 Saturday, 23rd Feb 2013 01:05 by Clive Whittingham QPR face a seemingly impossible task on Saturday as champions-elect Manchester United visit Loftus Road in the Premier League. For some, it’s a fixture that brings back painful memories. QPR (20th) v Man Utd (1st)Premier League >>> Saturday February 23, 2013 >>> Kick Off 3pm >>> Loftus Road, London, W12 Childhood, for most, is barely even a distant memory any more. If you’re older than 20 you may have a few hazy recollections, if you’re older than 25 perhaps not even that, if you’re older than 30 you probably look at photographs and struggle to believe that was ever you. Avram Grant was a baby once, imagine that. They call it your formative years, and indeed the adult you become owes much to the experiences you can’t remember as a youngster. People pay thousands to lie on a psychiatrist’s sofa and pour their hearts out to try and discover why their adult lives are blighted by problems brought on by experiences in childhood and yet if you actually sat down and tried to commit memories accrued before you were 16 into writing you’d probably struggle to fill half a side of paper. Apart from the fumbling romantic unions, the mortifying awkwardness and that time a dog got onto the playground I’m left with mercifully few recollections of my youth. I do remember, vividly, falling the best part of 20 feet out of a tree and suffering a total of six fractures up both of my arms which required me to be in plaster casts from the tips of my fingers up to my elbows for six weeks. I also remember the sheer devastation that only a 12 year old can feel when I returned home from the hospital, climbed into my own bed, laid in the darkness and suffered the realisation that the wonderful alternative use for my hands I’d discovered just weeks before would now be out of bounds for a month and a half. I also remember the moment 18 months later when an unfortunate turn of events in the snow led to a nasty accident on a sledge where I smashed into the bottom of the very same tree at high speed and fractured my cheekbone. My dad was all for chopping the damn thing down after that. But the moment that sticks with me most of all, and influences the way I think, feel and talk to this very day, came in a match between Queens Park Rangers and Manchester United at Loftus Road in 1996. Nobody is born pessimistic or cynical: they are traits that are grown over time by over-exposure to negative events that turn people that way. These are not chemical things you’re born with - you’ll never pass a five year old boy holding his grandmother’s hand on the way to the park mumbling “I bet the bloody swings are full. We’ll have to queue for ages.” Children are inherently enthusiastic, optimistic, upbeat beings who think the best of everybody, everything and every situation no matter how God awful their circumstances because they haven’t been alive long enough to think any different. It’s why schools go out of their way to repeat over and over and over again that the man offering you sweets to get into his car is doing so for his own sick perversion rather than any stated concern about your wellbeing or journey home in the dark. Up to the point the poor unfortunate mite actually jumps into that back seat the chances are the only old people they’ve ever had any prolonged contact and dialogue with was their parents and grandparents, so why on earth should their first thought be that the friendly gent is actually the neighbourhood’s fun loving paedophile? Slowly, over time, things happen and they make you form opinions and attitudes and moods. When I was 11 years old, Eric Cantona happened to me. Prior to that moment in 1996 it hadn’t really occurred to me that anything bad could or would ever happen to me, my dad, my granddad or Queens Park Rangers. For five days of the week I would get up, I would walk to school, I would sit in my class with the one other QPR fan who also went to the matches, the five Tottenham fans who went very occasionally, and the 25 Manchester United supporters who couldn’t even point to Old Trafford on a map. My dad would tell me to ignore the teasing because even though our team was inferior it was still our team, our family’s team, and however good or bad it got we would be there on a Saturday to support it and that was far more rewarding and fulfilling than simply picking the club that won every week and deciding you supported it while waiting for the latest victory to be confirmed on Grandstand. I’d never seen Grandstand, because from the moment in 1992 where I’d seen QPR winning 4-1 at Manchester United on my television and said to my mum “isn’t that the team that we support?” I’d been at every QPR game at my father’s side. While Steve Ryder was telling the nation that Manchester United had won again, and the 25 miniature scumbags in my class had rejoiced for two minutes in their living rooms before going off to do something else, we would be on a railway station somewhere — usually Stockport in my recollection — living with whatever horror QPR had just served up for hours and days afterwards. Occasionally something ludicrous would happen and we’d find ourselves on the central reservation of the A316, or picking up instruments and joining in with a busking band on the District Line. We’d get home late and my mother would scream and shout and, fairly often, throw my father