tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147724282024-03-23T11:57:12.439-07:00Floyd on Football"Demand it, perhaps they can't see you"Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger118125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-27194955156271421622011-11-29T05:12:00.000-08:002011-11-29T05:16:16.392-08:00SUICIDE WATCHThe death of Gary Speed – a highly successful footballer with a burgeoning career as an international football manager – came as a massive surprise. How immensely sad that a talented man of 42 would apparently take his own life. How sad for his family. How many platitudes on social media websites.<br /><br />One of the worst things about the rise and rise of the world wide web is that every brain-dead slob with nothing unique to say has a voice. In the last few days alone I have read speculation as to the cause of death and debate as to the relative merits of the minute of applause versus the minute of silence. It is quite outrageous. Whatever happened to quiet dignified mourning? Celebrity culture is king in a nation of people who think Jade Goody rather than George Orwell when you mention the words ‘Big Brother’. Admit it – within seconds of hearing the sad news at the weekend, your second reaction after ‘<em>how sad</em>’ was…..‘<em>how did that happen then</em>’. We are conditioned to being scandalised. Shame on you. Shame on me. Shame on us. Unluckily, with the Leveson enquiry in full, tawdry swing the chances of you finding out an awful lot more are limited these days. Unlucky. Guess what - it's none of your business and it shouldn't be discussed outside of a court room.<br /><br />And we all have to be seen to be publicly mourning too. Status updates. Tweets. Few of which offered much more than useless platitudes. ‘<em>How sad</em>’. Yep. ‘<em>How sad for his family</em>’. Yep. Minute of applause at the Reading game tonight. Speed was too good a player to play for Reading or Peterborough. But it is safe to say that he wasn’t an all time great in the context of the game of football. What would happen if the Afan Lido manager topped himself. Would there be a minute of applause at Reading vs Peterborough then? Or is there some sort of tragedy/celebrity matrix which decrees which lives will be commemorated with silence or applause on a national scale? <br /><br />Ever self-important, Football has to be seen to be making a gesture, always. Back in 2003, before Reading’s first game of the league season the news came through that Jimmy Davis had been killed. I’d never heard of Jimmy Davis, but he was a young Manchester United player, 21. No age. Dutifully, at Portman Road a few hours later we were all asked to stand and fall silent for the death of someone very few of us had really heard about. Would we have been asked to do so if it were a young Maidstone United footballer I wonder? At the eventual inquest, it came out that Davis had been more than twice the legal drink-drive limit and had been driving at speeds of around 120 mph. Sorry, I really don’t necessarily feel the need to pay silent, reverential tribute with 20,000 others to someone who gambled with their life – and more importantly the life of others – in the way Jimmy Davis did.<br /><br />This blog post is not intended in any way as a sleight on Speed who was a very good footballer and a man who always came across as respectable and respected in his gaudy profession. It is more a lament at the state of a nosey nation of curtain-twitchers so captivated by the need to know about the fallibilities of those presented to us in the media as perfect. <em>I am shocked. I need to let everyone know I am shocked. I desperately need to pay my respects to this person I did not know but who happened to play a sport I happen to follow to a high standard…..but obviously I don’t really care enough or know enough or really feel moved enough to attend the funeral or line the streets</em>. We love a tragedy in this country. We love to consume it, analyse it. I blame Diana. Or more accurately, Phillip.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-45739789359190292572011-08-31T12:18:00.000-07:002011-08-31T13:51:32.322-07:00WINDOW LICKING<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7u5syTsisnWrQnvg6fAhzwaoTdm83PqFmm9dN92ORhIWxodt5lgoappnaZQhRcBNePYvDqW5BnIbHAqPXEctw1yAGyhBrwpz_sqlOtRBFeYPtJRNVvGGKR8a34FMcwnjQBECx3A/s1600/skynewshd_jim.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647102291011127522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7u5syTsisnWrQnvg6fAhzwaoTdm83PqFmm9dN92ORhIWxodt5lgoappnaZQhRcBNePYvDqW5BnIbHAqPXEctw1yAGyhBrwpz_sqlOtRBFeYPtJRNVvGGKR8a34FMcwnjQBECx3A/s320/skynewshd_jim.jpg" /></a>
<br />There have been all number of unwelcome gimmicks introduced into football in recent times which have all helped in their own small way to make the greatest game in the world just that bit less palatable; the elongated Champions League group stage, qualification draw ceremonies which go on for several trumped up hours, Soccer AM's banal succession of catchphrases, Fanzone and the concept of interaction with supporters, Andy Townsend's tactics truck, rumblestix. I could go on. The most irritating development of them all however must surely be the Transfer Window and the false economy it brings with it.
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<br />Pushing up transfer fees to extraordinarily depressing new heights every six months and favouring - naturellement - the big clubs at the top of the food chain who can pick and choose who they wish to do business with and when they wish to do it, simply by flashing a fistful of dollars in the direction of brain-washed 20-somethings and thus ruining the preparations of their rivals into the bargain, the transfer window is a massively unwelcome distraction. I wouldn't mind so much if this particular circus packed its trunk and trundled off to the jungle at the end of July, allowing us to start the new season concentrating on the actual <strong>football </strong>rather than interminable agent tittle-tattle, but for some ludicrous reason it is allowed to belch it's bloated breath all over my late-summer supper, ruining the ambience for us simple conossieurs who just wish to sample a fucking football match, not the soddiing Monopoly game sideshow.
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<br />The transfer window is a bloody nuisance for clubs like Reading and frankly it is all so bloody unfair. As a club we are not major movers and shakers, instead we wait all summer while our manager prepares his squad diligently. The first game comes and goes and yet by the end of the month we have by now lost our top scorer from last season and the clock is ticking for us to find a replacement with the season already well underway. After the phoney war of pre-season, the real thing has begun at last but trying to fathom out how your team are going to shape up is actually a waste of bloody time because by the time the first international break comes along you already have - through necessity of richer clubs poaching your prized assets - 2 or 3 newbies in the squad even from that first game, and those opening salvos are effectively rendered meaningless. Utterly unsatisfying for the genuine fan and the knock on effect is depressingly obvious and equally distasteful; Reading went on to pinch Le Fondre from Rotherham in their quest to find a goalscorer, leaving the Millers precious little time - as well as proportionately less mullah - to find some sort of miraculous replacement. In the words of an old music hall song: <em>it's the same the whole world over.....it's the poor that has to suffer.....it's the rich that gets the pleasure, aint it all a bleeding shame</em>.
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<br />Sticking in the craw yet further is the hyped-up hysteria the closing of this drafty window generates. For a country which is lazily obsessed with celebrity gossip, far too many amongst us salivate over the SKY Sports rumour mill, indulging in this sham by lapping up tedious rumour-and-counter-rumour of Peter Crouch spotted in Long Tall Sally in Stoke and Per Mertesacker observed chewing on Bratwurst in Islington by 'supporters' who are in reality most probably agents posing as punters in order to generate a bit of desperate last-minute interest. This sickening ballyhoo is self-perpetuating because SKY only serves to feed the lust of the foaming-mouthed modern fan; see for example those regular cut-aways to SKY's regional reporters outside Premier League grounds on a cold, otherwise football-free Wednesday night surrounded by gurning gimps who have otherwise no right or reason to be there, staring down the camera triumphantly singing way past their bedtime #<em>we've got Robinho, we've got Robinho</em># providing a droll soundtrack to this pantomime. Pass the sick bag.
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<br />And the hyperbole reaches fever pitch when the excitable jock Jim White takes the mic. Jim is as subtle as a Jim Davidson set and infinitely more offensive with his OTT barking over the remotest tiny development on this, his big night. <em>SKY Sports News understands that Scott Parker's car has a puncture! Over to some cunt at the other end of the studio holding two mobile phones who has just received a text from Eric Hall!</em> All the while, the final countdown appears omionously on the right hand side of screen; only 4 minutes and 13 seconds to conclude the deal to bring Adi Viveash to the club. The coup-de-grace, incredibly and with no discernable sense of irony, is the <em>cut to Big Ben at the advert break</em>, as if the entire concept and context of Time itself needs to be explained and commented on by SKY's roving army of rabid reporters.
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<br />Without wishing to go on and suggest that Borstal was Best and that the Birch shoule be re-introduced, I have no qualms in curmudgeonly venturing to propose that the old days were infinitely more gratifying. In 1998, injury-ravaged Reading snapped 7 players on transfer deadline day in March. How did we learn about this? A brief passage of analogue on Ceefax, a quick call to Gowrings Royaline and a sneaky peak of the back page of the Evening Post. No speculation over medicals, personal terms and counter-bids. Just the facts. Job done. And of course back then players were available for transfer from June through to March, thus the brinksmanship and panic buying was less prevalent and the whole transfer market shebang infinitely less intrusive and irritating. Shame on you if you indulge yourself in all this blather. The game's Presbytarian, upstanding founding fathers would be wringing their top hats.
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-503254624896513982011-08-08T17:00:00.000-07:002011-08-09T11:55:12.385-07:00I PREDICT A RIOT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdRruZ-9aQxuHzU1kzzII7dzkYXCZ0h54ZGrJVzKFhETV5LxDFoeppJ1Aj4OU06HocwpwiJh3db-kK7jhyphenhyphenNXPuZtsfBzziZE_tOeoZ9efzJuoPDBETmXSLEkRyFgnvbOv2RG-QQ/s1600/a-t-mobile-shop-with-smashed-windows-on-the-high-road-in-wood-green-pic-pa-169198910.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 208px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638676566278353986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgdRruZ-9aQxuHzU1kzzII7dzkYXCZ0h54ZGrJVzKFhETV5LxDFoeppJ1Aj4OU06HocwpwiJh3db-kK7jhyphenhyphenNXPuZtsfBzziZE_tOeoZ9efzJuoPDBETmXSLEkRyFgnvbOv2RG-QQ/s320/a-t-mobile-shop-with-smashed-windows-on-the-high-road-in-wood-green-pic-pa-169198910.jpg" /></a>
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<br /><div>Reading's cup tie at Charlton on Tuesday evening has been postponed due to the carnage across parts of London over the past few days. On such flimsy, vague and irrelevant footballing basis can I turn my usual soccer-spiel into a socio-political rant. Because - admittedly less impressively and infinitely less memorably than the rioters - I do what I want.
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<br />The first ever Twitter Riot has proven what a powerfully destructive tool social media is, with very little tangible positives to the contrary. Gangs have been able to jump on the looting and pillaging bandwagon by linking in via sites such as Twitter to such a terrifying degree that the authorities have threatened action against those who even so much as dare joke online about joining in. Those of us on the law-abiding side of the fence can't hope to mobilise ourselves against such violence, merely stand around posting useless platitudes of sadness and dismay. Perhaps we could organise a whist drive? Otherwise we have no voice because we generally have very few facts at our disposal and not the vaguest clue how to mobilise our collective anguish at the truculent, destructive behaviour of others. That is because, frankly, there is no vehicle for us to cogently do so. We could always say another Mass.
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<br />I do not know Mark Duggan personally. We know very little about what happened at Tottenham Hale last Thursday which led to the death of a member of the public and a police officer - less relevantly it seems to a good many who have an opinion on the matter - being injured. I do know that left-leaning pundits hanker on about Jean Charles de Menezes, as if innocent civilians are gunned down every day by the fuzz. I am fairly confident in predicting that more police officers have been murdered by civilians in this country over the years than the other way around. We do know that the family's impromptu protest led indirectly to scores of violent protests over the weekend and I do suspect that they would have been better off mourning privately than starting an immediate campaign for justice of their own before the ICC had barely had chance to pick up their pens and notepads.
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<br />We have heard comment from rioters - supposedly disenfranchised by the authorities stop-searching certain members of society more readily than others - that this is a vote of no confidence in the governing classes and that they are looting shops in order to somehow claim back what is taken from them in tax, as if Armani jeans are somehow produced with recourse to public funds. It is frankly little more than an excuse to play the victim and have a bit of fun into the bargain.</div>
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<br /><div>And the tax bill wasted on failing to bring more than 200 arrested (at the time of writing) to justice will in itself be more terrifying than those scenes of destruction over these last few days; due to the Criminal Justice system in this country consistently taking the rights of the aggravators more seriously than those of the aggrieved, thanks to that curious and inflexible decision-making body, the ECHR. Throw in an under-resourced over-stretched police service unable to deal with every whim of the defence, the under-funded CPS's attitude towards adverse outcomes in court and due to the unique way that the average villain's defence budget is funded by your Armani jeans, it is easy to see why society stands no chance. And remember folks - Custody Time Limits apply.
