Wilderspool Causeway

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.

AFC Whitchurch 1 Wokingham and Emmbrook 9 (Harris 3, Saynor 2, Mulvaney 2, Xanthoulis, Parry)  January 5th, Solomon Jol Park

The new year started with a ridiculous game against AFC Whitchurch from the West Country. They are maybe more suited to an aquatic lifestyle or the slowly unfolding  intrigues of rural life than a 40 minute football match on land – churned up, at that – in East Reading. They need freedom: how can you condense your experience into the narrow parameters of a football pitch in restricted time?

The manager looked like Louis Balfour, the proprietor of the jazz club in ‘The Fast Show.’ He was a very chilled out guy but his team’s offerings were perhaps too ‘nice’ for what was required in the situation they were in. Their goalkeeper, though, was an absolute legend, vocally. After scoring a goal, our surly striker remained surly, as if celebrating would be beneath him: ‘You don’t really seem to be enjoying yourself’, said the keeper. This was perfect: a little bit of needle to remind our player that he hadn’t really won and that nothing could be done to damage the goalie’s morale. Even with his own players, instead of tantrums the banter was good-humoured: ‘Can we start kicking the ball the other way please?’

Once the score reached 6-0, an odd and problematic rule came into effect which permits the losing team  to field an extra player. In Louis Balfour’s case, though, they were no extra boat people to field so Coach Peter ambled up to offer him one of our subs. This wasn’t received as a ‘nice’ idea. ‘Don’t patronise me with your charity’ seemed to be the unspoken thrust of it, but he did reluctantly accept not one but two of our players and was then proved correct in his concerns as the plan backfired monumentally with us scoring even more goals as confusion reigned in the Whitchurch camp. Perhaps this was just a foggy beginning to the new year for Whitchurch and they will soon find some footballing  buoyancy to match the spirit of their more-than-psychologically-afloat goalkeeper.

Maidenhead 2  Wokingham & Emmbrook 1 (Harris) January 12th, Solomon Jol Park

This was one to forget. Also, there’s something about Maidenhead – the town, the people, the idea – that I find difficult to engage with.

Our efforts weren’t helped by forgetting to bring one of our players to the game. Coach Peter scrambled back to Woosehill to collect him in time for kick-off, but in the meantime I had supervised a shambolic warm up. The balls were flying all over the place and I wasn’t really able to rein it all in. They just seemed intent on slight, mischievous non co-operation: nothing you could quite put your finger on. We therefore had a very sluggish and unsuccessful start to the game.

In contrast to the Whitchurch manager, the Maidenhead ‘allenatore’ – with his headband and flowing locks – was an extremely energetic fellow, with a constant torrent of advice and gesticulatory energy radiating from his being.

We came back from 2-0 down with a rare headed goal and were ascendant when the ref brought the game to a close with brutal finality.

Centre Skills 2  Wokingham & Emmbrook 0  BYDL Cup Quarter Final (Solomon Jol Park, January 19th)

Centre Skills – what does that name even mean? I assume there’s a centre somewhere, presumably in Tilehurst, at which people display skills. But isn’t that like naming a road ‘Driving Surface’ or a school ‘Educational Setting’?  Centre Skills teams are very highly competent and clearly receive good coaching, but in some cases had come to represent some of the more unsavoury aspects of the game. For example, one of our teams refused to play them ever again after a Wokingham player was clattered into the boards at the Goals Centre in Woodley; their coaches would call out phrases like ‘That’s it, hit them harder’ – the teams were made up of seven-year-olds. With this in mind, the identity of our opponents was shrouded in secrecy until 5 minutes before kick-off. We didn’t want the psychological collywobbles to kick in ahead of time.

In fact, though, our fears were totally unfounded. They were a good side, as would be expected at this stage in the competition, but more importantly they could hardly have been friendlier. There seems to have been a cultural shift, or maybe it was just one toxic guy causing all the problems before. I did notice that club founder Michael Boahene, once of Reading FC and a reputedly excellent coach, arrived in the second half to watch and offer some coaching; perhaps he circulates around as many Centre Skills teams as possible to cultivate a consistent atmosphere and approach across the club. After the game, their parents gathered around our team to say what a good game it was and how well we played.  As for that, we could have played until the sun had ceased its internal thermonuclear reactions, all student debt was void and John Redwood was finally out of Wokingham: we still wouldn’t have scored. The curtain could have been brought down on mankind as the sun dissolved, leaving nothing but Sports Direct to form another big bang, and we would only have rattled the bar; it was just one of those games.

