Wilderspool Causeway

‘They didn’t know where they were going, but there knew where they were wasn’t it.’ Wandering around Prospect Park, having dropped Evan off to walk with a friend, I did 3000 steps before eventually finding the pitch in a slight depression screened off by trees. The drive in to the park was very dodgy for a start, somehow resulting in being funnelled into a car boot sale. I could have displayed some unsaleable or fairly dubious items: Fulham shirts, empty Lucozade bottles, half-used ointments and grammar guides. I might as well have done, because the next half an hour was a passage of futility which brought me close to tears, to be honest. I checked the text directions: ‘From the main car park, follow the path down.’ This was a problem – which way? And how does the massive car boot sale car park relate to the main car park? ‘You will see a pitch on the right.’ On the right of where? ‘Go across the pitch.’ Well, the refs were checking studs and watches, communal prayers and team talks were over and the games were about to kick off…walking across a pitch could have incurred a fine or complaint to the league authorities from the taciturn of Tilehurst or the addled of Andover or whatever variety of the half dead were there. ‘Behind the trees there is another pitch’ – trees in every direction. ‘It’s fairly hidden from the path’…

The only strategy I could think of, as I knew we were supposed to be on Pitch 1, was to quickly ask a referee or volunteer if they knew where I needed to go. The first one said ‘Nightmare ennit. This is Pitch 1, I’m sure.’ I walked over to a guy beside the next pitch: ‘This is Pitch 1 mate – definitely.’ Options were limited now. I stopped pacing around and just accepted I’d have to go back to the car boot sale and maybe salvage something from there. Ambling along, I had one last scan of the park and realised there was actually only one significant path that ran through it and that the bigger portion of the park was indeed to the right of this path, though almost all of the pitches were to the left. Way over to the right was a significant group of oak trees and, just behind, a flash of orange. The game was obviously in progress, and I’d taken 35 minutes to locate it from the car park.

This was the first league game of the season and officially the first competitive game the team have ever played; they would now be playing for points and league positions, whereas in previous years league tables and records were only kept by the odd anorak parent. Caversham, a historic site of Christian pilgrimage and some well tended parks and gardens, as recognised as recently as 1770 in Thomas Whately’s Observations on Modern Gardening, is traditionally a place of Royalist sensibilities whereas Wokingham, attacked by Reading during the civil war, is generally Republican. I think it would be a mistake, though, to see today’s game as a recapitulation of that conflict. In fact, the parents were very quiet indeed – there were certainly no political or militaristic cries from those who crossed the river from Caversham or the flatlands from Wokingham to arrive in a field in Tilehurst at 8:30 am on a Saturday morning.

Instead, there seemed to be a quietly supportive energy surrounding the pitch. There was no-one shouting ‘Listen to the talk’, ‘You’re a muppet, lino’ or ‘We’ve gone quiet ent we boys’ – in fact, there was almost an other-wordly sense of calm. Games seem to alternate like that. Sometimes it feels like there’s something major brewing, as in the scene from Mike Bassett, England Manager when the England and Ireland teams arrive in an airport terminal building at the same time, and sometimes it feels like the brewing equipment just isn’t there. This was definitely in the latter category – Wokingham & Emmbrook played with a kind of nonchalance and assuredness on the ball, as if the voids in the pinball machine had been sealed for them by the Central Berkshire football gods, or something. Nearly everything they did worked, and nearly everything Caversham did faltered, but just slightly. It would seem almost unfair to single any Wokingham players out, but I would say that Kian Smith, returning after a season with the district team, dictated the tempo of the game brilliantly from defence, passing intelligently and driving forward with pace to catalyse attacks. Mason Ralph was also very lively up front, and without wishing to seem biased, new signings Harvey and Evan (both Fulham fans) linked up excellently in midfield before being substituted by spreadsheet at half-time. The coach recognised afterwards that the duo’s composure and range of passing were greatly missed in the second half and that he would have to think about re-evaluating the squad rotation policy in future weeks. That said, there were some excellent players on the bench, such as the marauding Connor Mulvaney, so perhaps equal game time for all is still the fairest compromise?

With two early goals from Mason Ralph, the game was seemingly over before it had really begun, though it has to be noted that defensively – midfield included – the team are far from a parked bus, with several recovery challenges suggesting that on a different day they may have been punished for hesitation and an element of sloppiness. Goalkeeper Leo Standing, though not quite the size and stature of Manuel Neuer, made some excellent saves and would have been a worthy man of the match if it wasn’t for young Ralph up front.

Overall, pre-match futility seemed to dissipate in the warmth of Tilehurst – and then again over toasties on the sun terrace opposite architectural salvage and an empty car park at the Costa del Showcase.

First half: Standing, Doyle, Uwannah, Newman, Smith, Saynor, Kimpton, Ralph, Ferguson-Newlove Subs: Mulvaney, Jackman, Webb

Second half: Standing, Doyle, Uwannah, Mulvaney, Jackman, Smith, Ralph, Ferguson-Newlove, Webb Subs: Kimpton, Saynor, Newman