Today the BBC published their annual ‘Price of Football’ survey. It told me how much watching Watford costs me. (£500 a year, it said.) The calculations involved tickets, shirts, and pies. But they left out some other important things. Here’s what else watching Watford has cost me over the years.
My education. I went to an away cup tie at Stoke the night before an A-level re-take. The Horns progressed. I never have.
My voice. I used to sing like an angel. Now, after years in the Rookery, I can only bellow like a rutting moose.
My fashion sense. I live my life as if yellow polyester is acceptable. Even at my daughter’s christening.
My front window. I blame Troy Deeney. Watching online, I punched the air after his late winner in the 4-3 win at Bolton last season. My coffee mug ended up in the street.
My first marriage. I came home from an away game at Cambridge to find a note from my wife on the kitchen table. She’d left me. I didn’t mind too much. We’d never won at Cambridge before.
My judgement. Just ask my daughter Mooney.
These kinds of thing are the true price of football. The BBC survey doesn’t even scratch the surface.
But right now, following Watford in the Prem, it’s a price I’m happy to have paid.