Exactly 12 months ago today we were at home against Sunderland. In the Premier League. Then we were a club in crisis, the fans dazed and confused after a series of (self-inflicted) crises. We were a runaway train, driverless after the summary sacking of Malky Mackay, Fireman Tan continuing to stoke the furnace even as we headed for the buffers. Today the train wreck that is Cardiff City, derailed and demoralised, finally came to rest.
For a time - the first 40 minutes in fact - we looked capable of thriving. A Whitts free kick found the head of Le Fondre whose deft flick glanced past Gomis and into the top corner. It was the most exquisitely timed goal, coming as it did as the blue and white standards were being raised to acknowledge 19mins 27 seconds.
With Adeyemi patrolling the midfield with panache and intent, Noone a constant menace and Jones alert and continually searching for the main chance, we were controlling the game. We may even have doubled our lead after 25 minutes but Le Fondre’s good work was undone by the tamest of shots with the goal at his mercy. Never mind, we would surely be acknowledging a potentially significant return to form as the teams trotted off at half time. Far from it.
On 42 minutes Watford, who had played some neat football - crisp one touch passing, well drilled - but with no apparent cutting edge, benefited from a very charitable interpretation of the offside laws from the linesman to draw level. Our hearts sank just as the team’s heads collectively dropped. Belief took its leave as panic reacquainted itself with its brittle hosts. With a spring in their step the visitors moved at will around a leaden footed defence, easing into a 2-1 lead at the break as Ighalo strolled into space to head past Marshall.
The increasingly familiar sound of the Canton End half time boo boys accompanied the players as they disappeared into the tunnel. There’s little excuse for such self-defeating petulance, although they had been provoked by the goon squad who’d pounced on a ‘Tan Out’ sign thus drawing attention to the cause and attracting cries of ‘fascists’ from the most mild-mannered amongst the disaffected majority.
When the game recommenced there was no indication that General Slade had been able to inspire and motivate his troops; that prospect had been all too briefly entertained and discounted during the half time autopsy and as Watford strolled around with training ground insouciance the outcome was beyond doubt.
The third goal arrived shortly after Slade had drawn hoots of derision from the home fans by replacing the workhorse Adeyemi and carthorse Gunnarsson in a misguided attempt to shore up the midfield, a change in formation evidently beyond his wit. The goal, a second of the afternoon for Guedioura was a 30 yard off-the-crossbar-over-the-line piledriver; a real gem. Many Bluebird fans rose to their feet to applaud the opposition for their efforts to brighten up a dull day and headed for the exit.
With 30 minutes still to play, Watford closed the game down by playing keep-ball and running into the wide open spaces for fun before consolidating their victory with a fourth towards the end. There was just enough time for the crowd to mock the official attendance of 22000. With echoes of derision bouncing around the Ninian Stand wastelands City conjured up a welcome but entirely unnecessary second when the blameless Noone and the persistent Jones combined to good effect.
So where does this leave us? Notwithstanding the Hornby dictum that “Life isn't, and has never been, a 2-0 home victory after a fish and chip lunch” it’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain philosophical about our plight and to believe in my ability as a mere mortal to influence events. My presence, superstition, the dark arts or a plea for divine intervention are no match for the perversity of Vincent Tan.
Be in no doubt that our plight is a boardroom construct. Little blame can be attached to individual players - albeit cluelessness is relative - or necessarily to the blundering stooge that is Russell Slade whose post match insistence that ‘I have to be tunnel-visioned’ is an affecting insight into his limitations as a football visionary.
Tan’s agenda has always been at odds with the fan’s notion of what a football club should be. With more astute less hubristic governance he might have stood a chance. The failure to convert debt into equity as promised suggests that Tan’s considering his position. He’s not alone. We’ve never felt so alienated. The increasing disconnect between club and fans has taken all the fun out of the suffering. As we enter free-fall I’d rather we did it on our own terms with our blue blue chests pumped out and our heads held high.
‘Few of us have chosen our clubs, they have simply been presented to us; and so as they slip from Second Division to the Third…..we simply curse, go home, worry for a fortnight and then come back to suffer all over again.’ - Fever Pitch
Football fandom is a simple pastime for simple souls Mr Tan, and we’ll get by without you very well.
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