This won’t be a long report. I’ve better things to do and I’m sure you have too. And so has Phil Parkinson, frankly. The Carling Cup is a competition we can all like when our League form is middling to decent, but when it’s as abominable as it is currently we can do without the distractions. Especially with a draw as uninspiring as this.

Six months after the last visit to the car-unfriendly town of Watford – when the two teams had divisional parity – a distinctly unbothered Tiger Nation contingent pitched up again for a game which had some real purpose for City only once the two desperate substitutions were made in the second half. Until then, it was a grotesquely insignificant and soulless game which Watford were winning easily.

Parkinson, unable to field Forster, Bridges, Mills and Fagan for a variety of reasons (two cup-tied, one not-to-be-cup-tied and a suspendee) went for needless negativity again – deploying Jon Parkin as the lone striker in Forster’s place, recalling Dean Marney and Ryan France to the five-man midfield, and also bringing back Andy Dawson to the defence, where Damien Delaney was taken out of his round hole from Deepdale and firmly square-pegged back into the defence. So then, make what you will of Myhill; Ricketts, Turner, Delaney, Dawson; France, Ashbee, Welsh, Marney, Elliott; Parkin. A youngster named Matt Plummer was on the bench.

So, another 4-5-1 – and another concession before half the crowd had parked their buttocks and issued their first swear word.

City conceded a second minute free kick from 25 yards out. I didn’t note the players involved in the foul. I still don’t care now. However, Ashley Young was more than notable when he curled a peach of a shot both past and above Boaz Myhill, who got fingers to it but couldn’t keep it out. He probably should have done.

You can guess what the reaction in the City end was like. A mixture of derision, disbelief and insult – and that was just at the stewards making the hardly-heaving away end be seated at all times. The goal didn’t spark Watford into instigating a ritual pummeling of a dreadfully confidenceless City, probably because they weren’t actually good enough to do so. Their Premiership stay will be truncated sometime in April.

Parkin was fouled, Stuart Elliott’s mishit rebounded awkwardly to girlish Manchester United loanee goalkeeper and ludicrously-tagged England #4 stopper Ben Foster, who has at least had the grace to have a proper haircut since April 30. Elliott then forced a corner which John Welsh, at the second go, delivered on to a sinewy Parkin instep, and the venomous shot was whacked off the line by a Hornet. Ian Ashbee’s follow up was way over. Somebody without a brain slagged off Ashbee so loudly at this point that he was hilariously rounded upon by fellow City supporters in utter disgust.

City looked ok without ever really threatening to score at this stage. Welsh, our best player again, swished a shot over after good widthwork from France and a genteel Parkin tee-up, then Elliott squandered the best of the lot when he got goalside on a glorious Welsh through ball but thumped the shot at Foster’s legs. Myhill saved similarly at the other end a bit afterwards, and the last 15 minutes of the half were played out with lukewarmth befitting of a competition neither team cared about.

Despite losing the early goal – an expression we’re used to saying now – City looked like they might be able to nick their way back in. Masochists hoped for it; those with one eye on the clock, the M1 roadworks near Luton, the responsibility for missing drunken City fans who wanted a lift home and City’s tendency to fail just as success looms, preferred the idea of a glorious win or defeat after 90. However, the opening period of the second half was as featureless as the closing period of the first, and feet were duly shuffled and eyebrows raised as the subs – including Nicky Barmby and Darryl Duffy, as well as deceptively-flattering Mark Yeates – started doing stretches on the touchline.

Unfortunately, any impact they would have would be only superficial, as Watford were gifted their second just as the tracksuit tops were coming off. Marney and France contrived to put each other in all sorts of needless trouble down City’s deep right flank, and a chronic France backpass as a consequence was greedily collected and slotted in by Hungarian striker Tamas Priskin, celebrating the revolutionary anniversary by scoring against the mighty City.

The Tigers had time to show that they’d learned nothing from Saturday when Darius Henderson won a free, giftwrapped header from a corner and only his own inadequacy – proved by that Rosenthal-esque miss on Saturday at Charlton – stopped him from scoring, as the side netting felt the spherical force instead.

Mr Parkinson re-thought his substitution plans, and refreshingly saw through Marney’s poverty in the middle, hauling him off to cruel cheers as Duffy – a player I still think will get us goals if the right pairing and the confidence is there – strolled on for his first action since missing his penalty against Hartlepool in the last round’s shootout. Barmby followed him on a few minutes later, replacing the improving, rejuvenated Elliott, who got huge applause and was gracious enough to return it as he trudged to the touchline.

Immediately, the impact was felt. City won a free kick wide of the Watford box, and Dawson’s inswinger was incompetently dealt with by the Hornets’ defence, allowing Welsh to chip a tighter ball just behind Barmby, whose overhead did the job required. 2-1, and momentum came our way, with a lively-looking Duffy giving the defence a chronic time with one awesome run from the left touchline to the edge of the box, but just not quite finding the room to unleash a shot.

Yeates came on for France without too much effect, but Parkin got more involved – grateful for a strike partner at last – and almost levelled when Foster amusingly hit the backside of his own unwitting defender with an appalling goalkick, but Parkin’s instant chip, although beating the keeper all ends up, dropped just the wrong side of the post. He then showed the Beast-like determination of old when he won a crunching header from Yeates’ free kick, only for Foster to pull off the save in a little style.

City kept at it, with Ashbee almost snatching an extra 30 minutes with his first shot on target of the season, a 25 yarder which again Foster did well to save at a scramble. Parkin’s crossed follow up was cleared just before a ravenous Duffy could get his studs on it.

Full time was shrilled, and City were out. Not a disgraceful performance, and only Myhill can shoulder any possible blame for our falling behind so early yet again, but afterwards it was a decent workout for numerous players, and the re-emergence of Duffy and especially Barmby – who looked interested and aggressive upon his introduction – is handily timed, as Mr Parkinson desperately tries to discover some sort of formula to haul us from the Championship abyss. I’d rather like both those two to stay involved now.

Elliott was good, Welsh was better, Parkin was isolated but put the graft in, and the defence weren’t massively troubled, if still occasionally prone to disappearing acts when crosses were flying in. Defeat to Watford isn’t a disgrace, and the Carling Cup is not of any consequence to us. There's considerably more appeal to a win against Sunderland, preferably with a 4-4-2, a proper strike partnership, the return of Mills and the quarantining of Marney in his hotel room. (MR)