Wilderspool Causeway

Instead of the therapeutic pines of Wokingham Without, today we would travel through the roundabouts of Bracknell Within – including Met Office – to double back to Larges Lane and the sloped playing fields of Ranelagh School for a league fixture against Berks Elite FC.

It was hard to get to grips with who they were or where exactly they had come from, shouts of ‘Come on Berkshire’ doing little to add clarity. This was in short supply for the Berks Elite players, too, as their manager was the living embodiment of the FA’s ‘How not to do it’ video. He yelled throughout the game, as if he was, say, Tom Waits filling in with the Pixies, projecting a jumble of incoherent sounds which only occasionally coalesced into a recognisable word like ‘SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE!’ The lads from Berkshire didn’t seem to know what he meant by this at all, confusion deepening as his level of apoplexy rose in inverse proportion to their grip on the game.

Bracknell needed to react to last week’s comprehensive cup defeat, and I needed to stop trying to find solutions myself to help Evan adjust to the new team, but just get a few things off my chest to the manager and let him take over; he listened well as I explained what Evan could do, and I decided to arrive separately to the game this week rather than potentially confuse him on the way there.  The pitch had a muddy tract through the middle, raising concerns about whether or not it will last throughout the autumn and winter. The game started slowly, with Bracknell dominating possession but unable to make a breakthrough until new signing Ieyan Qureshi (from the Junior Premier League) danced through the defence and rolled the ball nonchalantly past the keeper. He added another soon after, and after 15 minutes Evan entered the fray, immediately making a strong contribution with a left-footed,  volleyed pass into striker Jacob Barnes.

After a quiet game last week, Evan had received encouragement and constructive advice from the manager; he wanted Evan to play with more confidence, enjoy the game and believe in his ability. To that end, he gave him increased rather than reduced responsibility, asking him to take all corners and to push forward as much as possible. This paid off, with Evan whipping in some brilliant corners and arriving at the edge of the box to fire a first-time shot into the bottom corner. In the second half, he ran through on goal in a 2-on-1 situation, checked his run, looked up as if to pass then swept the ball into the bottom left corner. This was becoming a very good all round performance, and was enough for him to win him the Man of the Match trophy at the end. Another contender for this was the excellent Ashton Walker; his reading of the game at centre back is always superb, and he also popped up with two goals near the end to complete an excellent team performance.

It’s sometimes tricky to work out what the little hinge is to turn potential into something good. In this case, I think it was about relaxing. If you’re a Muslim who likes Werther’s Originals, for example, you have to check first – have a little word with the Imam or log on to a reputable ‘Halal or Haram’ website. It’s not a case of finding and blessing the Eddie Stobart lorries yourself – I don’t think – though maybe that wouldn’t hurt. It’s more a case of whether or not the Werther’s Originals are intrinsically good (Halal). You sometimes just need to check in with a higher authority first, and then you can unleash.

 

 

 

Being in Farnborough at 8:15 on a Saturday morning raises some of life’s fundamental questions, such as ‘Why am I here?’ Another one would be ‘What sort of long-gone karmic moment could signal ‘Farnborough’ for a future life?’ Why are we here?

After a good start to the season, which included a goal for Evan on his league debut against Eldon Celtic (too bitter to write about given scuffles between the two sets of parents – final score 3-1), another win and a draw, we drove through the therapeutic pines of Outer Crowthorne in a calm and optimistic fashion.

Whereas last week existential fears were calmed entirely by the absorbing quiet of the trees of Pinewood (final score 1-1), this week they were there in abundance and remained long after the final whistle. Hawley/Farnborough is mundane in the extreme, if that’s possible. There didn’t seem to be anything to live for. At least Wokingham Without/Pinewood had a sense of purpose and design to it, with peace in the aftermath of the closure of the London Open Air Sanatorium in 1966. You can still edge towards Crowthorne and have a wander between the giant sequoias of Wellingtonia Avenue. You can ramble around Finchampstead Ridges, smoke rising through the clearings. As far as I can see, Farnborough is a really horrible place with nothing to redeem it – a bit like Camberley. Where can you go to burn off the excess cortisol to reduce its level to merely ‘above average’ from ‘all you can feel’?

This was a cup game; Bracknell are a strong team in Division 2 (of 7) and Hawley are a strong team in Division 1. A real life comparison might be something like Leicester v Nottingham Forest or, to take an example from the Highland league, Inverurie Loco Works FC v Hill of Beath Hawthorn or Crossgates Primrose.

