Town's Reserves walloped Wimbledon's second string at Portman Road on Tuesday evening.

Report by GigglingOldGent@Reserves (oldgit@postmaster.co.uk), The Report As Advertised On The Tannoy At FPR Tonight.....

Giggling, partly because of the advert on the tannoy, but mainly because you all missed what became a Yoofs Masterclass, the best match seen at Portman Road this season, because you were all at home, like nancy boys, watching your EuroFootball, whilst we old Uncle Bulgarias, and a few fat girls, feasted on the future. And the future's Blue.

Ten matches unbeaten, three defeats. And, now, hopefully, the first of an unbroken run of victory that will take the Reserves to their Championship.... and a mirror image run for the first team that will see us qualify for the UEFA Cup.

Darren Bent's heaven-sent season, in which he had scored twice for his country in front of the biggest crowd ever to watch an England team under Under-21, and in which season he has played in Europe, won a Brit Award, danced with Madonna, and scored a hat-trick for the Reserves - surely the highpoint - tonight faced what sounded like one of those 'grounding' experiences by him having to play in front of a very few hundred old codgers, in teeming, teeming rain, against the Wimbledon Common reserve team, whom no-one has had the heart to boot out of the Premiership Reserve League because, years ago, some rough boys enjoyed a few fairytale seasons, without the club really existing. They had, then, a midfield of Vinnie Jones, Dennis Wise and Brad Pitt. It was a Fantasy League team playing in the Premiership, but the game is up. This was almost a joke fixture, tonight, men against ladyboys, Liverpool against Ipswich (!). It's not often you see a team score six at Portman Road. (Oh yes it is!) Tonight, the Dons wuz done, and it was more refreshing than your tv-side Heineken.

The Dons' capo, Tapp, was booked and conceded a penalty after just ten minutes, by raising his elbow, in memory of the slim, but shady, 'international businessman' that he now claims to be, John Fashanu. Bent, the gent, sent the ball low past Shane Gore's right hand. 1-0.

Twenty minutes later, their Robinson lifted the ball over the leaping Salmon and on to the woodwork; Adam Nowland tapped in the rebound. 1-1.

But we went in at half-time with a lead, after big eager Lee Beevers -more the size and shape of a badger -- hit a long, left-to-right ball for Darren Bent to go mano on mano with Gore. No worries. 2-1. Bent is sure to complete another hat-trick tonight. And no time for my half-time thoughts, as there are so many goals to cover.

Ten minutes after half-time, Beevers was booked for being too big. The free-kick was cleared to crew-cutted Robert Dickinson, in space on the left, who poured forward, waited for the right moment, passed, and, at last, Pablo Gonzales Couñago scored a goal. I was there. Well deserved. In all the months that we have been waiting, Pablo Couñago couldna (as Burley says) go -- couldna go : geddit?--any closer to scoring and yet not score. Was he taking bribes from a betting syndicate on his native CostaCrime?* Bruce pulled off some magnificent saves whilst he was taking bungs, but, in court, film of Pablo would convict him. But now he's done it. I hope that there are people at the club encouraging him to be patient.

Couñago was Man Of The Match tonight, full of football as always, but, as the second oldest on the pitch, he realised that he couldn't just be a cry baby and tonight he was Sheringham and Mariner. His centre had won a corner before the first goal. After 20 mins, a peach of a diagonal ball from Pab allowed Bent to square it for The Young Man Of The Match, Darren Ambrose, to chip over the bar onto the stick that holds the net up. (It's no longer a 'stanchion' is it?)

Before the first half was done, Pablo had been at the heart of two further skilful moves, one of which involved Nabil Abidallah, whose touches of skill sometimes dwarf those around him that dwarf him physically. The Yoof Team is now our Reserve Team. Nine of last year's gnarled old Yoofs were in tonight's squad. That puts pressure on people like Abidallah, whose 'promising' hat is taken over. Nabil now wears the Old Hat. Nabil's Adizday.

He was replaced at half-time by Dickinson, who has not had much profile this year, having been a midfield passing power-house for last year's Yoofs. Perhaps he needs a trendier name, like Matt Damon or Chuck Duck. As it is, he is too easily confused with Richards and Robinson. Titus Bramble never had this problem.

Dickinson was the catalyst for a typical all-out assault, at the beginning of the second half, by our brilliant, bustling young players, who are so innocent in their unselfish running. Old lags like ageing young Tommy Miller could learn from them. (Tommy Miller wheels languorously — yesss - around the centre-circle like a vulture on a thermal. Or like Glenn Pennyfather did, who had one leg shorter than the other, which may, also, be Miller's affliction).

