135 YEARS Leicester City 1-1 Reading

Reading Football Club, the oldest in the whole of the South of England, will also be the oldest club in the Premiership next season. Yesterday's draw at the Walkers Stadium and a combination of results elsewhere made the inevitable promotion a mathematical certainty with 6 games spare.

Reading FC being Reading FC of course, clinched the deal in typically incompetent style - we could have been dead and buried by half time were it not for Marcus Hahnemann and the goalpost, yet with Leeds failing to break down Stoke at home and Watford capitulating to a surprise defeat to relegation-bound Millwall we were seemingly bound to celebrate promotion on the back of a loss until Kevin Doyle's late and ultimately deserved equaliser sent a corner of Berkshire in Leicester into heaven. The irony - Millwall's first goal was scored by erstwhile RFC record signing flop Carl Asaba. It was that kind of day.

Floyd on Football will celebrate 20 years since first having been taken to Elm Park to watch Reading next month and there have been few days since which can compare with this for emotion. Division 2 title and promotion clinching games in 1994, play-off final defeat in 1995, relegation in 1998, the epic play-off semi with Wigan which only gave way to defeat again in the final in 2001 and then clinching promotion the following season with 13 minutes left in the final game. Reading never, ever do it easily and yet the supporters always, stupidly, have a habit of celebrating before it goes belly up. In the concourses of the Walkers Stadium yesterday afternoon people were proudly displaying flags, banners and t-shirts proclaiming promotion, there was chanting, singing and dancing, handshakes and backslaps all round. And this was before kick off.

So what better way to celebrate in style by being outplayed by midtable Leicester in the first half and going in at half time a goal behind? Kitson had a chance in front of goal inside the first minute but his touch, unusually, let him down and that was more or less that for Reading in the opening 45 minutes. Leicester played with the attitude of 'if you want promotion on our patch you'll have to damned well earn it'. Full credit to them, and full credit to Leicester City as a club who were hospitable hosts; the stewards were excellent and the home supporters applauded as generously at the beginning at the behest of their tannoy man. The generousity did not extend to the playing pitch however as Hahnemann had to be alert to save from those lively Foxes Hume and Fryatt. Referee Penton was throwing cards around at Reading players as if it were the confetti which festooned the air from the 3,000 travelling Reading fans and then a further blow as HUME turned inside Murty and slalomed past Sonko like a Winter Olympic gold medalist before thumping past Hahnemann. Joey Gudjonsson then spanked the goalpost with a freekick as if it were a naughty child. Uh-oh. The colour and the atmosphere of 3pm turned to frowns and grumbling bewilderment inside the concourses at half time.

But Watford weren't winning, Leeds weren't winning. We might go up with a draw if Millwall and Stoke did us a favour. The half time turnaround and Reading's improved showing in the second half meant that the travelling army got to see most of the action down their end again. We were willing if not particularly able to get back in the game, dominating territorially and having almost all of the possession. Shorey's set pieces were causing trouble every time Penton decided that he should really even out all the decisions which he had given Leicester, Convey's shot was saved by the sprawling Henderson and Oster ricocheted the rebound over the top whilst Sonko put a header wide of the target. Typical of Penton's performance was that when two Leicester players clashed heads he restarted play with.....a Leicester freekick, which Gudjonsson violently smashed towards goal only for Hahnemann to keep the effort out with his legs.

Time was ticking away but the noise levels just grew louder and louder. It was apparent that Watford had fallen behind and if Leeds also failed to score then mathematically the result of our game mattered not one jot - we'd be up there and then. The phone masts of Leicestershire must have been red hot as calls and texts messages were tooing and frowing, WAP was checked - Floyd on Football wonders how the supporters on the final day of the 1925/26 Division 3 (South) promotion season coped without such information technology? Chants were ringing out around the Walkers Stadium, proclaiming that now you're gonna believe us the Royals are going up. Floyd on Football was reserving judgement until it was confirmed and official and the 85th minute equaliser, although effectively meaningless in the calculation side of things, was a pleasant distraction for a few moments. Harper's corner was flicked on by Ingimarsson and DOYLE headed down past Henderson.

