HORNET HEAVEN

A Hornet Heaven story by Olly Wicken

There was a lot he needed to get his head around. Like where he was. How this whole arrangement worked. 

But the thing that cut deepest was being told he didn’t love Watford Football Club anymore. Not here and now in 2026.

Deep down he already knew it. He’d loved the club during the Taylor eras. But he hadn’t been to a game for years now. Didn’t even look out for Watford’s results. 

It was the being told. That’s what got to him. Apparently, the universe had counted up whatever it is you need to count up and he didn’t love Watford. So, when he died, he hadn’t gone to Hornet Heaven. 

He was here instead. This strange place.

*     *     *

The arena was huge. Rows of white seats stretched away, up into the clouds. The place must have held 120,000. But when Adam materialised there, it was just him. 

He was into football stadiums. Down on earth, he’d been to most English grounds. People who followed Watford on their rise up the leagues collected almost a full set. Back then, the places had character. But this had none. Just a pitch, goalposts, a giant video screen, and endless rows of identical seats. You’d call it soul-less — except that’s what he was now, a soul, and he was here.

The video screen said “Welcome to Eternity Stadium”. Better name than “Etihad Stadium”, Adam thought. He hated the way football had got so commercialised now. There’d always been ball sponsorship and stuff when he grew up watching Watford. But then there was IVECO on the shirts in 1982 and the whole thing got out of hand. At least this name made sense because he knew he’d died. But why the stadium? What did that have to do with anything? 

Then he saw a steward coming to fetch him. The bloke’s face was red from climbing up all the rows. Had to sit down to get his breath back. He was still puffing while he gave his spiel, but Adam got the gist. Football fans who love a club go to the heaven for that club. The rest come here — the place for neutrals.

That was when it hit Adam. His love for Watford had officially gone. 

But there was more. Neutrals don’t stay at Eternity Stadium forever, the steward said. Only until they decide which club heaven to go to. That was the big news. Adam had to choose a club. One club to follow for the rest of all time. 

He stared. How the hell was he going to decide? The steward joked that it wasn’t too difficult — five-year-olds do it all the time. Adam didn’t laugh. This time around, he didn’t know where to begin.

*     *     *

The steward walked Adam down the steps. Told him that most neutrals arriving at Eternity Stadium were what the place called “club burn-outs.”

It was football’s fault, the steward said. The game hypes everyone’s expectations these days — so no one’s satisfied. Rules get changed to help the richest teams. Clubs are run terribly — by terrible people. Fans are forced away.

This was all true, Adam reckoned. Following Watford had been great when Graham Taylor took little old Watford to the top. Football had allowed it to happen. In the early 1980s, football had let Watford, in the space of three seasons, reach the top flight, finish runners up, and play in Europe and get to the Cup Final. Wouldn’t happen now.

The turning point was 1992. The Premier League. Mad amounts of money. Big club cartels. After that, when GT came back to Watford and did GT things, it wasn’t the same. The game was going, if it hadn’t already gone. Plus, Adam’s marriage went. He moved away. To the midlands.

It was modern football that lost him to Watford. He’d started ground-hopping instead. Different team every week. Different divisions, different leagues. Enjoyed football for what it is. No hype, no narrative. Pure.

But now he was here. Eternity Stadium. You had to choose a club to support forever. And — as the steward now told him — you only got 90 minutes to decide.

*     *     *

The steward dropped Adam off in a reception area. Gave him a visitor’s lanyard for the way out. Said it would get him into whichever heaven he finally decided on. 

Soon another man arrived. John. Described himself as a “decision facilitator”. Said it was his job to help Adam arrive at the best possible choice. 

Adam blinked in amazement. He recognised the man. But it sort of made sense. John had died three years ago and was a good choice for the job when you thought about it: enthusiastic; knew his facts and figures; obviously loved the game; must have visited every club in the land; always a neutral.

Adam introduced himself. Said he’d had a soft spot for John — like most fans probably. Said how sad he’d been when John died. John thanked Adam for the kind words, but said they needed to get down to business. They didn’t want to go past ninety minutes with Adam not choosing a club. Adam asked what happened if you didn’t decide in time. John lowered his voice. Told Adam about the place you went if you didn’t choose a heaven. The Void. You were suspended in total darkness. You were conscious, but you couldn’t feel anything except misery.

Christ, Adam thought. Exactly how it felt when Watford lost to Them Up The Road, back when he cared about a team. 

And now it would happen if he couldn’t choose one to support. It felt like, whether he chose a football team or not, he wasn’t destined for eternal bliss.

*     *     *

Adam followed John back up into the arena. They sat together, overlooking the halfway line. First, John asked for any club history. Adam talked about watching Watford slide down into Division Four in the early 1970s. Then how Graham Taylor transformed everything. Amazing time to be a Watford fan. The best.

John nodded, and Adam remembered John had known GT. He’d been at The Great Man’s funeral. It had been good of him to go. It must have helped Watford fans deal with their loss, knowing GT was respected not just by neutrals but by footballing royalty like John.

Adam talked about ground-hopping next — how he’d visited different clubs every week. John asked if he’d ever missed what you get from supporting one club — the stakes, the passion. Adam said no: being neutral stopped football being so stressful; made him see things from a different angle; let him watch his kind of football among his kind of people. He’d be somewhere new each week, but it always felt like a home game.  

This got John talking — giving advice. He said it matters who you’re going to spend eternity with.  Family and friends, maybe. Or a community you share values with. Definitely something to think about, John said. But there was lots more to consider. In football heavens you could watch old games, so what kind of club history did you like: ups and downs, or flat-out success? Did a club’s ownership matter to you? What kind of rivalries did you want your club to have? Was geography important — ties to a town or region? What sort of atmosphere did you want at your home ground? And a big question — how much suffering could you cope with? Could you suffer for the club and still feel it was worthwhile?

