Tag: Twyford Comets

• Twyford Comets 4 Wokingham and Emmbrook 4 (Mulvaney 2, A. Mulvaney, Saynor) La Bambonera

  ‘See the canyons broken by cloud.
  See the tuna fleet clearing the sea out.
  See the Bedouin fires at night.
  See Woodley Precinct at first light.’

  Yet according to Bono it’s still possible to perceive a beautiful day. And why wouldn’t he? It’s not as if he’s a salaryman who commutes to Bracknell’s Southern Industrial Area, inner city Nagoya or Vodaphone on the outskirts of Newbury. Last week – 6-0 down at half-time – it didn’t seem so easy to adopt his perspective.

  Wokingham & Emmbrook didn’t need a change of tactics so much as a total revolution of mind and body, as per my favourite overheard line from The Archers: ‘Julie doesn’t need a mentor; she needs a brain transplant.’

  For most of us, if we’re honest about it, the options for change seem sadly limited. This is perhaps best encapsulated by Yoga Magazine’s current promise of ‘healing and evolving through subtle breathwork.’ Is that all that can be hoped for? A bit of deft breathing? It’s no mean feat, perhaps. Maybe you can change your vibe, but nothing of seismic importance in the world around.

  That said, in Wales last week we decided to deviate significantly from the script written by the FA and endorsed by most coaches. West Wales is as good a place as any to shatter pretension. ‘Fair play’, as an end in itself, would have to go on the back burner for a while. There are other qualities that can’t be found in a coaching manual, and it was essential to cultivate them forthwith.

  In the last few matches Evan’s carefree spirit seemed to have evaporated, in stark contrast to early September when – late for the first game of the season and having missed the warm up entirely – Evan strolled onto the pitch, McManaman locks flowing, and nonchalantly swept the ball into the corner with one of his first touches.

  It was time for some Chumbawamba parenting (I get knocked down, but I get up again, are they ever gonna keep me down?). I would play tough and put my boot in while observing a notional line between realistic contact and the potential for harm. He would go to ground and concede goals, yet ultimately win, only to complain – sometimes through tears – that I shouldn’t have played my best. Coach Peter also took Evan out with Connor for a separate training session, complete with cones and goals. He’s never content to rest on the premise that what will be will be.

  Evan’s goal today was straight off the training ground; Connor was poised over the free-kick, noticed that Evan had withdrawn to the edge of the box and passed the ball beautifully into his path: ‘Look, look, he’s going to shoot!’ I couldn’t keep it in. Evan curled it into the left corner and the keeper got a touch but couldn’t stop it.

  Scoring a goal is one of those experiences which tends to clarify and minimise all preceding time. Your regrets shrivel to nothing when the ball hits the back of the net; all time is funnelled into that point. It’s similar in principle, though obviously of lesser magnitude, to having a child. Whether it’s an unfortunate situation on Unthank Road in 2002 or a regrettable interlude in Shepherd’s Bush 2009: forget it. The comment made to you outside Wokingham Bowling Alley: it doesn’t matter anymore. The look that dry cleaning operative gave you: irrelevant. All those unorthodox or unfortunate moments led, however indirectly, to the present.

  And If something unwelcome still slips through the net, as it probably will, then at least you can fall back on some concentrated breathwork or even – as advertised by Jason Oslar – book some hacking or lunging lessons on the bridlepaths of Barkham.

  June 4, 2016

  Twyford Comets, Wokingham & Emmbrook

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• Twyford Comets v Wokingham and Emmbrook. Lokomotiv Stadion, Russia.

  (n.b. due to the closeness of the game, the score has been withheld until the end. Evan’s post match interview is also there, so Route 1 here would be to skip. Route 2 will take you through the whole game/ build-up).

  What is Twyford? As Assistant Manager for this game, part of my brief was to gauge the temperature of the village, to assess the culture and philosophy of its residents. The only way I know to determine this is to visit the chapel of Our Lady Astride the Crossroads and read the inscriptions on the green sacramental token bins therein. Only then can you gain a flavour of who or what abides in the orbit of Twyford, Central Berkshire’s ring doughnut, the centre of which is an absence, a crossroads. This week there is an appeal for the veterans of this floating world to be granted sufficient means ‘to visit Eastbourne or Weymouth.’ A rival bid is for a group who would like ‘maybe the odd Bingo night’, but my vote went to the Charvil Whatever who wanted to do their thing strictly within the realm of Charvil. So the question remains: what is Twyford?