Just like a team who's gonna win the Championship, we shall not be moved. But moved we were, to tears in some cases - your correspondant watched the last 5 minutes through teary eyes and even HNA resident hard man Super Kevin Bremner! was noticably red-eyed in the next block along. The whistle went, the cheers were muted as we waited for confirmation, the team applauded us politely before sloping off.....before the tannoy man did us proud again, the roar could have been heard back in the Royal County one suspects and the players, staff and the chairman came sprinting over to us and there followed a good half an hour of serious celebrating and a mutual love-in. The players celebrated with champagne and banners, throwing shirts, shorts, socks into the crowd. Floyd on Football was fortunate enough to climb highest to catch a scarf lobbed into the crowd by Super Steven Sidwell. 135 years. We were going to celebrate properly. Even the normally dour Steve Coppell smiled, he even threw his bench coat into the crowd who fought like a pack of hyenas for the souvenir.

When the happy 3,000 finally made their way out of the ground more than half an hour after that final whistle the scenes outside were just incredible. The Leicester fans had largely dispersed after applauding us at full time, and again there was just Reading everywhere; t-shirts were being snapped up again, there were hugs, handshakes and dancing as people began to catch up with friends, and in Floyd on Football's case, family who they hadn't got to celebrate with in the ground - an Uncle who shall remain nameless was leaping around like a smacked-up Gibbon. The traffic getting out of Leicester was horrendous and we were re-routed via Coventry and onto the M40 due to the roadworks on the M1. Did we care as we sat in stationery traffic? Did we fuck - the sounds of car horns hooting triumphantly were from cars with Reading FC stickers and scarves in the back.

Back home in the country's newest top flight footballing town by 8:30pm after some speed driving by Laurie '130 mph' Figzal there were a couple of poignant moments either side of getting ready to go out on the tiles to celebrate. In Sainsbury's Local, Whitley, picking up some coke and lemonade as mixers for the impending pre-boozing booze the 3 wise men in the car were pointing dementedly to the bloke next to me in the queue. Fuck my hat if it wasn't a ghost of failures past, the likeable but jinxed Trinidadian Tony Rougier, the man who scored that own goal in the 2001 play-off final loss. Handshake, delighted for us etc. Then, being driven into town to commence the binge drinking, a particular song came on the radio - These Sounds Run Into My Mind by The Bucketheads. This tune was by ITV during their coverage of the 1995 play-off final (another loss, natch). Omens and figures from the past - as was said earlier, it was that kind of day.

And what a night in town - everyone in every pub visited was noisy and in top form, isn't it funny how everyone seems to support RFC these days? Floyd on Football can well remember the days when supporting Reading Football Club was about as fashionable as wearing a kipper tie. Bumping into Uncle-who-shall-remain-nameless again was amusing, particularly as he was enjoying a night out in town with wife and friends whilst wearing his RFC shirt. Singing and dancing with many other likeminded souls in the Coopers Arms, Floyd on Football held court with the Evening Post editor discussing snappy front-page headlines for Monday before moving on to the Hobgoblin where they had teletext page 325 (page 1 of 4) on 'hold' all evening. Grown men were pointing up at the telly, and RFC the only team in green on that page, chanting that's why we're top the league. A chance meeting with the editor of The Whiff fanzine Jeff Kirkpatrick was a nice bonus, especially as Jeff has an uncanny resemblance to Steve Coppell which was pointed out repeatedly. Could the evening get any better? Yes it could, winding up in the Purple Turtle where serving behind the bar was..... one John Madejski, who was pouring pints as his name was being sung. He later made an appearance in the beer garden where he was mobbed and he conducted as his name was chanted over and over and over.

Floyd on Football finally got home at 11am this morning, just in time to miss the highlights of our game on The Championship on ITV having forgotten that the clocks went forward last night. Where the interim hours between the final drink and the hour long walk home in uncomfortable shoes were spent is, frankly dear reader, none of your business but ambling down the Wokingham Road tired but contented and carrying 5 pounds worth of Sunday newspapers (Reading FC on the front pages of some of them as well as the back!), Floyd on Football passed Cemetery Junction which, thanks to sterling research work done by RFC-historian extraordinaire Ray 'The Cube' Curry, is the final resting place of J.E Sydenham who is the man generally credited with the foundation of RFC in 1871. One couldn't help but think he'd have been very satisfied by the events of March 25th 2006, the day on which Reading Football Club finally clinched a place in the top flight of english football.


