On a personal note, not a lot has gone right this past week, so thank goodness for Adam Masina. If anyone could Troy Deeney a free-kick, that’s what our likeable left-back did deep into injury time to secure all three points. Blast it hard down the middle and hope the keeper flinches. That stands a good chance of working from the penalty spot, but not usually from outside it. God bless Dillon Phillips, the Cardiff keeper, then, for swatting a desperate, and late, windmill arm at the ball as it thundered into the goal. It was like shooting practice against Casper the friendly ghost – remember him? He was no match this time around for Watford’s very own BFL (Big Friendly Left-back).
It’s not only been a bad week for me, the Windsors have certainly had a stinker. Harry and Meghan’s interview, a touch one-sided, has caused a great deal of press interest, exactly what the estranged chicken-ranchers were keen to avoid, allegedly. One journalist described Meghan’s race revelations as “a gob-smacking toast-dropper”. For me, that describes Masina’s free-kick perfectly.
Until that very unexpected and brilliant conclusion, I’d been consoling myself with a point well-earned. A point that may prove vital by the end of the season. Against a team unbeaten in eleven, their new coach Mick McCarthy yet to taste defeat as Cardiff boss. They played like a team in form, potentially dangerous from any set-piece, donning an air of entitlement, even while we were dominating play. I cannot overstate how morale-boosting this kind of win is during a promotion run-in, when your rivals keep winning. Swansea and Brentford would have been banking on us dropping points here.
I’m writing this report in-between fetching bowls of Multi-Grain shapes, roasting Butternut Squash for Jamie Oliver’s simple baked lasagne (simple, hah!), and calming fraught children over bickering hamsters. Apologies, then, if this report goes a little off-piste, or is curtailed unexpectedly just as it starts to show promise.
I watched the game on Hive Live, lucky shirt affixed. I’m struck by how eloquent and dashing a figure ex-Watford striker Tommy Smith cuts. He reminds me of Jonny Wilkinson in his mannerisms, the meditative tone of voice, and general philosophical vibe. I’d like to think when Masina’s goal went in he was uttering a primal scream on the Hive Live desk, but I’m guessing he was a little more restrained.
The other Tommy, Mr Mooney, is like a kindly, but competitive uncle. I shook his hand once at the inaugural Graham Taylor day several years ago now – it was the absolute highlight of that very wet afternoon. I bet he was fist pumping in the gantry with a winner’s hard stare as Masina wheeled away and ran to the bench to spark joyous and unabashed celebrations involving the whole squad. A picture of togetherness and unity, not unlike the scenes against Bournemouth (which has cost both clubs £10k a-piece for not controlling their players), but much, much less spiky.
Cardiff’s sprinklers had been out making the surface nice and slick – making controlling the ball on the deck, and explosive changes of direction decidedly difficult. It was clear from the off the Cardiff way would be long, high balls into our box, a barrage of unsophisticated but relentless battering. Kieffer Moore spear-headed this bolshy juggernaut with the requisite amount of bullishness and bad attitude. But Cardiff are not a dirty team, like Bournemouth, they’re just unapologetically physical.
When the ball was in the air, Cardiff were happiest, always most likely to win a header, or cause us problems chasing onto a runaway through-ball. They were noticeably less happy when the ball was on the turf, and we were passing it around for fun, despite the squally conditions. Not only were we sharp and technically proficient in possession, we also demonstrated superb skill, epitomised for me by two moments.
Firstly, Chalobah’s goal coming two minutes after we had conceded, was a delight, and a contender for goal of the season. Sema and Zinckernagel had been tinkering around in the box, with shots and paths blocked. A lucky deflection rolled the ball to Chalobah who, with some Cruyff-like footwork, sold two defenders in close proximity, jinxed to the right and lashed a finish into the bottom left corner. It is insane that Chalobah scores so few goals when he has such prodigious talent.
Wearing the captain’s armband for the day, he did exactly what a captain should do. He cajoled the troops when we conceded such a disappointing early opener – stay calm, keep cool – his message to the team was not to lose your heads. We hadn’t won an away game after conceding first, and Cardiff was not the kind of opposition that would – you’d have thought – shower gifts. Then captain Nate showed composure and world-class feet to bring parity – showing his charges the level to aspire to. He battled all day long, and when late on in the first half, defending in his own box, his ankle took the full body weight of a toppling Harry Wilson, it looked like a bad one. But Chalo stubbornly walked it off and returned to the fray.
