Caversham Kites 3 Wokingham and Emmbrook 6 (Mulvaney 3 Butler 1 Saynor 1 Zanthoulis 1)

This was one of those games in which Cheerios played an essential part: in their original form, variations and own-brand imitations. As Ciara raced through to score the opening goal, someone made an enquiry of her dad as to what she had for breakfast. Honey Nut Cheerios. Prior to the game, a mini conference was convened in the bar of the ferry, at which Ciara’s dad was absent. ‘What did you have for breakfast, Evan?’ asked Coach Michael in his booming Scouse tones. ‘Half a milky bar’ replied Evan, at a distinct tangent to the truth. I added that he’d also had Shreddies. ‘With warm milk or cold, Evan?’ asked Coach Peter calmly and with almost a hint of resignation. ‘And did you warm the milk up in the microwave or the pan, Evan?’ added Michael, strongly. Microwave. It transpired that only Thanasie, animated by toast, opted for a non-cereal pathway, with Connor going for straight-down-the-line Cheerios and Jack fuelled by cheerios with a small c, in their Morrison’s format.

Breakfast conversation over, we took to the Amsterdam Arena to engage in yet another North v South battle of mid-Berkshire with Caversham, this time in their ‘Caversham Kites’ manifestation. In the car park, their coach seemed perky. Apparently he had done some scouting on us and was quite confident of a win, if I understood him correctly. I also ventured over the bridge to test the temperature of Caversham Heights, the heartland of their operations. Emerging from a sideroom of The Grosvenor to an almost empty pub, the words of Michael Stipe came through the speakers: ‘Jesus loves me fine, and your words fall flat this time.’

Soon after Ciara’s opener, there was a bit of needle in the crowd. One of their shaven-headed (albeit to ameliorate the effects of baldness) supporters decided to trespass onto the pitch. Their goalkeeper took a goal kick and managed to score an own goal. ‘Just let him take it again ref. it’s a goal kick’ said the villager. I don’t understand how the ref managed to twist the rules so far that he was able to accommodate this statement, but somehow he did. No goal. The game then turned in the Kites’ favour and they hit back with two goals before half-time.

There’s a phrase which is repeated on Gardeners’ Question Time by the likes of Bunny Guinness, Chris Beardshaw and Anne Swithinbank: ‘Plant your earlies late and your lates early.’ I noted it down because I really wanted to shoehorn it into this report somehow. Well, Thanasie made an early run, but he made it late in the sense that it was spontaneous, an unpremeditated decision to break out of defence; it wasn’t practised. Evan put a perfectly weighted ball through to him and he scored: 2-2. Conversely, you can plant the idea of a late run early because late runs are known to be effective and are often rehearsed on the training ground. Another comment was ‘I inherited a tree peony, but I inherited it in the wrong place.’ That’s a difficult one to interpret. A further question related to where to re-pot a flowering gerbera: again, not an idea which particularly works in footballing terms.

Something which does work in footballing terms, however, is Connor Mulvaney. He scored three goals in the second half, one of which was an outstanding left footed shot which curled over the keeper and into the top corner. Evan added a neat finish and although the Kites pulled one back, justice was done in the end. However, I had to be careful not to stress the injustices of the game too strongly to Evan. I had to ensure he knew that our quarrel with Caversham was not ideological or motivated by religious or political differences. The other day, Evan, in a sort of mini role play, said in a lighthearted voice: ‘I’m a Catholic. I’m going to kill the Queen.’ Guess which aspect of history they had been taught earlier this month? How far from sanity do you have to migrate in order to cast Catholics as history’s primary aggressors? Time to ditch this topic, surely.

