Reading 0-1 Blackpool: When It Rains, It Bores

Going to watch your team should be an escape from the realities of day-to-day life. You know, the bad weeks at work, navigating annoying errands, the bamboozlement of trying to get your head around multi-tiered subscription schemes – that kind of thing.

But the notion of watching Reading being anything resembling an escape disappeared long ago. And there was to be no ray of sunshine, or glimmer of hope to cling on to, to end the season today.

The word apathy has been banded about a lot recently, which evokes a certain sadness in itself. No fan base should be as unbothered about supporting their football club as we’ve been in the past few months.

However, speaking personally, I’ve gone through the apathy stage and am now in a state of pure sadness.

It’s strange how seemingly nondescript things can be the trigger for emotion; as the pre-match video ran on the big screen, a shot of Lewis Wing’s winner against Stockport County earlier this year played.

I wrote the match report for that game, too. And stated how I hoped that goal would be a turning point in the season. I had genuine optimism and belief, neither of which flow through me in any kind of form anymore in terms of Reading FC.

Today’s game was no different to what we’ve become accustomed to. A vacuous, hollow shell of a performance that, yet again, was unable to muster even a singular shot on target.

Reading (3-4-2-1): Pereira; Nyambe, O’Connor, Dorsett; Abrefa, Wing, Fraser, Roberts; Kyerewaa, Lane; Ehibhatiomhan

Subs: Norcott, Burns, Stickland, Osho, Howard, Ritchie, Camara

For the vast majority of the game, up until Blackpool’s goal – which seemed to open the floodgates to not only a biblical downpour of rain but also an even stronger torrent of anger from the fans – it felt a bit like 10,000 or so fans having conversations with half an eye on the football.

You know when the support act is on at a gig and you’re kinda watching? Or you’re in a European bar and there’s a random German second division game on? The boredom in the stands seemed to trickle onto the pitch too.

Ryan Nyambe would pass it to Paudie O’Connor. O’Connor would pass it to Jeriel Dorsett. Then Dorsett would lump it straight into the arms of Blackpool’s ‘keeper. That exact passage of play occurred a depressing number of times.

I’ve been a season ticket holder in Club 1871 pretty much since its inception, and I’ve never seen as many people sat down as they were today, standing only for the periodic anti-Leam Richardson singalong.

Richardson out

To be honest, it all feels too trivial trying to dissect the micro-details of the game itself. The gargantuan elephant in the room is that this needs to be Richardson’s last game as manager of Reading Football Club.

Rob Couhig can back him as much as he wants, but there comes a point of no return, and 90% of the crowd chanting – nay, belting – “You’re getting sacked in the morning” is said moment.

I do have a certain amount of sympathy for Richardson. He’s inherited a hodgepodge of a squad, these players aren’t his and injuries have definitely had an impact. But there’s so much of this situation that lies on his shoulders.

This is genuinely the worst football I’ve seen a Reading team play – and we’ve had to live through the Paul Ince era. Chuck in a few horrendous post-match interviews (last week’s 1-1 draw at Rotherham United being called a ‘positive result’) and the complete and utter distrust in the academy, and it’s no wonder fans are as unanimously ‘Leam Out’ as they apparently are.

What today lacked in entertainment, it more than made up for in apt metaphors: the audio for the half-time One Royal promo distorting into a weird, eerie tremour and the glorious spring sunshine switching to a torrential downpour for two.

But I found the biggest irony in the post-match award presentations. Ultimately the theme of this season has been an unsustainable over-reliance on Jack Marriott and unexplainably good goals such as Charlie Savage’s against Rotherham at home.

Outside of that, it’s been a turgid experience.