Wigan the latest to suffer on QPR's Field of dreams - Report Sunday, 23rd Oct 2022 22:00 by Clive Whittingham By no means a polished performance, and plenty of good fortune mixed into the recipe, but it's another win for table-topping QPR as Wigan Athletic eventually crack at Loftus Road. Queens Park Rangers fans in the lower School End. Shit, it seems, is indeed getting real. There are few things in life bring me the pleasure and contentment of going to watch QPR play. The people, the travel, the trains, the beers and the moment between the “go on…” and the goal. There are few things I hate more than not being there when QPR play. Doing a mundane task that couldn’t have possibly waited until tomorrow for my job, sitting through some frightfully interesting father of the bride speech at a bastard wedding, pacing around the cockroach infested hotel room of some God-forsaken work trip trying to make the wifi bring Nick London and Andy Sinton into my life... it would be much easier for all concerned if you wankers just let me go to the fucking match. This season started, for the first time, with a league game in July. I knew this was too soon. I knew that everything all of us had poured into last season, all the hopes we had allowed to be raised, all the speeding tickets we’d picked up coming back from Middlesbrough midweekers, would take some getting over. The collective tank was empty. Air Transat 236, both engines lost due to fuel starvation, we are gliding now. So many disappointments, so many defeats to bloody sodding Peterborough, so many weeks of Preston, Sheff Utd and Huddersfield away, had left me pale, flabby, and pissed off. I went travelling with my other half through June, my fellow passengers in the departure lounge must have assumed I was being taken away for a last holiday by the Make A Wish Foundation. We had “the talk” on that trip, about how out-of-perspective this all was now, about how it was literally affecting my health, about how Lee and Jordan could pick up the occasional match report, and about how we’re rapidly approaching the age at which my dad died for doing exactly the same thing I’m doing to myself now — work to drink, drink to work, occasional sleep. We don’t have to go to QPR every time I’m in London do we? I thought we’d be beyond that stage by now. (What’s the problem with Fever Pitch, Mel?) The fixtures came out while we were away in the sun. Blackburn away first. Blackburn away. Like a sick joke. Kat is back. The worst bit of your most favourite thing; I presume even Jennifer Lawrence leaves skiddies on the bog sometimes. Like somebody is actively trolling me/us. Blackburn away. The most Lancashire of all the Lancashires. Six of us went on a lesser-spotted Avanti service - like computer parts being shipped from Japan, crammed as tightly packed as the Nottingham Forest team coach - that only decided it was definitely running at all 30 seconds before the doors trapped the masses inside and it creaked out of the station. We all looked at each other and asked what we were doing with our day/lives. Tracey genuinely nearly got off ten minutes before it left and went home. QPR’s class of 2021/22 had pushed us too far. If even we were feeling like this…? Mide Shodipo played up front and we lost 1-0. Talk to me about this crystal meth you’re into, I’m looking for something in an after-dinner burrito. Oh how we smiled our weary, wry smiles as Mick Beale talked about signings still to come and “not accepting fifteenth, sixteenth. I haven’t come to QPR to finish fifteenth, sixteenth. I’m going for the top half as a bare minimum, and kick on, and do all the things you’ve asked. I want all the cake, and I want to eat it.” QPR don’t do cake, they prefer flan. Oh how we rolled our cynical, tired eyes as the stories started to leak out that the money situation was so much tighter than he expected that feelers were being put out for other jobs. And lo, this week’s tango de la Muerte with Wolverhampton Wanderers. Marty, the young ones never stay. But four months, three frees, four loans and a seemingly inspired managerial appointment later, and the place, club, team and situation is unrecognisable. Starting from zero, got nothing to lose. QPR is a hot ticket in town again — would you mind taking