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<br />Still, perhaps you can log onto Twitter and try to organise the yoghurt-knitting cardigan-eating moral elite into a march down Whitehall way to demand more money for community projects in deprived areas. Yeah, that will solve the problem of man's inherent hatred for and distrust of his fellow man. Like Amy Winehouse's liver, the damage has been done. </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-73319422846854990502011-07-27T10:38:00.001-07:002011-07-27T15:49:06.400-07:00FOREVER IN BLUE HOOPS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiGyUiZ2bgmZiaPDIRGLZsxEKS2d9LYh7B6Ot2nhtpNfA7kKlw9ZJCIPrJem_Dvb5BFGMgpNyo_UOcPiUD4rDHWcFrzg-36hg8yyOVuljOz6MSbjkakc3IyaGFWxjVol6JTRp9w/s1600/reading-trevor-senior-s91-orbis-1990-collectable-football-sticker-48690-p.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 212px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634088117434678978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTiGyUiZ2bgmZiaPDIRGLZsxEKS2d9LYh7B6Ot2nhtpNfA7kKlw9ZJCIPrJem_Dvb5BFGMgpNyo_UOcPiUD4rDHWcFrzg-36hg8yyOVuljOz6MSbjkakc3IyaGFWxjVol6JTRp9w/s320/reading-trevor-senior-s91-orbis-1990-collectable-football-sticker-48690-p.jpg" /></a> The 2011/12 season will be the 20th anniversary of RFC's return to their traditional blue and white hoops. Club colours are a source of great pride to supporters of any clubs, especially clubs like Reading where we are bereft of trophies and glory and hang onto such trifling matters of livery in order to claim some sort of identity for ourselves. The fact that our gloriously beautiful colours were ripped off by the cockney spivs of QPR in the 1960s matters not to RFC followers, for we know that we can claim to having originated a blue and white kit more than 90 earlier.<br /><br /><br />RFC have celebrated this anniversary by releasing a home strip which is - literally - half decent. Due to a ludicrous league rule about two-tone strips, the reverse of the home shirt this coming season is all white, allegedly for the benefit of clueless media types (remember - '<em>I HOPE YOU CAN READ THIS, BRIAN MOORE?</em>', the very best banner on display during the 1995 play-off final at Wembley). However, the shirt itself retains a retro-70s Bukta-look, resplendent with collar. And best of all - a return to white shorts.<br /><br /><br />Team group photos of those 1871 pioneers show our forefathers bedecked in caps, blue and white hooped shirts and <strong>white</strong> knickerbockers. I am not going to get all Anders Breivik about this, but if it was good enough for Mr Sydenham 140 years ago it should be good enough for us now. There was a time in the 1950s and 1960s where RFC wore all white and then sky blue home shirts but these seemed unpopular with the supporters and the club returned to the hoops, only to ditch them again in 1983 under the brave new world of Roger Smee. One suspects that supporters back then were just happy enough to have a club to support after Maxwell's merger mutterings and were not minded to kick up much fuss about the club colours. But in the fanzine era, Taking The Biscuit fanzine were particularly vocal about a return to traditional hoops and finally in 1992 post-Moynihan and Bassett, the football club seemed to give a damn about the feelings of the supporters and our colours were reinstated. That 1992/93 effort was also accompanied by white shorts, so stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Negative Jeff.<br /><br /><br />So what prompted me to realise this significant anniversary? Well, it was the lend of a friend's home videos. No, nothing like that - although in a way what I had borrowed was seedier than porn. I had borrowed a grainy VHS-to-DVD transfer of RFC goals videoed from local ITV news throughout the 1992/93 season; a labour of love of record-stop-eject-record-stop-eject proportions ad nauseum, chronicling Mark McGhee's second season as RFC manager. The summer of 1992 was an angry and confusing time both locally and nationally; the Tories had recently won a barely conceivable 4th consecutive term in office, Graham Taylor's England with Keith Curle at right back had unsurprisingly flopped in Euro '92 (<em>Brolin-Dahlin-Brolin!</em>) and Reading found themselves 'promoted' to Division 2 having finished only 12th in Division 3 the previous May, thanks to the Behemoth that was the FA Premier League. To have this uncertain period encapsulated in video highlights of <em>the-way-we-were</em> football-wise way back then really is quite something, and one suspects that should Hugh Scully and Tony Robinson ever come across this sacred, rare DVD footage they would have an almighty tug-of-war over this antique time-capsule of a period where the step haircut and Tab-clear cola were in vogue.<br /><br /><br />1992/93 was also a transitional period for local broadcasting. I don't know if you're familiar with ITV franchising policy, but in late 1992 it was announced that TVS were losing their franchise to Meridian Broadcasting come January 1st 1993 and the flagship Coast-to-Coast news magazine was to be replaced with a Meridian equivalent. Many of the presenters kept their jobs under the reshuffle, others were to lose theirs and tragically Fred Dineage's glasses were to be found on a rock just off Hayling Island, discovered by a mournful, wailing Fern Britton. Football - as with life - carries on however, and the footage commences.....not at Elm Park but at Selhurst Park, for this is a veritable treasure-trove of footage for the southern football fan due to the vagueries of record-stop-eject and the often fleeting footage provided, our time lord manages to also record the goals and highlights not just for Reading, but also for Southampton (top dog in the south at the time), Pompey, Bournemouth and Brighton.<br /><br /><br /><br />An indication of perceived south coast bias of TVS is shown by the fact that Alan Shearer's debut for Blackburn at Palace is covered, solely due to him having signed for mega-bucks from Southampton. The action soon moves on to Victoria Park, Hartlepool where Jimmy Quinn lobs Reading in front on his debut, but the Royals are soon struggling. Mark McGhee scores a belting finish in a draw with Orient, but a home defeat to Hull follows and Reading end the game with ten men due to Lea Barkus displaying some petulant retaliation. There is some great violence throughout actually; Jimmy Quinn clouts Exeter's Peter Whiston with a right hook which makes Leigertwoods assault on Craig Bellamy look like a Facebook poke and at the end there is some glorious footage of the infamous Swansea riot.<br /><br /><br />The action is chiefly described by David Bobin, who looks rather like Alan Partridge of The Day Today vintage - you almost expect him to describe yet another Jimmy Quinn imperious header as being 'liquid football'. Bobin gets bumped off in the new year to be replaced by the side-parted Chris Maughan who seems almost unashamedly proud to more than hint at his support for Reading. Good man. Bobin and Maughan introduce us to familiar names throughout; Adrian 'Andy' Cole scores early on for Bristol City against Pompey, Steve Foster's iconic headband is on display for Brighton and Steve Cotterill - Pompey manager of late - cannot stop scoring for the Seagulls, although not as prolifically as Guy Whittingham for Pompey. Nicky Hammond is shown conceding a soft goal for Swindon at Fratton Park, Peter Shilton similarly for Plymouth at Elm Park and Robert Codner is sent off for two violent bookings for Brighton.....the second of which decapitates one Chris Makin. Adie Williams is later shown red for a soft looking elbow on.....Eamon Dolan.<br /><br /><br />The grounds themselves are cause for nostalgia too. The Taylor Report is a few years old by now, but the suggested improvements haven't really kicked in. As well as lovely old EP, Fratton Park retains an unusual air of charm with two open ends and Brighton's Goldstone Ground is epic, all mesh fences and pens with an open terrace along the side. Fantastic. At the Goldstone, as Reading begin to find their feet, for some reason the home side are wearing their away kit as a Lovell goal gives us the win but Reading themselves are forced to wear firstly Huddersfield's awful away shirt - as Shaka saves a pen in his breakthrough season - and then later on Wigan's red number on their travels. At Watford in the Coca-Cola a 2-2 draw is earned with the defending on both sides part OFSTED-failing schoolboy standard.<br /><br /><br />It's not all football though, no sir - the remote control presumably went missing as the sports desk rambles cheerfully on about yachting, Poole Pirates, Havant rugby and best of all dirt-track biking from Sussex where only a smiling Peter Purves is missing. There are heroes and villains on display throughout; Adie Williams takes a long ball on his chest, turns the defence and crashes home a consolation goal at the Vetch Field with aplomb not usually seen from a centre-half whilst Stockport's Andy Preece is sent off for GBH on Bournemouth's keeper. Pompey's game at Oxford ends in 'An American Tail' - Fieval, having blown a 5-2 lead.<br /><br /><br />The plot thickens with a Reading cup run. Royals dismiss Birmingham frm the FA Cup despite a centre-half playing in goal saving a Quinn penalty. The league form dips as James Lambert rises to stardom in the cup, a 2-3 Elm Park loss to Exeter with Grecians right-back Scott Hiley scoring a hatrick is rather disconcertingly slack and that is followed up by a 2-4 loss at home again against Stockport with Kevin Francis - the black Matthieu Manset - running riot. It all starts to go to pot with Lambert on trial at Monaco (he was last seen working for Westcoast by the way, Jordan Obita take note) and Tom Jones finding It's Not Unusual to be on the receiving end of a fierce Parky tackle.....this one breaking his leg in training.<br /><br /><br />However, Meridian take the baton from TVS in the new year and the new broom at ITV sweeps Reading on to a long unbeaten run, we even get a cup draw at Premier League Manchester City. John Madejski launches into an emotional diatribe about vandals setting fire to an electricity box at Elm Park but the only home fire burning is on the pitch where McGhee's men notch up seven successive home wins and we're on the periphery of the play-offs. Michael Gilkes is in sparkling form, leaving defenders for dead and scoring a series of important winners by outpacing his fullback and shooting across the keeper; it is stirring stuff which frankly makes Jimmy Kebe look like Michael Meaker. One of those home wins in secured after a thrilling win in the 'southern derby' with Bournemouth, who peg us back to 3-2 from being 3 goals down. Bournemouth's second goal is celebrated enthusiastically on the Town End terrace by a Cherries fan in flat cap and driving gloves.<br /><br /><br />Ultimately we just miss out on the top 6 and the season ends with Swansea fans having a good old riot at Elm Park with some Meridian footage which would give Danny Dyer an erection. Chief Inspector Keep of TVP was expecting a carnival atmosphere but bemoans down the camera lens that "that wasn't carnival, that was out-right.....damage!" Let us hope that our play-off conquerors return to top flight football doesn't also descend into <em>mindless, bloody violence</em> as David Bobin, sorry Alan Partridge might put it. The footage ends on a happy note though; Mark McGhee signs a 3 years contract 'til 1996 and he talks of european football at Elm Park in years to come. We'll have to see how that pans out, but firstly over to Carl Tyler with the weather.....<br /><br /><br />[<em><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:85%;">This post is dedicated to South Downs Royal, a huge fan of the bLOLog</span></em>]Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-36196671150508264332011-07-06T14:23:00.000-07:002011-07-06T14:34:03.935-07:00FORGING FRIENDSHIPS<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFGWv78F0k7RAwCajrRGJzApBPHRZdXxOgJJU8R7QgeW3cHY51I-ppMgwj4M8QulHzwGmyI4wsXUxUMGA7U73xj3kOlAn1yxcK2krBFDOu69h_GXhQIcDFeD3WgshSX5_VMtUyA/s1600/forge.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 253px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626353604453027986" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfFGWv78F0k7RAwCajrRGJzApBPHRZdXxOgJJU8R7QgeW3cHY51I-ppMgwj4M8QulHzwGmyI4wsXUxUMGA7U73xj3kOlAn1yxcK2krBFDOu69h_GXhQIcDFeD3WgshSX5_VMtUyA/s320/forge.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />There’s always next year. As Reading fans slipped morosely away from Wembley back in May after yet another play of final loss, there was always next year. After a defensive horror show in the first half at the national stadium, for Brian McDermott and his men there was always next year. Nick Hornby remarked in his ground-breaking fan-biography Fever Pitch that “if you lose the Cup Final in May, well there's the third round to look forward to in January. And what's wrong with that? It's actually pretty comforting if you think about it.” There’s always next year. But while his mucker Negative Jeff, looks forward to the new season in his own inimitable style, for life-long Reading FC fan Tony Forge, sadly, there is no next year.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Rather touchingly, Forge – who had been gravely ill for some time- held on long enough to listen to radio commentary of his beloved RFC fighting back admirably in the second half against Swansea with a typically gung-ho response. Such fighting spirit was typical of Tony himself throughout his illness. His visits to the Madejski became fewer and far between during the final months of his life, but he was always keenly waiting on the other end of a telephone for updates and debates with his mates. His spirit will live on in his old drinking buddy, Jeff.<br /><br /> <br /><br />Jeff himself had been ill, although you’d not know it. A more sprightly sexagenarian you couldn’t wish to find, as evidenced by his half-time star-jumps during our regular interval congress behind the East Stand. Jeff holds court during what is affectionately referred to by the regular participants as ‘the half time moan’. Passing comment on the game itself seems almost a chore to Jeff – although he regularly makes mention of his dissatisfaction at McDermott’s chosen style of play – rather more, he is curious to know whether you are attending next week’s away game and if so which train are you taking and most importantly which pub will you be in. Jeff is one of the senior citizens amongst the train-travelling RFC away-day crew and although he clearly enjoys being held in reverential terms by chaps several years his junior during these precious 15-minute male-bonding sessions as they chant his Bee Gees inspired theme tune, he will undoubtedly miss his compadre and peer, Forge.<br /><br /> <br /><br />I remember first meeting Forge for the first time on the way to Brighton in 2002. I was with Andy Ray and Compo, was shaking off a horrible hangover and my mood was not improved by a wretched train journey comprising several changes due to engineering work. We boarded our 3rd train of the day at Liphook, which for all I knew was the @rse-end of nowhere. A gentleman joined us on the platform at Liphook and having sat behind us during this last leg of the journey he must have become weary of listening to our ill-informed football opinions because he interrupted, put us to right and joined in the conversation. He was a very plain speaking bloke, not unafraid to chip in on a topic of conversation relating to a subject matter he clearly felt very passionate about. And do you know what, he spoke with real authority, he was a good many years our senior but was comfortable interrupting 3-know-nothing lads all young enough to be his son and discuss football and RFC in particular. More recently I came to know Forge through the likes of Negative Jeff, DWM and Deavesy. What a brilliant set of chaps; utterly unpretentious, they enjoy each other's company, they enjoy the banter, the beer and most of all the football. I am proud to support the same team as this group of gentlemen, who respect one another and their team, their club. This group of fellas might have a quiet moan and groan occasionally about the team's fortunes, but they always remained supportive and just happy to get on with travelling up and down the country sharing in their strongest mutual passion - Real Ale, no,.....RFC!