Author: Old Git

And, just to answer the question on everybody's lips: 387. Michael Jackson was there, too. You can't contradict me. This is the OFFICIAL TWTD Reserves Report, tonight. (Well, all right, there was a large banner, saying Jackson, across the North Stand that is springing up like in one of those freeze-frame films.)

It felt as if I was reporting on England versus West Germany, Mexico, 1970. We were 2-0 up and started to coast. Then they scored three. And that was just the first half. How does that happen? We had a very strong line-up, like you get in a dream, with players from the past and players from the future, mixed in together--Venus and Peralta, Bent and McGreal, Beevers and Croft--though this was not, strictly speaking, a Dream Team. Sixto Peralta was the focus of most attention. He wants to be called Mumo. Why? I want to be called Pele Brosnan, but at least that makes some sense. Mumo consulted Mauricio Taricco before joining us on loan for the season. This evening, we saw why: they were talking hair-care; they share a haircut, and those lugubrious Latin looks.

Amir Karic is usually the fulcrum, or, rather, the rusty hinge of my Reserves Reports, but tonight there are, apparently, international matches that somehow involve The Man With The Sweet Left Foot; And The Sour Right Foot. To borrow Jim Magilton's words, Amir must be playing for some World Cup pub team: Slovenlia, is it?

So, he was missing tonight, at The Big Match, as was Fulham's chairman, west London's most notable Egyptian shopkeeper, who has invested a golden pyramid--£M43.5--not to reinforce promotion, as a prudent, Sheepshanks-like figure would, but to conquer the Premiership, as Tutankhamun would have over-run the Hyksos. Sir Sheepie's ambitions are beacons of good sense, but Mohammed Al Fayed is a pharoic, almost biblical character, The Old Git of Cairo, and he has spent over one million pounds A DAY in August. Inevitably, therefore, some of the galley slaves who rowed Fulham into the Premiership are now entombed in the Reserves, never to return to the first team, so the Town players on show tonight have futures where the Fulham players only have pasts.

(The rest of this report has been sieved free of Egyptian references. By my mummy! (Who, incidentally, is alive and well despite, pretty obviously, being old enough to have been at school with Ankesenamum's mum.)

Our line-up was so strong that the captain of the Reserves, Justin Miller (who he?) was squeezed onto the bench. (That doesn't mean he was fat, only that he was squeezed out of the team.) The team was:

Branagan (though only because Marshall is injured;)

McGreal, Wayne Brown and Venus as three at the back;

Croft and Lee Beevers (the eager Yoof) as wing-backs;

Ashley Nicholls in front of the back three;

Nabil Abidallah and Sixto Peralta, as midfield spelling traps;

Darren Bent and Alun Armstrong as black beauty and the beast, up front.

It would only take a dose of flu, and this could be our first team.

Within 21 minutes, we scored two. A Nicholls-Armstrong-Bent effort had been blocked by Fulham's Jaap Stam-lookalike in goal; then an Abbadabba corner gave Armstrong the opportunity of a Deisler-like miss, an opportunity that he took. To miss, that is, but, then, Bent opened the scoring when he burst through the middle, chipped the ball up and then headed in a gem. 1-0.

Almost from the re-start, a cracking interchange between Bent and AA, that began on the halfway line, allowed Alun to run on to beat Stam, er Marcus Hahnemann, with style. 2-0.

What happened next?

Nicholls began the casual/suicidal spell, passing to Calum Willock, for him to shoot just wide, just on the half-hour. Then Branagan had to save from their defender, Hutchinson, who was their most effective attacker. Then Mumo shot, after links from Bent and Beevers; then Armstrong headed-over a Venus pass.

But, after 38 minutes, Eddie Lewis stood, alone, 30 yards out and hooked a shot to the right of Branagan. 2-1.

Betsy--yes--crossed for Luke Cornwell--later booked--lonely as a cloud on the six yard line, to gently head in the equaliser, within a minute. Arrgh, and arrgh again just another minute later, when Lewis was only just wide, after which Croftie was straight-replacement subbed by Erdum Artun, (who was booked, 66 mins, for fouling in the opposition's penalty area--people are often booked when in an alien part of the pitch;) almost certainly because of lack of fitness rather than as punishment. Croft had done enough to satisfy a WBA scout, if such was present, but he's not one for the fast lane. Well, he is, actually, but...

