Thursday 22 September 2016

BFC 1-2 Reading, Saturday 17th September 2016


‘I can’t believe you haven’t punched him yet’ (part 2) 

Pre-match exhibition in the Civic.

I do apologise to Bob et al for the late posting of the match report.  Perhaps I’m too downhearted that the bubble has burst.  Or is it that I’m snowed under with work???

It was a fine day in Barnsley as the Londontykes (and Katrin) stepped off the train around midday to sample the fine delights of ‘tarn’.  And what delights they were!  1st up, a whistle stop tour of the Civic’s small (but perfectly formed) BFC exhibition, followed by some clowns outside.  Apparently today was cabaret day.  We walked on, there was beer to be had.  1st stop the new pub in the Arcade.

It is SUPERB.  Not as small as I was given to believe, but certain it’d be very busy if there were more than 30 in – and it has 2 floors.  A pint of Brooklyn later and we were sat on the balcony upstairs, overlooking the arcade itself.  And what was that melodic singing that was circling around my head?  Bl**dy hell, we’ve a choir further up the street.  Katrin thinks this happens every week. After a couple, it was onto the usual Old #7.  I was happily ensconced, but we had people to meet and a fanzine to buy. More great stickers, courtesy of the WSB lads, as well as features by a Mr P. Hicks and P. Waddington.  Get your copy, I’m not offering spoilers.
Some Londontykes in front of town centre 'development'.

Fish and chips followed (god, I’ve missed my home trips!) before I entered Oakwell with kick-off having not even happened yet.  I must’ve been keen.  As were the two teams, it was end to end stuff in an entertainingly open 1st half.  We hit the bar early when Kent, desperate for an option, found none, and hit a 20 yarder which cannoned off the bar.  Reading missed the odd chance too and deservedly went ahead, albeit thru slightly comic circumstances as Hourihane plays a low ball across the box from a corner (the type Winnall blazed over from last season).  Only this time, someone’s obviously gone AWOL and Reading break upfield with numbers.  It’s no surprise to see the ball slipped through for an onrushing forward to be taken out by Davies.  Blatant pen.  Davies saves, we cheer, they score, we groan. 
Pre-match outside Oakwell

Then Reading miss a couple of chances as White came off early for Kpekawa.  Now, I realise it is heresy to criticise The Good Lord Heckingbottom, but this bloke looks AWFUL.  Certainly not a left back – and apparently that’s his main position.  (Before anyone argues, those were Hecky’s words in the Chron).  Christ, for a George Williams…or Smith.  He missed balls, missed headers…and backs off faster than that Brown bloke we used to have at right-back.  (That’s not meant to be racist, btw, his name was Brown.  Thankfully I’ve forgotten his 1st name)  Hopefully he’ll improve.  He can’t not.
The teams line up

The game continued to be open, but Reading were clearly edging it.  Then Swift (the bloke on loan from Chelsea?) easily sidesteps Hourihane and rifles it in from 20 odd yards.  Davies does seem to let in a lot of long rangers.  Or maybe I’m imagining this.  But hope is not long in coming; 7 minutes to be precise, as Hourihane fouls then gets right in their player’s face, screaming at him.  You are a tease, Conor.  McCleary loses his cool and runs 15 yards to barge Hourihane over, Conor giving it the obligatory round-turn and two half hitches.  Or am I mixing up my boy scout knots?  Conor takes a yellow for his trouble, but he’s done his job.  He’s cleverer than Professor Fox at the University of Cunning, he is.

The Big Match

0-2 at half time.  I should be despondent, but I have that bizarre 1st home game of the season feeling.  What is it called?  OPTIMISM.  Kicking towards the Ponty, against 10 men.  Score one and we’re in.
Reading go solid 4-4-1 and we make hard work of it.  Hammill is fouled for the 6th time (he really was, for those of you who think he did nowt, it’s difficult when you’re being chopped every time).  Scowen wishes he was 2 inches taller as he heads over an empty net.  Then, miss of the match.  Super Sammy Winnall, on the back post.  A deliberate flick of the head.  He knows exactly where he’s putting it.  Wide.  Like Odejayi, ‘cept with his head.  2nd game in a row?  

418 Royalists.  Allegedly.

‘Come in Winnall, your time is up.’  Hecky throws his last two die.  On comes Bradshaw up front, with Janko coming on for Kent.  I’d have had Watkins on for Winnall at HT.  Now there’s no space, which is a shame, cos our boys had been putting stuff up top for  Armstrong and Winnall to fail to keep hold of all day.  But Bradshaw straightaway showed his value, heading a couple of knockdowns to his own teammates, one of which sees Armstrong, playing slightly behind him, bang it in 1st time from the edge of the box.  It was such a surprise that no-one had time to be on their feet before the ball hit the net, possibly the 1st time in 3 years my dad has seen the net bustle.

So, full on pressure for the last 10 minutes or so?  Well, we had the possession, we were camped in their half, but the chances failed to materialise.  In fact, the best was when they hit us 2 on 2 on the break and messed it up.  Still, at least we saw Davies come upfield for a corner, which is always entertaining.
A packed Ponty, pre-match.  

In short, best team won, but there were plenty of pluses to draw upon.
*** Yiadom
.  Superb.  I like him.  I like him a lot.  Athletic, can tackle…AND can play.  Twitter MOTM.
** Roberts.  Struggling for a 2nd and 3rd, but I thought Roberts held it together despite the efforts of Kpekewa and, to a lesser extent, McDonald.* Bradshaw.  We had FA up front till he came on.
Londontykes MOTM:
***
Yiadom
** Roberts
* Armstrong

Despatches:
McDonald looked unsure in possession, forever chasing after his own miscontrols (but he got away with it).  Scowen was bloody awful.  Couldn’t tackle, couldn’t pass.  Constantly running to where the ball’s just been.  Hopefully a one-off.  Him and Hourihane were overrun in centre-mid. Hamill was kept quiet (see earlier) while Kent flattered to deceive.  Winnall was Winnall.  He’s s***, he’s lame, he never scores in any game…and on that note, I have a small fortune wagered on him this season.  50 of Her Majesty’s pounds (20 with Jonesy and Slacki, another tenner with Nice Guy Chris) says he won’t score 10 league goals for Barnsley this season.  Reedy’s after match summary: ‘If he doesn’t start scoring soon I can’t see him getting a game.’  And yes, play-off goals count too (!).

Oh, and a mention for the crowd.  Excellent in the second half, but full marks to the Ponty for the ovation at the end, having lost.  Together Everyone Achieves More*.  Christ, what have I turned into?

*TEAM.

Home time!

Drink du jour: Brooklyn, Erdinger…vodka and orange…something Czech back in The Smoke.  Amazingly, I DIDN’T fall asleep on bus home.  Had cunning plan to text all my mates instead.  That’d be Reedy and The Captain, then.

Away: 418.  Didn’t look it.

The Damage:
21 travel
2 fanzine
3 prog


Time to read the programme.
Panarama of someone's head.



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