29/5/95

[floyd__streete]

Only the young, the alzheimers and the plastics have an excuse for this date not being imprinted on their brain with a branding iron. Tomorrow is the 12th anniversary of that monumental ocassion and today being play-off final day I want to talk things through.


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Reading FC's bravest failure; our most heroic of all the cock-ups that had blighted the history of a club who up until now had never won much worth winning. What a day; 40,000 had made their way up from the Royal County for this one in the cause of barking for the Biscuitmen. 10 weeks later our first home game of the new season attracted less than a quarter of that number.

IIRC, the fun had started the previous day. Mr Mad and Mike Lewis walked the 40 miles to Wembley, presumably as a result of some drunken bet after a big sesh at The Red Lion in Upper Basildon. At the time we lived on Shepherds Hill and the route took the Mad entourage past us; we dressed in blue and white and waved flags in encouragement as they past. That night I didn't sleep, it was like all my childhood December 24th's had come at once.

The following day and cars parked up at our gaff, waiting for the big bus hired by my brother's football manager to take selected family/friends/hangers-on to Wemberley. Folk turned up bedecked in blue and white, many with home-made badges and large foam COME ON YOU ROYALS hands. The M4 was a tooting mass of Reading and we arrived in good time for a wander around the stadium to take in the atmosphere. 2-Ten FM were as ever on the bandwagon and had set up camp nearby, inviting their gathered audience to join in with RFC chants and songs. Any time a stray Bolton fan wandered past 9normally with Phillips 6 on their back) they were given the WHO ARE YA treatment.

The team showed up - which was rather good of them really - and the bus drove through the Wembley gates to the most extraordinary wall of noise and colour. Thumbs up, we were going up. Bolton rolled in to a less convivial welcome - he's fat, he's queer, he takes it up the rear - McAteer, McAteer. Once inside the build-up was interminable. The earlier bright sunshine had given away to drizzle and overcast skies. It was the kind of weather that meant business. The Wembley scoreboard rolled with messages as I read and re-read the programme; Shaka, Shaka, what's the score? Reading to win by four read one.

And for half an hour or so it looked like we could and would. Nogan danced through, Adie stuck out a foot. 2-0, and Wembley rang to the strains of Are You Watching Mark McGhee?. Lovell stepped up to take a penalty and delirium abounded. Saved, rebound over the the top. 40,000 people let out a long sigh. One seat to my left my Dad's mate shook his head and frowned. I didn't want to see frowning; we were 2-0 up and we were going to win.

The middle portion of the game just disappeared and for all I know didn't actually happen as I spent most it staring intently at the scoreboard, concentrating. About 53 Reading players limped off injured in the cause, they gave it their all. I sweated blood myself; at 2-1 now inside the last 10 minutes the nerves got to me and I accidentally chewed off a thumb nail. Fabian De Freitas rolled in that disgusting goal, the one where the ball stuck between stanchion and the back of the net and I sat with a bloody tissue around a thumb which by now was throbbing.

The wait between the end of normal time and the start of extra time was the equivalent of being sat in a dentist's waiting room with all your family and 40,000 others. I cannot recall anyone speaking, but I looked along the long line of family and friends and all the faces carried achy expressions. Subdued wasn't the word; Phil Parkinson and Tom Jones, two absentees amongst the walking wounded, came round to try and whip up some noise again.

It did pick up - briefly. We knew we'd lost already, 4-2 confirmed what we already expected and then Jimmy Quinn rattled in a beauty to make it even more cruel. The journey home was quiet, contemplative. What little talk there was on the way home was of winning the title next season and of keeping Shaka, Osborn, Taylor et al for a successful promotion challenge. This time next year we were going up. But much like the cheer which greeted Parky and Jones, nobody really truly believed in that either.

Back home and, too emotionally exhausted like the rest of us to cook, dear mother went to get us fish and chips. The chips were cold and horrible.




25/3/06 was closure of some sort and the wounds of that day have been bandaged, the ghost exorcised. Only our anecdotes remain as evidence of the pain. 29/5/95 was a brilliant, bad day. A day almost too painful to remember, but also a day too memorable ever to forget.

[papereyes]

I missed the game, due to a family holiday to France. We had Radio 5 so listened to the game as we drove through Northern France. I don't know if it hurt more or less because of it. As a naive teenager, I thought we'd be just as good the next season.

I only actually watched the game in full for the first time last Easter.

[Forbury Lion]

As a naive teenager, I thought we'd be just as good the next season.