Reading City 1 Wokingham & Emmbrook 3 (Mulvaney 2, Harris) January 26th, Woodford Park

Speaking of teams with unfathomable names, this one takes the biscuit for obvious reasons. The Democratic Socialist Republic of Reading would at least be meant ironically. How can you justify a thought process which leads to naming a club ‘Reading City’? Before the game, I approached their manager as there was a bit of confusion as to which pitch we were on: ‘Yeah, what?’ was the response. That was it – I wanted to beat this silly team and their mope of a coach. But we’re told, these days, that’s it’s really important to ‘breathe’ so I responded in friendly tones and went off in search of the ‘player of the match’ wristband that had to be collected from a league official: a man, perhaps, who had graduated magna cum laude with a degree in Amiable Delay Tactics from the Federal Polytechnic of Lower Pangbourne and was now Emeritus Professor of Wristband Distribution at The University of Central Fifield, but the problem was that though we’d never met, he began to open up to me about recent serious health issues. He said ‘I’ve probably spoken to you before. I’ve just had major ____________. I wanted to grab the wristband, calm my view of Reading City and get back for kick-off but was now drawn into a saga. What’s more, I was then offered a free bacon roll while I listened, which I couldn’t turn down.

The opening part of the game is therefore a bit of a mystery, but it was still goalless when I arrived on the touchline. The game was close but Connor soon snatched at a chance to score, lofting the ball home with a left-footed volley. Evan was in a withdrawn role, playing as sweeper to calmly side-step the Reading forwards, keep possession and play some incisive balls forward.

Reading ‘City’ equalised after an excellent through ball – Pete and I instinctively clapped this and praised their midfielder. Did this soften the Reading manager’s heart? As the second half progressed, he seemed increasingly agitated but that could have been deceptive; he could have been evolving as a person on the inside. He even had a little pop at the ref at one point – something which is absolutely taboo at this level.

The game was tight, but we edged in front thanks to an excellent Hayden Harris free-kick. He was still relatively surly, but I’m not sure he quite fits Evan’s post-match description of a diva: ‘a diva is someone who’s given a small doughnut but cries because they wanted a big doughnut.’ That said, he will sometimes drop his head even after he’s scored a goal. From his perspective, he wanted to score a ‘better’ goal. From my perspective, a goal is a goal and it borders on arrogance to classify success as failure. Coach Peter won’t hear a word of that: Hayden’s disappointed in himself because he has high standards. But if you’re that self-critical, won’t you also be instinctively frustrated with others? That’s my thinking, but I suppose the jury’s out.

We soon scored another and Reading City struggled to regain a foothold  in the game. Their manager approached at the end, shook hands and said ‘Well done. The better team won’: a nice balm for the emotional frost nip of our first meeting.

 

 

Bracknell is not the most accessible place to run to, or the easiest place to leave. If you need to go for a run and complete one of your final Christmas purchases, though, but don’t want to drive through traffic, one of your options is to trot over there and back, culminating in being caught on one of the embankments of the Coppid Beach Roundabout, sandwiched between the A329(M) slip road and a muddy access route to nowhere, entangled in barbed wire and thorn bushes while hanging on to a tree so as not to slip onto the carriageway.

I started off, as usual, running along Old Forest Road with the motorway to my left across the fields and the dismal industrial units of Toutley Road straight ahead. This road now merges into a new road (Queens Road – note the lack of apostrophe) which leads to Twyford Road and the entrance to Cantley Park. Another option would normally be Bell Foundry Lane, but this is closed ‘except for access’ as all the land around it has been sold off for the construction of unaffordable homes (UH).

‘Except for access’ wouldn’t normally be a deterrent as you could access the road in order to leave it again at the other end. It looked pretty hazardous though, so I chose a route alongside the intensely waterlogged goalmouths of Cantley Park to a dog walkers’ lane leading to Wiltshire Road. Incidentally, part of Wokingham was once considered to be in Wiltshire rather than Berkshire: Cross Street outside The Ship used to be a boundary between the counties.

Wiltshire Road then merges with Warren House Road which eventually leads to The Warren, a sort of upmarket chain pub with little character. It’s the kind of place which has muted green paint on exposed wood as if to honour some kind of consensus nobody remembers being party to. Instead of turning towards The Warren, though, I continued to Keephatch Road, running on  driveways to avoid the inevitable dog walking couple who somehow become more than the sum of their parts, slowing and stopping at confusing angles while doing little to constrain the animal. Once at the end of Keephatch, I opted to run down Binfield Road, a lovely country road generally untroubled by traffic or building work. However, at the A329(M) bridge, this route was blocked with unmistakable finality by a high fence and a sign which simply said ‘road closed’. Turning back, I followed Binfield Road down to its junction with London Road, between St Crispin’s and The Three Frogs.