On the Chiswick Flyover after the game, he said: ‘Will we be anywhere near the houses of parliament? What’s going to happen there?’ I didn’t feel it appropriate to show him my one picture of politicians (Jeremy Corbyn and Gerry Adams out larging it), so just said it was a load of men and women arguing, a bit like on your school council but less civilised. This seemed to placate him, but he did burst into tears twice during Fulham v Preston because ‘the ref’s only being fair to them and not to us’ (true). I’m not really sure how to answer these points, particularly when they seem both true and part of a trend, so can only end with a couple of nods to people with great wisdom, humour and sanity who were in our thoughts today. Chris Doughty was in our thoughts because we chatted with him at the petrol station opposite Loddon Bridge Road- top lad. Jo Trott was in our thoughts because we hope you’re feeling better this weekend and dedicate you the victory!

Wokingham and Emmbrook U7’s 4 Caversham Arrows 8 (Mulvaney 2, Sexton, Parry) BYDL Cup Round 2

 

After a somewhat questionable managerial debut two weeks ago, I was summoned to a downstairs room of The Wokingham Masonic Centre to meet with officials from the upper echelons of the Wokingham and Emmbrook hierarchy. There was possibly nothing odd in that, given recent cuts to council budgets and a shortage of meeting space, but as my co-manager and I took our places among the caped brethren it soon became clear that the 20-1 defeat we presided over had not gone down too well, rousing the powers that be from their lodge-based slumber.

They were more than mildly shipped off, and as we were led towards the pillar of Boaz to bow in penitence- which we did not- they explained to us in complex pigpen cipher that, basically, we are a pair of morons. We have brought the town into disrepute, will now be tracked in perpetuity and will not be admitted to future games for an indefinite period. This makes today’s report quite tricky as once Evan was dropped off, I was left to retreat to Bulmershe Water Tower to watch what I could through binoculars and rely on text updates from the ever faithful Joe and Lewis Walker.

We were up against a team called ‘Caversham Arrows’ from an exotic region north of the River Thames I’m not entirely familiar with where you can go for a drink at The Griffin, The Moderation, The Alto Lounge, The Grosvenor, The Clifton Arms, The Crown on the Bridge, The Island, The Prince of Wales, The White Horse, The Gardeners’ Arms or- if you prefer Wetherspoon’s- The Baron Cadogan. If you’re not careful in Caversham Heights, you’ll end up in Mapledurham or Woodcote- the outskirts of Oxford, even. While Lower Caversham has a slightly grittier reputation, don’t be fooled by the upper area’s appearance of bucolic charm. You never know what goes on behind those net curtains, the pills that are popped, the barrenness of the cultural desert trudged through every day.

So these boys come from a different place, a place which no-one has been to. From what I can gather of the game, they scored WITHIN a second, and added 3 more very quickly. In the water tower, Text 1 read: ‘5 mins gone, 0-4. Mulvaney on.’ ‘Mulvaney on’ meant Mulvaney had been off- and I was sitting there in wet jeans and trainers, seething. How can you start a game without Connor Mulvaney? How can you set up a meeting with local freemasons for the people who helped you out, and then leave Connor Mulvaney- your own son and nephew- on the bench? Evan’s really great, Mark’s great- they all contribute in different ways, sometimes outstandingly. But Connor tends to be beyond great. He’s a Glen Campbell among Noel Gallaghers. You do not leave Glen Campbell on the bench, even if he has Alzheimer’s. Glen Campbell needs to be on the pitch, playing. Noel Gallagher isn’t fit to tie his shoelaces, isn’t fit to wipe his arse. Text 2: ‘Half-time 5-4 down. Mulvaney’s turned it.’ Obviously! Yes Connor, we’re back in the game son!

In the second half I was able to find a slightly better vantage point to the side of the tower, but could still only see blobs of red and orange, and then one blob of orange and several blobs of red. It was hard to work out what was going on, but then suddenly I heard a roar and saw the orange blob advance with a cry of ‘CHARGE!’ In Under 7’s football, the opposing team have to wait on the halfway line to allow the goalkeeper to roll the ball out to the defenders. This is supposed to cultivate a passing game and reduce the pressure on defenders. However, Wokingham and Emmbrook found a way around this by waiting on the halfway line and then re-enacting the Charge of the Light Brigade whenever the keeper released it. Even from a distance, I could sense the hilarity this provoked, though it was ultimately unsuccessful as a strategy. Final text: ‘8-4 final score, councillor gone, come back in for the team talk.’ I’m glad I did because Evan was awarded Man of the Match, apparently having pulled the strings in midfield to engineer an- albeit abortive- comeback, executing some tricky skills along the way to pick up the trophy.

