A Shorts Story

Olly Wicken writes about the deeper significance of red shorts in this short piece set in the Watford Football Club afterlife, Hornet Heaven.

In eternal sunshine, he walks up the slope. (The slope he can’t help calling Occupation Road, still, rather than ‘Yellow Brick Road’.)

He notices a crowd outside the windows of the Hornets Shop. The new season’s kit is on display and people are arguing. He goes over and listens in. 

He hears that the arguments aren’t about the new shirt. Everyone seems happy with the shirt. The arguments are about the new shorts.

He tunes into a particularly animated discussion. It’s between the man who founded Watford Football Club in 1881 and Hornet Heaven’s Head of Programmes.

Henry Grover says to Bill Mainwood: “Shorts matter, Bill! Recently, our players haven’t seemed to want to play for the shirt. Now, though, they can play for the shorts!”

“That’s not a thing, Henry,” Bill replies.

“Yes it is, Bill. The players will be inspired. Red is passion! Red is desire! Red is lust!’

“The way you go on about it, Henry, red is clearly a perversion! Our club’s established colour is black.”

“Listen to me, Bill, old goat. I founded this club and I say our shorts should be red!”

“Shorts must be black!”

“Red!”

“Black!”

“Red, red, red!”

“Black, black, black!”

He tunes out again. He doesn’t like it when Watford fans take sides against each other — especially on a topic that’s so subjective. Arguing benefits no one.

He leaves the crowd. Personally, he’s pleased to see the return of red shorts. But it isn’t because he prefers the colour. He likes both red and black equally. The reason he’s pleased is that — for him — seeing Watford in red shorts holds a deeper meaning. 

So he crosses Vicarage Road and enters the Troy Deeney Atrium to spend a little time reminding himself of what he feels red shorts stand for.

*     *     *

Inside the atrium, he goes to the programme shelves and finds Watford versus Darlington on the 24th of September 1977.

There are two photos on the front cover. One is of himself — following his arrival at the club earlier in the month. The second is of a young, smiling, Graham Taylor. 

He looks at the photos and remembers his initial impressions of The Great Man in 1977. From their very first meeting he was in no doubt that Graham (who was only 33, but already had more than 200 games under his belt as a manager) would be an extraordinary leader for Watford Football club. GT was tough, disciplined, principled and focussed — with strong convictions about how the game should be played and how footballers should behave. GT was ambitious. GT was honest and open. And, as a man, GT was perceptive, intelligent, warm, witty, and likeable. 

At the shelf, he contemplates whether, in 2024, Watford’s recent Head Coaches have been in possession of the same qualities. He realises he doesn’t know. The Great Man used to set the direction for the entire running of the club — fans heard from him on every subject — but, these days, the Head Coaches are only responsible for football. It’s other people that lead the organisation. The personality, or ‘image’, of the club no longer mirrors that of the man in charge of the team. 

Does this matter? He reflects that, as far as he can see, the club’s image isn’t currently coming across as tough, disciplined, principled and focussed. He isn’t certain that the club is ambitious, honest and open. He misses this. It’s how he’d like his club to be. Watford became his club when he joined in 1977 and — following his arrival in Hornet Heaven in 2001— it will be his club for the rest of eternity. He wants to admire his club for the way it does things.

He puts the Darlington programme back and looks further along the shelf for his favourite Watford game from the same era. He finds it. This one was the final game of the following season — the game that clinched a second promotion in Graham Taylor’s second year at the club. Watford versus Hull City on the 14th of May 1979. 

He takes down the programme and heads for the ancient turnstiles.  

*     *     *

Outside the atrium again, he glances across the road to the Hornets Shop. The crowd is gathered around the statue of Graham Taylor but, from what he can hear, The Great Man isn’t getting a mention in the argument that’s still raging.

Henry Grover is saying: “Red shorts get us promoted, Bill! Don’t you remember the end of the 2014/15 season — at Brighton? Deeney, in red shorts, swung the ball across to Vydra, in red shorts — and, hey presto, thousands of Watford fans were soon swinging their own shorts over their heads on Brighton beach! Red is the colour of success!”

Bill Mainwood replies: “If Watford are going to wear red shorts, Henry, I’d rather the club didn’t exist at all. I mean it. Better dead than red!”

Again, he chooses not to get involved in Henry and Bill’s bickering. He prefers not to press his opinion on people. Only if approached — in the same way that The Great Man used to consult him down on earth (and still does in Hornet Heaven) — would he be happy to provide counsel. And, if asked specifically about red shorts, he would simply issue an invitation to accompany him to the game to which he’s going now.

He makes his way down the slope. When he gets to the ancient turnstiles, he goes through with his programme and arrives at Vicarage Road in May 1979.

*     *     *

He often comes back to watch this game. He loves it. But he loves it in a different way from most people.

It was a night of glory and high emotion: the climax of the most thrilling and intoxicating season in Watford’s history. There was a huge crowd, on a warm night, with the team needing to win to be promoted. And they won emphatically — four nil. The celebrations afterwards were lively.

But, as a former manager himself, looking back on the game, he takes a wider, less emotive view. He regards it as a critical moment in Graham Taylor’s transformation of the club. 

That season, Watford had commanded the nation’s attention despite being only a Third Division club. They’d made headlines with their goalscoring at the top of the table; with their win over Manchester United at Old Trafford; and with their progress to the League Cup semi-finals where they’d played the League Champions, Nottingham Forest.