out saying this was no way to bring up a child and my Saturdays were completely unsuitable for me. When he did eventually make it home he’d sneak up to see me in my room and we’d laugh about whatever had just happened. He’d say it was “our team” and that he loved me and that next week we were playing Villa away on a Tuesday and he’d told my school I had dental appointment so I had to make sure I was standing by the gate ready to go at 2pm. Then he’d turn my light off and the last thing he’d say was “you don’t get this following Man U.” And he was right - none of the boys at school did anything with their dads on Saturdays wholesome or otherwise. Hell, even in Hampton Hill in 1995 most of them didn’t even have a dad. However much they took the mick out of me, my football team, my dad’s bald head and all the rest of it I happily bounced through it all because soon it would be Saturday and we’d be away somewhere together again and, whatever anybody said, QPR were actually quite good — certainly better than Arsenal, Spurs, Chelsea and just about everybody else bar Manchester United, Blackburn and whoever managed to put a half decent run together. I knew when Les Ferdinand left in 1995 that it was a pretty big, serious deal because he scored all the goals. But I just thought footballers replenished themselves. Ferdinand would leave, Danny Dichio would come in, QPR would be ok, and I’d be there on a Saturday with my dad — because that’s how it was. I’m surprised now, looking back, to find that QPR actually went without a win for a dozen games over the course of three months that winter of 1995 into 1996 because even though I remember some defeats — the 3-2 against Spurs having led 2-0 and a 3-0 loss at Arsenal when I was so cold I actually thought I might freeze to death in my seat — I also remember wins at Leeds and Bolton and at home to Aston Villa. I heard Sports Report headlines about Middlesbrough and Derby doing well in some other league but never really twigged that this was another division below the top flight that QPR could very well end up in if they didn’t pull their bloody finger out. The realisation of that, and so much more, came when Eric Cantona strode onto a deep cross at the School End in the eighth minute of added time of QPR’s home match with Manchester United that season. I was convinced Rangers were going to win that game because, being young and optimistic, I was convinced they were going to win every game. I saw nothing in the first half to persuade me I was wrong and then after half time Danny Dichio curled in the first goal to give the Super Hoops the lead. I remember the celebrations in the Q Block were raucous. I remember they went on longer than any goal celebration I’d ever been a part of before. I can still see, clear as day, Dichio bending that ball around Schmeichel and Dennis Irwin diving full length to try and head it away but only helping it on its way into the net. I remember my dad’s face. I don’t remember being surprised. But then there was the stoppage time. So much stoppage time. I remember several times the crowd cheering after the ball had landed safely in the arms of goalkeeper Juergen Sommer, or better still out for a goal kick, because everybody was sure we were now only a long kick down the field away from the final whistle. I remember the whistling, everybody in the ground filling the air with a shrill plea for mercy. I remember looking at my little £13 Casio watch as it ticked past 5pm and I remember turning round to my dad who was standing up on the back row behind me and shouting at him “Dad it’s five o’clock.” I remember my dad’s face. And I remember that ball going into the box, and Sommer blotting the copybook of a fine performance by walking underneath it, and Cantona heading into the empty net, and all the Cockney Reds at their one match a season in the Ellerslie Road stand showing absolutely no respect or regard for the pain and suffering of those around them and leaping up to celebrate regardless. I remember crying almost immediately, and then for a good three quarters of an hour afterwards in The Goldhawk where my father sat absolutely silent and motionless staring at a full pint. I remember the referee’s name — Robbie Hart — and where he was from - Darlington — and his comb-over haircut that flapped in the wind. I remember that, just to make his point, he allowed QPR to kick off — nudge the ball forward a yard and then back four — and then blew the whistle. He should have blown it five minutes earlier and didn’t, he could have just admitted what he’d done and blown it as soon as the goal went in, but just because of who he was he decided there was still three seconds still to play in which QPR must be made to kick off. God I cried. I remember walking through the school gates on Monday morning to find that the Manchester United fans, and some of the kids who didn’t even like football but had the scent of a kill in the nostrils, had gathered in a gang to wait for me and sing Eric Cantona songs. A couple of months later QPR were relegated and my family moved out of London and back up north. Nine months later my grandfather had a massive heart attack on the school playground while picking my cousin up at the end of her day. Three years later my dad contracted throat cancer and three years and nine months later he was dead as well. The first time