Losing (My Religion)

Quite how a Portsmouth fan and a sometime Glasgow Rangers fan found themselves at Reading's Madejski Stadium to witness Pompey roll over and have their tummy tickled is a story almost as convoluted as how their respective clubs have become England and Scotland's 'crisis clubs'.

So leaving aside the curious experience of being guests at Reading's excellently appointed, out of town football experience, as it's no doubt described in a glossy sales brochure, not aimed at the likes of me, is another story, for another day. But things quickly became even more curious once the game got under way.


To say Portsmouth were not trying would be unfair, of course they did. Nobody wants to loose and these are after all professional players, in all probability playing in the hope of attracting a new employer. But there was a lethargy about them that was plain to see. No running off the ball, covering for colleagues or making yourself available for a pass.


Honourable exception, Luke Varney found his attempts to spark some life into a moribund team only resulted in his out-running his team mates and being swamped by a hoard of under-employed Reading defenders. Almost the diametric opposite to the perpetual footballing motion of Lionel Messi & Co.

It's not a question of 'anti-football' as the purists like to label those teams that play to the strengths they do have to stop gifted opponents (insert pet hate club here... oh go on then, Stoke). The problem with Pompey is they just appear to have stopped playing.

But the interesting thing was the contrast between players and supporters. As bad as the Pompey team were, the away support were superb. Seemingly determined to sing their entire back catalogue, as if gripped by the collective fear that one day soon there may be no team to sing them for. For the sake of their superb traveling support, I hope not.