Crossing London Road, I decided to run down Priest Avenue. When doing this, don’t make the mistake of turning down Froghall Drive – Wokingham’s Bermuda Triangle: houses seem to bar access to a lake at the far end and once you realise that, you’ve lost time you won’t be able to recover. Priest Avenue, though, leads directly to Waterloo Road and away from Wokingham’s gravitational field. Ordinarily I would turn right towards Ludgrove, but this time turned left and immediately over the railway line onto a country road past Oakwood, a climbing centre with a Christian twist, and onto Peacock Lane.

You reach Bracknell quickly from here, as evident by an awful lot of UH and some contrived areas of ‘Open Space’. Any little patch of greenery is marked by a railing and a sign to tell you it’s there. Pretty soon, you see the Fujitsu building – a pleasing landmark – and it doesn’t take long to reach it, with a dilemma on your hands: do you just keep going into the wilderness of Wildridings, through Bill Hill Bronze Age Barrow, do you look left and hope there’s a way to somewhere meaningful through the gigantic network of Waitrose buildings or do you nip down onto a secluded, fenced-off path alongside the A3095? To find your way through Wildridings would be an absolute nightmare, but the secluded path and the Waitrose depots aren’t really enticing options either. In the end, I went down onto the path and upped the pace a bit for a kilometre or two, emerging from the huge underpass of the Twin Bridges roundabout to see a large Morrison’s sign which indicated the far end of The Peel Centre.

Sports Direct purchase secured, it was now 2 p.m. and I needed to be back in Emmbrook by 3:30 to facilitate a trip to Sainsbury’s in Winnersh to pick up some things for Iris before 4. However, I now had a bag and my muscles had ‘seized up a bit’ or at least felt too jaded now to be fired up to run and swing the bag around. I therefore didn’t run or jog back but opted for a fast walk. I had to slightly improvise the route though, as I didn’t want to end up entangled in a hazardous thicket on a verge of the Coppid Beach Roundabout. I knew that something like this would happen if I ended up near Amen Corner, John Nike or The Coppid Beach Hotel. I therefore decided to go back via the Binfield area, vaguely near to Warren House/Twyford Road and the beginning of the journey.

Walking as quickly as I could, I soon reached Newbold College with its symbol of an open bible with a flame rising from the pages. Whereas Wokingham’s faith expressions seem predominantly CofE, Bracknell’s seem adapted to sometimes wild effect. Perhaps you have to adapt in unusual ways to gain mystical traction here. Turning down Foxley Lane, I intended to go cross country back to the Keephatch type area. Taking another left down ‘Murrell Hill Lane’, I asked an American where the path led. He said ‘all the way to the main road – the 329’. With him being American and saying ‘main road’, I assumed he meant the A329(M) on the other side of the Coppid Beach area and that there’d be an overpass or way to safely cross it. Why I assumed this, I don’t know as it clearly wasn’t what he’d said, and the only place to safely cross the A329(M) would’ve been via Binfield Road – the one I’d been barred access to earlier. The more I walked down this ‘Murrell Hill Lane’ thing, the more I wondered if I was going back in the direction I’d come from.

This proved to be the case when I got on the London Road – the ‘329’ – near The Coppid Beach Hotel: exactly the scenario I wanted to avoid. With the time constraint, there was nothing for it but to press on and cross the roundabout. I’d done it before, but couldn’t remember how. As you approach it, you have the option to go up an elevated residential road. Right at the end of this, overlooking the roundabout, is Coppid Beach House and a sign saying ‘public footpath’. You couldn’t see where the path would end, but it should have been obvious, what with the dual carriageway and large roundabout beneath it. What’s more, the turf wasn’t exactly conducive to walking – it was the light brown, squelchy stuff bordered by green and darker brown which looks flat and innocuous until it gives way beneath you as you step on it. In the back of my mind, I remembered I’d asked my mum for some new running trainers so was hoping this could be my current pair’s last outing. If I retraced my steps, I may have found a safer way to cross the roundabout, but would definitely have missed the 3:30 deadline.

Slip sliding in the mud, I therefore edged towards the littered verge of the dual carriageway and stepped over some barbed wire to edge my way down the thorny bank, keeping an eye to the right for cars flying around the corner. I then grabbed a non thorny tree so as not to slip, and tried to keep my centre of gravity low in case that happened. After a little while I got down onto the side of the road and over it to the vast and peaceful concrete centre of the roundabout. If you’ve ever tried to access St Anne’s Manor from here though, you’ll know there’s a little more to do. You then have to walk along a very narrow grass bank which drops off into undergrowth; when a bus or lorry passes, stand still and brace yourself for the afterwaft. Once at St Anne’s Manor though,  a path appears again and you just have to press on past a lot of UH around Loch Fyne and stomp back to Wokingham.