coffee in the bar so we can have the table back? Aunt Nelly has tasted blood in the water once more. Beale has the sniff of something too, and remained in place at the eleventh hour. Nurse, prepare the DiCaprio memes. The destruction of Cardiff midweek, which elevated QPR to the top of the table and in my humble opinion went a long way towards making Beale’s mind up the way he did, was total. Even before the nonsense penalty and red card, QPR monstered the Welsh side. “Cardiff are at sixes and sevens Nick” said Andy after a minute and 30 seconds. “Cardiff can’t cope with this Nick”, barely a minute later. In March QPR made playing Cardiff at home look like passing a kidney stone the size of the Royal Albert Hall; on Wednesday Ilias Chair played Rick Dalton, flamethrower and all. It was like watching a professional team play some side from the Isle of Wight that’s accidentally stumbled into the FA Cup proper rounds, or something from a David Attenborough doc where a young, hungry animal finds an old podgy one that welcomes the sweet release of death. Best off out of it. Soon only Bieber. The narrative, therefore, was that Saturday would be a piece of piss. Wigan, newly promoted from League One, suddenly finding things tough at the higher level with five defeats in seven games, and a 4-1 gob bumming by accident prone Middlesbrough at home in the week, the proverbial lamb to the abattoir. Will Keane Offside up front? Pur-lease. We’ll shit em. Even Sam Field is going to score, with a typically technically immaculate first time shot on a dropping ball from Stefan Johansen’s twelfth minute corner. Jordan Cousins, once lauded in these parts as a perfect summer signing on a budget, looks like he took a gift basket from King Solomons on Uxbridge Road when he left, and was found badly wanting in his marking here against what a proper Championship central midfielder looks like. A first goal in 64 appearances dating back two seasons. Treat yourself to a new cardigan lovely boy.
I’d drunk the Kool-Aid. I honestly thought we’d open up a can of face-AIDS on this lot. I mean, if Sam Field is going to score, I fancy myself for one. Lyndon Dykes, relaxed and confident after one of his sudden goal bursts, crawled all over the Latics’ back three all afternoon like a rabid letting agent. Ilias Chair was perpetual motion, little legs whirling around like a Looney Tune, every blade of grass, all at once. Wigan very quickly wore the exasperated expression of the single parent of five boys. What do you do with them all? Just as we’ve settled those two down here comes Ethan Laird look. Kenneth Paal it says here. A hero comes along. My God, a long day at the coal face. I use a phrase on here sometimes, lazily — “well coached”. It’s hard to quantify, it’s difficult to explain, and it’s cobbed out into these reports as catch-all. This week, though, has been a terrific explanation. Look at Cardiff, and look at Wigan. Our opponents on Saturday are always going to struggle to compete at this level in the FFP era, with one administration under their belt already and Dave Whelan now telling his bloody FA Cup final broken leg story elsewhere, but there are ways of going about your work that will bring you enough points to be fine in the grand scheme of things. And then there’s Cardiff. Wigan equalised off a well-worked free kick routine that isolated QPR’s defenders in a long string across the penalty box, preventing doubling up, and allowing Keane to make the most of his height advantage to nod down for the outstanding Nathan Broadhead to steer in a leveller. The Everton loanee was the pick of Loftus Road's visiting players not only this weekend, but this season so far. Where they did, repeatedly, struggle, was defending set plays. Johansen took an outswinging turn from the opposite side of the field with the very next corner kick and Leon Balogun monstered a second goal into the roof of the net. Wallop. Eat that and tell me you’re still hungry. Including own goals, and Seny Dieng’s leveller at Sunderland which is increasingly looking like our Mackie-at-Derby moment of another successful campaign, QPR now have a league-leading 13 different scorers this season, and can name a very reasonably starting 11 of players with a goal to their name already.