  Perhaps we’ll never find an answer. We do, however, know that an extremely irritating and single-minded nightmare of a human being lives there. Readers of previous reports may remember a lady who turned out in support of ‘Harrison’ when these teams last met. She was here again and in full, shameless voice: ‘Grapple with him, Harrison! Put your foot in there! Get her in a headlock! Pull her plaits off!’ From the dugout on the opposite side of the pitch I could hear her shrieking exhortations from the first minute to the last. To make matters worse, following a neat finish from Connor to put us in the lead, Harrison scored their first goal, taking it past three players before blasting it into the corner. Evan, starting up front, got into some excellent positions and had a few near misses before the game swung with seemingly terminal force in Twyford’s favour. Evan, now in goal, decided to pass the ball out to Amelia who miscued spectacularly, looping the ball back over Evan’s head and into the goal.

  Twyford then scored another before half-time, this time through the oddly named ‘Andrew’. I’m not knocking the moniker in itself, but you do seldom hear it nowadays. Not many people introduce Baby Andy to the world. Does this signal yet another bewildering cultural difference between Wokingham and Twyford? I wouldn’t be surprised if Twyford’s ‘Evie quotient’ is also down somewhat in relation to other places, perhaps accounting for just 80% of girls’ names there as opposed to 95% elsewhere?

  The second half was a nightmare and I was a jittery mess throughout, partly to do with an excess of filter coffee and partly because Coach Michael made me participate in the warm-up, running up and down and lifting my knees high in the air while wearing jeans and boots. Ridiculous. Harrison’s mum’s report would have identified her double, I’m sure, wondering who the prick in the warm-up was and why he paced up and down the touchline yelling nonsense all game. It’s because it was so painful. We battered them in terms of possession, territory and attacking thrust, but just could not finish.

  Amelia played excellently in terms of her positioning as lone striker, carving out several opportunities for herself by finding space – it’s just that she narrowly missed every one of them. Connor Mulvaney was nullified by a detail their coach seemed to have put on him and it was impossible to find a breakthrough until, that is, we were awarded a penalty after a handball in the box. Coach Michael decided that Evan was the man for this, but he was jostled no end by envious teammates. Michael called out that he’d chosen Evan and that the decision was final. The ref said ‘Right, enough of this. Can the penalty taker put their hand up?’ Four hands shot up. Eventually, Evan had a clear run at the ball, the whistle sounded and he curled it high and to the left of the keeper and into the net.

  So it was now 3-2 and we continued to exert relentless pressure, but Twyford’s defence was excellent. It looked like it was just one of those games; all that was left was a search for inner humanity, the resolve to walk past Harrison’s mum with one’s head down, mute. But that wouldn’t be necessary. Just as all hope appeared to be lost, and with about 30 seconds left, the ball fell to Mark Sexton who pelted it, lofting the ball high into the net, Steven Gerrard style. I couldn’t restrain myself from running onto the pitch and joining the celebrations, morphing the delirium into yelled instructions for the last seconds, shifting the indefatigable Jack Parry into defence for the final moments, during which they won a free kick. A goalmouth scramble ensued, as did my final injunction: ‘Just hoof it!’ Coach Michael was unimpressed: ‘Alex – ”Just hoof it?” – you can’t say that.’ Point taken, Michael.

  After the game, Evan was interviewed about his penalty taking style and approach:

  Interviewer: So tell me, Evan, did you decide where to place the ball for your penalty?

  Evan: No, I just hit it.

  Interviewer: That’s fine, I suppose, as long as you don’t hit it straight at the keeper!

  Evan (concerned, sympathetic look on his face) : No, I wouldn’t have done that because he was wearing hearing aids.

  The most considerate penalty taker of all time? That accolade probably goes to Robbie Fowler who deliberately missed a penalty he deemed to have been awarded unfairly. The most counterproductive hearing aid in the History of Twyford? The village’s most punishing humanitarian episode? We may never know.

  Twford Comets 3 Wokingham and Emmbrook 3 (Mulvaney, Saynor pen. Sexton)

  February 6, 2016

  Twyford Comets, Wokingham & Emmbrook

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