 Tuesday, 3rd May 2011 23:02 by Clive Whittingham Paddy Kenny was crowned the club’s Player of the Year at the annual awards dinner on Sunday. There for LoftforWords, and staying well clear of Heathrow’s main runway, Clive Whittingham and Neil Dejyothin.
The BackgroundNow let’s get one thing very clear right from the start here. At 3am in the morning, the main runway at Heathrow Airport is just about the safest place in the country you can be. Heathrow does not have night flights, instead allowing the beleaguered residents of Hounslow a couple of hours uninterrupted sleep, so at that time of day the runway is essentially just a vast swathe of tarmac, completely free of any debris or traffic.
It’s probably safer than the padded room they’ve been keeping Matt Connolly in since the Leicester game so I maintain that the decision taken by two of the LoftforWords gang after the Player of the Year dinner two years ago to cross it to reach the terminal building and find a bench to sleep on was sound in both safety and logic.
Anyway, the anti terror police were terribly understanding about it all when they turned up that night, and given the way the evening had gone prior to that it turned out to be the most interesting and entertaining bit of the whole thing for me.
Fast forward 12 months from then, and rewind 12 months from now, and my phone rang one afternoon while I was in the office at work.
“Mr Whittingham? Hi it’s Richelle/Michelle/Simon from Loftus Road here, how are you today?” “Thoroughly shit.” “Oh that’s good to know sir. I’m calling on behalf of QPR because I noticed your name wasn’t down on the list of attendees for this year’s Player of the Year dinner dance. Were you aware tickets are still available for just £79?” And at this point I asked Richelle/Michelle/Simon if she/he knew who I was. Not in a Dean Gaffney at the door of a nightclub in Romford sort of a way, just in a genuine “clearly nobody has told you I’m the one that complained longest and loudest about the shambolic organisation, player behaviour and all round experience of the last Player of the Year night” sort of a way. I was as polite as I could be (not very) but basically said that even if I did want to spend £80 for the chance of shaking hands with Tamas Priskin at the end of one of the worst ever seasons I’ve had supporting QPR, I wouldn’t be doing so out of principal because the previous year’s event had been one of the ten worst night’s of my life. The resulting rant has survived the site changeover and you can remind yourself of the farce here should you be in need of reminding yourself about the bad old days.
Those that did go last year brought back largely positive reports. True to Richelle/Michelle/Simon’s word to me on the phone in his/her failed sales pitch Neil Warnock had indeed made sure all the players attended, and stayed until a reasonable hour. They had been polite to fans, stayed at their tables for the dinner, and not mugged off to their night at a club somewhere at twenty past eight.
Still, I wasn’t intending to go to this year’s event because at the time it went on sale I was still living in the badlands of Corby, and would have had to shell out for the hotel room as well as the do, which at the best part of £200 I couldn’t really justify. If I wanted a picture of myself with Kaspars Gorkss that badly I’d photoshop one, or accost him on South Africa Road like that little gang of the same fans do every week. How can they need an autograph at every home match that lot? Every home game, like clockwork, that gang of ten of them stand round the entrance with the same pictures to be signed, over and over again. Odd behaviour.
Anyway, the situation changed in two ways shortly after the away game at Middlesbrough. Firstly on the back of a tremendously successful afternoon of hammering a mediocre northern team three nil, eating a Sunday roast in a bap out the back of a van and drinking £1.80 pints of Grolsch for 13 hours LoftforWords’ official photographer (not a salaried position) Neil Dejyothin bought two tickets and invited me to go as his date. Secondly I got a new job and house in London negating the need to stay for the night and as Neil’s not a bad looking lad and I don’t do much with my Sunday night’s generally I agreed.
Your reporting team for the evening. That’s our story anyway. So the tickets went in a shoebox under my bed and we didn’t think much more about it. Until it became more and more apparent that QPR were going to seal the Championship title very close to the day of the do. As it turned out, they did it just the day before. So rather than go home early from the Watford game and get safely tucked up in our (separate) beds Neil and I formed part of a LoftforWords travelling party to Vicarage Road that, over the course of about 12 hours, stuck the thick end of £400 behind the bar at Mable’s Tavern in King’s Cross – money that brought us beer, steak pie, beer, a bottle of their second cheapest champagne, enough Vodka and coke to bring an elephant to its knees for Tracey, beer, another steak pie and plenty else besides. Not to mention a line of shots that, had the glasses been stood side by side, would have stretched all the way down to Euston Road to Loftus Road and back again. By the end of the night, after the closing bell had sounded a third time, Tracey struck a deal with the bar staff whereby they delivered a final round of drinks in bottles, so we could take them with us. And that we did.