The first half was relatively even, believe it or not, and the score was 2-0 at half-time. Although Bracknell played meaningfully at times, they couldn’t really impose their rhythm on the game. The second half included a series of calamitous goalkeeping errors (Bracknell don’t have a goalie), shattering the team’s morale. Evan had played well on the left, but didn’t see much of the ball when moved into the middle in the second half. When it was his turn to sit off, I saw the manager speak to him for a good 3 or 4 minutes. Apparently Evan was told that he needs to approach the game with greater mental strength. I was disappointed he didn’t get a chance to take any free-kicks – he normally puts them away, but didn’t get a look in today. It’s not easy to settle into a new team, and after a crushing defeat in a nothing place like this it’s not easy to see why it’s worth it either.

Where’s the most depressing place you’ve visited in the UK? And how do you know it’s the most depressing place? After all, ‘The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’ That said, if pressed I would opt for Leekes in Melksham. It was brand new but felt dead. The air seemed stagnant and the shop was open plan so you could see all their deeply boring wares at once.

Despite being in the Royal Borough, Holyport is unlikely to qualify in many people’s minds as depressing, I would suggest. Apparently all sorts has happened there. It used to be a stopping off point for pilgrims making their way from Canterbury to St Davids and the green used to be a muddy pasture where drovers could allow their sheep to graze freely. There was also a pub called The Eagle, renamed The Belgian Arms because passing German prisoners of war used to offer up a salute as they passed. Holyport therefore seems to have a history of being for ordinary people rather than just the backwater monarchists you usually expect to find in that area.

The contingent they brought to Ranelagh’s playing fields today, whether they were lost or diverted pilgrims on a mission to the dead end of Larges Lane or touring monks disguised as footballers, were small in number but highly spirited. Evan was in goal for the first quarter, but didn’t touch the ball a single time, spending most of the time standing on the wheels of the goal. He said ‘I could have literally just got my deckchair out for 15 minutes.’ He had certainly unfolded his mental deckchair in full so I’m glad Holyport weren’t able to mount an attack, as who knows what would have happened. Holyport were under siege, but defended stoutly and were only a goal down at the first break. The team-talk at this point emphasised the importance of making thoughtful decisions rather than rushing: survey the space and release the ball – no need for winding, labyrinthine runs with your head lowered to the floor; the ball can move much faster than any individual, so send it into motion. Lower your pulses and calm down: that type of thing.

In the second half, Evan seemed to find his niche in central midfield, playing a series of excellent through balls through to the strikers and chipping in with a goal himself, controlling the ball from a cross and placing it into the corner. There was then a flurry of goals as Bracknell began to exploit the space down the channels, varying their play stylishly with attacks through the middle too. Holyport, to their credit, continued to put in maximum effort throughout – gathering in close proximity to each other like pied wagtails on an urban heat island – but ultimately would have to continue their journey empty handed, and god speed to them as they do so.

 

 

Evan’s first evening game (and therefore my first pre-match pint before one of his games – at The Jolly Farmer in Hurst) merits a short report before the league season starts in two weeks’ time. Reaching this local derby required a minor feat of fleet fingers on the SatNav; you have to know your Warfield from your Wargrave and negotiate some eccentric Bracknell roundabouts such as Frampton Bridge, Quelm Park and County Lane. If you get to Sheppee, you’ve gone too far. If you get to the Isle of Sheppey, you’ve gone way too far: all the way past Maidstone and over the Kingsferry Bridge.

The dilemma – for me if not Evan – has been whether he should stay at Wokingham where he was happy and the team were doing well, or move to Bracknell Town who play in a tough division of the East Berks league and have a mini academy set-up within the club. It’s not a decision I am ‘at peace’ with, but Evan has opted to move to Bracknell and play alongside Ronny, Solly, Oli, Seb, Ted, Ashton, Jacob, Sam, Josh, Josh and Lucas.

