The pitch worn, the worn patches, like There might be an image there, I could use an image, there, if I can think of one, at this stage of the season, it might too stand for what these two teams are like, are doing. If I can think of one.
Always, at the start of each match, the excitement, often the only moment of excitement, that this might be the ONE match, the match in which someone betters Payne's ten goals, where Hughie Gallacher after being floored nods one in while sitting down, where the extraordinary happens, something that makes it stand out, the match one remembers and talks about for years afterwards, the rest of one's life. The one moment, the one match. A new beginning, is it? But already I suspect the worst of these two sides, now as they kick off I doubt they can play well enough to make this a memorable match, I have no interest in who wins, am here to do a job only, competently, I have my pride, but there can be no real interest for me unless I care who wins, but cannot, as some do, choose arbitrarily one team, support them for no real reason, my loyalty was committed as a boy, to Chelsea, and no other, I cannot be interested in which of these teams wins, City or United, so hope only for the extraordinary, for the one match: but have to be prepared, as always, in everything, to settle for less.
This ground has a score indicator, a clock, too, both fairly uncommon, at the popular end, the so-called popular end, which in the way of their use of words and their scale of reference is of course the cheapest terrace, the worst place to see the match, no cover, in the nature of these things, their things.
City's goal had a narrow escape alter that, cliché, cross it through, later early on when their goalkeeper, the prehensile or something Phipps dropped a high centre from Lomax but fearlessly courageously indomitably recklessly notwithstanding dropped himself followed it and something the attempts of two converging United forwards to force the ball into the net. Or something. Hope I won't need to use that.
The divisions, railings, ad hoc, arbitrary, more or less, how much money you pay, the class divisions, already my mind wanders off this incompetent linkman casting around for some opponent to force the pass and thus relieve him of the responsibility for doing something con-structive with the ball.
In the distance a water tower, stacks, a green tower crane.
Again Phipps was at fault when he was caught too far out by a long tentative thoughtful cross from United defender Thomson but to his obvious relief the ball landed in the top netting just behind the bar clumsy.
Of course, City were promoted only last season so that there is some excuse, I suppose, for their not being up to First Division standards. No, that's no excuse, that's rubbish, you'd think they'd be so used to winning they'd go on, many teams do, but not this one, they just haven't anything to rise above mediocrity, no stars, even the competent players look good, in this company. And what excuse for United?
A slip, pass it along to the next reporter, 24,833 poor sods have paid good money to see this rubbish.
It was obviously not Phipps' day they'll get the apostrophe wrong, or do I underestimate them and yet in one way it was, his lucky day: Holman, hunting yes! round for a way through that's the sort of horrible pun they hate, I enjoy, and trying to get through them, too found a gap in City's defence and sent Williams racing no through it to give Lomax an easy chance from three yards with City's goalkeeper out of position. Incredibly no, all too credibly, Lomax stubbed the ball in his haste and it cleared the City bar by a good three feet.
Edson in the United goal saved well from Furse after Robb had set up a fine chance with an elusive how the clichés well up sinuous dribble
and the same player actually had the ball in Edson's net after 27 minutes only to be ruled offside.
Press box dirt blows across my pages, the smuts, the cramped seats, the ledge square, not the most comfortable angle for writing, this is I suppose the club's way of disregarding reporters, of getting its own back on us for what we write. How childish, of me.
City's attacks were breaking down in midfield, largely thanks to the ruthlessly destructive tackling of Mull, but the United counterattacks were ill thought out and even when they threatened Phipps his luck held out, no even when they reached the City goal they ran foul of the charmed life Phipps bore in this game.
City fans at the so-called popular end howled furiously at the 41st minute when Wisdom, picking up a long punt out of defence, tricked the only man between him and goal only to be two onlys there brought arrested in his progress by being grasped about the neck arm grabbed by Thomson. And their ire oh! was justified, for the resulting free kick was from 40 35 yards was no adequate compensation for what must have been a near-certain goal. On the other hand, Thomson's action may be regarded with a certain Machiavellian justification. I should not be able to see both sides, balls to impartiality, should be furious at being denied a goal, or relieved at the situation being saved. The referee merely cautioned Thomson, which seemed a generous let-off for a crime for which City fans howled for his blood!