There's a lesson in there for the teenagers of today expecting great things for the upcomming season... wish for it yes, expect it, no.

[1960]

Can someone put me straight? I've never been able to watch the game again, but with a few minutes to go, immediately before Bolton's equalizer, did we really have about six men haring up into attack, leaving us totally exposed at the back? Managers nowadays would have a heart attack watching their team do that in such a situation. Were things more open then? Did they think attack was the best form of defence? Or am I just remembering it wrong?

[ddetisi]

I was only young but was lucky/unlucky enough to be there! It properly took me months to get over it. Still very uncomfortable when i see people who have put the footage in all those videos.

[glass half full]

I remember a very indulgent referee towards a physical Bolton side. McAteer, for one, should have received his marching orders.

Our coach return from Wembley was funereal but it was still a day out that I shall never forget!

[2-0 andapenalty]

I never recall the actual date, just each year when it is the final it comes to mind.

Meeting the team coach as it approached the Stadium, sitting on the grass bank eating and drinking. Wembley heaving with Royals, a feeling that we might have a chance, scoring once, scoring twice, the dream was coming true. Despite defeat we had performed extremely well, the team was admired and we sold many on to bigger clubs for money, something we had never really done before, parked for free as well as worked for Comet at the time, was out easy and stopped at the Marilyn Monroe place on the A40 on the way home with my dad, I think that was his fav ever RFC game, it bettered the Simod Cup Final as it was important to football, whereas the Simod was really only important to us.

Still my best ever game watching RFC despite the result.

[Winchester Royal]

I was 9, and it was a year before I moved to Reading.
Needless to say, I didn't go.

[Reading_Royal]

I was 10 at the time and watched it on Sky Sports round my friends

[glass half full]

Just a thought....
If Sheffield United applied successfully for a 21-team Premiership next season (doubtful, I know), could we apply retrospectively for compensation for having been excluded from automatic promotion, owing to the decision to reduce to 20 teams?

[Daniella]

One of the best posts I've seen in this forum that....ever.

Thank you for that floyd.

[EASTENDER MARKY]

Great read floyd. What a day! I was only 7!

[glass half full]

One of the best posts I've seen in this forum that....ever.

Thank you for that floyd.

I couldn't agree more. You captured the atmosphere really well, Floyd.

[Coppelled Streets]

Superb post, Floyd. Brought a lot of memories back.
It was a great day and a bad day all rolled into one. The trip there was fantastic, right from the 30 minute walk into town and the stuffy train journey, to the cramped trip home when everyone was quiet and downtrodden.
I still find it difficult watching the highlights. Once Archie misses 'that' penalty, I can't watch the game any longer. Straight away it just felt like we were holding on!
But never the less, great memories and I hope we return to Wembley as the winning team one day!

[readingfc13]

Good post Floyd. I was only seven and was at the game, don't remember too much though! I was quite suprised not to see a thread on the Walsall game, whose 6 year anniversary passed the other day.

[warrpp]

couldnt go to the game

had already bought a ticket, ahd my coach place booked up, but then 4 days before the game, went and knackered my knee, and ended up in hospital

told the doctors about how important the game was but they told me i had to stay off the leg for 3 weeks, so there was no chance of naking it to the game

sorry i didn't make it to wembley (not least for the occasion) but the cruel way the day ended for us kinda makes me glad i was'nt there making my way home with tens of thousands of similarly heartbroken reading fans.

[NSB14L35]

I was 6 at the time, couldn't see a thing all game and i knew that would be the case before i got there but i wouldn't have missed that game for the world. All I can really remember is the atmosphere and how it changed when they got back into it and the feeling when the game had finished, I don't think that I have ever felt so dejected

[Row Z Royal]

I watched it on telly, but I was three months short of my 11th birthday.

Crap day.

[Wax Jacket]

also on a family holiday in the lakes - listened on faltering Radio 5 driving round to pick up my dad and brother on their way down Skiddaw.

[biscuitforbrains]

Good god what is the average age on this forum? Most posters seem to have been an embryo back in 1995.

It was my worst day as a Reading fan, especially as it came on the back of two wonderful, fun and optimistic years of standing on the South Bank, and it took me long time to understand what happened and why.

But it was also the best day because I got to sing 'You're gonna die soon, you're gonna die soon, I'm not' very loudly at an elderly Bolton fan who was goating after the match. Think it might have been Nat Lofthouse. I still smile when I think about it. What inspirational wit.

I was 16 at the time.