TWTD's Reserves Reports are brought to you by Old Git.

Tonight's report is dedicated to all those loyal, lucky, richer-than-I fans who went to Moscow. Fluffy brown hats off to you.

Teams: Andy Marshall; Fabian Wilnis, Justin Miller(c), Lee Beevers, Jamie Clapham; Tommy Miller, Nabil Abidallah, Ashley Nicholls, Sixto 'Mumo' Peralta; Pablo Gonzales Couñago, Richard 'Goodolboy' Naylor.

West Ham United : Bywater, Minto, Soma, Ferrante, Potts, Foxe, Newton, Moncur, Kitson, Garcia, Sir Leon Britton.

West Ham were humbled tonight by the team with the greater killer instinct, (and I am humbled by again being your OFFICIAL Reserves Reporter). It's hard to imagine a Town team being described thus, but hunger is a great incentive, and we kept gnawing away at them for 90 minutes. Skill alone was not enough on Sunday, and West Ham's typical Academy of Football skill was not enough tonight. We had one or two, like my Man of the Match, Mumo Peralta, who threw that bit extra into the pot.

Once again, we had a much better team for the absence of Amir Karic, who drags people down to his potholing level. Like Miss Piggy, Karic is a star. Of sorts. He is resting on his chaise longue tonight - do Norwich stars rest on a Robert chaise longue? Ahead of this weekend's internationals, in which, of course, he has a tiny, tiny part (as he has, apparently, also, in real life). After the Leeds match, he was trying to move much more quickly than I have seen him move on the pitch... his big blue Rover was being held up by a steward, so that we poor bit-part players could shuffle off home. "And you are ?!" he was shouting. As in, 'I am THE Amir Karic, and who are you to stop me ?' Extraordinary, that such a blunt instrument should have such a keen grasp of English, though his wife is a teacher. On yer bike, Amir. Comprendez? Talking of West Ham, do they ride in an Amer Karidge? (If you don't get it, email me at oldgit@postmaster.co.uk). Talking of yer West 'Aaaaam, no, I am not a Scouse Old Git. (Again, email me, if necessary).

Craig Forrest didn't play, which disappointed me greatly, though I should have known that anyone, say Bywater, would play instead, because the East Anglian advertised him as an 'attraction' for tonight. I liked Forrest: he spent so long, so often, on international duties for Canada (and that is?!) that he lost his place in the Town team. He was/is the perfect shape for a goalie, tall and springy, yet so many, nowadays, are not: squat, solid, prop-forward types, like Wretched Wright, Nigel Martyn, Matteo Sereni, Neville Southall. (Nev? Well, no list of fat men should ever exclude Nev; bung Paul Cooper on there, too, why not. Fancy another one, SuperCoop?).

Forrest's kicking was erratic, but so was Matteo's on Sunday, though his ability to kick long should occasionally be used, if all other routes are blocked.

There have been calls for me to cut to the Robert (!) more quickly, so here we go : (and a call for photos, but PhilGav, our mythical patron(s), are too mean to provide me with either a lapdancer or a laptop, so the chances of them allowing me free reign at the PC World digital camera counter are zilch; quite apart from the senility surrounding the fact that I have owned an un-plugged-in-who-the-hell-knows scanner for two and a half years...).

West Ham were on their toes, lively, fresh, excited. Someone queried today on the Messsage Board whether Reserves matches were exciting enough for his dull palate. With one stand missing the atmosphere lacks something: with three empty stands, there is no visual atmosphere (though the Greene King Stand looks impressive, empty; and tidier, without all you North Standers in it). And with the crowd made up of 1,252 (I guessed at twice that) gimps like me, and children, there is not the 'edge' of a first team game. Or the meaning. But it can be interesting, and tonight it assuredly was, if you like neat, thoughtful footer.

After 15 mins, Abbadabba was wide of the left post. There you are, we're under way.

