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Better dead than Read


Yet another day, yet another ….. get the drift yet? Good. OK, it ended up Tilehurst 0 Selhurst 2 and for the zillionth time in a row, it was yet another not-really-out-of-third-gear-at-best performance, but was still more than enough not to enduce panic. The appearance of Keith Ward in our ranks notwithstanding, we went 1-0 up with a beautiful cross. In fact, so beautiful that if the cross was a woman, you would see the cross on the front cover of Maxim bending down seductively and exposing acres of cleavage. With such a metaphore, it was unsurprising that Matt Everard bulged the net. Second half? Well, Ryan Gray did give a nice whack to make it 2-0, and we did get a nice Robin Hood song to boot


Plus points: Won. Away. Clean sheet. Blah. Etc. Yada. Oh, and our crossing was good

Minus points: The game was a bit shit though

The referee’s a ……. : Was affectionally termed a “cunt”, and it was suggested that he loved his whistle a lot. You are within your rights to insert a crude comment about the ref enjoying blowing something

Them: Well, er, I’ve got to be nice to them after I got accused of being insulting to other teams for them being easy pickings (unless the “you’re rude” comment is a complement). So….. they pushed forward a couple of times, and even had us under the cosh for a while. Well, they did have a shot on goal on 50 minutes and got a corner on 51. They themselves wished us well on the PA – “we’re sorry we may never see you again” – though the area itself is full of neds (ask any Glaswegian what that means) and some of the more primitive of pikey. A reported sighting of one such local with shoulder length hair and a shaven top is one I’m glad is not taken. Coincidentally, their main stand was thought to be constructed by PIKEA….

Song Sung Blue – Reading Town goalie special: Boy did he get it. The former Hartley Witney shot-stopper, named Michael (don’t know his second name), kept getting his first name sung in some of the most mumsy-like, high pitched voices I’ve ever heard. If you remember the mother in “Sorry” who kept saying “Language, Timothy”, you’d understand. One of our number, who’s obsession with apes borders on requiring extensive therapy, suggested that Michael touched chimps where they don’t want to be touched, that the goalkeeper likes performing oral sex on monkeys and even labelled the goalie a “sicko”….

Three’s a crowd: I am sure there were less there this time than last year. It was a shit journey then, and it felt worse coming home. It was certainly very empty 30 minutes before kick-off. Some do reckon that the attendance was the same as last year, but with the amount of alcohol many drunk last year, I am not convinced they even knew that they went to the game last season.

Point to ponder: Why DOES Joe Sheerin look much redder in the face after 40 minutes than anyone else?

Truth is stranger than fiction: (1) Reading Town #2 had no left arm. Seriously. As much as I do genuinely admire the guy for playing with such a disability, it did make the calls for “handball” just that little bit more dubious. (2) At least three of our players propping up the bar during the second half. Leaving one female Womble to come out of the bar in the second half looking rather red in the face and claiming she felt like she’d been slapped in the face. (3) The Reading Town groundsman acting like Viz’s Parkie and confiscating a football at HT from some kids. In true Womble fashion, the kids nicked the ball back. They’ll go far.

Franchise FC watch: I really wasn’t going to mention them, but… they played on Sky at the very same time as I was on a train hand-writing this very report (yes, I do hand-write reports on occasions). They won, but this is the most important thing. Their attendance was 3334. That’s 3334. At Milton Keynes, at their spiritual new home, on telly. And half of them looked like they were on freebies. I am not too sure whether to laugh, cry or get angry.

One other thing, on the week that Plough Lane finally is going to be built on, I hear that Hammam was at a Franchise reserve game this week (sitting next to Koppout, no less) and was claiming that he was the Father of AFC Wimbledon. If either of those are remotely true, I would like to put something witty, thought provoking and something of deep intellectual thought and diction that would gain me wide acclaim in the literary world. But I won’t, I just hope the pure evil cunt gets raped by somebody with HIV.

Hello mum: Which Womble offered £100 to the Stadium Fund if Wardy didn’t score, and who acted like they’d been spanked hard after he managed to miss a header 5 inches out?

So, was it worth it? Oooh, possibly

In a nutshell: I have no idea what to write if we lose. Honest…

One more thing, I managed to go through the entire report without mentioning how bloody cold it was. Oops…