The pitch, bordered by dark banks of trees in the shadow of a dipping sun, was by far the biggest that any of the lads would ever have played on. Though this was supposedly a friendly, hefty challenges were flying in with regularity, and at one point Evan was studded in the thigh as he got to the ball before a Whitegrove lad. Lots of people gathered around, but this didn’t sit well with one Whitegrove player: ‘Oi, give him some space! Don’t crowd him.’ The first half was extremely tight and ended 0-0. With Evan playing left midfield, the consensus among the coaches seemed to be that he was doing well defensively, but that they would rather he worried the opposition rather than be worried by them. In the next phase of the game, this became a reality as he won the corner which led to the first goal – a lovely whipped cross/shot from Ronny – and was involved in some great attacking interplay down the left channel. Bracknell began to move the ball around at pace, judging the offside trap excellently to play weighted through balls beyond the Whitegrove defence, leading to a final score of 3-1. Evan has settled into the group very well, but I’m still unsure about the move. There’s another friendly on Saturday before the season starts for real a week after that, requiring many a trek through Binfield, Warfield, Ascot, Sunnymeads and beyond.

A cautionary note: this includes many of the typical circles of tournament hell, including captivity, penalties, heartache etc and as such is not supposed to reflect  negatively on the host club. Organisation was excellent, pitches were immaculate and beer was available. But still…

To start with, as mentioned above, it’s one of those tournaments in which you’re taken captive. Having already paid to enter the competition, you are then expected to pay to be funnelled into the area where the games take place. There was no alternative route in or out of the park. To exit on foot during the morning meant sneaking past a group of about 8 ladies from the Staines/Egham/Englefield Green area – fine, but not ideal. In return for paying for captivity, you receive an informative and well-designed programme which outlines the schedule for the day, the rules of the competition and some heavy messages for scouts. Basically, they too are captive but they’re also not allowed to talk to anyone; they have to go to the ‘control tent’ so they can be monitored at close quarters by tournament officials. Also, wherever you went, the following sign was always there to meet you: ‘These are kids. This is a game. The coaches are volunteers. The referees are only human.’ Of course, everyone agrees with this. It would be hard not to. No-one thinks ‘These are adults. This is not a game. The coaches are paid. The referees are extra-terrestrials.’ Compared to the 80s, when there were no rules at all regarding parental conduct (for example, I remember fights breaking out on the touchline at Hanover Way in Windsor – not ‘posh’ btw), this sort of ethos is very welcome. But is it also a very subtle form of mind control?

1st Circle: Limb(o)ering Up

Elm Grove Wildcats 0 Wokingham & Emmbrook 0

We arrived in Englefield Green at 8:30 on a Saturday morning to play a team from Hersham – great. Having travelled through Bracknell and Ascot, we could have gone via Virginia Water but ended up skirting Windsor town centre for a depressing drive through Old Windsor. If you can be in Old Windsor and not be depressed, then well done – the external world has  no bearing on you. I can be around the Great Park, though nostalgia is quite powerful, but other parts of Windsor trouble me as I remember two types of thug, and not much in between. There are the over-privileged, Jeremy Clarkson type thugs and the more ordinary/reactionary thugs – it’s probably a good coping mechanism to be one of these types. A theory is that this is an overreaction to  daily reminders of insignificance. In the presence of natural grandeur, it’s good to feel small – of course. In the presence of inherited human power and privilege, along with widespread total acceptance among everyone in the town that some human beings are inherently more valuable than others – not so much. Anyway, the game was fairly pleasant and low key. There was a lack of intensity,  although we did get a penalty in the second half when the buccaneering Stefan Webb got in front of a defender and was mercilessly chopped to the floor. Unfortunately the penalty was woefully sliced high and wide  under a low blanket of cloud obscuring the Canderel sun.

2nd Circle: abandon all hope.

Brunswick 5 Wokingham & Emmbrook 0

This was dire. Perestroika needed immediately. There was one funny moment though. Ryan’s granddad turned and said ‘I’m thinking conceptually from now on. Day to day matters bore me.’

(The tale of this game had a heartening coda later on, though.)

 

3rd Circle: fighting to the surface of the Styx.

Woking Cougars 0 Wokingham & Emmbrook 2 (Harris 2)

After the Brunswick debacle, Coach Justin took decisive action, calmly removing the team from parental distractions to a far corner of the field in order to work on some basic training routines. We were not playing with the intensity required for tournament football. Justin is a calm, mild mannered and cerebral coach who played to a good standard, including a spell at  Forest Green Rovers in Gloucestershire, but he said the key change needed was to be aggressive rather than tentative. This was thought-through rather than expressed in the heat of the moment; this allowed the tone of his communication to remain entirely positive as he held back from expressing frustration when it would have been pointless to do so – when we were 3-0 down in the preceding game, for example. If criticism had been levelled then, confidence may have been dented beyond repair and I’m not sure such a strong and coherent performance against Woking Cougars would have been possible. It was a pretty one-sided game, in the end, including two decisive close range finishes from striker Hayden Harris and a determined, composed effort all round. But with only one win so far, was the tournament all but over?