A day later, suited and booted, I met Neil back in Mabel’s for the second half of the Man City game and a ‘loosener’ before heading off to the dinner. The fear on the faces of the bar staff was obvious. The suits did not disguise us sufficiently, we were unmistakeably part of the group that had refused to leave their pub in the early hours of the morning and come back from the match with a large QPR flag and deflated paddling pool. They were glad that Tracey had decided to give the night a miss and stay at home, and after the events of two years ago I sense Lee Cook probably was as well.
Maybe we should sign Faurlin junior up just in case – make sure we do it right though eh?
The EventThis year’s dinner and dance was not at Heathrow – although whether or not that was for my benefit I’m not sure. The close proximity of the Hilton Metropole Hotel to the end of the Westway flyover at Edgware Road did give cause for concern about where we may end up later in the evening but there was no time to consider that as we quickly had to go to the front desk to sign in. Neil had received a letter a couple of days prior to the event stating that due to the high demand for tickets (more than 900 sold) and the club’s achievements in the season security had been stepped up so that only people who had paid through the nose for their tickets would gain access to the event.
That done, it was up to the third floor and a giant hall where a ‘drinks reception’ was being held. One bottle of Peroni - £4.50. We’re not in Middlesbrough now Toto.
Andy looks remarkably pleased for somebody who’s waited nine months for a beer. It was here that I started to meet a few familiar faces, and a few new ones as well, including LFW columnist Andy Hillman, and his lovely partner Jasmine, who finally got the drinks I’ve been promising them for the last nine months. From there, after half an hour or so, we were asked to head back down the stairs into the giant suite where the event would be held. Neil and myself were on table 58, which was almost bang in the middle. The view of the stage from there wasn’t great, any further back and I’d have felt a little bit put out. One of the tables, and I’ve a feeling this is the one Andy may have ended up on, was almost in the doorway about a quarter of a mile away from the stage from where I can only presume you could see absolutely nothing. If you think I’m about to start ranting again fear not, that is my only complaint about the entire night.
As discussed post Barnsley, a pictorial example of ‘doing the Little Phil’ The event was hosted by “popular” Sky Sports News presenter Jim White. If the name doesn’t immediately ring a bell, he’s the silver haired Scottish fella that they wheel out on transfer deadline day to get incredibly excited about absolutely everything. And I’m starting to think that maybe he’s just incredibly excited about absolutely everything all of the time because he came bounding onto the stage and quickly told us that we were going to enjoy a sensational night. The words ‘sensational’ and ‘enjoy’ were then repeated 378 times in the next three minutes as Jim ran down the running order which, we were told, would include an auction of lots as well as the different awards. “And now,” he said without even pausing for breath, “the evening is underway..
He was in full Sky Sports News mode at this stage which was amazing to see in the flesh. On Sky Sports if they say it often enough it makes it true, so the evening was indeed underway, and I almost expected him to hand over to some poor sap standing in a dark field near Stoke’s training ground to bring in the latest news on Robert Huth’s contract negotiations. Instead, he introduced the squad members one by one as they entered the room to a standing ovation and big cheers for the likes of Paddy Kenny, Shaun Derry, Adel Taarabt and Danny Shittu.
I’ve given Jim White some stick on LFW in the past, mainly because he’s an annoying tit, but I have to say he was a fantastic host for this evening. He kept it moving along at a right old pace, cracked a few jokes, played the crowd well and was the absolute ideal host. At the end of the night he left with a trophy girl on his arm about half his age. I’m not sure if that was somebody he’d picked up on the night, his wife or (and this is the option the LFW crew liked the best) an Alan Partridge style rent in from an agency – she couldn’t stay too late, she’s got a part in The Bill.