Just before the interval, Wisdom failed to survive rise after a crunching tackle by Mull, and was removed on a stretcher (with a suspected ankle or what?). Mull had his name taken, and Beresford substituted, fresh grist to Mull's mill or something. Go
The Press Room badly lit, double doors with pearly glass, notwith-standing, oddly shaped ceiling, cramped under the stand, only two phones, yes, I'll remember the public one near the entrance, convenient, if I need it, five o'clock deadline today, outside though, no way here directly up to Press box, outside, ah, tea, at least it looks hot, I'm cold up there, no glass, no heating, my ungloved writing hand round the cup, warm, knee marked, indented, against rail, too, feels like cartilage trouble, ha, and pork pies cut into sectors of their circles, ah, a different taste from London pork pies, better, more meat is it, less bland, tastier, more pepper. How ordinary these reporters look, curious lot. I do not talk to them, they do not talk to me. But I hear the news go round that Wisdom has a suspected broken bone in his foot. Pee, yes.
The light so poor in this box, one bulb high up, can hardly see to write.
Seeing they had half the field advantage/space automatically at the re-start, the City forwards set off as though they would never be as near the United goal again. But again once more they ran up against the defensive stolidity of Mull and his men. I hope I can bloody pull this together. It would help if there were anything worth writing about. Even if it's a bad match, they tell you, disguise it, write as though it were a good match. Bollocks to that, bollocks to this stinking match.
The crowd surges forward to see the corner opposite, a wave in motion, slumps back again. My hand numbs from cold, my mind from this tedium.
Edson did well to get down to a speculative poke from Robbins, and held on to the ball despite threat the lanky threat of the young overeager Beresford, playing in his first league game thanks to Wisdom's injury.
Devoid of real incident, the match dragged its slow length, no, yes, there's Alexander, earlier, when he hit the bar. Alexander, dragging his slow length along from right back, hit a long one which beat Phipps but struck the intersection, like a wounded snake has to be worked in somewhere, no, it'll never work, too contrived, scrub it.
Yes, halftimes, where's the programme, Chelsea, Chelsea, West Brom v. Chelsea, H, H, where's the board here, round at the far corner, H, H, 0–0, 0–0, something must have gone wrong, they ought to be able to beat West Brom, and their away record this season is very good, and they beat them 3–1 at the Bridge, something must have gone wrong, I expected them to be at least one up, they can't afford to drop even one point at this stage of the season, at any time, for that matter.
The referee, whose handling of the game had until now been firm enough, was, no, libel, seemed to be at fault in the 55th minute when he allowed persistently allowed the City's defensive wall to move forward again as a free kick was about to be taken just outside their area. In the event, when United did decide to take it, Holman blasted the ball rocketed shot straight into the crowd halfway up the banking.
This was the only noteworthy incident in the early part of the second half. Time after time attacks from both forward lines broke down, as often because of sheer incompetence as through the action of a defender. If anyone shone no it was young no Beresford, whose play was at least informed by enthusiasm.
Not even a bloody quote from the crowd, don't hear them often in any case, season ticket holders surround the box, not the sort to shout witticisms, by the look of them, cowed by seeing rubbish like this nearly every week, I should think.
Beresford's virtues, apart from his enthusiasm, remember, are a startling explosive rocketing ricocheting burst of speed, and an ability to hold the ball under control in the tightest of corners, minimum of space. Just on the hour this latter skill was demonstrated to fine effect no when he had the United defence lunging three members of it at him without effect ineffectually whereupon he slipped the ball back from the sixyard on the byeline to Furse only to see the centre forward's rising shot cannon off Edson's shoulder, on to the bar, and be cleared magniloquently ruthlessly determinedly without compunction etc by the thundering skull of Mull in the middle, ha!
But that was the only real chance City had for the rest of the matchor will it be? and United must have found it difficult to believe their It was not that their approach work was not efficient, these negatives but when it came to finishing either their shooting was off target or the phenomenally lucky big Phipps got some limb portion of his in the way and saved the side, or bacon, side of bacon Does this bloody reporting affect, destroy even, my own interest in language, sometimes I feel I have mislaid perhaps, not lost, something through this reporting, using under the pressure of deadlines the words which first come into my head, which is not good, relying on the chance of real words which may come in only the two hours of a match and the writing about it, oh what the hell, not to descend to the methods of the Heavy Mob, who have their telling phrases thought out in a notebook already, I've seen them at it, curly-bolox himself, at least, the multi-million circulators, as well, they have their methods, as it were, as they think it is, why do I do this, only for the money, the matches are mostly crap, how do these household names go on doing it, for years, the thought of the money, I suppose, the same as I do. The same as I do!
Beresford continued to play the inspired game of the classic debutant, stepping delicately through tackle after crunching tackle, but saw his efforts wasted by his colleagues. At the other end, Williams reached a denominator indicator of the barometer measure of desperation yes in that, unable to reach a Lomax cross with his head he extended the legal area to punch the ball in with his fist. But referee Waller happened to be only ten yards away at the This was all the more pyrrhic or whatever because ref etc.