Another, who should join the audience of the Yoofs' Masterclass, is the new Manu 'The Dinosaur' Thetis...nice, even Fab Ian Wilnis, the Internet pill seller - all Dutchmen seem interested in drugs of one sort or another, don't they? - who is never going to become Mauricio, now. At some time over this last couple of years it must have been possible to buy MT back (creating, incidentally, a natural room-mate for 'Mumo'). George has found the funds to buy Croft, Hermann, Karic and Makin, none of whom have successfully replaced Clapham, let alone MT.

And talking of replacements, Darren Bent was subbed within a minute of the re-start, clutching his hamstring, after a neat single-handed attack. So far this season, for the Ressies, Bent should have had at least a hat-trick of hat-tricks and he was certain of one tonight, but his injury gave Matthew Robinson a full half in which to air his prowess..oo, er, missus. 'Robbo' scored the sixth goal, blasting it into the roof of the net from a one-touch right-wing cross from slightly disappointing England international, Matt Bloomfield, who had been set free by that man Pablo. Bloomfield's evil Mr Hyde brother is on the Canaries' books. Dr Jekyll wasn't bubbling tonight; keep taking the medicine.

So, what of our fourth and fifth goals? The fourth came after 72 mins, with Pablo piggy-fiddlin' through the penalty box before toe-pokin' his second goal of the night, third of the season/millennium. The fifth came three minutes after that, when Darren Ambrose, the nectar of the gods, chested a clearance down and banged in a huge dipper. He's creamy and nice, as thin as a long-grain, and typifies the never-say-die spirit and teamwork of the Future Of Ipswich Town. He was so quick taking one free-kick that Nowland was booked for not retreating; he hadn't time. Ambrose banged another screamer in, in my book, in the 90th minute, but the ref disallowed it because he felt sorry for the Wombles.

On the hour, Neil Jenkins, who had earlier been booked for abusing a linesman - Welsh, full of it - was subbed by Mikele Leigertwood, of whom there can only be one. Crazy name. Crazy Gang. Ten mins later, Matthew Richards straight swapped Lee Beevers, thus blooding another Yoof. Ten mins later, the Dons took off Blackwell and brought on Wade Small. He made little difference.

It may surprise you if I say that I'm all the more excited for being old, as I can properly judge whether Darrens Bent or Ambrose are exceptional. ** And I think that all these young players are very good, and they play the Ipswich way, as a team. This match was even more enjoyable than the Reserves' victories over Spurs and Chelsea, which matches promoted everyone's new favourite, Peralta, because tonight was a glimpse of The Future. The last Reserves match nearly consigned me to the past, as I caught pneumonia, up Playford Road. No, I don't want to talk about it. But I'm much better, now, now that you mention it. Yes. Touch and go. I'm older than I look, a sort of white-haired, fat, slouching, unkempt, smelly Joan Collins.

Gaargling, gaangling Thomas Gaardsoe got so close to scoring....okay, enuf. He was okay. Dusty Justin Miller, whose arms are too long, and flap, like Magic's, was the captain, as usual, but, as usual, he was just a boy with long arms. Erdun Artum, the anagram for Murder U Rat, was the unused sub. So was young goalie Price.

Town Reserves 6-1 Wimbledon Reserves. Scorers : Town : Bent (2), Counago (2) (amazingly), Ambrose, Robinson; Wimbledon : Nowland

Town Reserves : Salmon; Wilnis, Gaardsøe, J Miller (c), Beevers , (Richards); Ambrose, T Miller, Bloomfield, Abidallah (Dickinson); Counago, Bent (Robinson). Unused subs : Price (GK), Artun.

Wimbledon Reserves: Gore, Gier, Jenkins (Leigertwood), Bolger, Williams, Blackwell (Small), McAnuff (NotGoodEnuf), Tapp(c), Robinson (Byrne), Nowland, Par Karlsson (patriarch of a rally driving family.)

Officials: NS Perkin, assisted by CD Reeve and J Lodge. Average Temperature : 8 degrees Celsius, 47 degrees Fahrenheit. Nice that I can get out again.

Darren Bent :
What a gent.
He won't be lent.
That's entertainment.
THE END.
copyright oldgit@reserves
oldgit@reserves and oldgit@res.com.eu are registered trade marks
oldgit is proud to partner Saga Sex 'n Surf Holidays
and those electric armchairs that tip you out, like you see in sky adverts.
*Ho-hum. This is not meant seriously. (Bontcho and D'Avray, though, must have been got at, somehow, mustn't they ? They can't have played like that deliberately).
**"All the more excited for being old." This is called hyperbole, in the cause of Art, prostituting the truth to make some little point. More reasons to feel all the more excited for being old: 1. er, sorry. There really, really aren't any. Being old is underpants, as you young folk say. Warning: do not try being old at home.

Photo: Action Images

Ipswich Town Polls