<br /><br /> <br /><br />Life is fleeting, our number will be up eventually and for Tony Forge the fat lady has sadly already sung. For centuries, man has pondered the meaning of life and found more questions than answers in this, the best of all possible worlds. Sure, wasting time and money travelling up and down the country, sitting in dead-end pubs drinking good beer doesn’t seem the best use of our four score years and ten, but without the fripperies of trifling debate about how best to tactically arrange millionaires so as their ball-kicking skills will outperform another set if millionaires, life surely is rather empty and clinical. People like Tony Forge embody what football fandom is all about; friendships, a good old fashioned debate and a few drinks before and after. Jeff won’t be lonely without his old mucker, because such is the non-denominational dynamic of football crowds, Jeff will continue to have a drink in various different footballing towns around the country with a group of chaps of varying ages, backgrounds and political persuasions he might otherwise have nothing in common with. Myself, I can recall receiving a cheery ‘hello’ at an away game from a senior practitioner at a partner agency in my professional life which momentarily render me rather sheepish due to the appalling language I had been using towards a part-time umpire, adjudicating a group of millionaires kicking a ball around immediately prior to said friendly greeting. It takes all sorts to make a football crowd, and – broadly speaking – if you’re wearing the same colours they don’t discriminate against one another, creed or colour. Long may the social side of attending football thrive, thanks to the hostelries and buffet cars of Britain!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-76135518659951489632011-05-04T10:15:00.000-07:002011-05-04T11:39:55.573-07:00ANALYSE THAT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCddwh75LAz7Bv67Z1hmxEGelECVE9h3rSip6IHuEQ8mVrWxNiUXGEwYb0KBK5oO0sHpwysd2EgPiuGq_AdDXSxQSmZbzjjNOhp5dxkXEh6AXEuVatnKxe_UiC1_isl4RmdXL86A/s1600/PLAY+OFF.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602913170119491714" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 298px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCddwh75LAz7Bv67Z1hmxEGelECVE9h3rSip6IHuEQ8mVrWxNiUXGEwYb0KBK5oO0sHpwysd2EgPiuGq_AdDXSxQSmZbzjjNOhp5dxkXEh6AXEuVatnKxe_UiC1_isl4RmdXL86A/s320/PLAY+OFF.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><p><strong><em>The fear that haunts this town</em></strong>. The juggernaut popped into BP for petrol and the driver slipped on an oil spill. Automatic promotion is long since an Avenue of Pleasure that has been closed off. So, after an improbable run of form, it is the peh. It is the pluh. It is the the pluh pluh play-offs.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>I can't say the word without an Arkwright-style nervous stammer. As Steve McLaren would no doubt himself reckon "these are how you shay, big gamesh?". And, as we know, RFC just don't win big, one-off, season-changing games. Our history is littered with big-game failures, our only FA Cup semi final in 1927 ended in a thrashing. We were 2 up last season with hopes of putting history right in an FA Cup quarter final and naturally stacked it. We are the footballing version of Tim Henman. Just with a posher, wetter fan base. </p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>The feeling was oh so different in 1995. Halcyon days. Step haircuts. Fresh Prince. The Boo Radleys were in the popular hit parade. Steve Beddow wearing shorts, sweatshirt and a baseball cap was nothing to be scared of. John Madejski was so excited at reaching Wembley he left the Bentley in the garage and walked there. Giant foam hands were in vogue. Reading faced Tranmere Rovers in the play-offs, John Aldridge was at the very height of his cuntishness. Having been doubled by the Birkenhead boys in the regular season, we ran into them like a Thames Turbo. I watched this game from the comfort of my front room, with Year 10 exams the following day precluding me from joining the fun on Merseyside. We led through Archie-Lee Nogan-Lovell but Chris Malkin's funny face put them level. A score draw would be useful in those complicated days of away goals counting double, but Nogan-Lovell notched twice in the second half in front of the travelling faithful and back home I became so I excited I threw the remote control at the wall which smashed into two pieces. The remote control that is, not the wall.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Contextually, the reader would do well to recall or realise that televised RFC games back then were rarer than hen's teeth or a Mark McGhee slimfast diet. Prior to demolishing Tranmere, only 2 RFC games hd ever been broadcast in their entirety on network television. Now (most of) the country could see that we were in fact by far the greates team the world had ever seen. John Helm and Ian St John on commentary were purring about the Reading performance. Ian St John! That is 50% of Saint and fucking Greavise! The second leg couldn't, and happily, wouldn't live up to those heights as we clung on for a niller at EP. On an evening where everyone expcted Tranmere to suddenly score twice and take things into extra time, John Aldridge just wandered around with his hands on his hips and Chris Malkin's face appeared less ugly than usual. Wembley.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Wembley. 40,000 Reading fans! The average home gate that season was a little over 9k. Hello! Family affair, coach load of us on a bus run by my brother's football club. Radio 210 roadshow pumping out Young At Heart by The Bluebells as some Pat Sharp wannabe implored a perplexingly large crowd of onlookers to chant Shaka's name. Shaka. Now there is the ultimate man-crush. <em>Shaka Shaka what's the score? Reading to win by four</em>. <em>I hope you can read this, Brian Moore</em>. Nogan-Lovell twisty-turns Stubbs - they should have hired O'Reilly - and even down the far end we can tell that is a special, special goal. Captain Adie toe pokes an Osborn freekick wide of Branagan. Reading are going to be promoted to the Premier League.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>But the players are tired, injuries catch up, Bolton are lifted by the penalty miss and yet even then they can only score twice late on. Blood sweat and tears literally in the stands, as during extra time claret pours down my wrist from fingernails literally chewed off. De Freitas scored lateus and caused a hiatus. I look down the aisle for a loving smile from my dear mother, attending a rare football match in her capacity as matriarchal day-tripper. I got a pained frown back, an expression forever etched on the inside of my eye-lids. More about my family in trauma at a Reading play-off final shortly.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>In 2001, there was a touch more wariness all round, having experienced that hurt. But when you score twice in the last three minutes to turn around a play-off semi final it is hard not to go hatstand and get caught up in the tsunami of belief and emotion. When Fozzie went down to win that penalty, I couldn't cope with the enormity of going from emptiness to ecstasy within about 180 seconds so I burst into stress-induced tears. The rebound was tucked away by the hero of the hour and I laugh-cried, my brother made a beeline for the pitch, police horses ran into each other, James Harper shook a marauding hand. Cardiff.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Cardiff. 30,000 Reading fans! The average that season was a little over 12k. Hello! Family affair again, STAR desperately appeal for coach stewards so my father and I take up the responsibility and I rather sourly warn a young child in face paint how stupid he is going to look if we lose. Cues for the toilets at the Millennium, people pissing in the ink. Kingsley. Terry and June on the tannoy, to the joy of around a third of the 'Reading support' for the day. What seemed like three coachloads of Walsall fans at the far end. We lead through Curo as Walker lets a shot squirm under him, maybe we will be repaid for the luck that deserted us 6 years before. Not so; Don Goodman nets early in the second and goes on to taunt us by featuring on SKY commentary for years to come.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Butler scores in the first minute of extra time, around 180 seconds after the bloke to my left asks whether it is golden goal. <em>No need now, we've won</em> I beam, like Grandpa Joe on discovery of a Golden Ticket, after Butler's flick nestles nicely. I can track that as the precise moment when any shred of optimism about anything ever to come departed my soul. Rougier's own goal was so ridiculous it should have been chalked out as a once-a-lifetime fluke, not befitting such a big stage. Then Byfield sprayed the ball home from distance into the only part of the goal which Whitehead couldn't reach to win the game and go home to smash through Jamelia. The faint echo of Walsall fans in the corner was like a ghostly ripple of Bolton cheers from a far away nightmare. My Uncle at the end of the row was in tears. Why cry when a football team fucks up? You should just be full of empty, frowning, head-shaking contempt. I leave the ground pronto, shouting something unecessary at a police officer. Yeah, big man. And in the background we can hear fireworkers and even fainter cries of Walsall fans.</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>Not going through that again. And in recent years RFC has thankfully spared us play-off final heartache. By losing in the semis. In 2003 we led Wolves, Fozzie got injured and we were finished - echoes of a Kebe-less 2011 future I fear? - and we left Molineux covered in spit and shrapnel. In the second leg we largely dominated, but without our talisman we couldn't convert and Alex Rae notched near the end and celebrated like Mr Punch enjoying a spot of domestic violence. <em>Out of the darkness cometh light</em>. Vomit. And again 2 years ago; Coppell's tired team finished 4th in a 3 horse race, dominate Burnley for three hours and lost 3-0. We're actually getting <em>worse</em> at this aren't we?</p><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><p>There is of course no reason for the current side to be haunted by the spectre of the past. But the supporters of course will be nervous, remniscent, edgy and that may transmit to the team. Perhaps. The play-offs, we are told, are a lottery and just as there is never any reason to <em>expect </em>to win a lottery, I do not expect us to win these play-offs. Whilst it would be therapy indeed to squeeze out Cardiff, Swansea, Forest or maybe Leeds it is probably too dangerous to let hope in. For it is the hope that kills you.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-41052748684310150542011-04-19T12:37:00.000-07:002011-04-19T13:45:46.089-07:00TIME TO PRETEND<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXcIPkIwNloQ7eOJJ-sIrfiljHgloGQSPuO28LRxahK_HMg3ufnhrubbCBhMpyXTfYEARGEqMsr1mlBnqCfQhy7JeFbt0v38VNI7FxKywWo-xl7-9dilP0GQMUAlt1ihCuv27Tg/s1600/DSCN6560.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597383093219950770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvXcIPkIwNloQ7eOJJ-sIrfiljHgloGQSPuO28LRxahK_HMg3ufnhrubbCBhMpyXTfYEARGEqMsr1mlBnqCfQhy7JeFbt0v38VNI7FxKywWo-xl7-9dilP0GQMUAlt1ihCuv27Tg/s320/DSCN6560.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br />Reading string 8 leagues in a row together at a the denouement of the season? Yeah, and the cow jumped over the moon and the dish ran away with the spoon. In the words of the unlamented Richard Keys, late of SKY Sports: "<em>do me a favour, love</em>".<br /><br />This is all very un-Reading isn't it? Almost uncomfortably so. Where are the serial bottlejobs I have come to know and love? Have they been gagged and bound in the back of the A Team van, as Howling Mad Brian Mc, BA Gibbs and Sal 'The Faceman' Bibbo cobble together a promotion charge using some clumsily discarded blow torches, some perspex and some tungsten tip screws to build Matthieu Manset under the watchful eye of a smug-looking Hannibal Madejski smoking a big fat fuck off cigar rolled on the thighs of Cilla Black. I love it when a plan comes together.<br /><br />Leicester were our latest hapless victims, providing us with satisfaction immeasurable in beating an expensively assembled squad of well-paid loanees, smoothly stewarded by suave Sven - himself picking up his usual pretty penny, no doubt. The Foxes were latest victims of the Berkshire Hunt and although the visitors played all the football we took all the points. Leicester's pass and move was incisive until they came up against our spine of Leigertwood and Karacan, and the pelvis of Mills and Zurab was practically inpenetrable. They had most of the ball, we had most of the goals. A Reading side mugging the opposition and marching relentlessly on during the normally nervous spring months? These are mysterious times.<br /><br />Reading's strength is their strength. Attacks were broken down as bodies flew into challenges, clearances were timed to perfection and tackles broke up the glacial Foxes who melted twice in as many minutes during the first half. Shane Long - upper-body of a Hod Carrier - shrugged his way into the box via byline and his pull back was dispatched into the roof of the net by Kebe. McAnuff was then fed by the Malian Pele and gave himself room inside the box to place firmly beyond Weale who Wealey had no chance. This was two minutes of footballing opium for the Madejski masses. After the communal fist pumping died down the adrenaline was still pumping. I'll book the Wembley tickets. You man the island and the cocaine and the elegent cars.<br /><br />The second half was Testimonial stuff for the most part. Leicester continued to ping the ball around admirably, by now only posing the remotest discomfort to the Reading defence. A third goal followed as Kebe nipped the ball of a Leicester foot from their throw in level with our 18-yard box. Jim then set of on a run mazier than the final scene of The Shining, his pull back landed at the feet of Hunt. Drill, three-nil, and we're all pilled-up in a footballing sense. There is plenty of time left to enjoy Yakubu nod a free header wide of McCarthy's far upright and there is even a thoroughly patronising round of applause as King slots one in for Leicester late on.<br /><br />Pieces of eight, what a fantastic run we have plundered. Next up, We All Love Leeds on Good Friday. We'll crucify 'em. McDermott is our Pontius Pilate. Wembley or save a few quid and invade our own pitch again against Derby? We were fated to pretend.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-38492778242482418892011-04-12T02:42:00.000-07:002011-04-12T04:14:07.115-07:00A LITTLE RESPECT<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4IuPsLsRTPSJvbB_ffX7DQPQfLWeApO-Fy1OswBQJ51h9O6-3vexmnT7e4Wu6GbAzWKxL6rorBpGsEVgbf0MRPgJ6JMdCOwAY2oNZBno-wES9wRXCWb8UBGdBjnT4IUGJa-HVw/s1600/DSCN6524.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594631061778480914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4IuPsLsRTPSJvbB_ffX7DQPQfLWeApO-Fy1OswBQJ51h9O6-3vexmnT7e4Wu6GbAzWKxL6rorBpGsEVgbf0MRPgJ6JMdCOwAY2oNZBno-wES9wRXCWb8UBGdBjnT4IUGJa-HVw/s320/DSCN6524.JPG" /></a> <br /><div></div><br /><div><em>It's not the despair, Laura. I can take the despair. It's the hope I can't stand</em>.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Can there be a crueler football club than Reading FC towards its fans in terms of building up expectation which can only be dashed? Dead and buried in play-off terms 7 weeks ago after an insipid 1-1 draw against Watford marked a fifth consecutive match without victory, we fell 9 points adrift of a top six place and promotion seemed about as likely as John Madejski buying a round of drinks.