Reading: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Oster (Long, 61), Gunnarsson (Sidwell, 61), Harper, Convey (Hunt, 80), Doyle, Kitson. Subs not used: Stack, Makin.

Floyd's Favourite: Hahnemann. But for Buddy's faultless glovesmanship we would have celebrated promotion with a defeat.

LEN GODDLE Reading 1-1 Wolves

The Son of God is alive and well and living in Berkshire. Local resident Glenn Hoddle, the David Icke of football managers, said in the build up to this game "the pressure is on Reading". What pressure would that be Glenn? We started the game 15 points clear at the top and inching ever closer to promotion, whilst his own team have a battle on just to reach the end of season lottery of the play-offs. Given the money invested in your squad and the sizeable wage-bill, I'd say that the pressure is well and truly on the manager of Wolverhampton Wanderers - a club with a delusional sense of their own importance with an impatient fanbase who have grown increasingly accustomed to expensive failure.

The last time these teams met, Mr Hoddle had a bit too much to say for himself once again and his pre-match comments backfired in spectacular style as Reading wrapped up a routine win at the Molineux. Reading once again started positively at home, Kitson heading a Murty cross wide and the much improved John Oster getting across the Wolves defence at the near post to be denied by Postma. Convey, in his best whippet-like form playing in an unaccustomed central role in a new 4-3-1-2 formation, tried his luck from 20 yards but his own special moment was to come. Not so Aliadiere, who finished clinically only to be denied by the offside flag - the highly rated Arsenal loanee later missed a total sitter to complete a rather miserable day for him on a personal level. Reading merited their lead taken midway through the half - Kitson chased a long ball into the left channel and centred where Doyle retrieved and fed Oster who put a delicious ball across the box. Waiting to do so at the far post was CONVEY who took a touch and crashed home a measured effort.

The rest of the half was end-to-end with no further goals added. Hod moves in mysterious ways and the Wolves supremo had selected the sprightly Kenny Miller to play right wing-back thus depriving the visitors of the diminuitive scot's attacking threat, but he was involved in the move which Mark Davies thwarted by the alert Hahnemann when clean through and Reading clearly hadn't learned their lesson as Frankowski amazingly managed to put a loose ball wide with the visiting supporters already out of their seats acclaiming a certain equaliser. In reponse, Ingimarsson put a header wide, Convey tried his luck at distance again and Doyle made a chance for himself with some glorious skill before dragging the final effort wide. Another clear cut chance in a lively first half fell to the head of Sonko - the Senegalese putting a free header wide from an Oster centre so inviting as to require an RSVP. Sonko's response was to kick the upright in frustration at missing such a good chance.

The pace was relentless as the game resumed after the break after words of half time wisdom from Steve Coppell and Songs of Praise from Glenn Hoddle. Convey drove a well struck effort down Postma's throat whilst Harper had an effort blocked and Doyle's unlikely attempt at a chip almost extended our lead. Being good christians, Wolves will feel they deserved their equaliser which came twenty minutes into a second half of almost continual Reading pressure. MILLER made the most of a rare opening to curve a right footed effort around Hahnemann. Game on again and Wolves took the game to Reading with their new found hunger. Hahnemann denied the increasingly frustrated Aliadiere, smothering when the frenchman had been put clear and Reading only threatened sporadically with Shorey's sky-bound volley and Kitson charging down the 'keepers clearance only for Postma to gather his bearings with the ball never really threatening to slip over the line.

Reading were continually frustrated by a fussy linesmen on the near side who gave some iffy looking offside decisions - it is what God would have intended - and Wolves should have sneaked a somewhat underserved win as we entered time added on. Substitute Carl Cort flicked ona throw in with the Reading defence napping to give Aliadiere an inkling of an opening. He skied it over from close-range, hallelujah. For the second week running a home draw at the MadStad against half decent opposition and once again in the opinion of Floyd on Football a draw feels like a win in our lofty position with Sheffield United losing again we extended the lead to 16 points and Leeds failure to win at Coventry means we will be promoted with a win at Coventry next Saturday. Praise the Lord Steve Coppell.


Reading: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Oster (Hunt, 88), Gunnarsson (Sidwell, 84), Harper, Convey, Doyle, Kitson. Subs not used: Stack, Makin, Long.