most children experience grief is often after the death of a pet. It provides that first horrible realisation that things do not stay the same, things move on, things are often quite awful and nobody out there in the actual world gives a stuff about you when they are. That Cantona goal was my dead pet. I couldn’t cope with the unfairness of it all. How could it possibly be fair for that lousy QPR team to try that hard and play that well and do everything it possibly could to win that game and then concede that goal? How was it fair that whatever higher power is in charge of this nonsense had decreed that Manchester United deserved a ninety eighth minute equaliser in that game? To them just another point to put with all the others after ten consecutive wins, just another trophy to sling on the pile; to QPR a hammer blow equivalent to them having their heart ripped out and shown to them before they died. How could it be fair that my dad and me went to every sodding match that season and all I ever wanted was to walk into school with my mop hair in the air and my pigeon chest puffed out and have a few days where the Manchester United fans who have still never been to a game in their lives shut up and left me alone and yet somehow Eric Cantona had scored that goal and taken it all away from us? Now, when the stoppage time board goes up, I assume QPR are going to concede. When you ask me how I think QPR will do at the weekend I say they’ll probably lose. When I hear a dodgy medical prognosis I immediately presume the guy has had it. I’ve never got over the three year period that started the moment that Cantona header touched the School End net and ended when my mum woke me up one morning to tell me my dad had died in the night. Manchester United became the microcosm, the all encompassing evil, the embodiment of the unfairness of life to me. It’s not their fault I subsequently lost the people closest to me, or even that QPR were relegated that season and didn’t return for 15 years, but they became somewhere for me to channel my anger, hatred and bitterness. It was they who started my awakening to just how shitty life can be. In my first year at university I suffered a nasty cut to the forehead after being struck with a pint glass in The York — a pub in the Broomhill area of Sheffield. Earlier I’d stood and belted out the German national anthem and then, at the point the glass was thrown, leapt out of my seat to noisily celebrate a Stuttgart goal against United in some meaningless Champions League group game. After our recent home match with Norwich a spindly student type wearing frames with no lenses enthusiastically celebrated Wayne Rooney’s goal at Fulham in the Crown and Sceptre and I just couldn’t help myself — a row ensued about why exactly, if the game meant that much to him, he was watching it in a pub that was within walking distance of where it was taking place rather than going to the match itself. These are by no means isolated incidents. The cynicism and pessimism permeates every area of my life. I don’t mind it — it makes me right when the worst happens and happy when it doesn’t, which seems like a good deal to me. But it all goes back to that fucking Cantona goal. I still wonder, at least once a week, how different things would be if it hadn’t gone in. And on the rare occasions our hooped lambs have gone in for the slaughter against those bastards I’ve spent the night before allowing myself the occasional thought about just how exactly I’ll feel if they exact revenge at long, long, long last. Part of me thinks I’d never go to QPR again, because that’s all I want to see and once I have done there wouldn’t be any point any more. I’d love to find out. Maybe tomorrow. Links >>> History >>> Opposition Profile >>> Referee >>> Betting This SaturdayTeam News:You can copy and paste the QPR team news these days because it doesn’t seem to change from one week to the next. Loic Remy might play but might not (groin), Junior Hoilett might be back but might not (hamstring), Andy Johnson and Luke Young haven’t been included in the 25 man squad because of long term injuries, Bobby Zamora’s hip is giving him jip so he will only be good for 45 minutes at most and Ji Sung Park and Jose Bosingwa are unlikely to feature because neither of them are very good and one of them is a grade A arsehole. The only new thing this week is Fabio Da Silva cannot play against his parent club under the terms of his loan deal. Samba Diakite is back from the African Cup of Nations and available. Man Utd are likely to be without Wayne Rooney with a sinus infection (free advice - lay off the cigarettes) while Phil Jones and Paul Scholes are both likely to be absent from the midfield through injury. Jones’ absence is of particular concern ahead of the return leg of the Champions League tie with Real Madrid, given the man marking detail he’s handled so admirably against the likes of Ronaldo, Fellaini and Bale in recent weeks. Elsewhere: QPR fans will be hoping that Arsenal somehow manage to play themselves back into some kind of form prior to this Saturday’s home match with Aston Villa — you certainly wouldn’t rule out an away win in that game given what’s going on at Ashburton Grove just now. Southampton will attempt to continue their climb away from the relegation whirlpool on Sunday with an away win at a Newcastle side that has endured