by fairly coldgit@reserves (average temperature, during the match, being 5 degrees Celcius. )
But there is warmth in my heart because the first half tonight was the best football I've seen at Fortress Portman Road since Finidi George beat Derby. Darren Bent, who looks like George - no, not George Burley, keep up - had his hat-trick in the bag before half-time. He's one of the most natural goalscorers I've even seen, reminiscent of that great all-round centre-forward, Chelsea's Peter Osgood. Bent's surely as good.
Ipswich Town beat Chelsea to within a Bowyer of their life and Chelsea crushed Liverpool by the same score, so Town are 8 goals better than 'Pool. If only. I'd give my right arm for it to be so (although I'd say that out of hearing of the Taleban.)
What a team! Not just unbeaten, but unbeatable. They're as good as our Yoofs. Is it too late for the first team to have seen this match and to have been reminded that our strength has been confident teamwork, a mixture of sweat and artistry, Stockwell and Thijssen? ( Sorry, I never could spell Muhren and Thijssen; who could?)
3-0 at half time, Reuser made it four, on the hour, when he found space on the right...beat one, beat two, beat an egg, then spun the ball round a few more defenders and inside the left pin, to clinch the Man Of The Match title, for me, despite Bent's long overdue and well deserved hat-trick. How do you compare two such different performances? Reuser was particularly Dutch and relaxed, and all the better for it, sashaying majestically through the, admittedly inept, Chelsea midfield, like a little Boer wildebeest swishing through the veldt. Bent is deceptively simple (as I am myself) in the same way that Greaves and Lineker were, in their graceful way, and that Gerd Muller and Phillips were/are, in their unattractive way. What little I've seen of this Raul chappie would lead me to put him in the same category, with Darren Bent; I hope Bent doesn't read this, as footballers seem such easy prey to arrogance; and to pints of Vodka Mule and Bacardi Breezer.
Football like this is no doubt a pleasure to play. It was certainly a pleasure to watch, though the second half fizzled out, the damage having been thoroughly done in the first half.
Our team was:
Andy Marshall - who was immaculate, tonight.
Fabian - all the better for leaving his Sammy Davis jnr hairpiece at home.
Gaardsoe - the new captain, Justin Miller having drowned, I suspect, and Nabil Abidallah is missing, presumed lost; the waves of SuperYoofs have broken over them;
Titus played left centre-back and little, forgotten jailbird, Croftie outside him, who hasn't hit anyone; okay, I'm leaving it;
Reuser on the right, as Ulrich Le Pen (who sounds like a non-violent Franco German mafiosi) returned, on the left...with Miller and Peralta in middle midfield.
Pablo Gonzalez Counago partnered Bent up front and, do you notice, failed to score? Pablo is a natural non-goalscorer, like dear Uncle Scowie. Pablo brings bags of football to the party but he doesn't score. He suffers from too many 'Spanish practices'. Is he Bontcho? Well, he's young, so he may still learn not to just lean back on the defender and work for free-kicks: he doesn't win any more than SuperBobby, who has shown at Celtic that it's better to beat your man rather than put all your energy into beating the ref.
Counago combined well with Sixto 'Mumo' Peralta, who is such a talent. We mustn't panic, Sargeant, in the face of relegation. We must build. We must keep Sixtoes, like Counago, Bramble, Miller, Ambrose, Bent, D. etc. How do we do that, when we couldn't even keep Uncle Scowie? A bit of humility, Sir George. Be a bit nicer, a bit more considerate, a bit less Scottish calvinist. Karic is a thug, but some of his criticism hit the mark.
There, I've mentioned Karic, but he's the Reserves' point of perspective, the London bus against which Town Reserves are measured, and I've got to at least say goodbye, as my reputation has been built around my early realisation that he was a rotten apple, a Tommy Smith throwback, or, as it's Chelsea tonight, Ron 'Chopper' Harris (tho was a much better player than Smith, but, still, just Ron, not Veron! This is what you read this for. )
What of the goals ?
Within 5 mins of the start, Reuser popped the ball in from the right for Darren Bent to head across the goal to his left. 1-0.
Immediately, Counago very nearly chipped the goalie (one Lenny Pidgeley - the whole team was unknown, and will remain so) but he got a finger nail to it.
And immediately afterwards, Sixtoes blasted over and still we scored our second with only 8 mins on the clock, Reuser's diagonal ball from the left being met on the six yard line by a queue. The great players manage to slip, unnoticed, to the front of such queues and so it was Darren Bent who blasted our second goal. 2-0.
After 15 mins, Reuser almost squeaked a 40 yard freekick in at the near post.
A brilliant, relaxed flick off the outside of Pablo's right boot, from the left of the area, bounced on the crossbar, at the junction of the right upright. Showing off, with intent.
20 mins: immaculate Marshall tipped round his left post a curled freekick from Rati Alesksidze (who I was hoping would inject a bit of humour by getting booked for dissent: ratty. No. ) From the resulting corner - this is journalism, not Art - Titus broke away and put Pablo in for a cheeky poke, or was it a greedy poke, at goal.
Yes, yes, yes, and so it went on, useful, if slight, and clearly recovered from his nick, Le Pen centreing for Reuser to shoot well over, Counago delicately reverse-nodding a back-header, like Alan Gilzean or Scowie, just over the bar.
And Titus took a corner. Eh!?
On the stroke of halftime, Carlton Cole (more Carlton Palmer than Andy Cole) gave away a free kick that I thought was a pen, that led to a disallowed Thomas Gaardsoe goal. Gaardsoe wobbles as he runs, not like a fat man, but as if he's on a spring, like Zebedee.
HALFTIME : TOWN RESERVES 3-0 CHELSEA RESERVES
I sipped my Thermos of tea. And then decided I needed a wee.
Wayne Brown replaced Bramble for the second half, and Chelsea made a change that would have been of no interest whatsoever, apart from the fact that the new man was called Valerio Di Cesare. You pronounce that 'Chez-erry'. You know I like these exotic names. Amongst my children, I have used, in total, 26 names. I truly have. You know it's true.
Bramble is a collosus. I'd make him lose a stone, so that he was a bit less of one. I notice that evil Kachloul had a brain scan : there's nothing to add to that except that Titus, for different reasons, should also have one.
Brown hardly touched the ball, except to once literally boot it into Row Z. He looked out of place, as outdated as his name, behind our very classy, creative, busy midfield. In such company, Tommy Miller plays the Jermaine Wright role, linking up the artists, fetching and carrying the water. (This is Art, now.) In truth, Chelsea were lamentable. I usually find a nice little cameo from some unknown winger, to comment upon.
But no. That's the end of the match, apart from Reuser's splendid, showy goal on the hour. 4-0.
And apart from the inevitable subbing. Lovely Yoof, Darren Ambrose, allowed Reuser to waddle off, 15 mins from the end, to well deserved applause and who knows what else? But neither Ambrose, nor Bloomfield, who was given 8 mins instead of Pablo, and who was outstanding, last week, did owt; they hadn't much time.
I'm enjoying the Reserves so much. It's just so hard to have to watch the first team.
Bye, bye, Amir, you unlovely man. Love and Karic go together like a whore and marriage.
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