Goals, goals, goals. Goals galore, a record haul. A veritable goalfest. Fill yer boots time for any self-respecting striker. A turkey shoot with no mercy for the gobbling fowl. On average, a goal every five minutes in a full 90-minute EFL fixture that ended a run of two defeats.
But, oh, those misses ... the little, pink-shrivelled, baby turkeys spared.
From my lofty perch in the new BT Press Gallery, they came thick and fast …
… JL, through one-on-one in full flight, bearing down on a goalkeeper glued to his line. Tap it anywhere and it's a sure goal. Blast it, and the keeper may just get an accidental touch and deflect it onto the bar and away; a low cross from GT finds (smaller) CA steaming in at the far post, but the diminutive Malteser and ball are on a different trajectory; MJ slips a ball across the face of the goal for ... (little) CA steaming in at the far post, but watches have not been synchronised and the chance goes a-begging; GT on the right sets up ... CA steaming in at the far post, but there's no date with destiny and like a blushing bride caught in two minds, the diminutive full-back arrives at the altar to find that not only is the wedding over but the reception is finished, too; another GT pass across goal and a slithering, sliding AP just fails to make contact; JR heads close from a corner, a MJ drive fizzes the wrong side of the upright; another JR header is actually saved; JL spurns a golden chance; BM heads over from a JL cross; GT shoots too close to the keeper; a CA effort is palmed away (well, we’ll say it was on target). (Larger) CA, on the sidelines, smouldering holes in his pockets from red-hot Sony PC batteries, twitched and jumped as if he were finishing off all these missed chances.
This was not a football match, it was nonsense. I've seen more challenging games in the school playground. Bar my own performance as Celtic on PlayStation 2: Pro-Evolution Soccer against my 10-year-old son’s AC Milan, I’ve never seen anything as inept. The opposition were hopeless, simple. They couldn't tackle, they couldn't pass the ball, they had neither gameplan nor formation and they had a goalkeeper whom no one had told was allowed to use his hands. But, hey, there's no such thing as an "easy fixture" these days, so we're told. Even these pathetic minnows have to be beaten. And beaten they were. Slaughtered. Our EFL goal difference went from -3 to +14.
In goal, CB was rarely called upon, but when he was, he acquitted himself well. In defence, for which there was precious little need, JR was calm and firm in the challenge. IB and AP were quietly authoritative, AM used the ball particularly well and AS won good tackles. AW (Yes, that’s four Andys so far) linked well with MJ on the right and put over some teasing corners. As the tides ebb and flow without missing a beat, so BM and JR ply their trade week in, week out, harrying, fetching and carrying, with little thought of personal glory, just a steely Saturday determination to help the team play well ... and win. GA looked lively in left midfield, while MJ, sporting some Ricky Villa-esque weekend facial hair, prodded, pushed, cajoled and excelled on the right. GT, JL and SM did what they should, bagging 9 goals between them.
This Colors United – no colour and entirely dis-united – unbelievably won their first EFL game, beating Credit Suisse, who are bottom, 1-0.
Groupie count: modest. Balls lost: zero. Reading’s position in Premier League: 7th. Man of the Match: MJ for five goals and a remarkable seven assists.
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