 

4th Circle: Treachery. Hosts consigned to icy Englefield Green waters.

Manorcroft United 0 Wokingham & Emmbrook 1 (Harris)

The last group match was a must-win game for both teams. Our players would have to overcome Manorcroft on the pitch and block out the noise generated by a relatively large contingent of loud adults (about 20 or so) on home territory. It was a tense game but Evan and William in defence were composed  and determined while the attacking players generated good momentum going forward. But a goal was essential, and even then we could only hope to qualify for the next round as one of the best third placed teams. While we wanted freedom, we didn’t want to be ‘sent’ to it – we wanted it to be the result of natural causes, such as the tournament ending and it being time to go. With 3 or 4 minutes to go, the ball fell to Hayden at the edge of the box who slammed it into the top of the net, ushering in an intermediate state in which we’d have to wait for word from the control tent as to our destiny.

5th Circle: Penalties

Brunswick 0 Wokingham & Emmbrook 0

Oddly, the draw for the quarter final paired us with Brunswick, the outfit from Fulham who thrashed us in the second game. Hayden’s family  had arrived mob- handed from Bracknell, whereas the Brunswick players must have come by minibus – no-one from the Chelsea area of Fulham, where the club’s based,  had roused themselves to support their young. This made the character and maturity displayed by the players even more impressive. In contrast to the group game, Wokingham & Emmbrook dominated the match from start to finish. The ball was hardly in our half, and we were untroubled, making the earlier game so hard to understand. Their keeper and defence was impressive, though, and we just couldn’t quite find a goal. As the game wore on, extra-time seemed likely. Evan had to leave the pitch, suffering with a recurrence of the asthma that had kept him off school earlier in the week. The dilemma, though, was that he’s generally a set-piece specialist and would be required again if the game went to penalties. Should he take his inhaler and go back on, or sit it out and let others take responsibility? We had missed a penalty in the first game – shockingly – so the omens weren’t necessarily great. Then again, the turnaround had been incredible. Tension seemed to double with every minute, even though rationally everyone knew it didn’t matter and it was only a game and all that. Eventually, the final whistle went, signalling penalties. I decided – rightly or wrongly – to encourage Evan to get back in the mix and put his hand up to take a penalty. He was given the fifth, and potentially most important, penalty. We were up first and William, our calm centre back who played like Tomas Kalas in the quarter final, stepping in front of attackers to win the ball,  stepped up and side footed it into the net. Brunswick then scored their first penalty – an excellent strike into the top corner. Our second penalty was smashed against the bar; Brunswick then dispatched their second. Hayden stepped up to take our second penalty – and scored. Again, Brunswick scored their third with no problem whatsoever: 2-3 after 3 penalties each. Our 4th – a great strike – unfortunately hit the post. Still 2-3.  Brunswick had to score their 4th penalty to win. ‘Keeper Leo saves it, meaning that Evan’s penalty had to be scored if we were to remain in the tournament. I was providing live updates to absent parents so missed his long walk to the spot. He normally scores penalties quite easily though. He struck it well and with composure towards the top corner and immediately dissolved into tears as the ‘keeper tipped it round the post to knock us out. With emotions raised to such a level, we left with the question we had at the start: what was the point of all this? It’s good if it’s a learning experience, but awful if you feel you’ve let everyone down. Taking the 5th penalty, that feeling is inevitably heightened. It was essential to quickly counteract the idea that a single person had let the team down. Unbelievably, a Brunswick player, instead of celebrating with his teammates, did the bulk of that work himself with such impressive maturity. He walked straight up to Evan and gave him a full on hug followed by a motivational talk. In Evan’s words he said ‘Look at me. Look at me. You came back from losing 5-0 to us earlier to being the best team just now and you were one of the most important players. Don’t think you’ve let your team down.’ Unbelievable from the lad and so appreciated. We were finally free to go, but stayed at least an hour longer over £3.50 cans of Doom Bar and a cathartic  filmed post-mortem interview between Evan and former coach Michael who had watched on encouragingly and put the whole thing into perspective.

