardly something you can take for granted.
Even leaving the ground, somewhere around eleven o’clock, felt pleasant. There were still people around, the streets had some life in them, and despite walking back to the car in the dark, I felt perfectly safe.
The only thing that really let the evening down was the football itself, which was pretty poor. That’s a shame, because virtually everything else about the visit was excellent.
Given the constant managerial turnover, the issues surrounding ownership and the general uncertainty at Watford, I expected some of that instability to be reflected behind the scenes. Instead, I found a humble, gracious and welcoming Championship club, full of good people who seemed genuinely proud of their surroundings.
Most importantly, I found somewhere that still felt like a proper English football club at heart, whatever the outward perception is, and in an era when so many grounds are losing their character, that’s something worth celebrating.
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