As with its faith expressions, Bracknell’s interpretation of what people are looking for in new housing seems unusual, bordering on the bizarre at times. As a ‘new town’,  perhaps there’s a sense that they can just let go. One of the new developments looks like a multi-storey car-park on a major roundabout and another – called ‘Blu living’ or something – looks like a student halls of residence with a ‘fresh-air social nucleus’ in a development that ‘encourages growth and prosperity.’ Eh? They admit their attempts at social engineering, welcoming ‘ambitious executives’ while ‘deterring the less welcome.’ Once in Wokingham town centre, it was a case of taking every shortcut I knew (Cross Street, Rose Street, Rose Walk) to get onto Glebelands, Milton and then Matthewsgreen Road for some urgent strides home.

 

 

‘If you’re leaving please still say goodbye and can you leave me my Silver Jubilee mug?’
Cups, mugs, bowls, saucers and flotillas of cupcakes floating away after washed out picnics in 2012, the ‘keep calm and carry on’ brigade claiming that sitting out in the rain celebrating the monarchy demonstrated ‘blitz spirit’: these are some of the images that come to mind if ‘jubilee’ is mentioned. It’s somehow seen as ‘very British’ and commendable to sit around in abject misery.

G: ‘Who are we playing?’
Me: ‘Purley Jubilee Lions’
G: ‘That’s a bit of a mouthful, isn’t it?’

The ‘G’ here is Gareth, friend and Brentford fan in his cold and groggy Saturday morning form. He was also a player donor, loaning us his son Elliot from the Wokingham Satsumas. The problem today is that we were 3 players down going into Round 3 of the cup. We also borrowed Kian and Ryan (whose names said together sound identical to that of former Egham lecturer Kiernan Ryan) from Wokingham Rangers. To make matters worse, Ciara Butler reported a feeling of indisposition early in the morning; she would be missing too. With manager Pete away in Kent, I was in sole charge and would have to admit that while quiet and attentive in the team talk, the players seemed uncomprehending of my messages. How do you give a team talk to 9 or 10 year olds which truly expresses the nuances of how you want them to play? It’s easy to end up sounding like John Barnes in his World in Motion rap: ‘You’ve got to hold and give, but do it at the right time. You can be slow or fast, but you must get to the line. They’ll always hit you and hurt you, defend and attack. There’s only one way to beat them – get round the back.’

As it happened, we did score a couple of goals from wide areas – as Barnes would advise – but my suspicion that words were lost in translation was borne out by a largely incoherent – and at times floundering – first-half performance. Telling the defence to keep their shape was possibly a mistake; I didn’t mean them to keep their shape at all costs. They thought me a small-time hypocrite of muddled mind when I asked some of them to push up, some of the time. The new boys played extremely well, but needed to lift their heads up a little more; with the ball at their feet, they found labyrinthine paths to navigate and extricate themselves from: paths which could have been made unnecessary with the so-called ‘simple ball’. Football, as Roper Maguire once said, is the art of circumnavigation. If you have to walk around the Hanover Conservatoire, why circle the same tree 5 times on the way? Despite this, the winding paths led somewhere meaningful for us today; it was the attacking initiative of the new players which compensated for the frailties of a defence which as half-time approached would need to be dismantled forthwith.

Ryan epitomised a  ‘get your head down and get on with it’ work ethic, scoring twice, winning a penalty and creating another goal. He also embodied a ‘substance over style’ aesthetic, with hair more unkempt than most mortals could have thought possible. This wasn’t stylishly unkempt or artfully tousled or deliberate in any way; we are talking Unkempt with a capital ‘U’ and a distinct ‘Un’. No thought could conceivably have been further from his mind than external appearance. This was full on, downtown Unkempt. Unkempt-on-Thames. Kemptness Subverted.

He was an example, usually provided by Connor, of how individualism can benefit a team. The result of such mazy running, though,  is that you can become ‘locked in’ at times as though adrift on the streets of Brussels; any moment now – you may be browsing some carefully displayed cakes and pastries in a shop window, tethering your mutt to a lamppost or remarking on a cirrus formation high above the stainless steel and glass – TING! The tram is here. The tram is bigger than you and has right of way. You can’t outwit the tram. The tram is coming and whatever your individual talent or motor, you can’t beat the tram. All you can do is anticipate and see it; scampering into its path and scurrying away from it again doesn’t necessarily indicate skill.