a long away trip in Europe on Thursday night. Other than that it’s all eyes on Wigan where the Latics host Reading in a real relegation six pointer as we start to approach the business end of the campaign. Fulham v Stoke is the less than inspiring Saturday lunchtime game to get the weekend underway — Sky presumably filling the quota with that one — and the 3pm kick offs are completed by Norwich v Everton and West Brom v Sunderland. Man City v Chelsea is, allegedly, the game of the weekend in the Premier League although neither are still in title contention. The Monday Night Football is an intriguing London derby between West Ham and Spurs — the away side needing points for the Champions League places, the Hammers once again creating a story from nothing with the ongoing Sam Allardyce contract situation undermining their season somewhat. With Paulo Di Canio now on the market, are Bid Sam’s days numbered? Swansea play Bradford in the League Cup final on Sunday which means no match for them in the league — they were due to play Liverpool but that game was played last week instead and resulted in a 5-0 win for the Reds. Referee: Slightly odd choice of referee this week as Anthony Taylor was, until recently, listed on the form as being from Manchester. That’s been broadened out to Cheshire now but given that Taylor was the referee for QPR’s 3-0 Christmas defeat by Liverpool, and for a 1-0 set back at Arsenal where Stephane Mbia was sent off and the winning goal was allowed despite being well offside, Rangers could probably have hoped for a better appointment here. His full QPR case file is available here. FormQPR: Rangers have drawn two and lost nine of 11 Premier League meetings with Man Utd. Their last victory against them on this ground came in 1989 when they won 3-1 thanks largely to two spectacular goals from Andy Gray. Harry Redknapp is famed for knocking the Reds out of the FA Cup while manager at Bournemouth but he’s won just three of 32 against them in the Premier League as a manager, and none of the last 11. QPR have drawn the last three games at home 0-0 and were unbeaten in six matches prior to their trip to Swansea last time out where a 4-1 defeat ripped up the form book and shattered confidence. Man Utd: United have opened up a 12 point gap at the top of the table with a 14 match unbeaten run in the league during which they’ve conceded just 14 goals and won 12 times. The run started with a 3-1 victory against QPR at Old Trafford. Robin Van Persie has 19 league goals to his name so far — which is as many as the entire QPR team have managed between them. United have claimed more points from losing positions — 27 — than any other team in the league this season. Prediction: The reigning champion in our Prediction League, Nathan McAllister says… “Rarely have I welcomed an international break as much as I did last weekend, and it seems from the comments on the messageboard this week that I wasn’t the only one enjoying the chance to spend the weekend doing free-time activities that don’t leave me waking up on a Sunday morning both hung-over and miserable. However, normal service is set to be resumed this weekend as QPR welcome the run-away leaders. As Clive said in his scout report, Rangers’ only real hope of winning this game, even if they do manage to execute their game plan perfectly, is for United to have an off-day and Rangers to have a good deal of luck. Sometimes, the fixture list can help sides out in the latter regard but that, unfortunately, is not the case here. Manchester United played their Champions League fixture the week before this one and they followed that by resting eight of the ten outfield players who started at the Bernebeu in Monday night’s cup game with Reading, ensuring the likes ofVvan Persie will be raring to go. Squad rotation will not be an issue for United as they have no midweek game to follow. “Of course, there is a rather large and obvious straw for R’s fans to clutch at — Rangers have a flawless defensive record in the league at Loftus Road in 2013, where they have gone 332 minutes without conceding a goal. Unfortunately, at the other end the barren spell has been even longer — it’s 392 minutes since Rangers have scored a home league goal. Rangers seem to be fine while they are clinging on at 0-0, but as we saw in the Liverpool and Swansea games, as soon as they go behind and have to attack, the game plan starts to fall apart somewhat. It seems like virtually the entire QPR team is gripped by a pathological fear of entering the opposition penalty area during open play at the moment. This weekend no doubt Rangers will adopt the same deep and narrow defensive approach that earned them clean sheets against Chelsea, Spurs and City, but United will surely provide the sternest examination yet and the confidence of the QPR back five will have been shattered after the battering it received at Swansea last time out. R’s fans will hope that the team can somehow pull off another remarkable result when it’s least expected, but really, it’s unlikely that this will be anything other than a very comfortable victory for the champions elect.” Prediction: QPR 0 Manchester United 3 Tweet @loftforwords Pictures — Action Images Photo: Action Images Please report offensive, libellous or inappropriate posts by using the links provided.
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