I'm currently reading Jim White's (the writer, not the football transfer maniac with more mobiles than a modern day Pablo Escobar) ambitious 'Premier League; A History in 10 Matches' which explores...well, you can probably guess what the subject matter is.
The eighth match in the book is one Reading fans will never be able to forget as it was one of the most conspicstaging posts in the collapse of our greatest ever team.
It was on Saturday, September 29. Stephen Hunt, Dave Kitson, Shane Long and an OG from a Nicky Shorey short were our scorers. And we still lost.
Yup, it was Portsmouth 7 Reading 4 - a match which presumably still has Alan Hansen waking up in the middle of the night drenched in cold sweat and needing to turn the bedside table lamp on.
The chapter focuses largely on the largescale financial incompetence at Portsmouth under the ill-fated Harry Redknapp/ Alexandre Gaydamak axis starting in around 2006 and how the club are still paying the price for that to this very day. The Reading angle is largely sketched in (small club inferiority complex yada yada yada), but more on which later.
The overall summarisation being that Portsmouth's demise changed the way the Premier League saw the potential financial implosion of its members - from being something very distant to being a genuine threat (though one which one always got the feeling they were hoping to just keep Portsmouth going until the end of the season and then they would be the Football League's problem).
The chapter ends on a positive with the takeover of Portsmouth by its Supporters' Trust and highlighting the fact that their opponents on that strange September afternoon were a sustainable model they could seek to emulate.
This book was written last year and hindsight is 20/20 of course but given the events of the past year at Reading, it makes such a suggestion seem somewhat laughable. The pace of change in modern football, eh?
The club and Sir John Madejski are praised in the book for the self-sustainable model imposed and more or less achieved (in relative football terms anyway) from 2006 to 2011 - a model which many Reading fans were rightly proud of and perhaps, whisper it, even miss the security of.
While Portsmouth chased the dream and lived so scarily obviously - and obviously scarily - beyond their limited means, Reading cut their cloth (to use the parlance) and lived within their similarly limited means.
However, both ended up being sold on to a young owner with ties to Russia with no real indication given where they had earned their respective wealth with suggestions dubious Daddy was behind each of them respectively.
While Reading - or so it would seem if the latest takeover gets finalised - were saved by the early prudent bookkeeping and owning their stadium and their training ground (making them a much more attractive purchase), Portsmouth were not so lucky and League Two has proved to be the place where enough anvils were thrown out of the hot balloon to allow them to float.
Were it not for Reading's circumstances of owing a modern, income-generating machine of a stadium, the post-Zingaravich world could be looking a lot worse - indeed, genuine fears over administration earlier this summer suggests it may not have been all that far away.
All of which goes back to that 7-4 game nearly seven years ago where two similar-sized clubs met with markedly different immediate pasts, presents and immediate futures but ended up going in the same direction (though to differing extents) further down the line.
Wednesday 23 July 2014
Monday 21 July 2014
In defence of Alastair Cook
The time was 12.58pm on Monday, July 21. The largely Indian crowd at HQ was subdued - even the chap who wanted to stand in everyone's way at the foot of the Lower Compton to get pictures of himself had sat down, the victim of an epic Coca-Cola spill on a white shirt - a 100-run partnership had been secured and the first bottle of wine was nearly finished. All was well and good.
Then Moeen Ali got caught between pulling and ducking (pucking?).
An hour of play later and that was that - England all out, six wickets lost for around 50 runs or so, tipsy but inoffensive Indian fans were delighted and England fans were just plain offended. A collapse to a fast-medium pacer in English conditions deploying some short-pitched stuff.
Batsman after batsman going taking on the hook and pull.
Prior? Live by the sword, die by the sword right and play to your strengths but read the situation as an experienced player - there are three men out on the hook. Leave the short ball alone.
Stokes? Yes you're out of form and slightly green but take a look at the scoreboard. Leave the short ball well alone.
Root? Likewise. You've batted superbly for 66. You have lost three partners in quick session. You have only played 19 Tests but take a step back and breathe. And leave the short ball well alone.
Broad? Well, you're not an all-rounder so we can let you off really.