But if victory hadn’t been delivered against Hull, the club would have failed to convert the season’s amazing exploits into tangible success. The failure would have created doubt and distraction. Belief would have been lost. Watford’s subsequent progress to the top two of English football might not have happened at all. Watford had to beat Hull that night.

He takes a seat in the Directors Box in the old Main Stand and reflects that in May 1979, after two seasons of Graham Taylor’s leadership, everyone knew more about The Great Man now. They could see his qualities for themselves — not only in what he said, but in what he did. They could see what he had instilled in his players. And they could see he was genuinely connected to supporters and the local community because he wrote to fans, telephoned fans, and visited fans in person — to listen to their views and deal with their issues. It was clear that one man was driving the change at the club. Of course (he remembers), plenty of other people were involved behind the scenes — himself included — but The Great Man was leading from the front, personifying Watford Football Club.

As he sits and reflects, he hears Z-cars striking up over the tannoy — a sound that had far less resonance for Watford fans in 1979 simply because, these days, in 2024, the feelings it evokes include cherished memories of the journey on which Graham Taylor took the club.

As the music blares, he wonders whether — in the 21st century — one man could ever again take such a personal lead in establishing a football club’s values and ethos. The modern game seems too slickly marketed and spun (with too many voices fighting to be heard) for a club’s manager to be able to reply fully and earnestly to every fan. These days (he thinks), connection to supporters and the local community can come across as a public relations exercise rather than the bedrock for success that The Great Man created. In 2024, he’d love his club to put itself genuinely at the centre of its community again and build outwards from there. And (although it may seem an unlikely business model in an era when Watford must find a way to compete financially with clubs owned by billionaires and nation-states) the approach that The Great Man introduced still feels as if it should be properly at the heart of the club.  

Now he watches the teams come out of the tunnel. He looks at the faces of the Watford players and sees they’re determined to win this crucial game — and of course they will. And that’s what, beyond the heat and noise of this memorable and boisterous occasion, he prizes so greatly. Hopes are high and the vibes are good, but, as a former manager himself, he knows the importance of success on the pitch in building a club. And this victory, on this night, took Watford up a level — a fact that leaves him in no doubt that winning a second successive promotion on May the 14th 1979 was a pivotal moment in The Great Man’s transformation of Watford Football Club. The pivotal moment.

And now he watches the players take to the pitch, for the first time ever, in red shorts.

*     *     *

He emerges back onto Yellow Brick Road after the game.

There’s still a crowd outside the Hornets Shop and he can hear the debate about the new kit’s shorts still raging. 

Bill Mainwood says: “A team called the Hornets can’t play in red shorts, Henry.”

Henry Grover says: “Yes, they can, Bill.”

“No, they can’t, Henry.”

“Yes, they can, Bill.”

Bill Mainwood’s 13-year-old assistant Derek Garston interrupts: “Excuse me, Mr Grover and Mr Mainwood, sirs, but both red and black colouring is found within the Hornet species — ‘Vespa Crabro’ — sirs. And so is brown, sirs, so perhaps Watford should adopt brown shorts next season, Mr Grover and Mr Mainwood, sirs.” 

“Shut up, Derek,” Bill says.

“Yes, shut up, Derek,” Henry says, “you young perisher.”

Again, as he stands on the pavement, down the slope, he decides not to engage in these discussions. He’s content with what red shorts means to him and he wouldn’t want to try and persuade other people to see things his way. 

Red shorts, to him, serve as a symbol of what Graham Taylor did for Watford Football Club. They’re a simple reminder of everything good that The Great Man brought. They signal his legacy.

He’s aware, of course, that in 2024 the club continues to display its respect and gratitude for The Great Man: there’s the statue of him on Vicarage Road; there’s the stand in his name inside the stadium. But he’s happy that this season he’ll be seeing a reminder on the pitch too. This seems fitting. As all managers know (especially The Great Man), a club’s progress depends on what happens on the pitch, just as it did on that pivotal night against Hull City — the night Watford changed to red shorts.

Perhaps, he thinks, this season’s change of colour will prove to be temporary. Or perhaps it will be long-term. Either way, when he sees red shorts on the pitch this season, he’ll feel he’s seeing Graham Taylor’s Watford. 

And that’s a Watford he loves to see.

*     *     *

Now, instead of returning to the atrium, he crosses to the other side of Yellow Brick Road where, alongside a rusting fence, next to an old brick garage with a peeling door, there’s a gate.

He knows that beyond the gate is someone else who’ll be pleased to hear of the return of red shorts — an old colleague and a dear friend.

He goes through.

He arrives in a park and makes his way across an expanse of grass, through a ring of trees, to a brown wooden bench with an inscribed plaque on the back. 

Graham Taylor is sitting there, on the bench, wearing a 1979 black Umbro tracksuit top with wide yellow and red panels — the one The Great Man always wears in Hornet Heaven.

And now, after the exchange of a few warm words, The Great Man receives the news about red shorts from his old mentor — from the League and Cup Double-winning manager he brought to the club in 1977 to provide the wise counsel that would be required in transforming Watford Football Club. 

The Great Man smiles at the news and says: “That pleases me, Bertie. That pleases me.”

THE END 

GT’s Second Coming brought red shorts back and we’ve got a new book about that here

‘A Shorts Story’ was written by Olly Wicken.

Olly has written more than 100 Hornet Heaven stories. You can listen to them all on audio, beautifully read by Colin Mace, at https://shows.acast.com/hornetheaven