With the score finely balanced after Ryan’s penalty put us 3-2 up, the players were now starting to reconcile their varying styles. Evan, one of the ‘lift your head up and look’ brigade, hadn’t hitherto found his usual passing rhythm in the mud and mire of Solomon Barnato Jol Park. He was happy and privileged to have Gags and Auntie Emma there to  watch him, but was asthma-addled in the first-half and willing to sacrifice his recent scoring momentum in the presence of new teammates.  This changed, though, at a key moment midway through the second half when he dragged the ball past a defender and played it through to Ozzy who went on to finish from a narrow angle. The next crucial moment came courtesy of Kian  (scorer of a rare headed goal in the first half) who, now in goal, made a fantastic one-on -one save to keep the momentum in Wokingham’s favour. We managed to hold on to the end and progress to the next round, but with tactical conundrums still very much alive and frailties as clear to see as strengths.

 

Reeves were formed in 1975 by a QPR fan called Terry who lived on Reeves Way, tucked just behind Molly Millars Lane industrial estate. He wanted to create an inclusive team for players of varying abilities, taking aesthetic cues from one of the most stylish football teams in the country at the time, despite the hooped shirts. The original team, with overgrown bobs and bowl cuts of the period, looked like younger versions of very good players such as Stan Bowles or Dave Clement. Today’s Reeves, with shorter fades and quiffs, only need tattoos to complete the look just as the 70’s lads needed sideboards  to complete theirs, but the association with a modern day QPR is not so prestigious. Terry had an achievable vision and made it a reality, perhaps qualifying him as one of T.E. Lawrence’s ‘dreamers of the day’ who ‘act on their dreams with open eyes’ rather than merely dreaming ‘by night in the dusty recesses of their minds.’

The first half was very close, and with the scores finely balanced at 1-1 as we resumed after the break, Wokingham began to assert themselves on the game.  Josh, Connor and Evan began opening up space in the attacking third to force Reeves into a defensive posture. The goals took a while to come, but were special when they did. Connor played a perfectly weighted ball through to Evan who took a steadying touch before whipping it into the top left corner. This was soon followed by an excellent second after Josh crossed in from the right and Evan diverted his run to the edge of the box to catch the ball on the half volley and send it floating into the top right corner. The Reeves manager said it was a lovely finish and tried to galvanise his players to resist rather than accept defeat. They did so spiritedly, but in the process conceded a penalty after Josh was shoved over in the box. The attacking movement and understanding was impressive. Our main striker, Harris – a Crouch-esque focal point and all round big personality – was literally on holiday. Is it a coincidence that he’s recently been tapped up by Binfield and is looking to join them?

Despite their two goals apiece, on the way home Evan and Connor were totally absorbed by their analysis of the front doors of Mays Lane and beyond. Their assessments and deliberations continued all the way home. The template/premise of their philosophy had its origin in a new door on Mays Lane. The problem, according to Connor, is that the new door doesn’t fit the old house. It’s incongruous. In his view, a shabby house should have a shabby door – that door would be a success. On the Reading Road, we noticed a house with a bright yellow door which didn’t match the rest of the house. However, there was a shed alongside the house which was also bright yellow. According to the boys, this was not acceptable but it would have been if there was also a yellow car on the drive. The door has to match the ‘spirit’ of the house somehow. One of the cars they didn’t like had a ‘Bring Back British Rail’ sticker. Would it be different if we brought back some disused stations too: Rainton Meadows, Fulbourne, Velvet Hall?

They beat their Wokingham rivals and school friends, but didn’t relish the win for those reasons. We’re not talking rivalry on the scale of Norwich v Ipswich, Iver v Iver Heath or Breckland University v The Lawrence Dugdale University of the Fens. The boys were quick to move on to other objectives, most of them to do with exterior decor or studying place names on a detailed UK map, notionally looking for places to bomb: last week it was Walton-on-Sea, Frinton-on-Sea and Kingston upon Thames: two watery outposts and a watery inpost. Coach Pete was amused but challenged them: ‘What are yous two doing? Why would you bomb them?  Actually, I work in Kingston – crack on.’ Ominously for us, Connor was planning an appraisal of our (unimpressive) front door when they dropped us back. I couldn’t resist a text to ascertain the final verdict: ‘Please emphasise to Connor that he only saw our porch door. The front door proper is a rich green colour.’ The response told us we were at least partially in the clear: ‘The porch door was alright – from Connor.’ Bring on Round 3.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Purley Jubilee Lions – recent survivors of the Whittington’s Tea Barge saga in which a postbox mysteriously appeared on the wall by the river mooring plots – travelled east from their North Wessex base to meet Wokingham & Emmbrook in the sweet and nutty autumnal air of Solly Joel Park.  While a kick off time of 10 a.m. doesn’t quite match last season’s nadir of a 9 a.m. start in a blizzard, it is still far from ideal. The Purley parents would have been up early doors to move in a counter-intuitive direction – out of the house and east. I wonder if any of them had The Pet Shop Boys blaring out: ‘Go West, we will love the beach (together) we will learn and teach, (together) change our pace of life, (together) we will work and strive!’ I would class them as post-Cath Kidston, arrayed on the touchline in polka dots, expressive wellies and bright macs of unknown provenance.

