Watford and Cherries move up in unlikely footballing scenario

The curtain comes down on another English football season for the lesser lights. That is for those of us who follow clubs outside the glory-glory land of the Premier League. Yet the Championship is so unpredictable that unfancied outfits such as Watford and AFC Bournemouth have already booked their places among the elite next season. When you consider how many so-called sleeping giants are engaged in the week to week conflicts, it is no mean feat. But what lies ahead for the lucky social climbers? Until a few weeks ago the bottom three places in the Premier League were occupied by the trio of promoted sides from last season. Namely that is Leicester City, QPR and our Claret cousins from near the Yorkshire border aka Burnley. At one stage I was even wishing that the Dingles would win a few games and survive just to break the seeming inevitable outcome. But a comical penalty miss and jangled own goal all within 50 seconds in the Turf Moor do-or-die clash with Leicester seems to suggest that my Blackburn Rovers will be playing them again next season. The fun and frolics at the bottom of the table are much more entertaining to behold than watching the rich kids at the top. Chelsea are boring. Fact. Piled with the dosh from a dodgy Russian, you would think they would manage to win the League with a touch of panache. But no… Jose Mourniho is becoming a self-parody and his team of continental mercenaries make Don Revie’s ruthless home-grown robotic assassins groomed within the Leeds United empire of the 1960s and 70s look like a bunch of gung-ho footballing cavaliers. Anyway, at least Watford and AFC Bournemouth can look forward to rubbing shoulders with the high and mighty come August. And probably getting stuffed every week. During my wayward travels as a permanently worried Blackburn Rovers fan, I have had little contact with Watford or the Cherries. I remember standing on an open end at Vicarage Road in January 1975 in our Third Division days as the rain poured down. There was nowhere to repel the elements as Rovers earned a goalless draw. I was drenched cos a Rovers scarf tied around your head does little to keep off a Hertfordshire version of a monsoon. And the rain was cold. I suppose I must have enjoyed the pint afterwards as I dried off. I recall Bournemouth becoming almost trendy in the early 70s as the changed their moniker from Bournemouth and Boscombe Athletic to AFC Bournemouth under the smooth, swarthy tutelage of future Clarets’ mentor John Bond. They had Ted MacDougall scoring goals for fun and seemed destined for great things. But it seems to have taken until now. My only visit to Dean Court was in September 2013 en route back to Adelaide from a working stint in London. Rovers were 3-0 up at half-time. Bournemouth were down to 10 men and I was looking forward to a cricket score. But to their credit, Bournemouth dug in and won the second half with a goal to keep things in check with a 3-1 margin. Perhaps it signalled a sign of the spirit that would fuel things to come. I wish both of the unlikely aspiring high-flyers all the best. Rovers, alas, are nowhere near. We bid farewell to David Dunn this weekend, a local lad who has been a great servant. But the Indian interlopers’ deeds as owners mean our future is clouded with uncertainty. We are not alone as foreign intruders muscle in and treat clubs that are part of their respective communities as playthings. The old terrace chant of “You don’t know what you’re doing” has never rung more true. Still, there’s always next season. We all live in hope.