After 17, Pablo won a kick which Abba put to Miller for him to bang over, and wince like Vinnie Jones, whose will-to-win he does not share, though his cropped head is no doubt an 'homage'. I've heard Miller described as 'a Matty Holland'...umm, and as 'the best midfielder in the Nationwide'. Ummmmmm. He treated tonight as a training session. He looked like average Academy fodder, to me, a hod carrier (as Jones was) who gives the team 'balance'. Sod the balance, let's just have proper players like Mumo.

West Ham scored after 22 minutes. Immediately before the goal, Kitson shot over from a cross by Newton, but a corner followed, taken by Sir Leon Britton (who, I have to say, has lost a very great deal of weight since he was, if I am not much mistaken, one of Britain's European Union Commissioners). Blond Richard GARCIA, the Hammers' star, headed powerfully into the goal from beyond the far post. 0-1. (Blond and Garcia don't go together, do they? He is no doubt a world famous Iberio-Croat international - most players I don't know usually are - but he was a 'winner', I thought. More of him later in the report).

In fact, more of Garcia now: he put through a lovely ball for Kitson to chip over, after 25 mins.

Town fought back with a gentle header from Richard Naylor, though 'gentle' and 'Naylor' will never appear together in a computer search. Naylor's a Man's Man, like Jackie Charlton, and plays with all his finesse. Darren Bent is the future, but was pushed to the bench for reasons of morale; Psycho's. The future belongs to finesse. The modern player's repertoire of tricks would have been laughed off the pitch by Jackie Charlton [surely kicked off? - PH]. Suitable for 'the Continentals', as my (extremely) aged father still says.

You'd like Naylor as a person, whereas Clapham looks anal retentive (and so does the nominal, but not phenomenal, Reserves' captain, Justin Miller). But Clappers knows joined-up footballing, whereas Naylor would....you remember England's goal against Holland, five years ago ? It would have been Gascoigne, to Teddy, to Naylor...oooops.

Naylor played, tonight, like a Cockfield United player, rough and ready: too rough. Not ready.

On the half hour, after very positive midfield work by Yabbadab, Nicholls shot wide of right hand upright, which brought applause simply because we had been storing it up. Then Clappers poked a ball in for Naylor to sidefoot over.

Naylor is a tank, alongside Couñago the powder puff. I wish we knew whether Pablo really is just a young D'Avray :I cannot go through another five years of watching D'Avray.

Do we need a specialist how-to-score-a-goal coach, to add to Sir George's defensive coaching team, of Malcolm Webster, Mogga etc. and GB? My humble tip would be: hit the ball accurately towards the goal. Blasting, with your head back, will do exactly what it says on the tin. The textbook 'head it down' is too rigid, as is 'shoot back across the goal'. Frankly, trying to gently lob the ball within the limits of the goal-posts is as likely to result in a goal as anything. Sorry to be serious but I really, really don't see how relegation fits in to anyone's one-, three- or five-year plan. My plan is to still be alive in five years. (Seen that bad film?).

West Ham were dominating, so Abba's 40 yard shot, after 38 mins, was a tonic, no matter how half-hearted it was. It inspired Nicholls to shoot miles over, after grand interplay betwixt and between Abb, Pabb, Naylor and Tommy Miller, but that paved the way for NICHOLLS to score, a minute later, after Pablo's rebound set him up. 1-1.

The tide had been turned, and we were in with a shout; and a couple of corners resulted, giving Peralta the opportunity of, first, practising, and then scoring, with a screamer volley, to send us in to half time in the lead.

HALF-TIME 2-1.

No doubt you are looking in this report for solutions to the first team's problems, and The Meaning of Life. The Reserves is always about fringe issues - can 'Mumo' Peralta replace Magic, next year? Is Abbadabba the new Kieron (you know the answer, don't you?) Is Marshall too good for a death-by-a-thousand-cuts in the Reserves? Would those two fat birds in Co-op uniforms say yes? That sort of stuff.