The second moment was a sumptuous chest and bicycle kick from Pedro, after Sema’s knock-down. It was balletic in execution, and dynamite in result, the ball fizzing the palms of the keeper – anywhere else and that would have been top of the young lad’s growing show-reel.
We didn’t do a lot wrong in this game. Sierralta was one of our standout performers today, keeping the aggressive Moore in check. He was culpable for the own-goal in the 15th minute but you have to feel a lot of sympathy for him. Either he made contact with Josh Murphy’s cross, or Moore had a tap-in behind. So he tapped it in himself to deny Cardiff’s number 10, all 8 goals in 11 games of him, the pleasure. The Chilean’s head did not drop; his reaction was not crestfallen, but a study in controlled anger with himself. It felt like strong hearts and heads would be needed, with a mountain to climb, and then the captain did his thing moments later.
Sarr was a bit more his mercurial alter-ego on the day. Not a lot went right for him, either, but his persistence did pay in the end when he was tripped for the Masina free-kick. Minutes earlier a decent looking penalty shout had been ignored by the ref. In the 34th minute his snapshot across the goal was deflected and tipped away by the keeper. He headed straight at Phillips from a Sema cross – on the right flank – in the 55th minute. In the 66th minute he sliced wide from the right-hand side of the box, after excellent work from Kiko to rescue an overhit pass, and a knock-down from Chalobah.
Sarr was certainly targeted by the Cardiff defence, and whilst not exactly roughed-up, it was obvious he fancied the blood and thunder less than they did. Once again, he symbolically threw his gloves off shortly after our equaliser, but this time his knock-out blow came indirectly – from that direct free-kick. Which, incidentally, is the first goal we’ve scored direct from a free-kick since 2016, courtesy of the wonderful Almen Abdi. I knew we were bad at them, but I didn’t realise it had been such a long, fruitless time.
So Cardiff threw their form, and their muscles, at us. Vaulks torpedoed long throws into our six-yard box – Bachmann actually caught one of them! The sentinel central defender Flint managed his own scissor-kick from a dropping ball in our box, which bazooka’d away to the next county, much like a Vaulks throw. Josh Murphy smashed one into the side-netting just before half-time after bettering Hughes. Plenty of scud missiles and cluster bombs spread uncertainty throughout our rear-guard, but there was never panic, and Bachmann remained untroubled, called into action to block a fierce Vaulks drive near the end of the game, but little else.
There was a semi-calamitous moment, when Bachmann and the rather erratic Troost-Ekong failed to communicate outside the area as Moore chased onto a through-ball. Bachmann took a touch too many, and had to bring his man down, stranded as he was out of goal. Harry Wilson’s effort was poor, fortunately – we all know what he can do from a free-kick on his day.
Coming from an early set-back to be in the ascendancy, and eventually conquer, is good muscle memory for a team to have. Zinckernagel is looking to be one hell of a player, and the incisiveness he showed in midfield with the virtually faultless Hughes and Chalobah indicates a rosy future ahead in the middle of the park. Mooney was perhaps over-egging the pudding when he stated it was like “the first team playing the reserves” – but we bossed this game where it mattered, in footballing terms.
Results elsewhere this week have crystallised the look of the table. Norwich are home and dry. Brentford, who beat Blackburn midweek, are neck and neck. Swansea with a draw at Ewood Park, followed up by a win against Luton in the lunchtime kick-off, remain stubbornly victorious. They leap-frogged us into second, before Masina’s blast propelled us from fourth back up to second. It’s going to be tight. The final two games of the season are against Brentford and Swansea, and one can only hope we may have done enough by then to not need wins. But as things stand, if we win those games, the Premier League would surely be the reward.
In-form Barnsley beat Bournemouth at the Vitality to put them firmly into sixth – five points clear of the Cherries who consolidate seventh (stifles a chuckle). We sit on 69 points, and whatever happens now, we are almost guaranteed a play-off spot. And I don’t think anyone would fancy playing us right now. So, bring on Rotherham on Tuesday night.
It’s Mother’s Day, and writing a match report is not – should not be – permitted, so I’m winding this up now. It’s a full year since lockdown, and nobody expected we would still be eeking out this strange half-life. But eek it out we must, even during the most challenging of weeks. Unexpected bombshells come in all shapes and sizes. Meghan-shaped. Masina-shaped. But you’ve got to be in it, to win it, as they say – so just keep on keeping on, and soon enough a toast-dropping gob-smacker will have you leaping out of your kitchen chair in ecstasy.
The Lone Hornet 