A fast, violently in-swinging cross from Kelvin was proved too fast and inswung for Williams as the cent Christ! No! That's the story, then, the story, as the subs will think. It doesn't matter what happens in the last eight minutes, that's the match, that's the story.
It appeared the most innocuous of shots. Gordon, making ground from the position that used to be called right half back, felt that the United defence had fallen back sufficiently for him to try a long shot, but mishit it with that anti-climactic inefficiency which had characterized the whole match and, as Edson advanced and stooped academically correctly to gather the ground shot with his body behind it, some demon chance gremlin trog thought took over in Mull's mind that he could stop it himself and accordingly stuck out a boot. To the chagrin of the rest of the United players however and the unholy delight of the City supporters (who must be used to and thrive on this kind of farce, be fed weaned on it, welcome it) the ball spun lazily slowly inevitably off his boot in a lazy parabola as some would say looping up and clear of the still stooping Edson's now upreaching arms to bounce once before crossing the line into the back of the United net. That leaves the goalie in a very strange position, posture.
Now I must hack this into some shape, now I must make it into 500 well-chosen words. Yes, 500 they asked for. To hell with what happens in the rest of the match: experience tells me nothing more is likely to happen for the rest, less likely than not likely, as it were, as we all think. Get on. By five. In 40 minutes.
That will have to do. Competent, at least. One or two bits I'm pleased with, and it's twenty words or so under length, so subs will have to find other excuses to cut it. Not that they need excuses. Now, the telephone, the outside one, with luck.
Copy, please. Soccer, City versus United. Right. City one, United nil. Skill was as uncommon as grass on the bone hyphen bare bone hyphen bare pitch on which City beat United one hyphen nil at home yesterday comma and only a farcical incident towards the end enlivened the tedium and crudity of the match full point new par Phipps comma tall and bulky as Frankenstein comma had a staggeringly lucky match in the City goal full point Within the first ten minutes he dropped an easy centre but followed the ball with s prehensile hand p r e h e n s i l e hand just before two United forwards s apostrophe feet hit it comma he was badly caught out of position by a Thomson shot which landed just behind his bar comma and then comma after Holman had successfully hunted for a way through the City defence comma he clapped his great hands together in comic relief as comma from the far side of his goal comma he watched Lomax stub the ball over the bar from no more than three yards out full point new par Okay, I'll wait.
City seemed to believe that comma surviving this comma they could survive anything comma and gradually came out of defence full point Furse comma after an idiosyncratically hyphen executed run Furse comma after an idiosyncratically hyphen executed run by Stevens comma brought a fine save from Edson comma and in the twenty hyphen seventh minute had the ball in the United net only to be ruled offside full point But apart from these two chances comma the waves of Citys apostrophe s attacks broke on Mull comma z Uniteds apostrophe s sweeper comma the relentless destructiveness of whose tackling claimed a casualty just before halftime when Wisdom went off with a suspected broken bone in his foot to give Beresford comma the substitute comma yes Beresford with one r and two ees Beresford comma the substitute comma his first game for City full point new par Beresford comma whose play was at least informed by enthusiasm comma stood out in the second half comma and his tight control in the minimum of space brought a chance for Furse just on the hour which Edson only just contrived to keep out full point new par Okay
In the other goal Phipps s apostrophe Phipps luck continued full point Holman blasted a free kick over comma Alexander hit the intersection comma and anything more accurate seemed bound to hit some part of the City goalkeepers apostrophe s body full point Williams recorded the highest reading on the barometer of this frustration when comma unable to reach a Lomax cross with his head comma he punched the ball in with referee Waller only a few yards away and staring at him full point new par And then farce full point Gordon mishit a long ground shot with the same anti hyphen climactic inefficiency with the same anti hyphen c l i m a c t i c inefficiency which had characterized the whole match comma and comma as Edson advanced and stooped academically correctly to gather the ball comma some thought took root in Mulls apostrophe s mind Mulls mind that he could relieve his goalkeeper of the trouble full point The ball struck his outstretched foot and arced upward and over Edson comma who strained backwards and fell awkwardly comma into the goal full point new par Okay
The remaining eight minutes were played out to the continuing sound of the City supporters s apostrophe delight at the goal comma and perhaps at the discomfiture of Mull and the pain that Edsons apostrophe s last effort had apparently cost him full point For they are that kind of crowd comma and this was indeed their kind of match full point. That's the lot, that's the end. Except for the teams, okay? City first. Phipps Robb Rowlands Driver Pargiter P a r g i t e r Stevens with a vee Calder Gordon Wisdom bracket sub Beresford close bracket Furse F u r s e with an s and Robbins with two bs United Edson Ray Dirke with an e on the end Thomson without a p Price Alexander Mull Holman Lomax Williams Kelvin. Okay? Cheers