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Another decent cup run lifted spirits, but fans seemed resigned to more single-breasted midtabling respectability and the spectre of the bigger boys swooping for our star assets, the likes of Long and Kebe. Hold on, Long and Kebe? Didn't they used to be crap? Long striding around the pitch purposelessly like a happy-go-lucky Blarney Bambi. Kebe sprinting his way down blind alleys and shanking crosses wretchedly into the North Stand. Both carried as much scoring threat as Kenneth Williams. Not so any longer; Long has 22 goals this season alone dontcha know, whilst Kebe himself has scored 16 goals from the wing under BMc's stewardship.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And that in itself tells its own story. McDermott's undoubted success since inheriting the crumbling remains of the short-lived Rodgers Project, itself doomed to failure after the fire-sale which followed the downing of Coppell's Empire has been extraordinary and reliant almost entirely on getting the best out of the players we didn't flog to avoid post-Premiership financial meltdown. Adding short-term signings like Griffin firstly and then Leigertwood latterly along with other experienced loanees such as Zurab and mxing them with a tyro team of triers such as Karacan, Church and HRK has gradually worked a nice chemistry into our team. Something is stirring again in Berkshire and McDermott is our ladle.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The latest test for the team - and the fans nerves - was to come at the City Ground, home of twice former European Cup winners Nottingham Forest who will still see themselves as top flight table-sitters despite more than a decade away from that gravy train. Reading fans are a nervous, timid lot, afraid to say boo to a Cyril the Swan at the best of times, their nerves shot by so many play-off near misses. And the bastard club are putting us all through it <strong>again</strong>. This time though, as we arrived in Nottingham and hot-footed it to the Vat & Fiddle in the blazing East Midlands sunshine I noticed something different in our collective attitudes. An expectation of victory. Against a side with only one home defeat in 40-odd encounters? Yep, no problem. This kind of belief hasn't been seen around Berkshire way since our first naive brush with the roulette table of the play-offs back in 1994/95.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The match was ambrosia itself. It had everything we love about football; goals, controversy, heroes, villains - indeed, a pantomime villain on the touchline in Billy 'Widow McTwanky' Davies patrolling and harrumphing his domain as Brian tried to work alongside him. I can imagine that their eyes didn't meet once despite standing 5 feet away from each other all afternoon. Their styles so very different of course; Brian gently cadjoling his boys, Billy a little whirling dervish of pointing flapping and shouting. Brian is 50 years old now of course, he doesn't want to get involved in touchline tantrums. But would you fight with him? He looks like a right old slugger, a Big Daddy tribute band in himself.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Reading led after twenty. Manset fed Long who tumbled typically theatrically causing furious outrage in Billy's balcony. Manset, making a rare start, was tremendously useful throughout in bumping and grinding an increasingly knackered-looking Forest defence, although his frame and at-first-unconvincing attempts at ball control make him seem at once like Shakin' Stevens meets Victor Ubogu at a Tony Rougier Impersonation Contest. Harte schwazed in the freekick, 1-0. The goalscorer however was at fault when leaden-footed at a throw in, losing his man who went over Leigertwood's big toe. 1-1 from the penalty spot and Kris Boyd celebrated unecessarily in front of the Reading fans, displaying great joy at finally adding something worthwhile to the game, having hitherto and henceforth shown all the speed and movement of Madge's mobility scooter parked up in Benidorm with its battery worn down.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Reading fell behind after half time when goofy taff Earnshaw got in behind Griffin to finish smartly for his 1,000th career goal against Reading. He celebrated grandiosely in the corner, which was surprising given his later zero-tolerance approach towards timewasting after Forest had later fallen behind, placing the ball down pointedly for McCarthy to take a freekick post-haste following an offiside decision against the home team. The lead changing hands phased our boys not one iota as two Reading corners snatched the lead back almost as soon as we had lost it - Karacan's imperious Gunnarssonesque header for 2-2, Kebe stabbing instinctively into the roof of the net for 2-3 after Ivar's retrieval of the ball from a left side flag kick set up Zurab's poke at goal which was palmed away by the tiresome Lee Camp. Kebe celebrated noisily in front of the away end, showing uncharacteristic emotion by ripping off his shirt and screaming at us although we couldn't hear what he was shouting because we were screaming back at him. Mon Dieu!</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>If a Forest player falls in the box and there are 22,000 people there to see and hear it, does the referee make a sound? Indeed he did, referee Pawson paused, linesman flagged and a naive challenge from HRK resulted in a soft penalty with barely 2 minutes left. As McGugan sent McCarthy the wrong way, all thoughts were of satisfaction at a point which would keep the home side 3 points below us. But you could have so much more. In inury time, Griffin pinged a quick freekick down the line, Karacan's cross was bundled in at the near post by a combination of Luke Chambers and Simon Church; the latter a grateful substitute credited with a winner made partly by the wearing and tearing of a tired defence by the aforementioned substituted Manset.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>There was still time for Long to have a penalty saved by Camp, who performed more pathetic histrionics after palming away the spot kick despite his side actually trailing at the time deep in injury time. Zurab made a last ditch clearance at the other end, then <strong>time</strong> and a mass love in at the end of a memorable game. A huge win which cuts down Forest's play-off hopes, gives us a nice cushion and - whisper it - puts second place in sight. I mentioned a little earlier 1994/95 and that season we timed our run at the end to perfection. We finished a gobsmackingly unexpected 2nd place in a season where only one club was to be promoted automatically. No such bad luck would befall the runners-up this season, but on Grand National day 2011 RFC cleared Bechers Brook and began the gallop towards a potential photo finish. It would almost be rude to write BMc's team off. They deserve a little respect.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-17032615328561088122011-04-04T05:38:00.000-07:002011-04-04T06:32:35.296-07:00BEE IS FOR BANDWAGON<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiverygf2-aXCJXGwat3ZITr7axY6wE_XxseaNa_n_-3USavwgSb7Qr47Ni3U3AmQ7nUJRzwRSZb1s1SSdcz6DLgx7bdHFl38Uz2Rikz1mBteGGVyYDdSm0KxaQl7b7qBZieDEBw/s1600/_1334981_forsterplayoff300.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591707292836254370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiverygf2-aXCJXGwat3ZITr7axY6wE_XxseaNa_n_-3USavwgSb7Qr47Ni3U3AmQ7nUJRzwRSZb1s1SSdcz6DLgx7bdHFl38Uz2Rikz1mBteGGVyYDdSm0KxaQl7b7qBZieDEBw/s320/_1334981_forsterplayoff300.jpg" border="0" /></a> <br /><div></div><br /><p>We're approaching a decade since the finest moment ever at the Madejski. Forget the Derby Championship-cakewalk, forgot the battle-back against Boro - Nicky Forster's cameo against Wigan in the play-off semi-final second leg on 16th May 2001 was almost certainly the most-hairaising moment in the history of the stadium. </p><br /><p>That dramatic night Fozzie wrote himself into Reading folklore, forever to be remembered as a true Reading hero. Nicky Forster was a pleasure to watch. Like shit off a stick in a tsunami, the guy was quick. Coupled with an ability to finish chances from long and short range defying all manner of impossible angles, Forster also had mesmeric close control and was a menace to defences in his six thrilling seasons at the Madj.</p><br /><p></p><br /><p>He's getting on a bit now, mind. And that blinding speed now needs to be transfered into speed of thought; he is in coaching now you see, at one of his former clubs Brentford. Brentford FC are of course an Aladdin's Cave for RFC, a footballing car boot sale of a club with whom we have shared many players and coaches in recent years; Coppell, Downes, Ingimarsson, Sidwell, Owusu and many more besides. In 2002, a Brentford team boasting all those named RFC will-be-legends lost out on promotion to Pardew's wobblers on the final day of the season. We subsequently pinched their manager, coach, their best players and got promoted to the top flight whilst the Bees bellyflopped into division 4. Cheers, we toast you with a pint of Fullers!</p><br /><p></p><br /><p>It's hard not to have a soft-spot for our neighbours from down the M4. Notwithstanding the Forster link and a whole host of intermingling Royal family tree second-cousins-once-removed, they are also big game losers like ourselves. Two play off final defeats, like ourselves. They had also lost twice in the Associate Members Cup final prior to yesterday's third appearance in the final, vs Carlisle. With my own family links to the Bees, I couldn't resist jumping on the Bandwagon and joining in the buzz down Wembley way.</p><br /><p>40,000 supporters gathered for this final. Which other country in the world could attract that many fans to a third division football match? This probably best explains why England deserves to host a World Cup again, were it not for the fallible old fools at the FA - themselves led by a big-mouthed politician who couldn’t keep his penis in his pants together with a goofy entourage if ‘dignitaries’ incorporating Brain-box Beckham and Prince Nice-but-Dim putting the kibosh on our chances. There was a tremendously bubbly atmosphere outside the ground as supporters from two unfashionable clubs posed for pictures, bedecked in those god-awful jesters hats and the make-up choice of the retarded: face-paint. One wonders how fans of the big clubs who tend to get through to the more famous big finals this ground has held over the years feel on their big days out? A shrug, presumably, as they stroll up from Wembley Park station. They almost certainly don’t bring a camera. </p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Big game, bad football match. There is a reason why Brentford and Carlisle don’t play on the big stage very often – they’re no bloody good. Carlisle at least strung a few passes together first half and led through Murphy’s prod into the net after he was inexplicably allowed two touches in the box from a corner. Brentford were all scruffy long ball, which was a great disappointment that such a great footballer in Forster would preach such ineffective percentage-football pap. From our seats high above the corner flag in Club Wembley (drinks aren’t free) for the princely-sum of £44 we watched a somewhat more eventful second half as Brentford’s Schlupp wriggled free of the colossal thug Michalik to inexplicably thunk an effort onto the near post and a couple of set-piece sitters were headed high and not-very handsomely over. </p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Towards the end Brentford’s angular clumsy midfielder Diagouraga – who played like a blindfolded Kalifa Cisse – came crashing through at the end of two poor passes inside the space of two minutes and was dismissed. It was the end for Brentford who now boast an impressive 5 defeats from major finals. This was nothing new for Forster himself – his heroics against Wigan, after all, were to be followed by woe against Walsall.</p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-15638303486309049442011-03-31T12:34:00.000-07:002011-03-31T15:26:14.231-07:00BOGEY WONDERLAND<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirh5UxT4JJePrUxEL2kJY3V8xAD0kNZXYSKwpmXxlo6BWX_2dRU5ZCq5xgbV4IaQ61JfN6OiqMkgzfn8aVkE6IN8Wwufy9kNWuCCu74Jo-M-TirFUDxXiRRqIZ3vuZf8sJ5yg0yw/s1600/JOHN_WESTWOOD_280x3_937722a.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 230px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5590329905809495330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirh5UxT4JJePrUxEL2kJY3V8xAD0kNZXYSKwpmXxlo6BWX_2dRU5ZCq5xgbV4IaQ61JfN6OiqMkgzfn8aVkE6IN8Wwufy9kNWuCCu74Jo-M-TirFUDxXiRRqIZ3vuZf8sJ5yg0yw/s320/JOHN_WESTWOOD_280x3_937722a.jpg" /></a> <br /><div></div><br /><div>Reading FC has a spring in its step again. Since demotion from the Premier League in 2008 we have slumbered through Steve Coppell's tired wantaways finishing 4th in a 3-horse race in 2008/09 and last season Brendan's Bumper Book of Tactics almost eroded the last fossils of hope until he was replaced by Bald Brian. A year into the job and Bald Brian has assembled a young and hungry team of unknowns and cast-offs into a deceptively efficient unit hitting form just at the right time. The clocks have gone forward, the Royals advance. As Starship sang, Nothings Gonna Stop Us Now. So, it is with typically unfortunate timing that the Mad March Hare comes face to face with Elmer Fudd's shotgun this weekend. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was all going so well. 3 league wins in a row, playoffs within scratching distance. Then along comes ther bogey, the jinx, the Indian Sign to rain on the parade. Sir Humphrey to our Jim Hacker, Butler to our Blakey, He-Man to our Skeletor, Basil to our Manuel, Terry to our June. It's Portsmouth and it's uglier than ever before. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Our record against them is dire, dire, dire. One league win in the last 20 meetings. The home record is even more upsetting; no Reading win in the last 9 Pompey visits to Berkshire. Worse still - in our last seven home meetings we haven't scored a single goal against them. We haven't netted against them in Reading in nearly a quarter of century. If there was literally one club likely to nick the hubcaps off our juggernaut it is Bloody Portsmouth. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It wouldn't be quite so unbearable if they weren't such a bunch of mockney english speaking chavvy <em>oi-oiers</em>. Reading fan and writer Roger Titford was right though when he wroted in <em>When Saturday Comes</em> that Pompey were probably the antithesis of Reading; loud, working class fans with a proud footballing history behind them. Sure, they're a loud bunch of oiks in the mood and fair play to them for that - just a shame it is a load of BLUE ARMY drum-banging, out-of-tune-bugle-blowing cow-bell-ringing top-hat-wearing Play-up-Pompeying drivel likely to infuriate if - when? - this unfortunate run of results against the south coast chav army continues. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Even the towns are the antithesis of each other. Pompey - home of the (rarely used) British Navy, Spinnaker Tower, a pedestrianised town centre which feels breathlessly claustrophic as if some Popeye lookalike is going to mug you at any time. Reading - home of the (no longer manufactured) Biscuit, Tilehurst Water Tower, a pedestrianised town centre where the only threat of being mugged is by a meddlesome dreadlocked Red Cross worker armed with a clipboard. Pompey, a run down squalid rough-and-ready town dripping with history. Reading, all commuter-belt misplaced smugness awash with student vomit. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>As all good things must come to an end, surely all bad things must one day cease and we finally put this record straight. Better Reading teams than this one have failed to knock the pomp out of Pompey but perhaps for once Terry will smash through June. Perhaps the finger will be up the other nostril at least and the bogey beaten. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1166706040000097282006-12-21T13:00:00.000-08:002006-12-21T05:00:40.036-08:00IN DREAMS Reading 1-2 Blackburn Rovers<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/424913/Roy-Orbison.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/322148/Roy-Orbison.