The last one was the one that really struck Adam. To suffer for a club, you needed something connecting you at a pretty deep level. And being here proved he didn’t love Watford anymore. So how was he meant to find a deep connection with a completely new club within the next hour or so? He reckoned he could come up with a shortlist of clubs he thought were probably alright. Lower division, or non-league, most likely. But making a hard and fast decision — on just one club — felt impossible.

John nodded. Said there was one thing that might help. Adam was entitled to a phone call. Perfect, Adam thought with an eye-roll. He’d call a lawyer and say ‘get me out of here’.

The thought of a lawyer took Adam back twenty years. To his divorce. It was amicable. Adam and Julie agreed they’d lost the romantic spark they’d had when they were 25. She wanted more from the marriage. He wanted… Well, he didn’t really know. But he didn’t fancy being married to someone who wanted something else. He moved away. Never found a new spark himself, though. Wished he’d found a way for him and Julie to carry on. They saw the world the same way. It would have been good to grow old together. The passion might have gone but they’d still get on. And the memories they had would still have felt good. No sadness. No regret that things had changed. The irony was, Julie stayed in the town and married another Watford fan. Started going to games— which she’d never done with Adam. Made him wonder. What was that about? Sometimes he thought about taking in a ground where Watford were playing. A pre-season friendly. Boreham Wood or Chesham or something. She might be there. Then, though, a couple of years ago, she’d passed away.

Adam tuned back into what John was saying. When he’d said phone call, he’d meant video call. On the giant screen. You could speak to a heaven you were interested in. Ask any questions you had.

Adam said he wouldn’t know what to ask. What did other people ask? John said the questions usually weren’t great. People wanted to know how a place felt. But no one really had the words — to ask or answer. What with the ninety minute deadline, the way things worked at Eternity Stadium could be a lot better, John reflected. Same as the way things worked in football nowadays.

Adam stared out over the pitch. Up into the stands. Into the clouds. He felt no closer to a decision. He turned back to John. Asked which club John thought he should choose. John shook his head. Said it wasn’t really for him to say… But…

Adam listened. John talked about his career down on earth — visiting almost every English club, talking to people. He’d come to realise something. Football clubs weren’t about football. They were about people. The best clubs had the best leaders. Leaders who set the tone. Leaders who brought out the best in the people around them — players, staff and even fans. Football heavens, John said, would be the same. What made a heaven would be who was in it.

Adam nodded. He got this. The club he used to support had a leader like this. In fact, he’d heard John’s voice on the subject before — at the funeral in 2017 when John had read out Elton’s words during the service:

“Graham was the most honest and open man I’ve ever met. He was successful, but he cared about players, fans, family, friends. No airs or graces, just a genius from Lincolnshire. Because of him, I have the name of Watford Football Club etched in my soul. I have memories that are sublime, and a sense of achievement that no one else can ever take away.” 

Adam looked up at the clouds again. The words had got to him back then. They’d brought back his sublime memories of those three peak Watford seasons. But one of the phrases had even more meaning for him now, here in Eternity Stadium. It was like with him and Julie. He might not be in love with Watford Football Club, but its name was still etched in his soul. 

He told John he was ready for his video call. He wanted to speak to Hornet Heaven.

*     *     *

On the big screen, a friendly old man answered. He had spectacles, white hair, and a white work-coat.

‘Oh, it’s you, Motty,’ he said. ‘Good to have you on the blower again. Everything OK at Eternity Stadium? Who’s with you today?’

Adam recognised Bill Mainwood. From the hut. Years ago. Adam always liked him. If Bill was in Hornet Heaven, that was a very good start.

Adam started to talk. He had lots he wanted to know. How the place worked. What there was to do. All that stuff was important because he’d be there forever. But what really mattered was who else was there. 

Adam asked about two people. Bill had an answer for the first name straightaway. He answered with a smile. With pride. With reverence. But the second name he had to look up in his register. Adam watched Bill peer down through his spectacles. Flick through pages. Mumble to himself. Then he said yes. She was here. 

Adam nodded. Thanked Bill. And rang off.

*     *     *

Adam stood in the reception area. John told him how to hold the visitor’s lanyard, and what to say. Adam paused. Was he making the right decision? Before today, he’d accepted that the choices he made at five, and twenty-five, hadn’t worked out. What was different, all of a sudden? Hard to say. Maybe it was just that, now his soul was in the afterlife, he understood what was etched in it.

The Graham Taylor era at Watford had been peak Watford. His formative years. He’d read every word GT had said or written. He’d absorbed The Great Man’s ethics, his values. He couldn’t choose to go to Manchester City’s heaven. Couldn’t realistically go anywhere else. John had been right. It was about people. Leaders, staff, fans. People on your wavelength. GT, Bill, Julie.

Adam shook John’s hand. Thanked him for the last ninety minutes. Also, for 50 years of BBC football commentaries. John corrected him. It was only 49. His first commentary was Everton versus Derby in December 1969. Typical Motty, Adam thought. Exact on the facts.

He lifted his visitor’s lanyard in his right hand. Less than ninety minutes ago, he’d felt out of place. Stuck in a system that didn’t suit him. But now he felt ready. He’d enjoyed his time ground-hopping, but today he’d come to feel that football is most meaningful when you have a deep connection with a club — whatever or whoever creates that connection for you. And, for him, because of the mark Graham Taylor had left on him, there could be no other club.

He gripped the lanyard and said with a smile “Take me to Hornet Heaven”.

THE END 

There are more than 100 Hornet Heaven stories about being a Watford fan forever. Find out more here.