Granted, when you’re up and about kicking off early it ‘leaves the rest of the day free’, but what are you supposed to do with it? It’s fine for the people who were tucked up nice and early the night before and have lists of tasks to accomplish, but not so great for the listless among us who stayed up later listening to James Taylor and drinking San Miguel. Anyway, 10 0′ Clock it is, as decided by the local F.A. ‘The law is the law and you can’t change it’, as was once proclaimed in an episode of Thomas the Tank Engine (original series). Sodor’s new policeman, similarly groggy after too little sleep the night before, objected to Thomas whistling a morning greeting as it could have caused a crash. To make matters worse, Thomas was breaking the law by having no cowcatchers or sideplates. He was then branded a ‘regular law breaker’ and despite the Fat Controller hastening to the police station in his defence, Thomas still had to be fitted with cowcatchers and sideplates and therefore felt totally shipped off as this would make him look like a complete tram. This reminded the Fat Controller that the island of Sodor did in fact need a tram, so he called  Toby with an offer of a relocation package. This added insult to injury for Thomas as he now had a new and useful rival, but they reconciled when Toby sounded his bell to scare the policeman. It was a tale of grouchiness merging into open-mindedness: think for yourself, don’t look like a tram; have a fat controller in the background if possible. Be reconciled with those who do look like trams.

On the pitch today, Wokingham and Emmbrook definitely needed grouchiness to be transformed into something better. Attitudes at training were questionable to say the least. Sadly, the words ‘this is crap’ were uttered by a key player.  Manager Pete had set up an intriguing drill involving lots of cones and barely heard strictures. I only faintly understood it, to be honest, and I was supposed to be helping him out. Training plans are downloaded from somewhere in Northern Ireland, I think, and sent to me in advance. I simply hadn’t read it and none of the players were able to access the session either. But maybe these things still register somewhere in the subconscious? Is comprehension overrated? Did they need to understand the experience in order to learn from it?

The recent emphasis has been on teamwork and knowing when to stick rigidly in formation and when not to. It’s been a case of one step up and two steps back in this regard, with results so far being 1-4, 0-6, 3-2, 1-6, 1-1 and 2-2  in a very tough division.
I would suggest that the trend towards tighter results means that some messages have been absorbed. According to Mircea Lucescu, it helps to know the laws but it’s more important to know their underlying purposes and to be flexible: as he said to Gazzetta dello Sport, “A coach should not join a team with a formation already in his mind. Rather he should adapt to the quality of the players he finds, and choose the right tactical set-up.” That’s fine, but banal in its lucidity. I prefer Ron Atkinson’s version: ‘Well Clive, it’s about the two Ms – movement and positioning’ and ‘You can see the ball go past them, or the man, but you’ll never see both man and ball go past at the same time. So if the ball goes past, the man won’t, or if the man goes past they’ll take the ball.’ The steadfast nonsense of Big Ron never ceases.

Regardless of positional discipline, it would help if our players had a minimum degree of alertness – an attitude they seem to lack early on in games. Our stand-in goalkeeper looked mystified; he may as well have been in Caledonia or asleep dreaming of morning croissants, adrift in the dubious patisseries of the mind. Not everyone was half asleep though. Jack Parry, by contrast, searched and fought for the ball as if it  contained hidden meanings, bypassing the opposition midfield as if they were a mildly inconvenient breeze on the final approach to a Cambrian summit. The problem was that the Purley players, egged on by the Boden brigade, managed to snuff out anything we tried to ignite in the attacking third, putting huge pressure on our defensive trio of Saynor, Ferguson and Butler. They soon achieved a two goal lead, but we became more authoritative as the game went on, fighting back in the second half courtesy of a full-blooded performance from Thanasi Xanthoulis, some cultured passing from Evan, stout defending from the team as a whole and two excellent left-footed strikes from Connor.

All the best to the Purley people on their way back to the Wessex hills and waterways, the Joules catalogues and the windswept instagram dog walks.

Early season player guide: W&E Oranges have played 92 games since they started in 2015. The figure in brackets is the amount of goals each player has scored in that time.

Xanthoulis (14) Tough tackling, committed, enthusiastic, temperamental – works non-stop, occasionally lacks end product and positional sense but can be vital to the team.