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>The second half of this game was like waking up after a great dream. The last 16 months had, it appeared, been a fantasy. Reading <em>hadn't</em> indeed won the Championship with a record points margin after all, the excellent start to the subsequent Premiership season had been a figment of a tired imagination. We all woke up to discover that Reading were indeed still crap, playing in Division 2 against Walsall and Mark Reilly was playing.</p><p>The dream that Reading were going to qualify for europe had evaporated at half time during a game against one time Premiership champions Blackburn. They had dominated, led through James <strong>HARPER</strong>'s effort curled around Friedel and had hit the woodwork through Sidwell with Doyle also squandering a good chance when well placed. Unfortunately, the Reading players were apparently kidnapped at half time and with the ever frugal Mr Madejski unwilling to pay the ransom, a team of imposters sleepwalked their way through the second half. Benni <strong>McCARTHY</strong> finally stole in for an overdue equaliser midway through a second half dominated by the visitors having seen 37 earlier efforts disallowed for offside/cheating/having a bad hair cut. David <strong>BENTLEY</strong> - right foot by Pele, jaw by Bruce Forsyth - smashed in the eventual winner, inevitably and generously supplied by that familiar source the Reading misplaced pass. Stand up and take a bow John Oster for lsoing us the game within a minute of coming on as substitute.</p><p><strong>Floyd on Football</strong> apologises to readers for the inconvenience and subsequent brevity of this late, late match report on the wretched events of last Saturday. <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> has since been in an alcoholic, stress-related coma, unable to find the keyboard through the tears and the Thames Valley mid-December fog. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible - but that's enough about the Reading team for now.</p><p><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Little (Oster, 83), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt (Long, 85), Seol (Lita, 76), Doyle. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Gunnarsson. </p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Not applicable.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1165865004585759612006-12-11T19:20:00.000-08:002006-12-11T11:34:55.733-08:00MERRY CHRISTMAS Alan Pardew<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/703342/ap.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/180036/ap.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Merry Christmas, Alan Pardew. May God's love be with you.<br /><br />Erstwhile RFC manager and proven liar was sacked by West Ham's Scrooge-like board today. A mere three weeks into Icelandar Eggert Magnusson's reign and with the unahppy-Hammers stranded near the bottom of the Premiership, they have decided to '<em>Pard</em> company' with their manager whom they poached from Reading FC a little over three years ago.<br /><br />The football world is bound to come out in support of the man who a mere six months ago had West Ham on the brink of winning the FA Cup, their third trip to Cardiff in as many years following two play-off finals under AP. <strong>Floyd on Football </strong>is less sympathetic; the man lied when he told a RFC fans forum a matter of weeks before walking out on his contract that he "<em>wasn't going anywhere</em>" and reneged on his deal with John Madejski. Perhaps Mr Pardew might give his old adversary and fellow unemployed ex-Reading manager Mark McGhee a call over the Christmas period? They could share a glass of mulled wine and a mince pie on Boxing Day and watch Reading's televised Premiership fixture at Chelsea together.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1165753687967812932006-12-10T04:27:00.000-08:002006-12-10T05:50:09.796-08:00ZZZZZZZZ Watford 0-0 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/315062/watford.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/279858/watford.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Relegation certainties Watford have announced two new signings which will be completed during the January transfer window. They are Andre the Giant and Kevin Francis.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd on Football</strong> has a lot of sympathy with Watford last season as they marched headlong towards an unlikely play-off promotion at the expense of several <em>divine right</em> 'big' clubs. That novelty has happily long since worn off. It's fair to say that Aidy Boothroyd doesn't believe in the beautiful game, more the rubesque game - stick eleven big blokes in your team and hit scary big diagonal balls for an hour and a half. It is football by osmosis. And as a spectacle it is diabolical to watch.<br /><br />Reading were in many ways equally culpable; with the slight frames of messrs Oster and Hunt not up for the physicality of the ocassion, our sole tactic was Hahnemann's long punt up to little Lita and diddy Doyle which as tactical plans go is akin to asking the 7 Dwarves to decorate your christmas tree. However, given that we had had a long, brusing midweek trip which denied us of another couple of first team members laid up with injury in Jon Fearne's Emergency Ward 10, <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> tends to have more sympathy with Reading after this entirely tedious football match.<br /><br />Match report? Lita rolled two chances wide and erstwhile Royal Darius Henderson hit one down Hahnemann's gulliver. All this 'action' took place in the first half; the second 45 was so lacking in incident that it is entirely possible that Del Amitri wrote their song Nothing Really Happens with this encounter in mind. The one piece of good news is that we only have to watch Watford once more this season before their inevitable and deserved relegation.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Bikey, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Oster (Little, 89), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt, Doyle, Lita (Long, 74). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Sodje, Gunnarsson.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Sonko. He will have a sore head this morning.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1165752601766437112006-12-10T04:09:00.000-08:002006-12-10T04:10:01.780-08:00CALLING THE TOON Newcastle United 3-2 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/24482/NEWCASTLE.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/819475/NEWCASTLE.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>As the<strong> Floyd on Football</strong> <strong>2006 winter tour </strong>comes to an end, our media department finally have chance to update the midweek action from our visit to Geordieland. A week which included promotional visits to such glamorous outposts as the Royal Berkshire Hospital, Shinfield, Stansted, St John's Wood, Lambeth, Southwark and Watford also found time for a flying visit to Newcastle to take in the first ever league encounter between the host city and the rip-roaring Royals who were aiming to go third in the league with a point.</p><p>This visit was a hugely successful one for<strong> Floyd on Football PLC </strong>(Pissed-up liability chump) and we would like to thank the Dene Hotel, Jesmond and Northumbria Police for making sure the evening went without a hitch. Unfortunately, due to the large amount of complimentary alcohol quaffed backstage before the gig, memories of the evening's entertainment remain somewhat hazy but an attempt at some sort of post-match de-brief follows. </p><p>St James's Park - a stunning local landmark reverred around these parts, arguably more so than even the Tyne Bridge, the Angel of the North and Buffalo Joe's. For the casual once a season foreign visitor however one must have a Brian Blessed-esque love of mountaineering and a tank full of oxygen for taking your seat inside this stadium is akin to climbing the north face of the Eiger. Once you have mounted 14 flights of stairs the view from above is quite tremendous, like looking down upon a subbuteo pitch. And so a a full travelling allocation of loyal Reading fans, many of whom must have pulled a sickie for this Wednesday night visit to the far north - for which we thank the Spectrum 48k fixture computer from the bottom of our hearts - sung their hearts out as the teams kicked off a right ding-dong of a battle.</p><p>Newcastle had the best of the opening exchanges and should have took the lead when Sibierski put a free header straight into Hahnemann's grateful midriff. The lead did come halfway through the first 45 when <strong>SIBIERSKI</strong> did far better to glance Solano's arcing touchline cross home and we began to feel a long way from home shortly afterwards as Obefemi Martins nutted another right flank centre against the woodwork. Reading are no southern softies though and made it a case of Newcastle Brown Pants in the ten minutes before halftime. Oster's good work allowed <strong>HARPER</strong> to let fly from the edge of the box and a deflection beat Given; the Irish 'keeper then made a quite improbable save from Seol's header before <strong>HARPER</strong>, having found his range, buried another effort from the back of the 18 yard box having been fed by substiute Little.</p><p>Reading led 2-1 at the break and the famous St James's fanatical support - so fanatical of course that this match was watched by a crowd of around 4,000 below capacity - were rather subdued and increasingly rather grumpy. This mood of gloom continued for the opening fifteen minutes or so of a second half entirely dominated by Reading but given that this is the commencement of pantomime season then cue the imput of the arch pantomime widow, the ever incompetent Rob Styles. Mr Styles judged that Sonko's coming together with Martins was worthy of a penalty kick - a second against us in two games 'refereed' by the Waterlooville wanker this season - which he would never have awarded down the other end in a million years. <strong>MARTINS</strong> sent the spit-kick wide of Hahnemann who had guessed the right way.</p><p>So from looking to stretch our lead to being pegged back to 2-2 , the mood of the game had entirely changed on the whim of one man. Styles, in typically <em>horse-stable-door-bolted</em> style attempted to even things up with a curious decision to overrule what looked a good goal by Sibierksi but Reading were now up against it, especially as our counter-attacking progress was more often than not thwarted by cynical fouls from the home team which went unpunished by the cowardly Styles. As Reading players ended up limping towards the end of a tiring match against a side who had not played a fixture the previous weekend - another triumph for Spectrum 48k - it was no great surprise when the home side stole a winner; <strong>EMRE</strong> running clear to crash a drive over Hahnemann after Harper had inexplicably blotted his thus far spotless copybook by giving the ball away cheaply.</p><p>So the Reading supporters filed out disappointed but by no means disconsolate and the home side, assembled for many millions more than our modest means, climbed out of the relegation zone as we made our way into the Newcastle night to make hay and to make our voices heard. Rob Styles, meanwhile, will be hearing from <strong>Floyd on Football</strong>'s legal team.</p><p><strong>R</strong><strong>eading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty (Bikey, 88), Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Oster, Sidwell, Harper, Hunt (Little, 34), Seol, Doyle (Lita, 80). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Gunnarsson.</p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Harper. Will be rightly distraught at the loose pass which lef to the winner but finished neatly twice to put us ahead in an exciting game.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1165096003655912402006-12-02T21:45:00.000-08:002006-12-10T05:48:35.550-08:00BOLTON THE DOOR Reading 1-0 Bolton Wanderers<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/490776/onlyfoolsgaller3.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/358282/onlyfoolsgaller3.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Bolton Wanderers provide possibly the Premiership's most prominent physical challenge. Set piece delivery is always accurate, they have a number of big beefy types across the park and they can also play a bit when they put their mind to it. They have brain to complement their considerable brawn and this was always likely to be a tough assignment for <em>the Coppell project</em>.<br /><br />Since promotion back to the top flight in 2001, Bolton have beaten all of the big boys on ocassion and are well known for upsetting the apple cart, Arsene Wenger being the most recently bruised pomme. As visitors go, they are about as popular as Michael Barrymore at a pool party and we expected a real ding-dong battle against a side who started the day in the Premiership's top 4. We hadn't faced a side quite like Bolton so far since our elevation to the top table but Reading weren't in the mood to make a pig's breakfast out of the Trotters.<br /><br />In recent weeks we have been starting games bright eyed and bushy tailed and it was another athletic, up and et 'em kind of opening again at the MadStad. Stephen Hunt was busy if not always effctive down the left flank and a chance was fashioned for James Harper to crash a first time effort wide of the post. <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> was expecting a Bolton aerial bombardment from corners and free kicks but in the first hour or so of this keenly fought often brusing encounter that threat never really materialised, indeed it was Reading who forced a string of early set pieces and it was Ingimarsson who sliced the best opening wide of the target. Reading were out-Boltoning Bolton at times; Jaaskelainen went tumbling under pressure in the area when he flapped at a cross and Sidwell's follow up thundered against the cross bar although referee Wiley had already blown up for a generous freekick decision to the visitors.<br /><br />This match was not always easy on the eye but the winning goal was one for the purists. The magnificent Nicky Shorey strode busily down the wing from inside his own half, as he did on nuerous ocassions today, and his pass over to the far side was delightfully taken in his stride by Oster who stood up a wicked delivery which <strong>DOYLE</strong> headed back towards and gleefully past the Bolton 'keeper into the net. A truly brilliant goal which would be played on clip shows for many years to come were it scored by Brazil rather than Reading, still about as fashionable as a zip up fleece on Les Dennis.<br /><br />Bolton had a mini-revival before the break with the utterly unpleasant El Hadji-Diouf and Kevin 'elbows' Davies to the fore. Diouf went down like a sack of shit under a legitimate Sonko challenge, spat the dummy and would later be withdrawn long before the end of the game whilst Davies - who you suspect could have put his forearm into the face of the Queen Mother this afternoon without sanction from Alan Wiley - is also a clever footballer albeit one with a backside in a different postal district from his barrel chest such is the girth of the 48 year old northern veteran. In the second half, an exciting end-to-end football match broke out with Oster smashing an ill-timed volley over following Hunt's inviting centre, Nolan poking narrowly wide after a scarmble in the Reading goal mouth and Shorey seeing a 25 yard pot shot whistle over the top with Jaaskelainen rooted to his spot.<br /><br />Lita had an instinctive first-time effort saved by the Bolton 'keeper who was to make a right nuisance of himself deep into injury time. Bolton turned the screw in those closing stages as visiting substitute Ivan Campo took over refereeing duties from Wiley and the visitors won a series of dubious free kicks and throw ins. These were always delivered with menacingly accurate muscle onto the Reading near post and the man-mountain Sonko came to the fore where mere mortals would have buckled. A corner right at the death was seized by Hahnemann and with Jaaskelainen lurking with intent in the Reading box and then all at once finding himself stranded, the visiting 'keeper almost dislocated his opposite number's shoulder by pulling his arm back as Marcus was ready to release. A cynical piece of play which cost the Finn a yellow card and best summed up a crafty Bolton side. A Bolton side which were deservedly beaten on the day as we held firm under a late bararge and moved up into a very snug looking sixth place in the Premiership.