Ben took in Reading’s season opener not from home, or the away end, but an overseas bar.
Well well well. If it isn’t Mr Start of the Season. How we’ve all missed you. The hope and optimism that had been growing on social media from Reading fans was a sight to behold.
For what it’s worth, both Ross and I predicted a 1-1 draw, but I’m not here to promote any podcast, let alone our own, which is of course available on Spotify, Podbean and lots of other places that I can’t remember right now. But as I said, I’m not here to promote it because that would be crass.
Being abroad, I had to do my research of where to watch the game. This involved:
So not much really. Not much at all. We were late to the game because the people I was with (and I won’t name them) took far too long at the dinner buffet where we were staying. Apparently the theme was “Asian night”, but quite honestly you wouldn’t know it. Chucking a few spring rolls next to the chips and putting pineapple in a curry doesn’t really reflect the region’s delicacies I’m sure. Still, a frogmarch down the hill corrected any time discrepancy and I was in.
The bar, while wonderfully positioned upstairs (the downstairs was a Greek restaurant), was empty. I sat down confidently and the barman snuck up on me like the ghost of an elderly relative appearing at a window on a foggy winter’s morn.
I placed my order swiftly and asked him to turn off the commentary on the TV - I can’t bear watching us on TV anyway, let alone listening to half-researched commentators witter on about how we haven’t signed any players, or how we got points deductions, or how - despite being under immense pressure - Ruben Selles hasn’t really aged too much. No, that’s not for me.
The beer arrived (large local draught, 2.90), as did a complimentary bowl of what I think were BBQ Ruffles, as well as the other drinks I ordered. On the wall, shirts of football clubs blew in the gentle breeze like a feather falling from a passing seagull’s breast. Infant palm trees stood tall, Euro pop music blared out and we (yes, WE) were on the bloody big screen.
We started well. Very well. We should have scored actually. It’s difficult to overlook the fact that our hosts had spent 32 billion dollars on their squad and we’d spent very little (ie nothing). If you closed your eyes, you wouldn’t have known which team was which, quite frankly.
The confidence we were displaying resulted in us taking a richly deserved lead, a cool finish by Big Kelvin and a celebration to match (honestly, I loved it - no idea what it meant but visually it was stunning).
I did the international symbol for ‘same again’ to the barman. He just looked at me. I mouthed “same again, please”. Still nothing. He was now approaching at a rapidly slow pace. He leaned and I looked at him, dead in the eyes and said: “Please can I have the same again, please barman?” He nodded. We had reached an understanding and, very soon, another local draught beer (still 2.90!) arrived, plus another Pepsi for my daughter who didn’t want to be there.
Luckily my children found the bar games and while my son was in full 2024/25 home kit and having spent all day saying he couldn’t wait for us to smash those bluenoses to pieces, he was drawn to the air hockey and pool more than the Selles masterclass we and the group of Germans who had entered the bar were being treated to.
1-0 at the water break was a decent return, I have to say. We should have been 2-0 up but beggars can’t be choosers. During the interval, I visited the toilet and came back to find that the adjacent screen was now showing the Bayern/Spurs game. Fair play. It was wall-to-wall soccer ball, the international language for common ground and love.
I felt we went into our shell a little more in the second period, didn’t flow so well and became a little nervous. We invited the pressure too much for my liking and the anxiety from their crowd clearly served to be a motivating factor for them to kick on in the game. We rode our luck a little bit (hello, possible back pass) but the quality of their team (mega lols) eventually told when the referee decided Lewis Wing used his arm in an illegal way and gave a 12-yard death-kick.
Chris Davies (side note: you know when you go to a family party, or Pizza Hut buffet or take an international flight and there is a child that just cries and whinges incessantly and for seemingly no reason? That’s Chris Davies by the way) was delighted and Alfie May (who cost more than our entire team) slotted home the easiest penalty you’ll ever see.
Am I bitter? No, live and let live. Am I mildly irritated that a bloke who was one of the stars of League One last season, who jumped ship from a classy club like Charlton Athletic at the earliest opportunity, who was completely and utterly anonymous in the game scored, and then shushed both our fans and our players? Not thought about it, really.
1-1 was possibly a fair reflection not the game itself. From our point of view, being so close to nabbing all three succulent points and then not get them because of a soft felony in the box is annoying. Having said that, you cannot fault of any of those players. They were all excellent, mostly composed and hardworking. The fact we’ve gone to the “favourites” and given them a game is testament to what the group is doing and continues to do.
A reminder that we are the ONLY club in the EFL not to make a signing by the way. And if you want to compare the ethos of the two clubs, take a look at both Selles’ post-match interview and Chris Davies’ one and then tell me who you’d rather have at your club.
A nice test on Tuesday against Colchester United in the Worthington’s Cup before our home opener versus Wigan Athletic on Saturday. Enjoy the rest of your weekend. I’m off for a 10am lager.
Until next time.