Inevitably, the inquest spotlights fell on to Alastair Cook, unfairly in my view.
The buck probably does stop with the captain but what can he do when his players are not using their brains?
Yes he can score more runs but that isn't going to get his batsman to play properly. He was incredibly proactive in both innings when talking to his bowlers (for the most part) but if they don't use their initiative as professionals, what more can the captain do? What else can the skipper do to get his senior players backing him and leading alongside him when he is already taking scorchers of catches and setting relatively smart fields?
Yes Matt Prior and Stuart Broad in particular look to be carrying injuries and are knackered but there is no shame in sticking your hand up and saying 'I can't carry on' rather than forcing your captain and management team in to having to make a tough decision. Ian Bell is out of form and James Anderson is probably pretty shattered and distracted by the Jadeja spat furthermore.
Cook has enough to worry about with his own form without having no-one to stand alongside him
He is still the best man for the job. Without wishing to make him sound like the best of a bad bunch, every other candidate has a worse CV.
Bell - equally as out of form. Root - arguably in too good form (captaincy will drag it down). Prior? No form and injured. Eoin Morgan? Average Test record and no first class captaincy experience. Chris Read? He's nearly 37 and averages 19 - you might as well bring back Mike Brearley. Any bowler? Too many Tests crammed into a short space of time so they won't play regularly.
Furthermore, what would be the point in shaking up the team so violently when the Rose Bowl Test is five days away?
Cook should remain as captain - though certainly take a break after the Tests and come back in the winter - as he is still the best candidate - mentally strong, seen it all in the game, the natural choice and up until a year ago, a very good track record.
Unlike Andrew Strauss - a very similar captain - and perhaps in a similar vein to Ricky Ponting, Cook has had to deal with the demise of a very good team. In the past year, for one reason or another, Cook has lost Jonathan Trott, Kevin Pietersen, and Graeme Swann.
Cook probably has a similar job description to that of Nasser Hussain - the changing of the guard with a young team in transition. Who will be the new Marcus Trescothick, Michael Vaughan, Andrew Flintoff, Steve Harmison and Matthew Hoggard to lead the next generation? Root, Gary Ballance, Moeen Ali and Chris Jordan look promising but not ready for leadership.
Cook still wants the role and can lead the next generation through. Let him get on with it.
Starting XI for the Third Test vs India- Cook (C), Robson, Ballance, Taylor, Root, Ali, Buttler, Woakes, Plunkett, Jordan, Anderson
Then Moeen Ali got caught between pulling and ducking (pucking?).
An hour of play later and that was that - England all out, six wickets lost for around 50 runs or so, tipsy but inoffensive Indian fans were delighted and England fans were just plain offended. A collapse to a fast-medium pacer in English conditions deploying some short-pitched stuff.
Batsman after batsman going taking on the hook and pull.
Prior? Live by the sword, die by the sword right and play to your strengths but read the situation as an experienced player - there are three men out on the hook. Leave the short ball alone.
Stokes? Yes you're out of form and slightly green but take a look at the scoreboard. Leave the short ball well alone.
Root? Likewise. You've batted superbly for 66. You have lost three partners in quick session. You have only played 19 Tests but take a step back and breathe. And leave the short ball well alone.
Broad? Well, you're not an all-rounder so we can let you off really.
Inevitably, the inquest spotlights fell on to Alastair Cook, unfairly in my view.
The buck probably does stop with the captain but what can he do when his players are not using their brains?
Yes he can score more runs but that isn't going to get his batsman to play properly. He was incredibly proactive in both innings when talking to his bowlers (for the most part) but if they don't use their initiative as professionals, what more can the captain do? What else can the skipper do to get his senior players backing him and leading alongside him when he is already taking scorchers of catches and setting relatively smart fields?
Yes Matt Prior and Stuart Broad in particular look to be carrying injuries and are knackered but there is no shame in sticking your hand up and saying 'I can't carry on' rather than forcing your captain and management team in to having to make a tough decision. Ian Bell is out of form and James Anderson is probably pretty shattered and distracted by the Jadeja spat furthermore.
