N.B. If planning to read this, you might want to make yourself comfortable as it’s an end of year extended edit.
Vanilla latte lid crisis averted, we arrived at Woodley Goals Centre for yet another battle of North v South, but this time with a difference: the Trents not only claim Caversham and North Reading as their own, but also vast swathes of the Midlands, stretching from Biddulph Moor in Staffordshire to the six towns of the Potteries and through the Nottingham Home Sluices to the fringes of Scunthorpe and the North Sea. Not only does this team claim an outrageous geographical area, but also a literary prestige derived from the words of Henry Hotspur in Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part 1: ‘See how this river comes me cranking in, and cuts me from the best of all my land a huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. I’ll have the current in this place damm’d up; and here the smug and silver Trent shall run in a new channel, fair and evenly; it shall not wind with such a deep indent, to rob me of so rich a bottom here.’
Perhaps the weight of history and culture acted as an albatross around their necks, for the Trents failed to orchestrate anything of meaning or coherence in the opening exchanges of the game, thwarted by Wokingham’s high pressing style and that low, brooding Woodley sky. They had the haircuts; they had the boots. They had half the country implicated in their name. But did they have the wherewithal to resist Mulvaney, Mulvaney, Dance, Saynor, Sexton, Parry, Xanthoulis and Butler (those future Berkshire lawyers)? They looked about as comfortable as Paul Trott opening up for George Osborne at the Conservative Party Conference, or sharing a pint with Nigel Farage at the Duke of Wellington. The first half was all but lost to meaninglessness as the ref seemed to drift about in a parallel dimension, gesturing aimlessly and struggling to elicit sound from his central implement, no matter how hard he blew.
The signs were good, however, for this was a game selected by Gags for attendance and it seemed unlikely that he would fail to weave his observational magic. Which game did he pick as his first Fulham match of the season? Fulham 4 QPR 0. Which game did mere mortals such as myself pick? A draw against Cardiff. Risk, table tennis, Monopoly, Scrabble, Pictionary, Snakes and Ladders, Tiddlywinks? Not gonna happen. The Divine Comedy summed it up nicely: ‘Can you beat your dad at chess? It’s harder than you think. Sit him down at Christmas, turn the TV off, give him lots of chocolates and a drink and he might give you a match and when you’ve been duly dispatched he will laugh Ha ha ha And you’ll say, “one more game.”
My explanation of how well Evan played last week was superfluous. Gags would have worked it out before the opening credits had faded and so, with a sense of predetermined fortune, the first significant moment in the game was Evan seizing upon a loose ball, controlling it with one touch and slamming it into the corner: 1-0. ‘I see what you mean’, said Gags.
After that, we were riding the Severn bore while they were drifting into the Humber. Josh Dance went steaming into challenges all over the pitch, bending the game to his will and scoring 2 before half time. Mulvaney added a delicate left-footed effort and the score was 4-0 at the break. Wokingham and Emmbrook had never kept a clean sheet for an entire half before. With a 4 goal lead, Coach Michael might have been forgiven for easing up on the teamtalk a little bit: no way. He was on their level, pointing, gesticulating and sweeping his hand back and forth as if he was Rafa Benitez calling his children in from the sea.
With Wokingham on the front foot again, they were soon awarded a free kick. Please Evan, do your stuff with Gags and Joe here. With a nonchalant movement of the arm, he waved Mark Sexton away and began his measured approach to the ball, hitting it with verve above the height of the bar before watching it dip into the top corner for an outstanding goal: 5-0. The intensity remained. Jack Parry, fresh from spells in goal and on the bench, ran diagonally past two players and was shoved slightly before slotting in an excellent goal. Rather than succumbing to euphoria, however, he ran the length of the pitch to the parents congregated behind the opposite goal and with a manic look yelled ‘Dad, that boy’s a FOULER! He pulled my shirt!’ As Joe noted, this is a boy whose life is clearly orientated towards higher purposes: those of justice in the game along with all the nobler qualities open to human aspiration. We salute him for that.
Despite the goals continuing to flow, there was a tragic moment in the game. Right near the end, Amelia Mulvaney burst through and shot; the keeper saved it but the ball hit the post and rolled back across the line, appearing- to Amelia- to cross it. She ran to Coach Michael, her dad, throwing herself into his arms in celebration. The goal, however, was disallowed and Amelia was broken for that moment: cue more waterworks than the River Trent could contain. After the game, with Caversham packed back off to the Potteries, a special moment was enjoyed by all. Connor and Amelia crossed hands to receive a joint share in the Man of the Match wristband in what was a fitting end to an excellent performance and a brilliant way to sign off for the Christmas break.
Wilderspool Causeway 