But the punishment wasn't finished: Willock gave Fulham, in very un-Harrods red and black--the lead, just on half-time, with a double strike, and single goal, Branagan having saved the first strike brilliantly.

Half-time: England 2 West Germany 3. It had been a craven--geddit--collapse, and inexplicable, with such an experienced defence. In the whole of the rest of the match, the defence looked comfy, but that's like saying that the ice-skater was terrific apart from the three falls.

My Methuselah-old father was going to accompany me to this match tonight, to hold my watch and the thermometer. Evocative image. When he realised that some other match clashed, he dumped me. His very words were, "no-one but a couple of old gits and their whippets, who've lost all track of time, would turn out for such a daft game." Well, if he'd come with me, I could have kept track of time. I can still tell you that the average temperature, during the match, was a mild 60 degrees fahrenheit. And, Dad, there were 387 of us there. Amazingly.

My mother swears---yes, the curse of my mummy! Sorry---that she danced with Al Fayad, in the 'thirties, at a dance hall in Ilford. However, that may equally have been Al Green, 'Big Al' Hunter, or even, as the man said in court, Al Capone, as Mother gets confused, nowadays. And I suspect that Mohammed's phone records would prove that he has never been to Ilford.

Mother thinks that Darren Bent looks promising. But she may mean Finidi George, of course. It's a different generation thing. I hope that people don't imagine that Town Yoofs are just 'the eponymous hero of Bent Lane' plus some others. That is disproved by three other Yoofs being given squad numbers. They operate as a typical Town team, but Bent has already eclipsed (the injured) Logan, whose name, I fear, will soon be added to the list of all those people called Neil--no, computer-sieving programme, not Nile--or Naylor, who have never quite 'come through'. I've already missed a 7-0 thrashing, by the Yoofs, of Barnsley. I shall certainly again be attending, and reporting upon, more Yoof matches this season.

Big-buttocked Logan came on, at right wing, for the second half, instead of left back Beevers, whose position was taken by Brown, as we went four at the back: Artun, McGreal, Venus, Brown.

It worked within 2 mins, Bent taking a deserved rebound off the goalie, after a good solo run, to make it 3-3.

It was the end of the game, unfortunately, to all intents and purposes. In the very last seconds, Venus struck a very hard freekick, but to no avail. Timlin had, earlier, been booked for fouling Venus. (And Nicholls had then been booked within a minute for fouling.) The very dark clouds had seeped mist, then drizzle, and then had fallen open.

McGreal had seen a red mist and was very lucky not to have been booked for dissent.

Darren Bent should certainly have scored a hat-trick. His shot was blocked, one-on-one, after 65 mins, and I then wrote that he is tall, fit and fast, and has good first touch, second touch...doh, it didn't need a third touch. Within the last 10 mins, he had two more chances, but dwelt too long. That spoiled his performance. You gotta be greedy and ruthless: Owen barely had any chances, last Saturday.

Mumo must play on till the end, too. He was classy, and was prepared, a couple of times, to tackle, too. Nabil works harder, but he has to, as he hasn't got Mumo's natural athleticism. Nabil was subbed by Yoof Lee Westlake, whose ten mins showed Mumo how effective all-out effort can be. Ashley Nicholls is okay. ( 'Snot enuf. )

Fulham employed the first £100-a-week footballer, Johnny Haynes, thanks to the PFA negotiations of his team-mate, Jimmy Hill. Every single Reserve, tonight, will earn more, this week, than Haynes earned in a year, and he was England captain. Some of tonight's stuff was poor: Fulham practised being offside; had Tigana missed out the word, 'trap'?

Never mind. Don't be such an oldgit. It was still 5-1 last Saturday, and we are still off to Moscow and the World Cup.

I shall translate this report into Russian and post it on the Torpedo site. Any other languages are by request.

Old Git's Topical Travelling Tips: take a couple of large, fresh potatoes with you, to Moscow; at the current exchange rate, half a pound of King Edwards will buy a beautiful young companion, for after the match.

Old Git's Serious Travellers' Tip: do not buy vodka from Moscow street sellers, as it can kill. As can street sellers.

Now, like Rumplestiltskin, I shall find out what happened in that other match, tonight. So that I can see how Amir Karic got on...now, then, Yugoslavia....

copyright oldgit@reserves XXI

oldgit@reserves and oldgit@res.com.eu are registered trade marks.

Photo: Action Images

Ipswich Town Polls