They've won their last three Home games.
We've discovered a new strength and organisation - a never-say-die attitude to boot - away from home since the Leicester debacle.
They're bang on at Home, we're bang on away. Something's got to give. We're also looking for an element of revenge for last season's embarrassing shambles ... Bogdan ffs.
That's all you need to know. You can ignore the rest ... it's just a ramble down memory lane for an old arse.
We moved to that London from the One-eyed City in 1966. Strange new world, I was 10. Thanks to the Beatles, Tony Booth, Tarby and our Cilla, our accents weren't entirely incomprehensible but the downside was every soft twat constantly imitating Alf Garnett and giving it 'Lazy Scarse git' or attempting a Liverpool accent that usually ended up as a sort of Brummie/Geordie with a soupcon of Welsh tossed in for good measure. Can't do accents cockneys, fucking shit at it.
So, what about football? What's a lad to do. Too young to make the trek to Anfield and back. Bit of a blow to a lad used to getting to the game when the arl feller was home. But, I soon made friends. They didn't know half the stuff I'd picked up as a lad knocking round the jiggers of Laird Street. I think local chemists sold out of Sulphur once I'd showed them how to make rivers of molten fire in a gutter and down ant's nests.
My mates supported Watford. So it was there I spent my early teenage years, every Home game - both Liverpool Cup games there - 1966 and the legendary, end-of-Shanks's-first-great-team defeat on the world's most dreadful pitch in 1970. Make no mistake, this was earth-shattering, a harking-back to the miserable Cup defeat to Worcester City a decade or so earlier that eventually brought Shanks to Anfield in the first place.
https://www.youtube.com/v/NHmraLZlRqII'm there - in the Rookery, their Home end, the stand on the right - surrounded by my 'mates' and a jubilant crowd, a fucking picture of misery. Every time we've been beaten by Watford that awful day flashes back. Worse than that bad, bad day at Wembley when Charlie George broke our hearts.
So I don't like getting beat by Watford - like us all, I'm not keen on getting beat by anyone - but a Yernited or Bitters defeat (rare though the latter may be) may hurt for a while, but they don't sting like a loss to the fucking Hornets does.
So come on Reds, batter these and make an arl arse happy
Oh, and if you're going the game, as you walk from town past those shops just before the ground, shout some abuse at the flat above the Bookies - it's my lad's gaff and he supports the Plastics