Wilderspool Causeway

From the low-lying fog of Winnersh to the crisp afternoon sunlight of Maiden Erlegh, yesterday, to a dank Sol Joel park this morning, Evan played two games in as many days, emerging from both on the winning side after an assured defensive display in each game. In the school game he was slightly reticent as the majority of players were from the year above, but this simplified his play and made it more economical. That’s easier to practise on Astro-turf or 4G than on the kinds of pitches available in Earley at this time of year. It feels poignant whenever we play there, as my friend Geoff used to live on Mays Lane and had an association with Earley St. Peter school which, along with the church, is tucked just behind the park’s Jubilee Pavilion and is clearly visible from the pitch.

In terms of spectators, we were relatively mob-handed today, with Josh bringing his parents, his brother and a set of grandparents (all Arsenal fans), Hayden accompanied by his giant of a dad who describes himself as a ‘man with no filter’ (just to give an example, he accidentally mentioned to me at the end that the opposition manager was a ‘f***in’ bell end’. This was during the post-match debrief and not entirely out of earshot of the team), Mark blessed by the presence of Uncle Clive, his mum and a small dog, Connor with his Bristol-dwelling Liverpudlian grandma in support, along with his mum and sister, and Thanasie and Ozzy both with steadfast parents to cheer them on – one Greek and one, if I remember rightly, from somewhere near the Pevensey Levels.

Last time we played them, the Reading manager was relatively anti-social but today he had quite a positive vibe about him to begin with, coming up before the game to ask if we could spot any grass on the pitch. The game was relatively even, with both teams trying to string some passes together and make the best of the conditions, but Wokingham & Emmbrook were the more clinical of the two, taking the lead after Connor burst down the wing and squared the ball to Hayden who side-footed it home with marginally less lugubriousness than usual.

Evan was reading the game with relative comfort at centre back, but while Reading City were able to play some good passing football, they lacked a cutting edge or a leader: someone who could change the tempo of the play and take the sting out of our high energy attacking players and midfield scamperers. Whatever the line up these days, we seem to always have  two or three players who make a nuisance of themselves through what could be termed ‘generalised endeavour’; they rarely make a single decisive contribution, but are always in amongst the action simply as frustrating presences. This often opens the door for our more clinical players to find greater space in the final third. I wonder if a parallel can be drawn to other fields? Are there people who are underestimated because they always put a seemingly misguided and uneconomical shift in, rarely do anything spectacular yet still ‘put themselves about’, wittingly or unwittingly allowing others to flourish? Does this mean that these people flourish without realising it?

I remember going to watch an interview with the author Richard Ford in which the interviewer could have been interpreted as a rambling fool. His questions were convoluted and he generally seemed to talk too much. I overheard someone questioning his style, implying that he was unjustly taking some of the limelight for himself. But could this have been a deliberate strategy, putting the author at ease and giving him time to formulate responses while questions consistently edged into the realm of wittering? Afterwards when we went to get our novels signed, Richard Ford said ‘John’s such a great guy to talk to.’ The interviewee probably didn’t want short, open questions and vast tracts of time in which to answer them. Likewise, it may not be ‘good’ to deliberately create a hazard when you see a learner driver, yet my driving instructor used to take me to nob around in High Wycombe or on Oxford Road, deliberately seeking hazards. His voice still haunts me at times: ‘Get it done’ (gear change), ‘Pick another one’ (not that gear), ‘Where’s that left foot?’ (he liked it resting on the floor for some reason) and ‘I can’t teach you anything more about this – you’re going to have to learn it yourself (negotiating the Black Boy roundabout). I just had to persevere with some generalised endeavour until it clicked – an underrated idea?
By half-time it was 2-0 after Connor played a perfect diagonal ball through to Mark who found himself in acres of space to slot it under the ‘keeper.

The second half was scrappy, with the only goal being a penalty after a fairly soft foul. A few more fouls and very minor scraps occurred, but the one the Reading manager found unforgivable, causing him to lecture the ref at the end and omit to shake our hands, was committed by Ozzy who while racing a player to the ball decided to push him in the back rather than attempt a valid tackle. It was a foul, but not a sickening act of aggression or anything like that. Coach Pete even turned to their manager and said ‘Yes, that’s a good shout. You’re right. I’ve told him not to do that.’ This wasn’t enough, apparently. It seemed to fit the coach’s narrative to see us as inveterate foulers, a poisonous club from top to bottom. There’s a – now slightly overused  – poster going around these days to the effect that ‘The coaches are volunteers, the refs are human beings, the parents are doing their best and it’s all for fun anyway. It’s not the Simod or World Cup Final .’ The sentiment is true. If the ref didn’t see an incident, or perceived it differently to you, how can you expect a certain decision? Leave them alone.

So overall this was a good performance in tricky conditions, and everyone just needs to chill out – apart from those who can’t or won’t chill out, and who bust their guts  uneconomically and to no discernible effect.