Sexton (29) Migratory of mind. Capable of magic – best positioned to minimise collateral damage. All but uncoachable.

Mulvaney (151) Leitwolf, main man – captain, leader, legend etc. Phenomenal goalscoring record but sometimes struggles against the shackles of footballing norms: wants to be everywhere at once and sometimes seems to manage it.

Dance (34) Gymanastic & acrobatic – e.g. forward flip goal celebration – the ultimate utility player. Reliable in every position and sometimes spectacular. Scorer of a headed goal (v. rare at this age): great attitude; consistently watched by a large, Arsenal supporting family of the old school, dignified type. Wenger in.

Parry (40) An absolute warrior: give the nod and he’s the first one over the top – will run through the proverbial brick wall: excellent positional sense – perhaps not always the most technical (though the 40 goals didn’t come from nowhere) but definitely one of the most likeable: 100% reliable at all times – from a family of vegan FGR sympathisers.

Butler (3) Technically good, brave and a tough tackler. Enquiring, intelligent and will put new knowledge into practice asap, though a bit of take-up time is needed between theory and practice: loses confidence quickly and needs encouragement – scored the winner in the epic 7-6 derby win v Wokingham Rangers last season.

Ferguson (2) A relative newcomer, this boy is a fantastically original goalkeeper, opting to save more shots with his legs than his hands: unbelievably brave. He’ll stop shots you’ve already recorded as goals – where the HELL did that come from? The flipside is that he’ll occassionally give the ball away for no apparent reason and concede a goal – top man.

Harris (25 in 27) A very skilful and physically imposing striker whose goal ratio speaks for itself. He can score all types of goals – including set pieces – but you never quite know what you’re going to get from him: would argue in an empty room. A strangely ‘old school’ character: likes practical jokes and isn’t easily impressed – moans a lot. Likeable in spite of the above.

Saynor (55) Set piece specialist. Silky skills – can pick a pass. Composed on the ball and from withdrawn positions can catalyse offensive play. Historically involved in defensive mix ups but this is increasingly rare.

 

 

Caversham Trents 1 Wokingham & Emmbrook 1

There are times when you’re stranded in House of Fraser – literally or metaphorically – with each promise of an exit leading to more stairs, anterooms, split level flooring, views of loading bays and mezzanine emotions. Might as well vacantly browse the Ralph Lauren, Fred Perry and Lyle & Scott – find some purpose and direction. Is there life after death? Never mind that for now. People say you should concentrate on the present and think about the hereafter thereafter. It’s a bit like when footballers are asked about their England ambitions: ‘Well I’m just concentrating on doing my best for Everton/Leicester/Barnsley/O’Higgins FC (9th in the Chilean Primera Division btw) at the moment, taking each game as it comes’ is the stock answer. But what if you actually can’t stop thinking about the life hereafter? And what if you really are focused on your England chances? Perhaps a more relevant question is: ‘Is there life after breakfast?’ A singer from North London has concluded that, if possible, you should arise once more and face the daylight: ‘Don’t turn into a total embarrassment to your friends and family. Get out of bed, the whole day’s ahead so take the pills and drink your tea…put the kettle on son!’ Put the kettle on son.

Any phrase with ‘son’ at the end reminds me of a church trip to Rouen when Mike Shears appealed to the French winger on our team: ‘Sur la tete, sur la tete son.’ I remembering him clattering around our lounge for a bout of indoor football after a hard day at Hamptons Giddy & Giddy or wherever the *heck* he worked – public spirited, but what was he/we doing forming ecclesiological links with the French? Can’t knock it – you’ve got to forge connections and partnerships where you can.

Last week was a 6-1 defeat – the defence was utterly shambolic and the substitutions were unorthodox in the extreme. Connor was subbed off at half-time and our goalkeeper was asked to play centre-back in the second half.

This week, with the game finely balanced at 1-1 at half-time, we were faced with the problem of having to replace players who were functioning well. ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ is not a cliche you can apply to youth football. If it ain’t broke, fix it anyway. If it is broke, let it remain unfixed for a while. Everyone pays £170 per year to play and they demand equal game time. Coach Pete has to be a master of rotation and of the spreadsheet; Rafa Benitez crossed with a competent bursar. But he wasn’t sure what to do. He’d reprimanded Connor – his son – for ‘bombing on’ too much. In football parlance, this relates to an exlposion of pace, usually down the channels (flanks) of the pitch. The danger of ‘bombing on’ is that you leave a big gap behind you. My humble thought was that if Connor was pushed up to left midfield and Ciara was put in at left back, he could ‘bomb on’ all he liked, as long as he ‘bombed back’ to cover if necessary. We had worked hard in training on covering, attacking the ball, defensive shape, marking and staying goalside, but it’s true that Ciara sometimes lacks confidence. I remembered Chris Coleman, when Fulham were 4-0 down after 19 minutes at Old Trafford, walking to the touchline to talk a young Liam Rosenior through the rest of his match against Cristiano Ronaldo. With reminders and encourgement, Ciara could do it. In the event, she coped excellently at left-back and was instrumental, along with Evan and Jack, in screening out a formidable Caversham forward line.