Bent is a Solution. He replaced scorer Nicholls (who is Not Really Up To It) and went on to the right wing, where he was fast and direct. Who do you know, that's tall, slim, black, plays on the right wing, and could learn from that? Bent went straight into action, helping Naylor to hit the bar; offside anyway. Five mins later, Bent's cross was hit wide by Miller, T. So, then, Garcia fouled Bent, out on the wing, where Garcia should not have been, but he is fit and willing, and sometimes that will take you into foreign land where you get in a muddle, but I like 'fit and willing'. Garcia was booked.

Andy Marshall is A Problem. He must be so sick, mentally, even though he is clearly now physically fine. He palmed a tricky Newton teaser-shot over, after 55 mins.

Life was comfy. So then they scored, KITSON skipping through our inexperienced defenders, and placing it beyond Marshall, as classy as Sir Geoffrey Hurst, (if, admittedly, slimmer, more flexible, and nippier; other than that...). 2-2.

In the last Reserves' home match, our defence was over 100 years old. A month is a long time in football; tonight, they were in nappies. Beevers, on this occasion, was unable to dam the torrent. Damn.

Talking of Men From A Bygone Era, did you see the Best Player There Ever Was Or Will Be - Bestie - on Parky? How Blairy, that Elton should have a knighthood, and Bex a posh pile of money, when all Bestie's got is painted eyebrows, that boring voice; and the smell of death (and I should know. Or was that something on the car-seat?) When he was Reg Dwight, he used to play the piano, at the Northwood Hills Hotel, whilst my mate, Harry Hendry and I, played bar billiards (No, not Bestie; he's been many stupid things, though). He should have a statue outside every ground. No, not Elton. Elton's would look like the one of 'Grandma', in Ipswich, to commemorate the cartoonist, Giles.

Sorry, back to the match.

67 mins :Good run by Garcia, shot too high. He cut in brilliant, and shot just over. Brilliantly, Trevor. Thank you, though I was always a bit one-paced. Not like Bestie, now, 'e was brilliantly.

70 : Counago knocked Nabil's cross wide of the left peg. As he always does. Doesn't he? (If only Nabil was just a bit bigger. I know he's not Dyer, but he's got some super touches and a definite football brain. I want him to succeed for us. Can't he grow His legs are tiny little bits of straw. He must have been good to watch as a boy, though probably too tiny to see).

Oh, God, it's ten to eleven. I promised the mythical Phil/Gav person I would have this done by 11, or I will turn into a mushroom.

What next: Mumo was booked for a body-check. Young Will Snowden replaced eager young Beevers (72). I feel guilt that I have yet to watch the Yoofs, this season, despite the Under-19s already posting good results, like last week's 2-1 v Arsenal, who were such exceptional opposition in the season just gone. But, then, I feel guilt about all sorts of things. Silly, in the aged. Too late now.

Johnson replaced Moncur (77) but I no longer like Moncur, even though he played here on loan.

MInto then felled Nabba, who was easily carried off the pitch by Tommy Miller, to chuckling, and a man whose buttocks alone weigh more than Nabba came on: Log Logan, whose twinkling feet, well, at least his dazzling red soles, lit up the last ten minutes (I think that I detected a g-string up Logan's er, well: a trick learnt from very fat birds everywhere).

Sadly, my man Garcia was, at this point, sent off, totally farcically, for a foul, again on the wing, this time on Clappers. Second bookable.

Late drama.

More late drama. We won! Clappers, my old mate, struck a peachy, peachy free-kick into the box for Sixto Peralta, at the far post, to clinch the champagne by scoring our winner with just seconds to go. 3-2.

11.05. All's well.

Goodnight, young men. No doubt you are about to begin a night of football and ladies, beer and drugs. I may have five minutes relaxation with a nice crisp apple.

FULL-TIME 3-2.

oldgit's hair by Kirstie.

oldigt is dressed by Matalan.

oldgit drives Old Jag.

oldgit smells, faintly, of Old Spice.

oldgit smells.

copyright oldgit MMI

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

Photo: Action Images

Ipswich Town Polls