It’s Do Or Dai Time For Reading

TTE debutant MadStadDad recounts a magical day in Bristol and what this club means to him, on the eve of a huge Saturday at the SCL.

Saturday

Andre Garcia is just outside the area with his back to goal, guarding the ball resolutely from the Bristol Rovers player trying to climb around him. He’s used to having the crowd on his back; now he’s literally got someone there.

The usual narrative is that Garcia will get muscled off the ball and concede possession. Not today though. Forget the usual narrative today - make your own outcome. He holds on, sees Lewis Wing is there (he’s always there) and lays the ball to him for a one-two that takes Garcia out wide.

Kelvin Ehibhatiomhan is ready and calling for the ball; he gets it. Instead of running forward he checks and moves back for a better angle. He plays the ball square across the outside of the area to Charlie Savage, who is waiting patiently to unlock the defence with a single sublime touch.

He guides it between two defenders and into the path of Wing, sprinting goalwards, having somehow anticipated this. Wing doesn’t snatch at it: he takes a touch to get his balance, then fires past the oncoming ‘keeper into the goal.

The away end erupts. An explosion of delirious relief, joy, defiance, pride and any number of other emotions kept tightly wrapped all afternoon: all week. The players run to the crowd to share the moment. Heads gone, lost in the ecstasy of it all. Limbs, the kids call it.

I have watched this goal dozens of times, and it’s one of the most beautiful moments I’ve seen in football. I’m fascinated by the grace and structure of the move, like it was scripted and rehearsed a hundred times before being flawlessly performed for the crowd. Made all the sweeter for knowing that it was conjured in the moment and enacted in real time. An intricate dance borne of skill and awareness by the players.

Our players. Our club. Ours.

Thursday

It’s getting close now. In a couple of days Reading could be under new ownership and into the playoffs. The bright shining future that we’ve yearned for, seemingly forever.

I only started supporting Reading towards the end of the 2022/23 season, so this is all I’ve ever known. A masterpiece of timing that ensures I can never be called a glory hunter. No Premiership and 106 for me.

I’ve had the last days of Paul Ince. The rocky start of Ruben Selles. The heartbreak of Nelson Abbey. The iron hands of Dave Button. It’s fair to say I’ve supported Reading through thin and thin.

And you know what? I’ve loved it. The bad times on and off the pitch are worth it when the good times roll around. And let’s be honest, we’ve had some pretty good times over the last year or so.

When I started watching I had no idea who was who. Now the names trip off the tongue, one legend after another. Lewis Wing. Harvey Knibbs. Charlie Savage. Tyler Bindon. I could go on. I will go on. Joel Pereira. Amadou Mbengue. Ben Elliott. Kelvin Ehibhatiomhan.

Even when I do forget the names, my son is always there to remind me. And that’s the centre of all this, as anyone knows who went to Elm Park with their grandad, the Madejski with their mates, the SCL with their kids.

It’s the community. The people. It’s the connection through shared experience and shared loyalties, triumphs and disasters. The result is almost incidental. On Saturday afternoons we’re alive, together.

But what if the sale doesn’t go ahead? What if that bloke on Twitter was talking rubbish all along? What if all this should end and the beating heart of our town goes silent and still? Where then do we take all those hopes and fears that each fortnight we dutifully deliver to RG2 and place upon the three o’clock altar?

It won’t. Even if everything we fear comes to pass and all is lost, it won’t die. Reading isn’t a football team, or a stadium, or even a club. It’s not a league points record or a greatest goals video, or a box of old black and white photographs. It’s a spirit, a kinship and a shared identity that can’t be erased by men with money.

The phoenix, if needed, will rise, and we’ll be there. Let’s be honest - what else are we going to do with our Saturday afternoons?

Saturday

One for the rugby fans to appreciate: Billy Bodin, on the right of upper midfield, takes a high ball on the chest and turns to goal. Finding his way blocked, he pirouettes away, looks left to see Wing is there (he’s always there), and plays him in.

Wings runs into a cul-de-sac of four defenders and realises he can’t get through. He cuts the ball left again to Knibbs in the centre, taking four defenders out of play. A gap opens. Knibbs could shoot, but instead plays it left again to Chem Campbell, in acres of space inside the area.

Campbell takes a touch to shift onto his preferred right foot and, without breaking stride, thrashes the ball into the goal - the power and momentum hopping him into the air like Carlos Alberto in 1970. Two nil Reading. Job done.

Up the f*cking ‘Ding.