Un-named individual enjoying the evening The starters were already laid out on the table when we arrived in the room, which was a bit off putting because you couldn’t be sure how long they’d been there. Teriyaki salmon to start, chicken with mushroom risotto for main, chocolate chip cheesecake for desert. Was it brilliant? No. But it was far, far better than the meal we’d had at the event two years ago, and there was actually a decent portion of it all which I often find is a problem at these events. Cooking for 900 guests isn’t easy, and all in all I think they did a decent job.
We didn’t know the other people on our table – there was a couple to our left, a pair of lads who’d been to Arsenal v Man Utd earlier in the day to our right, and three fellas sitting opposite us – but everybody was incredibly friendly and chatty and in good spirits so it didn’t seem to matter a great deal.
Food, and table wine, downed and Jim was back on the stage and ready for the main event…
The AwardsPlayer of the Year 2010/11 1st Paddy Kenny >>> 2nd Adel Taarabt >>> 3rd Shaun Derry Players’ Player of the Year 2010/11 Paddy Kenny Goal of the Season 2010/11 Adel Taarabt, second goal v Swansea City H Young Player of the Year 2010/11 Bruno Andrade There was once a party political broadcast for the Liberal Democrats done by John Cleese where he argued that many potential Liberal voters didn’t go out and vote for them on polling day because they didn’t think they would win – but if they all actually did then they would. And I was reminded of that as Paddy Kenny beat Adel Taarabt to the main award.
Let’s be fair, Paddy Kenny has been absolutely superb for us this season. Since almost dropping a routine through ball into his own net in the first half of the first game of the season against Barnsley he’s been almost completely faultless, winning scores of points for us with a series of unlikely saves. It’s easy to forget weeks and months later about his penalty save at Swansea that won us a point against a near rival, or his gravity defying effort to keep Yakubu’s lob out in a Leicester game we won 1-0. There’s three extra points for us right there in just two incidents.
Paddy Kenny, the man of the moment, with goalkeeper coach David Rouse I wasn’t at all surprised to see him take the players’ award, because he’s got a few of them out of some sticky situations this season and is clearly a popular squad member besides. But I do wonder whether there was an element of the old Liberal Democrat syndrome coming into the fans’ voting. I think everybody presumed that Adel Taarabt would win the main award, and in my opinion he deserved to. He’s scored 19 goals this season and got at least that many assists for other players. He’s so good, and has already been named the Championship Player of the Year award, that perhaps there was a tendency among voters to look elsewhere because they presumed Adel would win it regardless of whichever way they voted. I’m a little bit prone to this in my match reports, often overlooking Adel for the Man of the Match award in favour of a ‘more unsung hero’ – perhaps trying to be too clever, when clearly Taarabt is the man of the season by some distance.
Either way, it would be hard to argue with the top three for the main award – just perhaps not in that order. It may be worth remembering this summer when the new signings start to roll in that if you don’t quite agree with them, or think we could do better, that last summer there were those that said Kenny was no better than Radek Cerny, Taarabt was a temperamental git who would disrupt the whole team, and Derry was dubbed by this site as “the anti footballer” whose legs had gone several years before. If the one, two, three here tells us anything, it’s that Neil Warnock is a bloody shrewd transfer market operator.
Kenny has kept 24 clean sheets this season, a club record, and thoroughly deserves the accolades that are coming his way.
The club’s barrister gears up for a big week ahead.
The AftermathNow at this point the last time I came to this event the players quickly up and left, never to be seen again. This time there were a series of speeches. Amit Bhatia had already been up to give a rousing opening game bit before the awards were handed out, where he described the season as a “dream come true” and said that the team had worked harder, tried harder, played better and been better than any other team in the division. The respective award recipients also answered a few questions from Jim White as they collected their award, and assistant manager Mick Jones gave his usual forthright views about life at the club when he went up to present an award saying everybody there would gladly “die” for Neil Warnock.
Warnock himself then got up to say, once again, that he’d never been happier in his life and then proceeded to invite the rest of the squad onto the stage one by one and saying a word or two about them as they came. I thought this was a terrific idea, and a great way for everybody to say thanks to the best QPR squad we’ve had here in a generation. Warnock introduced Wayne Routledge by saying: “When we lost Jamie Mackie I thought ‘bloody hell we’ll have to get a good player in to replace him’, but we couldn’t get one so we’ve made do with Wayne.”