Floyd's Favourite: Convey. Switched to a more central role and ran Wolves ragged.

I JUST CAN'T WAIT TO BE KING Reading 0-0 Watford

It was typical of our season really. Reading drop home points for the first time since October and yet none of our closest rivals made any ground on us and we actually increased our lead at the top to 15 points with Warnock's mob being sent to Coventry and beaten. At full time, both Reading and Watford supporters joined in with the chants of Neil Warnock is fucking it up -that's your song, Colin - as the Hornets themselves closed to within 6 points of Sheffield United after a nil-nil draw which in truth suited both sides.

Fair credit to Watford, the first team in a while to come to the Madejski with a real positive attacking attitude. They fielded abbrasive ex-Royal Darius Henderson, who did not endear himself to the Reading faithful with his usual aggressive game, in a three-pronged attack with those nippy little pinball wizards Ashley Young and Anthony McNamee. Watford's go-ahead young manager Adrian Boothroyd also had Championship top scorer on the bench and with such attacking riches it was easy to see why the Hornets carry such a deadly sting as divisional second top scorers behind the mighty Royals.

Floyd on Football was of the opinion before the game that any result other than a defeat would be great business for us, and given that his hard fought 0-0 kept Watford 21 points behind us in the table on a day in which Leeds could only draw at home with schizophrenic Norwich this result felt like a a win so I'm still standing by that opinion. Just like the goaless draw at Vicarage Road earlier this season this was a game short on clear cut opportunities and neither goalkeeper was greatly troubled as two decent sides cancelled each other out.

Reading played some neat stuff in the early stages of the game. Kitson had an effort blocked and Doyle went crashing to the deck under the challenge of MacKay. Convey was unfortunate as the ball wouldn't drop for him and he crashed a volley well over the bar which and Watford's Spring was not to be outdone with two efforts of his own high wide and not very handsome. Kitson had a variation on the theme, taking a Doyle flick-on with a leaden first touch and then lashing well over the top from a tight angle. The pace became frantic - Convey was astonishingly cautioned for taking a freekick too quickly whilst Henderson escaped punishment after seemingly shoving Gunnarsson into touch. It was becoming that kind of game, not a quarter asked or given and threatening to boil over as after all Saturday night's alright for fighting. The sides exchanged chances at either end within a matter of moments before the break as Sonko failed to get his head to Convey's inviting centre and McNamee had a decent opening deflected for a corner.

The second half saw even less by way of chances but there was plenty of decent football being played and the match was being played at a fractious pace. Ingimarsson was forced off the pitch with a head injury but returned, bravely bandaged. Eagles and Spring threatened for Watford without causing Hahnemann to break sweat whilst Oster created a rare opening for himself before thumping well over from outside the box. Oster was again a disappointing replacement for Little and it was no sacrifice when he was withdrawn in favour of the far livelier Hunt. Shorey put a promising free-kick into the South Stand and later tip-toed into the box but was again unable to find a finish. Defences were dominating and messrs Mackay, Sonko and Ingimarsson all enjoyed splendid games keeping the wealth of attacking talent on either side in check.

The whistle finally blew on the inevitable 0-0 after Marlon King was denied easily by Hahnemann with the final half-chance of the game. For a goaless fixture, it was entertaining, end-to-end fare with a lack of cutting edge. Both sets of supporters were cheered by the full times displayed by the MadStad scoreboard, particularly the news of the further demise of The Blades which moves Reading a step closer to the title and Watford to within touching distance of automatic promotion. I guess that's why they call it the blues, eh Mr Warnock?


Reading: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Oster (Hunt,76), Gunnarsson, Harper, Convey, Doyle, Kitson. Subs not used: Stack, Halls, Makin,Long.

Floyd's Favourite: Ingimarsson. Unflappable and unfussy.

WUTHERING HEIGHTS Burnley 0-3 Reading

Out on the wiley, windy Moor we rolled over Burnley. This game was in doubt for a while though, as the stands around Burnley's Turf were subject to a late safety check due to the adundance of ice and snow around Lancashire. There were no such doubts as to the destination of the points however; as soon as Convey's Exocet effort put Reading ahead it was a question of how many against the not-so-vintage Clarets.

