Earlier, Morris had opened the scoring with a cracking strike, low across the keeper, into the bottom corner after a smart move involving Bassi and Quina. We only had 85 minutes to hang on. And hang on we nearly did after Morris was crippled, as a heroic performance at the back from Mads nearly got us over the line. Sadly, managerial ineptitude cost us. For 60 minutes our tictacs were simply control it, pass it square, pass it square, get closed down, HOOF! Was that the ghost of Keith Hill I saw in the dugout? ‘If you shop at Lidl…’. Anyway, a hoof – to a midget’s head. Sorry, a mini-person. (I heard this week M&S or somesuch had renamed midget gems mini gems. My God.) Unfortunately, quality as Bassi is, he cannot control a ball with his forehead when a mountainous defender looms over him. This happened time and time and time again. What did Einstein say about repeating something expecting a different result? I realise the bench was weak, but at least Big Vic offers a bit of physical. (Indeed, he came on in the 90th minute and nearly scored, the keeper nicking it off his toe.)
I also understand no-one else held onto the ball. Quina tried (his natural instinct being not to part with it anyway) but Reading simply doubled, or trebled up on him. More good old days…this time remembrance of teams doing it to Adam Hammill and us having no answer. Fair play to Reading – they’d done their homework. (Didn’t I mention this last game, when I saw Hecky in the stands…all the opposition have to do is mark Quina!?) But Asbaghi needs to second guess this one too. Quina needs to be told to give and go sometimes, not stand on it till he’s surrounded and possession is inevitable ceded.
We scraped to half time, one nil up. ‘This’ll finish one-all’ said a wise old sage (Nozzer). Nobody disagreed. And if the writing was already on the wall after the first 45, it was painted in 10 foot letters in the second. We cleared it up pitch, they built from the back, got into our third, Mads would clear, they built from the back, got into our third, Mads (or maybe Kitching this time) would clear…honestly, round and round this scenario went, with Reading edging closer and closer each time, while Asbaghi does what he does best – prays a tiring team will hold on. (I suppose he tried the ‘bringing on Jasper Moon to hold on’ the other week, and that didn’t work; he’s tried the sticking on Benson and Palmer…and that didn’t work. But the point is, whether he does SOMETHING or NOTHING, it’s all in the name of ‘hanging on’. PLEASE put Bassi out of his misery and stick Big Vic on. ANYTHING to try and put some physical pressure on their defence. He didn’t, they scored.
A ball is played forward and after a deflection it drops nice for their player to play it back for a tap-in. They had 4 players in and around our 6 yard box to our 3, so someone wasn’t doing their job. Of course it dropped to them. Asbaghi’s excuse? Teams who are losing ‘take risks’. Yes, yes they do. But from where I was sitting, doing NOTHING was taking a risk, and we paid for it. Into injury time and he sticks Big Vic on. We proceed to nearly score TWICE, as Brittain sidefoots one at the keeper on the back post (superb 40 yard crossfield ball, whoever that was) before Vic nearly toepokes in a rebound. We did more in the first and last 5 minutes than we did in the 80 inbetween, and for that, Poya, I blame YOU.
Onwards and upwards!
*** Mads. Towering performance at the back.
** Morris. Won headers, held defenders off, cracking strike….Reading knew what they were doing with the hatchet job.
* Kitching. An able partner for Mads, ensuring Helik wasn’t (too) missed.
Official MOTM: Mads
Londontykes’ MOTM: 1. (Mads) Andersen 2. Morris 3. Kitching
Despatches: Almost tasty pre-match, as a group of Reading yoof made the mistake of making their mouths go outside the Courthouse. Luckily, Old Bill were there to escort them to the ground. ‘You’re going down with the Barnsley’ came the response. Ha haaa, that’s told ‘em. They were so happy with themselves too, it was same again afterwards, as another small group of Royals baited Reds fans up Regent Street, knowing the police were there to protect them. Who knew Reading had a ‘crew’? A hundred strong yoof of our own stood ready, Stone Island at attention, scarves hiding their faces. (I guess it’s difficult to ‘look hard’ wearing one of those NHS facemasks.)
Indeed, one forgets Reading actually have a football team, and fair play to them for bringing 1500, or three times their normal number. I’d forgotten the game actually meant something to them, as the draw protected their 5 point lead over us. It’s not quite the end, but the end is very near. Even presuming we win our 2 home games, we’ll have to get some points away from Oakwell. Relegated, then.
The players? As I said, Quina lost the ball time and time again, but his work rate out of possession was first rate, always tracking back. Wolfe and Gomes looked steady but were eventually overrun. Vita wasn’t great, but made a tremendous goal saving block first half – but should he have been marking that player to begin with? I thought Collins didn’t have much to do, but the highlights suggest he made 3 or 4 decent saves – and there was nothing he could do with the goal. Flapped a couple of time though. Styles was taken off for Oduor. Bizarre on the face of it (Hi Poya!) but I think Styles played internationally midweek (for Hungary, of course). Brittain had a mixed game, summed up by 2 passages of play; one, he makes a crucial block, throwing himself, to prevent a goal, while the other side of his game saw him bring the ball out of defence, stroll along (probably whistling to himself) until he was tackled and they had 3 on 3. More ghosts…(Dangerous) Brian O’Callaghan anyone?
And finally (cos you leave the humorous stories to last, don’t you?)…the referee. Without Jonesy to go apoplectic, it was left to A. Reed, who could barely eat his sandwich at half-time for ranting. I have to say, I couldn’t defend this comedian (the ref, not Reedy, although…). He pulled up Brittain for stealing 5 yards on a throw-in. The VERY next Reading throw, they steal 10 yards. That’s allowed. (He’s obviously deaf as well, cos enough people were shouting at him.) Then there’s the ‘attention’ Morris was given throughout. Yes, I know he’s a big, tough, strong lad, but it’s STILL A FOUL. Mind, 42 minutes in and Collins held the ball 19 (NINETEEN) seconds. Not even 9. The rule is 6. What is the point of this rule anymore? (The bloke behind me complimented Collins’ ‘sh*thousery’, but I don’t go to matches to see goalkeepers waste time. Not even ours. And there were still 48 minutes to go.)
But let’s give the ref his dues, he didn’t fall for Ince’s playacting for a penalty. And with daddy Paul being the manager, the ghost of London Road (Peterborough) reared its head as ‘Your dad’s a cnut, and so are you’ rung round the Ponty. I always thought I didn’t believe in ghosts but today was full of ‘em. Asbaghi continues to haunt me.
Drink du jour: House Party IPA.
Away: 1,574. I’ve never seen so many. Obviously the away numbers were a surprise to BFC too, programmes selling out well before kick-off
League games since we won having conceded an equaliser: 50. The half century is up. Hurrah.
The Damage:
c. £35 petrol
= c. £35
The Tunes:
BBC5Live
Show (The Cure)
No comments:
Post a Comment