Like a guild of German market towns, the players co-ordinated themselves to outwit and rebuff the threat from further north, leading Pete to conclude in the post-match debrief that the performance was ‘by far the best I’ve ever seen you play.’ Due to the quality of the opposition and the defensive resilience required, I would agree. The manager would have given the Player of the Match award to Evan for his composed defensive performance, but handed the responsibility to the parents this time. Elias Xanthoulis – top man – gave the award to Ozzy for some superb, match-rescuing saves including an outrageous stop with his legs off a near post strike which was definitely bound for goal.

So – sometimes regrettably and sometimes prompting relief – perhaps there are vestiges of life after breakfast after all. So, even if with reluctance: ‘put the kettle on mate!’ FFS.

This, In my view, was an excellent performance; the players demonstrated grit, tenacity, elements of quality and an enduring will to win. Coach Peter was less sure. He could see there had been some improvements and a glance at his body language after Evan’s sweetly struck equalising free kick revealed a weight had been lifted after last week’s 6-0 reversal. So why the reluctance to celebrate a win? Pete is a very driven fellow – always urgent, but without particular deflation or inflation in response to circumstances; it’s likely he’ll notice a small detail, allowing it to inflect his analysis of the big picture and alter meticulous training plans. An abject performance – see last week’s report – will be met with ‘You played well in phases’; an effective performance will likewise be given a mixed review. This provides players a good foundation from which to experiment: no overreaction will meet them, at any point, the ‘hot chocolate index’ being their most reliable gauge of success. Last week, according to Pete, they were entitled to half a cup whereas this week they could have a full one. I interpret this as a pass/fail measure, all based on effort and attitude; more optimistic people might see the glass as always being encouragingly half full. I gave Evan and Ozzy full cups anyway, last week, and Evan the same this week. What would you do?

This week the performance was 100% better than last week’s, regardless of any lingering reservations. It was satisfying to see the players implement what was practised in training; they needed to cover for each other in defence, play more meaningful passes through the midfield and attack the ball with increased  purpose in each box. There were still significant lapses, with, for example, a tendency to bunch up at the near post leading to Caversham’s opening goal as their striker latched on to a looping cross with no-one around to thwart him. The defence held firm though, generally, with forward progress from Leitwolf Connor Mulvaney and Hotshot Hayden Harris leading to free-kicks in quick succession, neither of which hit the back of the net. At half-time, knowing that Evan is a good free-kick taker, I was a bit concerned that he hadn’t had a chance to take one and told him that if we’re awarded another, he should just go and pick the ball up. This proved tricky, though, because when we were awarded one he was about 30 yards from the ball. He still raced over, but Hayden was ready to shoot. Risking accusations of parental bias, I called over from the coaches’ blend line to basically tell him to take the ball. I could then see him chatting to Josh and Hayden, but all three stood in viable shooting stances so it was hard to tell who would strike. Thankfully, when the whistle went Evan jogged up to the ball and shot it cleanly around the wall and into the bottom corner. On the way back home in Pete’s car, Evan explained how he took his chance based on the goalkeeper’s incorrect positioning in relation to the defensive wall. Rather than looping the ball over the wall, he surprised the keeper  by playing it low and into the corner – a place beyond his reach. The goal caused a change of momentum in the game, with increased confidence translating to more determined attacking work. Good interplay between Connor, Josh and Evan – with the latter’s accurate balls through to the forward (rather than the impressive free-kick) leading to his Player of the Match award – led to two excellent finishes from striker Hayden Harris who had found some composure after his untamed shots last week. Defensively, Ciara stuck with superb discipline to a striker about twice her height. The issue was one of  words and their interpretation: “Pete, I keep forgetting what ‘goalside’ means!” It was true – every time we said it you could see her mentally and even verbally processing the instruction: ‘Right, so goalside means…’ and then she’d forget. However, she remembered what it meant enough times to prevent some figures much bigger than her from scoring enough times for them to win – job done, Ciara, and well done.

All in all, despite hot chocolate variables and differing interpretations – psychological, tactical and otherwise – this was, I think, an excellent performance and a deserved win, though I’d be willing to concede that alternative perspectives on the matter are potentially of equal merit.