 

 

 

 

A strong planetary breeze affected today’s game against Woodley United. Technically it was a ‘fresh breeze’, which sounds gentle but is actually between ‘moderate’ and ‘strong’ on the official charts. Whatever terminology you want to use, it felt strong enough to make training plans all but useless. This was just as well because at the end of Tuesday’s session Coach Peter knelt down to check the players’ understanding of what they had just learned. He was met with total silence. Eventually Connor decided to take a punt with ‘Erm…passing, shooting, tackling, movement.’ This was not the right answer. Sensing this, other players chimed in to help. One ventured ‘Time’ and another went with ‘Space’.

We were playing a team we had beaten a few weeks ago and whose manager was a compact and slightly mischievous Phil Daniels type figure. Thankfully we had our own characters in the team who could contend with anything the elements, the opposition, the manager or his coterie could throw at us. Notable in this regard was Josh Dance, who arrived as if fresh from a meeting of the Lower Earley Psychedelic Society, with an outlandish coat and hat combo in stark contrast to the official orange and black livery of Wokingham & Emmbrook FC. He wasn’t even at training, so would be carrying neither the psychic baggage of incomprehension nor the subconscious lessons learned through practice. He would follow the beat of his own drum, but ironically become the best example of what the other players couldn’t articulate: the ability to get back behind the ball quickly when we lost it and pass it decisively when we found it.

In the first half we were against the wind, and the Woodley manager obviously felt ‘Confidence is a preference’ and encouraged his players to belt the ball into the stratosphere. On one of these occasions it seemed to take a month long vacation before dipping into our half, bouncing and looping over the keeper and into the goal. We tried to defend against this style and keep the ball on the carpet as much as possible, but who could honestly blame Woodley for working with the elements?

At half-time, Peter went for it. It was a kind of Warnock/De Niro/Ferguson mix with a Scouse twist: ‘Youse can win this game. Youse are going to win this game but you have to make it happen. The wind is not going to gift you this game…’. He then went around the team with a quick hard-hitting precis of their efforts so far. They could stay there and get the shit kicked out of them or they could fight their way back – to the light.

But the second half started with indecision and a lachrymose defence. Woodley scored an outstanding goal as they worked the ball down the right before whipping it in for their central midfielder to score an excellent volley: 2-0.

As this point, Peter’s motivational capacities went into overdrive; Connor was playing right-back but he needed him to make gut-busting runs forward. Ciara, at centre-back, was having the game of her life, regularly surging forward 20 yards into midfield to win the ball against boys nearly twice her size; she was absolutely superb and without a shadow of a doubt worthy of the player of the match award she received at the end; Mark and Jack were fighting meaningfully in midfield and the whole team were trying to shift the momentum in our favour. But despite the effort, balls flew wide and over the bar rather than at the goal, and we were always susceptible to a counter-attack as we committed players forward.

It seemed like it was going to be ‘one of those games’, but such was our determination that  faint hopes of revival couldn’t quite be extinguished. Evan – out of action due to illness this week – came on for a second half cameo and though he struggled with the pace of the game, whipped in a quality ball with about 5 minutes to go. Josh, perhaps resurgent as he looked forward to a restorative gong bath back at the centre, or a visit to the Crystal Sound Lounge on Carshalton Way,  glanced the ball into the corner to score only the fourth header in the team’s history. It was so well deserved, but would it lead to another? Time was running out, and Woodley were no mugs.

Then, seeming disaster. Woodley sought to record a riposte in short order and committed players forward in an attempt to compound their lead. The ball bounced around in the box, and indefatigable Ozzy in goal was left 3 on 1. He saved the first strike, parried the rebound and then sought to claw the ball away from the line after a Woodley player thought he’d scored. The ball was then kicked out of Ozzy’s hand/hands (was it one or two?) and into the goal. I must admit here that I thought a 3-1 Woodley win would be unfair so sought to influence the ref as much as possible. ‘It was kicked out of his hands ref!’ (I really didn’t know, but it could have been). The ref said no goal and it was back to a goal kick but with time running out.

In the final throes of the game, Connor – uncomprehending at the end of training – threw himself forward but his skill seemed thwarted by Woodley’s defence, who wisely gathered in central positions on the edge of the box. Mark fired an excellent half volley just over the bar. The Woodley goalkeeper took as much time as he possibly could over every manouevre, at one point smashing the ball as far as he could into the recesses of Sol Jol Park when it was our ball (there are no yellow cards at this level, so he could effectively do what he liked). One of those games? Not quite. In a final attack, with the box packed, Connor translated his dad’s instructions to seize the moment into a lunge through whatever was in his way to connect with the ball and send it with a deflection off the keeper into the top corner to earn a draw with all but the last kick of the game.

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.