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Oster (Gunnarsson, 87), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt, Seol (Lita, 76), Doyle. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Bikey, Long.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Shorey. For England. Marauding raid down the left flank and an accurate cross field pass brought about the winner.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1164405690060429172006-11-26T13:10:00.000-08:002006-11-26T05:16:04.666-08:00CONSTANT CRAVEN Fulham 0-1 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/1600/882000/fulham_alfayed.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/7805/1347/320/517146/fulham_alfayed.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>For the third weekend in a row Reading faced London opposition and delivered a dose of Capital punishment. Getting a result at the home of middle-of-the-road rich-kids of SW6 is just the kind of business we need to be doing if we want to stay entrenched in our mid-table comfort zone, but with yesterday's result leaving us a mere point away from a Champions League place it is hard not to dream.</p><p>Once again, Reading had a large and vocal travelling support behind them as all tickets for the Putney End had sold out so a good many Berkshire folk packed out the neutral stand as well. There hasn't been much to cheer about on our travels in recent weeks so the <span style="color:#333399;">Blue Army</span> certainly enjoyed themselves yesterday, giving the team good backing and totally outshouting the mute home support to make it feel like a home match. And we had plenty to shout about in the early stages as we consistently got in behind the Fulham back four to pull dangerous balls back across their goal mouth, alas the finishing touch was missing throughout much of this game. </p><p>The winner came before the twenty minute mark and was a result of good work from Seol and Little with Harper providing an incisive pass to put Doyle in on Niemi at an angle. Ian Pearce had other ideas and instinctively brought down Doyle as he was about to shoot, with the net result an obvious red card and a penalty. <strong>DOYLE</strong> stepped up and sent Niemi the wrong way and we had ober an hour to try and make our lead more comfortable against a depleted side. It is to Fulham's credit as a decent footballing side and also down to our own wastefulness that we never truly had this game won until referee Gallagher's last whistle.</p><p>Gallagher himself, as if to make up for the fact that he had to give a mandatory red card to a Fulham man, tried to even things up. A month until Christmas and you'd expect Mr Gallagher to have sent his cards out already, he certainly delivered several yellow ones to Reading players yesterday. The decisions against Harper in the first half and Sonko in the second were particularly ridiculous; Sonks had his name taken for little more than a shove in the back to a Fulham man up on the halfway line. It's a man's game isn't it? We also had to suffer injuries to Sidwell and Little which <em>hampered</em> our progress at the footballing home of Harrods, but the replacements Gunnarsson and Oster played their part in a good, solid Reading performance with their only grumble being that we never killed the game off.</p><p>Time and time again we got to the byline and pulled the ball back where - usually - precisely no-one was waiting to pull the trigger and if you don't make the most out of such good opportunities at the top table you usually get punished. Certainly then ten men were a well-oiled outfit who tested us on ocassion with Hahnemann having to plunge low to keep out a header from his fellow american Brian McBride in the first half and Ingimarsson had to kick the danger clear early in the second after Collins John - who sounds like a Dynasty actress but is in fact a half decent footballer - had poked an effort past Hahnemann during an alarming scramble. Reading however were more than threatening down the other end in an end-to-end game mystifying devoid of finishing finesse, Seol in particular was leading Fulham a merry dance and he made the home side feel more stretched than Farepak. Doyle advanced in on Niemi and was denied at the near post whilst the ball seemed to fizz across the Fulham goal far too often without a telling finish for <strong>Floyd on Football</strong>'s liking.</p><p>McBride hit an absolute howitzer late on which looked to have the trajectory but ultimately beat the upright as well as Hahnemann and we were safe, another three points takes us more than halfway towards survival now you'd expect and the Reading supporters jubilantly danced their way out of the Putney End and down the Stevenage Road into Bishops Park singing songs of praise.</p><p><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Little (Oster, 37), Sidwell (Gunnarsson, 33), Harper, Hunt, Seol (Lita, 90), Doyle. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Bikey.</p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Seol. Will tear you apart. Again.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1163960785970207482006-11-19T18:15:00.000-08:002006-11-19T10:26:26.040-08:00CHARLTON PATHETIC Reading 2-0 Charlton Athletic<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/grade.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/grade.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />It had all the ingredients of a classic Reading cock-up. Bottom of the table Charlton arrived without an away win to their name in the week in which they had sacked a manager who had lasted less than six months. Ultimately, however, we racked up what was a pretty routine easy win against dispirited opposition and in doing so moved 11 points ahead of the basement side and more importantly 9 points clear of the relegation zone into 8th place.<br /><br />At the start of the season the pundits forecast heap big trouble for Reading but Big Chief Coppell insisted he had faith in his squad and as supporters we debated amongst ourselves whether we could find 3 weaker sides than us in the Premiership. Given that we have currently double the wins of fellow promotee's Sheffield United and Watford combined you'd expect that our old friends have two of those dreaded three drop zone places sewn up and on the evidence of yesterday you'd expect Charlton to finish well below a Reading side - not at their best by any means - who made light work of the Addicks yesterday.<br /><br />Typical of the room and space we were afforded at our own manor yesterday was the opening goal. Hunt's backheel allowed Shorey-for-England ample opportunity to measure up a typically brilliant cross. <strong>SEOL</strong> was hopelessly unmarked 8 yards out to guide home a gift of a free header for a cheap opener and if you are conceding headed goals to our less than spring-heeled Korean then you must be a side in trouble. <em>That's why you're going down</em>, chorused the Reading fans in typically ungenerous mood and it was hard to argue with the sentiment as a couple of thousand Charlton fans sat in gloomy silence. Reading bossed this game throughout in truth but the performance level was never as high as against Spurs the previous week. Glen Little had an unusually quiet match and on the opposing flank Steven Hunt had his usual 98% perspiration 2% inspiration kind of game. Little put a more than presentable chance wide and another free header came Hunt's way but another good chance went begging. Doyle went clean through but failed to punish Charlton and halftime came and went with Reading well on top but only one goal to the good. Better sides will punish us for such profligacy.<br /><br />Charlton's best response in an equally pathetic second half for easily the worst opposition we have faced so far was a curled effort easily gathered by Hahnemann from Dennis Rommedahl. Dennis <em>Skinner </em>would have carried more threat. Doyle wasted another one-on-one opportunity with unusual hesitancy and Hunt's volley from Shorey's cross was neatly executed but ultimately a rather tame effort which Scott Carson stopped. There was an air of inevitability about a second Reading goal which came with less than twenty minutes remaining as a result of high farce. The otherwise faultless Sidwell sliced his attempted shot at the edge of the area. The Charlton defenders reacted as much speed as Stephen Hawking over a cattle grid to allow <strong>DOYLE</strong> to nip in and banish all memories of his earlier wastefulness with a dink over Carson. <br /><br />Murty cleared off the line at the other and but the damage had long since been done and the only other scare was when a useless fluffed cross from Ambrose almost caught Hahnemann out. Seol wrapped his foot around Lita's cross following Sidwell's dummy to send a shot high wide and about as handsome as former Charlton boss Iain Dowie whilst Hunt appeared to have been manhandled in the box by El Karkouri for an obvious penalty but referee Poll dismissed the appeal with trademark arrogance in the face of his own ineptitude. And that was that. Job done, banana skin removed safely from our path and another three points. The recent run of defeats at the hand of big budget opposition was looking a worry two weeks ago, but the best medicine for that kind of sickness is 6 points from two games. Viva le revival.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Little (Gunnarsson, 88), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt, Seol (Oster, 88), Doyle (Lita, 75). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Bikey.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Sidwell. The most dictatorial performance since Idi Amin.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1163361452260164422006-11-12T19:50:00.000-08:002006-11-12T12:03:25.073-08:00SOLEMN JOL Reading 3-1 Tottenham Hotspur<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/cockerel.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/cockerel.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The bubble has burst? You're having a laugh!<br /><br />Reading shrugged off four league defeats on the spin and the concession of the opening goal in this game for a victory which was as satisfying as taking off a pair of tight shoes. It was a relief to get some points on the board and to do so in style with the best textbook example of <em>how to come from behind</em> this side of Brighton.<br /><br />The re-introduction of <em>Captain Marvel</em> Murty was a big boost before the game, our right back had finally shrugged off troublesome hamstring injuries to lead his side with aplomb. The defensive 4-5-1 of last weekend was thankfully abandoned for a more familiar 4-4-2 with Seol supporting Doyle upfront. And Coppell's tinkering seemed to be working in the early stages; in each of the previous three league games - all lost - we have fallen behind inside the first fifteen minutes and been forced to chase the game, without success. Sidwell, flame-haired beacon of the Madejski midfield minefield, put Doyle through and his effort flashed across goal whilst a goaline clearance by Murty from Keane was the kind of stuff heroes are made of. It had been an entertaining first half of the first half with Reading more than holding their own, which made the Spurs opener even more disappointing.<br /><br />Keane fed Ghally waltzing into the box and Sonko slid across and took out his man. Fury as referee Rob Styles, never a popular visitor to the MadStad, pointed to the spot but a stonewall certain decision in the opinion of <strong>Floyd on Football</strong>. It was a no-brainer of a decision and having no brain, Styles gave the chance for <strong>KEANE</strong> to put Tottenham ahead. Hahnemann had to save smartly from a Berbatov range-finder as Spurs momentarily looked the more likely to get the next goal. But it was Reading who crucially scored the second of the day; tricky Little fed a pass across to <strong>SHOREY</strong> who set himself up for a 25 yard pearler into the bottom corner. A glorious goal which lifted everyone.<br /><br />And Spurs went in behind at half time to the gleeful acclaim of the patient Reading crowd who had not seen a home goal at the Madejski for well over 3 hours of football. The relentless Doyle earned a corner, swung in with typical Little quality for <strong>SIDWELL</strong> to crash home from 6 yards after the ball had flicked off Doyle. The comfort of a halftime lead for the first time in 6 weeks was an enjoyable experience to revisit, and the second half - which didn't always go Reading's way - was a good spectacle with Berbatov's criminally unmarked free header straight at Hahnemann, Doyle warming the palms of Robinson and substitute and perennial thorn in the Reading side Defoe being the the highlights of the half. That was until a thrilling Reading clincher which sparked an exciting final ten minutes when either side could have added to their tally.<br /><br />The gamebreaker was delivered by Doyle who gave King and Dawson an uncomfortable time throughout. Hahnemann's goalkick, flicked on by lively Lita on as substitute into the past of <strong>DOYLE</strong> who finished low past England's goalkeeping buffoon Paul Robinson. This sparked the biggest mass exodus of Spurs fans since the days of Christian Gross as the away end emptied, disgruntled visitors being sent on their way with chants of <em>cheerio cheerio cheerio </em>ringing in their ears. The crowing Reading fans almost had more to celebrate as Lita's touch deserted him with Doyle unmarked in the middle. Leroy almost made ammends when his excellent header came back off the upright from another typically smark Shorey centre and the busy Lita made a chance which rolled behind the onrushing, determined James Harper who slumped to the floor in disappointment. Spurs responded with a Defoe cracker which came back off the inside of the post and resulted in Berbatov firing the recycled ball high into the North Stand. It was a lucky escape, but Reading had already earned their spurs.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty, Shorey, Sonko, Ingimarsson, Little (Gunnarsson, 85), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt (Oster, 79), Seol (Lita, 74), Doyle. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Bikey.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd on Football</strong>: Sidwell. Played like the powerhouse we have missed in recent weeks.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1162729203619229902006-11-05T12:15:00.000-08:002006-11-05T04:20:03.733-08:00SCOUSE NOUS Liverpool 2-0 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/scousers.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/scousers.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>We are on the crest of a slump. This was a much better Reading performance than of late but the defensive-minded attitude which Coppell adopted took even more edge of what attacking sharpness we have at the moment. Lining up 5-4-1 with three ex-Brentford centre-halves up against many millions of pounds worth of striking talent probably best explains why Reading have now suffered four straight league defeats in succession.</p><p>We had the best of the opening exchanges - a nice move involving Glen Little, at the hub of everything we did do well in attacking sense, left Harper with half a chance to crash an effort at goal with was blocked by Carragher. For the third game in a row, however, Reading conceded within the first quarter of an hour and were left to chase a game. Gerrard made himself time to pick out Crouch at the far post. Hahnemann came to punch but was nowhere near, leaving the freaky England striker an easy knockdown for the dutch international <strong>KUYT</strong>. If you are going to line-up defensively playing one striker you cannot afford to concede a soft goal so early on, and equally you cannot afford to wait until midway through the second half to make a change.