Danny Shittu – man of the people It was at this stage that we found out that Adel Taarabt had in fact gone home. Of course the immediate assumption of everybody was that he’d got the hump for not winning the main award and buggered off, and he certainly didn’t seem too overwhelmed when he gave his acceptance interview with the runners’ up prize in his hand, but Warnock laughed this off when he gave his speech saying that we’d been fortunate to see him for as long as we had because apparently the squad “don’t often get Adel for an hour” and while they had a lot to learn from him, he had a lot to learn from them as well.
There then followed a bizarre five minutes where chairman Ishan Saksena got up onto the stage and did what seemed to be an attempt at a stand up routine – cracking jokes about Neil Warnock’s swearing, Bradley Orr’s clothes, Jamie Mackie’s vocabulary, Paddy Kenny’s parties and so on. He was reasonably funny to be honest, although I’m not sure he should give up his day job just yet.
Rufus Brevett – “it sounds like something I would do.” And then began that sort of awkward time where you become a 12-year-old boy again, walking around looking for the footballers to sign things, or have their pictures taken with you. Neil dragged me up to the front end of the room for this and while most of it was mortifyingly embarrassing it did give me a chance to speak to Danny Shittu. I reminded him that the last time I’d seen him was on the train back from Middlesbrough, but promised him that I wasn’t the one who’d put my tongue in his ear. Danny told me he was delighted to have been able to play his part in the game at Watford, and was thrilled to have done so well in the match. After a picture I moved on, but Danny stayed where he was. And the best part of four hours later he was still there - still signing things, still posing for pictures, still talking to people for as long as they wanted to talk to him, still appearing to be absolutely loving it. Without wishing to turn into Ray Wilkins - what an absolutely fantastic, spendid fella Danny is. A true credit to himself.
Good grief. The rest of the players did themselves proud as well. The vast majority of them were there until the very small hours, and having gone to town on just what an arsehole Wayne Routledge had been two years ago it’s only fair that I say here he was happily chatting and posing for pictures until gone one in the morning around the dance floor which was excellent to see. The mood all round was just a lot more upbeat and positive, and the players really did their part on what I always think must be a bit of a trying evening for them surrounded by people bugging them for this and that.
Highlights of what became an increasingly raucous evening as it wore on included a middle aged gentleman in a suit dancing like Simon Callow’s character from Four Weddings and a Funeral (we decided he was probably the club’s barrister just loosening up before the big hearing), Matthew Connolly wondering onto the dance floor at getting on for 2am in a somewhat dubious state after an evening of apparently buying everybody in the bar multiple drinks declaring himself “lost”, and a strange moment where for five minutes Rufus Brevett appeared, and then disappeared almost as quickly as he’d arrived. Rufus sadly didn’t remember my favourite moment of his career, where he raced 80 yards across the field at Huddersfield to deliver three quick punches to the side of Kevin Gray’s head in a melee and then ran back without the referee seeing him at all, but confessed that it sounded like something he would do.
Matthew Connolly – lost, tired and emotional. It’s also worth noting at this stage that the sheer amount of scantily clad ladies who either go out with footballers, or would like to, had to be seen to be believed.
With time getting on and the music winding down I was starting to think about heading for home. Neil and myself, Andy and Jasmine and the lovely Brian Loader and Michelle made our way downstairs but it didn’t feel like quite the time to leave – if only we could find another bar. Then, from nowhere, Shaun Derry appeared and, as he has done all season, showed us the way. “Follow me guys” he said, and walked all of ten yards around a corner into the only bar still open in Edgware Road at two in the morning. Bradley Orr, Paddy Kenny, Clint Hill, Jamie Mackie and others were all still there at this stage, holding court with the fans.
It was only when the bar manager said, for the sake of his other guests, that he would have to close because there was too much noise that we all started to head off into the world of nightbuses, dodgy taxis from Camden Town, and the bizarre night ending news that Osama Bin Laden was dead. It was light when I got back to Barnet.
One more for the road? Massive collection of Neil’s pictures online – click here Photo: Action Images Please report offensive, libellous or inappropriate posts by using the links provided.
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