Westwood Wanderers Colts U7s 1 Wokingham and Emmbrook U7s 2 (Dance, Mulvaney)

n.b. This was a cup game with a later kick-off time of 10:30

Sometimes a seemingly innocuous moment or conversation at training can prefigure what’s to come on Saturday. On Thursday evening, Evan and Mark ran out onto the dark and uneven surfaces of Forest School’s car park. As he turned a corner, I yelled ‘EVAN!’, but Mark’s mum was sanguine. She said “Well Mark is the George Best of the team, you know.”
I wasn’t so sure. “Really?”
“Yes, we had Amelia (the coach’s daughter) round the other day and Mark gave her a Fanta. Her dad told me that she normally only has water.”
It seems that Amelia benefitted from the sugar rush because her commitment to Cruyff turns and drag backs paid off in style and when I mentioned to Mark’s mum that the team were playing well, she said “Yes, it’s probably because of the lie in.” A lie in for a six-year-old? Again, that’s news to me, but Mark’s maverick, Fanta-driven worldview seems to have its benefits when the kick-off is pushed back. He was committed, effective and demonstrated a (hitherto undetectable) mental alertness which made him a vital component of the team.

Another important conversation was one conducted by text message with Marjie Walker, hardened supporter and the Wokingham and Emmbrook firm’s ‘top boy’, as it were, along with the sartorially elegant Joe Walker. As you may know, Marjie is ultra-conversant with the ways of the iphone, and when arranging a ‘meet’ is able to baffle and befuddle even the most proficient of emoji users and linguists, of which I am not. On this occasion she outwitted both the Westwood Wanderers crew and Woodley Cyber Crime Squad in just a few words by opting for French: ‘Tu veux un cafe a Costa a demain? Je t’emporterai un grande latte si tu veux?! Sucre ou non? A bientot’ (accents included). So having managed to outwit the authorities by a variety of means to gain entrance to the facility, the support they offered, at the peak of Woodley’s monsoon season, genuinely buoyed the team as they sought to contend with Westwood Wanderers’ niggly and ill-timed challenges.

Against the run of play, Wanderers took the lead in the first half, but the second half belonged to Wokingham. From one free-kick, Evan shot from well inside his own half (a cleaner strike you will not see), but it was saved as it dipped towards the top corner. An equaliser wasn’t long in coming though, with Josh Dance calmly finishing from close range sfter sustained pressure. When it looked as if we were heading for extra time, another free kick was awarded and this time it was star man Connor Mulvaney’s turn. There seemed to be something curious about the angle he approached the ball at, but what do I know? As his left foot connected, well…he pinged it unstoppably into the far corner, sending Wokingham and Emmbrook through to the next round. As Evan was excitedly speaking through the fence after the game, he was taken out, ambushed by our resident George Best’s exuberant embrace. Evan got up, clipped his heels and they were off running again.

This was a victory for spirit and creativity, both on and off the pitch, so it was fitting that fans left the ground singing both ‘Autumn Almanac’ by The Kinks and Ray Davies’ ‘Next Door Neighbour.’

‘Friday evenings, peeeeeeople get together,
Hiiiiiiiiding from the weather.
Tea and toasted, buttered currant buns
Can’t compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer’s all gawn.’

‘Mr. Smith, another story
I wonder what became of him?
They say he threw the telly through the window
He went berserk and jacked the whole world in
They say he may have hit rock bottom
Still, he went out with a BANG and so he is not forgotten.’