</p><p>Hahnemann made a very good save from a Hyypia header soon after, but it was apparent that Liverpool were causing Reading all sorts of problems from almost every set-piece they were generously awarded through the home-biased incompetence of Uriah Rennie - <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> would have preferred Uriah <em>Heep</em> as referee, who would perhaps have been marginally less villainous. Kuyt was left with guilt-edged free headers twice in succession at the end of a drab first half as messrs Sonko and Sodje seemed to get in each others way more often than not. Too many cooks and all that.</p><p>Too often in the first half Reading sat back and allowed Liverpool's midfield to dominate. As a Premiership midfield partnership, Sidwell and Harper had about as much credibility during the first half yesterday as Trevor and Simon. The second half, to our credit, was a vast improvement on recent showings. Glen Little created perhasp the best chance early on in the second 45 minutes as his centre found Hunt lurking with intent but sadly failing to bring the ball under control with the Liverpool defence looking nervous. A penalty shout soon followed as Sodje and Gerrard jumped together, the ball appearing to hit the hand of the Liverpool man. Freekick to Liverpool - natch. Hunt almost weaved his own way through the Liverpool defence with an industrious run and another generous decision in the home side's favour soon followed as <em>Hot Chocolate</em> reject Rennie whistled early on for a foul on Reina as a long throw caused enough panic for the ball to be bundled into the net.</p><p>A matter of moments after that it was 2-0. Another Liverpool corner found the head of Crouch, Hahnemann woefully failed to gather and 9 million pounds worth of Dirk <strong>KUYT</strong> shouldn't and indeed didn't miss when the ball was dropped at his feet. Horse, stable door, bolted - Coppell soon made a couple of attack-minded substitutes introducing Seol and then belatedly Oster but there was no real sign of a goal-scoring response and it's now just one scored in the last four league matches. The final throes of an improved performance and another loss were played out in drab silence which was disappointingly typical of Anfield all afternoon truth be told. Our friends adjacent to us in the Anfield Road End provided a little entertainment late in the day with a few gobby scousers aiming a few choice insults in our direction as they left early to steal our hub-caps. For <strong>Floyd on Football</strong>, ever willing to put a contrary opinion despite the intervention of a friendly steward, it was a case of <em>You'll Never Talk Alone</em>.</p><p><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Gunnarsson (Seol, 79), Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Sodje (Bikey, 69), Little, Sidwell, Harper (Oster, 87), Hunt, Doyle. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federici, Long.</p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Little. Our most creative outlet.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1162144671510559702006-10-29T17:50:00.000-08:002006-10-29T10:00:02.626-08:00SURRENDER Portsmouth 3-1 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/White-Flag-Small.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/White-Flag-Small.jpg" border="0" /></a>Portsmouth, a town with a proud military history, will have rarely enjoyed an easier battle victory than this. For the second Premiership fixture running Reading came, saw and didn't fancy the fight and were duly overrun. For the third time in six days we found ourselves 3-0 down and out of the game early in the second half and frankly this increasingly miserable run of form needs to be nipped in the bud very quickly or else the alarm bells will be ringing as long and as loudly as the infuriating bell belonging to the Fratton End trumpeteer.<br /><br />Reading were never in this game. Portsmouth dominated from the off, the clever Kanu was winning everything in the air and Hahnemann had already got behind a free headed chance six yards out before he conceded the avoidable tenth minute corner which was delivered to the near post. <strong>GUNNARSSON</strong> got in ahead of Kanu for once but could only succeed in parrying the ball past Hahnemann, 1-0. Reading offered token resistance in response - a Sidwell header dealt with by James and a Doyle flick over - but the best chane in the remainder of the half came when Kanu was allowed to escaped to the byline to pull back for Benjani to fluff his lines in front of the mocking Reading supporters who would have little else to cheer about for the rest of the afternoon.<br /><br />In the week, the local Portsmouth paper described Reading as <em>"a kitten. Cute and adorable, brimming with enthusiasm.....they're everybody's friend." </em>A very apt summary aside from the enthusiasm bit, which was worryingly lacking throughout. We rolled over and allowed Portsmouth to tickle our tummy despite a brightish opening few minutes to the second half. This miniest of revivals was speyed less than ten minutes into the half however as Reading failed to clear there lines and an accurate cross from that reliable source of assists Sol Campbell was met by the flimsiest of unmarked headers from <strong>KANU</strong> and the ball glanced past Hahnemann. The pikey home support moronically bayed <em>EA-SAY EA-SAY</em>. Quite.<br /><br />Reading's decision making throughout was bereft of inspiration, we looked leaderless and bereft of heart. This is not what we have become used to watching over the last 12 months or so and is especially worrying after a fighting start to the season. Coppell has said after the match that this latest setback won't effect his team's confidence but there was something of an air of resignation as Pedro <strong>MENDES</strong> finished us off with a driven effort from the edge of the area as Reading failed to clear a corner after the hour. <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> soon used this as cue to depart this wretched venue where we have only ever won twice in 18 league visits, missing a blatant handball on the line from Mendes which preceeded the utter irrelevance of a scrambled <strong>DOYLE</strong> consolation. They are made of stern stuff in this part of the world, perhaps <em>our</em> team could do with a week of toughening up on the docks.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Gunnarsson, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Seol (Oster, 72), Sidwell, Harper, Convey (Lita, 72), Doyle, Long (Little, 53). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Federic, Bikey.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: The 16:54 from Fratton which took <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> out of this toilet of a town.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1161869923156037592006-10-26T14:30:00.000-07:002006-10-26T06:41:55.546-07:00CARLING KOP Liverpool 4-3 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/Cilla-big.gif"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/Cilla-big.gif" border="0" /></a><br />135 years without a competitive fixture against the most successful football club in England and then two turn up at once. Our first ever visit to Anfield for a Carling Cup tie threw up an unlikely thriller which the Premiership fixture in ten days time will do well to better.<br /><br />Stood in the Arkles pub before the game enjoying a chat with our friendly scouse hosts, <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> feared the worst. The team line-ups came across the SKY Sports ticker on the televisions in the pub; Liverpool's changed line-up could still boast the likes of Reina, Riise, Agger, Zenden, Sissoko, Pennant, Crouch and Fowler with a substitutes bench including Kuyt and Carragher. Reading by contrast in making 8 changes fielded the likes of Stack and Halls who had frankly failed to impress in their Reading careers so far and an unfamiliar midfield role was given to Andre Bikey! All three impressed in what was a slow burner of a match that will become memorable for all the right reasons after a torrid couple of weeks.<br /><br />Sinking the traditional pre-match tipple of Guinness (in honour of our Irish contingent, you understand) <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> belted across the road in teeming rain to the Anfield Road End which housed the Reading supporters expecting to be greeted by a half empty ground. It was pleasantly surprising to see Anfield choc-full and the familiar strains of <em>You'll Never Walk Alone</em> with scarves held aloft made for an impressive sight. This is a football mad city alright and we were never made to feel anything less than welcome by police, stewards and our scouse drinking buddies in the pub.<br /><br />The first half, for the most part, was less impressive. Both teams struggled initially on a saturated surface although Reading'g unfamiliar line-up began to force a number of corners at the Kop End and as a direct result of one of those flag-kicks Ulises De La Cruz, who enjoyed a far better game than he did against Arsenal, had a range-finder easily smothered by Reina. At the other end Graham Stack moved smartly across his goal to parry a deflected Zenden effort whilst the industrious John Oster saw a cross-shot hacked behind at the end of a smart move with Gunnarsson's header from the subsequent corner failing to trouble Reina. Reading were giving easily as good as they were getting although Fowler served notice of his intentions with an acrobatic effort over the top. Offside anyway.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd on Football</strong> was guilty of doing some clock-watching. 42 minutes up on the Anfield score-board and a decent blank-sheet at half time would be more than satisfactory. Yet when the teams trailed off at half time we were 2-0 down; Pennant's through ball found <strong>FOWLER</strong> who rolled past Stack and a matter of moments later the Reading 'keeper produced a fine parry to deny a Riise stinger. The Reading defence had a Keystone Cops moment, looked at one another and politely waited for <strong>RIISE</strong> to lash home the rebound. A thoroughly disappointing defecit as we had competed well without overly threatening; Lita was working hard but Shane Long again had the <em>rabbit caught in headlights</em> look about him.<br /><br />And five minutes into the second half we were staring a bad defeat in the face without ever having played too badly. <strong>PALETTA</strong> thumped a Pennant corner into the corner of the net with a fine header and it was game over. Not that Reading didn't have chances after this; the disappointing Stephen Hunt was fed with an opportunity ten yards out an an angle following good work by Oster, yet the little Irishman didn't even manage to get the effort on target. His compatriot Shane Long then found himself clear of the last man advancing on Reina only for his second touch to let him down and take the ball tamely wide. A goal did come when Hunt was fouled by Paletta and Glen Little's teasing set-piece was buried by the bruising <strong>BIKEY</strong>.<br /><br />This was the signal for the start of a mad last quarter of an hour, as <strong>CROUCH</strong> rounded Stack for 4-1 with Reading players bitterly arguing a foul on Gunnarsson which later saw the Icelandar substituted with a damaged tooth. Jose Mourinho would have been apoplectic. Still Reading came back, pinball in the box led to the wizard <strong>LITA</strong> applying a finishing touch after Long, Hunt and then Halls had played flipper. The Reading supporters were by this point on their feet and making a right din, sensing an unlikely comeback which became an outside possibility as Oster set up Little for a cross headed home by <strong>LONG</strong> as the first in a queue of three Reading players waiting at the far post. Kuyt spanked a stunning effort against the woodwork, but by this time the Liverpool 'keeper was flapping like an injured goose and another bouncing ball across the box was turned fractionally wide of the upright by Ingimarsson as one of three Reading players waiting to put the ball over the line at point blank range with seemingly every Liverpool player back defending.<br /><br />At the end of four exciting minutes of injury time referee Walton whsitled to signal Liverpool's progress into Round 4 and the Reading supporters showed their appreciation for the belated attempt at salvaging result and looked forward to more of the same kind of hunger with a more familiar line-up in ten days time.<br /><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Stack, Halls, De La Cruz, Ingimarsson, Gunnarsson (Sodje, 83), Little, Oster, Bikey, Hunt, Long, Lita. <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Hahnemann, Osano, Hayes, Joseph-Dubois.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Little. He can count himself very unlucky not to be in the first XI. Providing perfect inspiration for Seol to keep his performance level high.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1161608049926289242006-10-23T13:45:00.000-07:002006-10-23T06:07:49.626-07:00CANNON FODDER Reading 0-4 Arsenal<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/cannon.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/cannon.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>The newspapers will have you believe that Arsenal were mesmerising on their way to an easy victory and that Reading simply can't live with teams of that ilk. That doesn't quite tell the whole story at the end of a difficult week.</p><p>Missing three key first teamers - Murty, Convey and Kitson would all surely have started if fit - exposed our chronic lack of strength in depth and the events of the past week when Chelsea levelled accusation after accusation appeared to rid Reading of the edge that had seen us compete so well in the Premiership so far. Our players seemed afraid to put a foot in and mix it up; this was yet again a case of trial by media as the television cameras descended on the Madejski Stadium yet again and you have to say that the Reading team seemed to be on their very best behaviour.</p><p>It would be churlish and a diservice not to pay tribute to Arsenal's quick passing and high tempo which simply destroyed Reading, but equally you must say that our own passing was dire and that service for Doyle and Long was practically zero. <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> would go so far as to venture that this was the worst Reading performance since the equally shambolic display at Wigan on the final day of the 2004/05 season. That was the last ocassion on which Reading were beaten by more than the odd goal and going by this tepid offering it is a feeling we might have to get used to over the coming weeks until key players come back into the team. Put simply, Reading's brawn just couldn't live with Arsenal's brain.</p><p>And it took less than a minute for their philosophical, deep thinking football to penetrate. Fabregas eased past Harper - who like his fellow ex-Arsenal central midfield partner failed to show up for work against his old employers - and his cutback found <strong>HENRY</strong> who finished typically. Reading, for all their faults yesterday, could never be accused of giving up and almost hit back with a Seol thunderbolt parried by cheap German pornstar Jens Lehmann who had unhelpfully wagged his finger at Hunt as our much-maligned winger dared to come with 2 feet of the grumpy Arsenal shot-stopper. For the rest of a first half which had all the tempo of a pre-season friendly the two sets of supporter entertained themselves by exchanging banter, much of it at the expense of the Chelsea manager who presumably enjoys having his name sung at matches which his own team aren't even involved in.</p><p>Arsenal led by two before the break - <strong>HLEB</strong> on the end of an incisive move to smash a rising drive past Hahnemann - and that was basically that. Reading were shambolic at times with their passing, Ulises De La Cruz was substituted at half time to spare him more embarassment. Shane Long looked little boy lost up front as he gamely chased every long pass down the channels which was seemingly the basis of a so-called Reading game plan. In the middle of the park, Fabregas was given the freedom of Berkshire; a humbling reality check this must have been for one Steven Sidwell who spoke hopefully before the match of one day being an Arsenal player again.