Cook has enough to worry about with his own form without having no-one to stand alongside him
He is still the best man for the job. Without wishing to make him sound like the best of a bad bunch, every other candidate has a worse CV.
Bell - equally as out of form. Root - arguably in too good form (captaincy will drag it down). Prior? No form and injured. Eoin Morgan? Average Test record and no first class captaincy experience. Chris Read? He's nearly 37 and averages 19 - you might as well bring back Mike Brearley. Any bowler? Too many Tests crammed into a short space of time so they won't play regularly.
Furthermore, what would be the point in shaking up the team so violently when the Rose Bowl Test is five days away?
Cook should remain as captain - though certainly take a break after the Tests and come back in the winter - as he is still the best candidate - mentally strong, seen it all in the game, the natural choice and up until a year ago, a very good track record.
Unlike Andrew Strauss - a very similar captain - and perhaps in a similar vein to Ricky Ponting, Cook has had to deal with the demise of a very good team. In the past year, for one reason or another, Cook has lost Jonathan Trott, Kevin Pietersen, and Graeme Swann.
Cook probably has a similar job description to that of Nasser Hussain - the changing of the guard with a young team in transition. Who will be the new Marcus Trescothick, Michael Vaughan, Andrew Flintoff, Steve Harmison and Matthew Hoggard to lead the next generation? Root, Gary Ballance, Moeen Ali and Chris Jordan look promising but not ready for leadership.
Cook still wants the role and can lead the next generation through. Let him get on with it.
Starting XI for the Third Test vs India- Cook (C), Robson, Ballance, Taylor, Root, Ali, Buttler, Woakes, Plunkett, Jordan, Anderson
Monday 14 July 2014
An ode to an NHS A&E department from a first-time adult user
Last night, for the first time in 15 years, I found myself in the Accident and Emergency department (as with the last time, very much emphasis on 'accident') of the Royal Berkshire Hospital.
My problem? Drunken misdemeanor involving a traffic cone and a statue of Queen Victoria? Punched in the face repeatedly after defending an old lady from two callous criminals? Falling off a bicycle and under a truck, leaving my lower body looking like a toothpaste tube nearing the end of its natural usage? Anything even remotely cool or exciting?
Nope. Bet that wasn't a surprise...
Being a spry, youthful 24-year-old, it was a dodgy back. Yeah, a dodgy back. A debilitating, horrendous, tear-inducing series of sharp, stabbing, excruciating jots of agony pouring out of my lower back up as far up as my shoulders and down as low as my knees leaving me on two occasions unable to move and, even now, stooped like a marginally prettier Hunchback of Notre Dame (but with a far worse singing voice apparently). All that and more. But still, a 24-year-old hobbling into A&E with a hot water bottle crammed into my lumbar region with a back problem.
Anyway, enough self-pity.
Outside of a Wetherspoons at 7.30 in the evening, the A&E department of any hospital at nighttime is perhaps the closest you can get to a Mad Hatter's tea party - sans tea and cake but with added vending machine Fanta - in terms of strange, concerning and daft characters.
In roughly two-and-a-half hours last night (big up the NHS for that short wait) I witnessed, to mention but three:
-a certainly drunk and potentially mentally troubled middle-aged gent who arrived in ambulance, was led out from the A&E ward to the waiting room, asked the receptionist on five separate occasions if he could go back on the ward to find his '£220 glasses', asked who had won the football 'Brazil or Argentina', fell asleep in the toilet for half an hour and then fell asleep again outside the toilet door for another 15 minutes.
-a chap behind a pair of dark glasses who had an 'accident' at 7pm the night before, proceeded to sit in the waiting room for 90 minutes making out with his very blonde other half and then deciding to head home- despite said other half referring to a 'fractured eye socket'- mentioning the word (presumably not entirely in jest) 'curfew' to the receptionist as he left
-a woman rant and rave about the competency of NHS staff to a poor Irish patient who looked as if all she wanted to do was be on her own but was far too polite to say so.
And then some people who were genuinely injured and in quite some pain.