When Reading are playing to Premiership audiences next season as we surely will be, Floyd on Football will miss visiting pleasant, understated little venues such as Turf Moor. A hair of the dog pint (or two) of Thwaites Smooth went down very nicely indeed in the Burnley cricket club pavilion before the game. As England's cricketers toiled on the sub-continent thousands of miles from home, we looked out over the pitch upon which James Anderson learned his trade and the conditions were probably unplayable seeing as how a couple of inches of snow covered the outfield. The flying snowballs of the Burnley child-chav army as we emptied our pints and headed towards the ground were as close as we got to a threat from the locals all day and fortunately the kids were about as accurate with their efforts as their home team's strikers are in front of goal.

Not that they got much chance to threaten even if, once again, this was a far from polished Reading performance. Having polished off a rather excellent meat and potato pie (what is it with Lancashire and football pies? Stand up and take a bow Burnley, Preston and Wigan) it didn't take Convey too long to make mincemeat of Burnley. Hahnemann's hoof was headed down by Lita for CONVEY to size up his chance and send a 25 yard fizzer high over the head of Jensen who didn't move - there is, after all a perfectly good net to stop a belting goal such as that. Ten minutes played and every reason to feel very happy and optimistic, particularly given the pessimism of an aged Clarets fan before the game who advised Floyd on Football that one goal would be enough for us to take the points, so toothless are Burnley's attack these days.

For however sublime our opening goal was, the rest of our play in the first half was sloppy and over-complicated at times. The ever-delicate Oster got an early knock and hobbled around doing precious little until being replaced by Little early in the second half. Sonko was attempting to prove himself as the black Beckenbauer with a series of pirouettes and delicately chipped passes; however, these efforts were so poor in their execution that they only served to prove himself as the african Norman Wisdom. Burnley's riposte to our first goal was unconvincing and about as scary as the Chuckle Brothers attempting a Hammer Horror re-make; the home side failing to get even close to the target on their rare purposeful forays forward and they also suffered from the awesome crossing ability of the woeful Frank Sinclair who shinned a couple of crosses hopelessly into the jeering Reading support behind the goal.

The only worry all afternoon was a serious injury to Leroy Lita. The busy Convey fed our England Under 21 international on the edge of the box, and in attempting to carve out an opportunity for himself which was easily blocked, Lita landed awkwardly and was helped off the pitch on a stretcher to sympathetic applause from all four sides of the ground. The initial diagnosis is a broken ankle and Floyd on Football wishes Leroy all the very best with his recovery. The sombre mood was eased somewhat ten minutes into the second half after Harper had already forced Jensen into an excellent save and Gunnarsson had a headed effort hacked away from the goal line following a Little freekick. It was another accurately floated deadball from the ex-Clarets man, who was generously applauded by the locals, which led to that second goal - the home defence had probably earmarked Kitson for attention as SONKO nipped in to bury the header.

This Reading side simply do not waste two goal leads especially against mediocrity like Burnley, and for the rest of the game the vocal Reading support behind the goal entertained themselves by asking various members of the coaching staff for a wave, imploring the Burnley folk to believe us when we say we're going up and also indulging in a chant-a-thon with a pocket of Hereford United fans who had joined us for the afternoon after their own long trek up to Morecambe had fallen foul of the weather. Floyd on Football also enjoyed the pleasant backdrop of snow-topped hills over the roof of the Jimmy McIlroy Stand at the far end from us; a pleasant day in late, late winter and it wasn't even too cold. The remainder of the play was scrappy as Burnley felt almost obliged as the home side to attack in order to get back into the game but for all their huff and puff the only save Hahnemann had to make was a parried effort from Lafferty which was easily gathered at the second attempt. A cool, wintry day in the north had long since erased Floyd on Football's early morning hangover so much so that an injury time third, a KITSON tap in created by Hunt's sharp byline cutback, was celebrated with gleeful jump-onto-seat vigour.

That was that. Not a classic game of football, but a classic Reading performance - we'll mop up your attacks and kill you on the break. With Sheffield United wobbling like a jelly on a trampoline and dropping yet more home points this time to Crewe the night before, Reading are seemingly leaving the Blades behind our wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights.


Reading: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Oster (Little, 53 (Hunt, 83)), Gunnarsson, Harper, Convey, Doyle, Lita (Kitson, 45). Subs not used: Stack, Makin.

Floyd's Favourite: Convey. US Cruise missile.