</p><p><strong>VAN PERSIE</strong> finished another flowing move five minutes or so into the second half and as the crowd slumbered through what remained of this bumped-up trianing match the only remaining moment of any real excitement occurred when the otherwise excellent Hahnemann tore out of his to pull down Fabregas as Ingimarsson was caught short for what was an obvious penalty, duly converted by <strong>HENRY</strong>. Reading stuck at it, which is all you can say positively of our performance and Little and Oster added a late glimpse of some quality but by this stage it was effectively a phoney war. Indeed, it was Arsenal who looked more likely to have the final say, an outstretched Hahnemann arm prevented Rosicky from applying the formality of a finishing touch and was the best of several excellent saves from one of precious few Reading players to distinguish themself.</p><p><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, De La Cruz (Gunnarsson, HT), Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Seol (Oster, 77), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt, Doyle, Long (Little, 73). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Stack, Lita. </p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Hahnemann. Two or three top draw saves kept the score count down to one hand.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1161021905078378532006-10-16T10:39:00.000-07:002006-10-17T05:10:37.203-07:00LETTERS RESPOND Sweet FA<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/barwick.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/barwick.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> was delighted to hear that Chelsea Football Club will be writing to the FA with their <em>"observations"</em> on the incident during Saturday's match at the MadStad which has left Petr Cech with a fractured skull and facing a long lay-off. In fact, such a good idea deserves to be copied and <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> have penned a letter of <em>"observations"</em> to the FA in response to Chelsea's outrageous accusations of late, the text of which follows:<br /><br /><br /><em>Dear Sirs,</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I write in response to the unfortunate incident in the opening minute of the Reading vs Chelsea fixture at the Madejski Stadium Saturday 14th October. It is with great disappointment that I note Chelsea Football Club's intention to write to yourselves with their own letter of 'observations' of events on Saturday in response to their own manager's quite disgraceful accusations immediately after the match and as a Reading season ticket holder for ten years and avid follower of the game at all levels I feel compelled to respond to criticisms of our players.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>As you are no doubt aware, Reading Football Club has an outstanding disciplinary record in recent seasons which is something that we are proud of almost as much as the success we have enjoyed recently. Over the past two seasons prior to this we have had not one player dismissed in league matches and certainly before Saturday's clash our disciplinary record in our inaugural season in the Premiership had also been outstanding. The player in question, Stephen Hunt, is one who has played more than 50 matches for our club with, as I understand, a mere solitary caution to his name. Having watched the team at home and away in almost every single match last season I can rarely remember Hunt having so much as a foul given against him never mind ever deliberately setting out to injure an opponent as the Chelsea manager so unfairly suggested.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I am sure that it has not escaped your attention that the overwhelming majority of independent media and ex-player pundits have come out in support of Hunt, who himself has written to Cech expressing his regret at the unfortunate injury which is a sentiment shared by absolutely everyone connected with Reading Football Club. Our club has gained a reputation as a forward thinking, progressive and not to mention fair and friendly club in recent times and the conduct of Reading Football Club having been put under the miscroscope so much in recent days since the incident on Saturday is, I am certain that you will agree, beyond reproach. In offering our sincerest best wishes to Petr Cech we also wholeheartedly support our player who has unwillingly become part of an unwelcome media-circus, and I trust as guardians of the game of football in this country you will agree that Stephen Hunt has no case to answer in terms of the frankly slanderous intention that he would have deliberately caused such a ghastly injury.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Yours Faithfully etc.</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1160861880641512482006-10-14T12:30:00.000-07:002006-10-16T11:16:07.593-07:00ROCKY Reading 0-1 Chelsea<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/rocky.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/rocky.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />Chelsea are conclusive proof that you can buy titles, buy matches and perhaps - on the evidence of the appaling Mike Riley's eccentric whistle blowing last night - referees but you can't buy <em>class;</em> which is something they will <em>never</em> have under their current arrogant regime.<br /><br />In the end, it took more a twice deflected freekick for 250 million pounds of Chelsea 'talent' to beat our humble, hardworking team assembled for a mere fraction of that price. It was Lidl 0-1 Harrods, beaten but by no means disgraced over 90 minutes of so-called football which more resembled a Boxing match. Chelsea took a narrow points victory after a bruising bloody contest as Reading refused to be knocked to the canvass.<br /><br />The bloodshed started with the opening exchanges as Steve Hunt chased a ball down the channel and his momentum took him into collision with the Chelsea 'keeper as Petr Cech slid out to take the ball. Hunt appeared to catch him with his knee and subsequent replays showed that, as he was going flat out there was little he could do to avoid what was an accidental impact. Cech ended up Royal Berkshire Hospital bound whilst the Chelsea management threw a hissy strop; Jose Mourinho - little more than a Portuguese Warnock - later accused Hunt of having deliberately crocked Cech, an incidental which the pouting twit suggested "<em>could have killed</em>" his goalkeeper. Steve Coppell, in his wisdom, suggested that he would welcome the FA having a look at an incident which anyone in their right mind could see was a total accident.<br /><br />Chelsea replaced one expensive 'keeper with another, Cudicini took the gloves and to be totally frank he had precious little to do throughout. Not an awful lot of good football was played in all honesty; Reading were timid in the opening half hour before attempting a few jabs at Chelsea and the reigning champions of the Premiership played patient, tedious possession football unwilling to commit to all out attack throughout. This was far from entertaining fare and the closest we saw to a goal at each end before the stroke of half time were woodwork striking moments from Reading players; Ingimarsson glancing a cross onto his own crossbar and Doyle spinning like a top after good work by Hunt only to see his effort rebound back into play off the upright.<br /><br />The winning goal and knock-out blow came on the stroke of half time. The wimpy, weedy looking Mike Riley is notorious for giving in to reputation and gave a freekick and a quite astonishing booking to the otherwise immaculate Sonko as fat Frank Lampard went crashing to the ground twenty-odd yards from goal following a collision with <em>Superman</em>'s hip. The resultant freekick took two deflections, the last one off stand-in skipper<strong> INGIMARSSON</strong> who had taken the armband from the injured Murty. Unfortunate for Ivar and even harsher on Hahnemann who was utterly wrong-footed. Chelsea celebrated the goal as if it were the best ever scored and the Reading supporters angrily and loudly begged the question of midweek England flops Lampard and John Terry <em>where were you on Wednesday night?</em> That goal however was enough to give Chelsea the half time lead which they held onto and that was the last we saw from the title-buying champions as an attacking force.<br /><br />For much of this game it looked like a good Championship side playing a disinterested Premiership team in a cup tie, for Reading put in a gritty and solid defensive performance without looking hugely capable in attack of worrying Chelsea whilst the visitors had precious little ambition to entertain or to attack following the fortunate goal they did score. The second half was, if anything, even more fractious as players squared up to each on more than one ocassion and Jon Obi Mikel was dismissed around the hour mark for hauling back Sonko, advancing from a defensive position. The fuss and bitter complaing which followed one of the precious few correct decisions made by Riley to give an inevitable second yellow summed up much of why the neutral dislikes this bitchy, ugly Chelsea side who win few admirers around europe.<br /><br />With a man advantage - albeit for a mere twenty minutes before substitute Andre Bikey was dismissed rather fussily for a second booking - Reading pinned their opponents back on the ropes, forcing plenty of corners and peppering the Chelsea 18 yard box with crosses but we missed our talisman in Dave Kitson. Doyle, Lita and later Long worked hard but you felt that John Terry was too often getting a free head to the ball which was constantly pinging into the Chelsea box with what has to be said varying quality. Steve Sidwell fizzed a ferocious effort fractionally wide with Cudicini seemingly beaten but for all our honest endeavour, Reading forced precisely <em>zero</em> saves from three Chelsea 'keepers - the third of whom was John Terry himself for the final thirty seconds of injury time as Cudicini followed his colleague Cech to the RBH after being flattened by Sonko at one of several Reading corners.<br /><br />Sadly, having knocked-out two Chelsea 'keepers we still had to take an unfortunate defeat on the chin but it was heads held high for us as Chelsea celebrated wildly at the end which can only be seen as a compliment to Reading's spirit, attitude, drive and endavour. There was a flashpoint right at the death as the Chelsea bench mirrored the cheating antics of their players - so brilliantly mocked by the Reading crowd's '<em>divers</em>' mime - by refusing to return the ball for a Reading throw-in and a seething Kevin Dillon dived in. The incident was unusually well dealt with by Riley in conjunction with his forth official and a member of the Chelsea staff was banished from the touchline. <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> is only sorry that Jose Mourinho didn't take the hiding he so deserves in the melee.<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, Murty (Bikey, 36), Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Seol (Little, 64), Sidwell, Harper, Hunt, Doyle, Lita (Long, 73). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Stack, Gunnarsson.<br /><br /><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Sonko. Our own heavyweight kept Drogba in his pocket.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14772428.post-1159794264541881352006-10-02T14:00:00.000-07:002006-10-02T09:18:40.200-07:00PARD LUCK West Ham 0-1 Reading<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/1600/PARDS.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/7805/1347/320/PARDS.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><p>Hell hath no fury like a football club scorned. It is now almost an unwritten rule of football that ex-Reading managers are doomed to fail miserably when they come up against their former club; Mark McGhee had a wretched record against us, Alan Pardew has come away from the MadStad on both of his return visits thus far with egg all over his face and he could probably see yesterday's defeat for his out of form team coming. Reading have no such concerns and consolidate their top half place with this latest victory.</p><p>Whilst we will never totally forget, it becomes much easier to forgive the betrayal of former managers - McGhee and Pardew both owe RFC a great deal for it was Mr Madejski who twice took a punt on untried ex-players with no managerial experience - when their current circumstances are so hilariously dire. Mr McGhee has plenty of time to do the DIY at home these days having been sacked by League One nonentities Brighton last month whilst Pardew might find himself with an ideal opportunity to attend to his backyard which presumably has gone uncared for since put on gardening leave by Reading a little over three years ago when Pards made clear his intentions to breach his contract and move to West Ham.</p><p>Quite why the West Ham job was seen by Pardew as a <em>bigger deal</em> is anyone's guess. A club who have always been <em>also rans</em> in terms of the top flight of english football without a trophy to their name in over a quarter of a century, playing in an unlovely, tight ground in a horrible part of London doesn't sound overly appealing. Add to this all the abuse Mr Pardew has taken from the <em>loyal</em> Hammers followers when things were not going as well as expected; as jobs go it sounds about as appealing as being Wolfgang Priklopil's housekeeper. With a new owner waiting in the wings, a pair of misfiring Argentinians struggling to fit in and five defeats on the spin after this latest loss perhaps Pards might reflect that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. </p><p>The electrical storm over East London before kick off was perhaps an apt metaphor for this latest thunderous chapter in Pardew's career. Along with almost 3,000 other vocal Royals fans, <strong>Floyd on Football</strong> took a pre match soaking en route to Upton Park but within barely 90 seconds of kick off we were all shaking ourselves dry again, leaping around with delight as Convey's short freekick was received by <strong>SEOL</strong> who danced through the puddles like Gene Kelly in <em>Singing in the Rain</em> before unleashing a twenty five yard pearler past the helpless Carroll. Pardew must have felt like a right drip, his reign further undermined in the rain.</p><p>West Ham were a shambles in the first half and Reading eased through the opening forty five with Sonko at his imperious best at centre half throwing himself across a sodden pitch to block Konchesky's purposeful run and Hahnemann dealing relatively comfortably with long range efforts which slipped through the mud in front of him. Going forward West Ham seemed laboured; toothless Tevez could only test us from distance and one or two of his efforts came closer to landing in Essex than Hahnemann's net. Pardew's familiar liking for immobile lumps up front can be the only explanation for the inclusion of the quite dreadful Carlton Cole and only the probings of Benayoun and substitute Sheringham really came close to unsettling Reading in the second half.</p><p>This was by no means a complete Reading performance; Doyle and Lita seemed to get washed away in the rain and the longer the game went on the more we gave the ball away as regularly as a tax-dodging student handing out flyers. Sheer guts got us through, never more in evidence when Steve Sidwell threw himself at Benayoun's lob to get his ginger nut to the ball with Hahnemann beaten. The ball ended on top of the net rather than nestling inside it and a roar of relief went up from the travelling army who taunted and teased the hapless Pards throughout. The vocal away support also included famous Reading boy Chris Tarrant. Perhaps he could have offered Pardew a <em>lifeline</em> - Pards would probably choose to <em>phone a friend</em>, his good pal Mr Coppell, to ask how one manages to maintain a winning team.</p><p><strong>Reading</strong>: Hahnemann, De La Cruz, Shorey, Ingimarsson, Sonko, Seol (Hunt, 80), Sidwell, Harper, Convey (Gunnarsson, 77), Doyle, Lita (Long, 66). <strong>Subs not used</strong>: Stack, Bikey.</p><p><strong>Floyd's Favourite</strong>: Sidwell. Sodden conditions could not extinguish ginger flame.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0