Through all this, the lovely NHS staff took it all in their stride and got on with their jobs with smiles on their faces, the picture of politeness when by rights they should be legally (let alone ethically) allowed to administer a heavy dose of tranquilisers and be granted a short, sharp kick to the sensitive parts of said damn fools - me included for basically turning up to get some super-strong codeine when there were people who walked as if one of their legs had been replaced with a none-too-supple pool cue.
Personally, in my adult life, I've never had to rely on the NHS apart from an occasional GP visit, but happily paid my taxes knowing that one day I would need to utilise it. That night came last night.
For free at the point of use, I could call a hotline to get some information and help, speak to an on-call doctor (who basically told me to go to A&E and get off the phone, perhaps as the second half of the World Cup final was just starting), get checked out, reassured, get some painkillers and be granted the bliss of a relatively painless night's sleep, advice on how to get literally back on my feet and prevent it from happening again in the future from pleasant, knowledgeable staff, all within three hours or so.
What more could you possibly ask? Except maybe more comfortable chairs...
My problem? Drunken misdemeanor involving a traffic cone and a statue of Queen Victoria? Punched in the face repeatedly after defending an old lady from two callous criminals? Falling off a bicycle and under a truck, leaving my lower body looking like a toothpaste tube nearing the end of its natural usage? Anything even remotely cool or exciting?
Nope. Bet that wasn't a surprise...
Being a spry, youthful 24-year-old, it was a dodgy back. Yeah, a dodgy back. A debilitating, horrendous, tear-inducing series of sharp, stabbing, excruciating jots of agony pouring out of my lower back up as far up as my shoulders and down as low as my knees leaving me on two occasions unable to move and, even now, stooped like a marginally prettier Hunchback of Notre Dame (but with a far worse singing voice apparently). All that and more. But still, a 24-year-old hobbling into A&E with a hot water bottle crammed into my lumbar region with a back problem.
Anyway, enough self-pity.
Outside of a Wetherspoons at 7.30 in the evening, the A&E department of any hospital at nighttime is perhaps the closest you can get to a Mad Hatter's tea party - sans tea and cake but with added vending machine Fanta - in terms of strange, concerning and daft characters.
In roughly two-and-a-half hours last night (big up the NHS for that short wait) I witnessed, to mention but three:
-a certainly drunk and potentially mentally troubled middle-aged gent who arrived in ambulance, was led out from the A&E ward to the waiting room, asked the receptionist on five separate occasions if he could go back on the ward to find his '£220 glasses', asked who had won the football 'Brazil or Argentina', fell asleep in the toilet for half an hour and then fell asleep again outside the toilet door for another 15 minutes.
-a chap behind a pair of dark glasses who had an 'accident' at 7pm the night before, proceeded to sit in the waiting room for 90 minutes making out with his very blonde other half and then deciding to head home- despite said other half referring to a 'fractured eye socket'- mentioning the word (presumably not entirely in jest) 'curfew' to the receptionist as he left
-a woman rant and rave about the competency of NHS staff to a poor Irish patient who looked as if all she wanted to do was be on her own but was far too polite to say so.
And then some people who were genuinely injured and in quite some pain.
Through all this, the lovely NHS staff took it all in their stride and got on with their jobs with smiles on their faces, the picture of politeness when by rights they should be legally (let alone ethically) allowed to administer a heavy dose of tranquilisers and be granted a short, sharp kick to the sensitive parts of said damn fools - me included for basically turning up to get some super-strong codeine when there were people who walked as if one of their legs had been replaced with a none-too-supple pool cue.
Personally, in my adult life, I've never had to rely on the NHS apart from an occasional GP visit, but happily paid my taxes knowing that one day I would need to utilise it. That night came last night.
For free at the point of use, I could call a hotline to get some information and help, speak to an on-call doctor (who basically told me to go to A&E and get off the phone, perhaps as the second half of the World Cup final was just starting), get checked out, reassured, get some painkillers and be granted the bliss of a relatively painless night's sleep, advice on how to get literally back on my feet and prevent it from happening again in the future from pleasant, knowledgeable staff, all within three hours or so.
What more could you possibly ask? Except maybe more comfortable chairs...
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