Three, four, five one then? Not so. Back came Wigan again. They set up with a back three, and wing backs with wild and dangerous opinions of their own. Ethan Laird, court jester in the Cardiff game, had his influence stunted, and was caught out early leaving a ball behind and trying to con referee Dean Whitestone into thinking it was a goal kick when it wasn’t. Keane and Broadhead up front were a menace, Max Power was wise to all the tricks, and Johansen’s sad latest breakdown weakened our midfield hand further. The situation was not aided by some fucking chinless virgin bringing a whistle to the game and blowing it from the crowd at the most inopportune moments he could find — one near catastrophic incident saw QPR stop thinking a borderline handball had been given in their favour, then panicking when they realised it hadn’t and conceding a free kick of their own from which Wigan scored a second goal ruled out for a very generous offside decision. Tight as a mouse’s ear. Soon things were opening up for Broadhead to shoot wide as Wigan’s shape and ability cause more issues, and the final moments of the half were played out almost entirely around the QPR penalty box as the Latics ice hockey power-played the situation really well and the R’s struggled to escape. Lyndon Dykes’ full-stretch defensive header as the clock into stoppage time was crucial in preventing an equaliser. I was pretty impressed with the visitors. They’ll be more than ok playing like that — zero pissing about, no histrionics, decent football, good shape, bright ideas, good strikers, and let down because they didn’t defend two corners. They were good value for a draw overall, and were singularly unfortunate to be behind at the break. You can see why they’ve already clocked up four away wins. QPR tried a series of measures to get themselves back on top in the game and put the whole thing to bed. Had Tim Iroegbunam’s surge into the area and powerful shot produced a goal rather than a fine save from Ben Amos, or Ilias Chair’s magician’s curtain trick and cut back through the six yard box found either Dykes or Laird slightly differently positioned, these would have been deemed a great success — hand shakes and brandies all round. If my aunty had wheels she’d be a bike. Andre Dozzell, after some impressive recent outings, was back to stand-and-admire academy footballer bollocks. Luke Amos looked laboured and off his touch post injury, when he’d been brought in for energy and legs. Flipping to the back three, introducing Dickie, did not improve matters. Nothing Beale tried on Saturday worked as it had previously. With Johansen went the goodness, and what was left behind was pure attrition. A young Gallen planted a firm header back into play from the main stand to rapturous applause — I wondered if he might be able to come on and help Lyndon out in his valiant toils. The afternoon turned into a clock watching exercise. Eyes down, look in.
It was a blessed relief to see the back of Keane and Broadhead to be honest, and we should have been safe with the arrival of ‘world’s greatest agent’ Ashley Fletcher and ‘he used to be a goalkeeper you know’ Josh Magennis. But when LFW has spent so much time taking the piss out of people, it’s inevitable they’ll occasionally come back with a bite. I half expected Steve Bruce to get the sodding job if Beale left during the week. Balogun’s near post clearance on 77 in a massively outnumbered counter attack after Amos had given the ball away felt like a big moment. From the resulting corner a wrestling match at the near post was a fairly obvious Latics penalty kick, and referee Dean Whitestone had the whistle in his mouth, but there was a complication — Wigan hadn’t taken the corner yet, and the ball was not back in play. An escape millisecond in the execution. Perhaps he felt bad about it, because for the me there were two fouls in the build up to a decisive moment four minutes from time when Magennis acrobatically launched himself at a cross and manufactured and improvised effort of some genius off the underside of the bar, the inside of the post, the goal line, and back into play past a clutch of assembled well-wishers. It’s certainly not your day when Josh Magennis is scoring bicycle kicks against you, but when the thing bounces back into play via every possible extremity of the goal frame, it definitely is. Six minutes of added time, and played nearly eight, felt excessive, but after that it was never going to end with anything other than a QPR win. Mick Beale looked and sounded like a man who’d been twelve rounds with my accountant in his post match. You win things, and achieve things, in the Championship, in football, in sport, yes, by steamrollering idiot scum like Cardiff City. Occasionally you’ll get a 100-point team that does that every week — there have been five in the modern history of this league (Reading 106 05/06, Sunderland 105 98/99, Newcastle 102 09/10, Leicester 102 13/14, Fulham 101 00/01). For the rest of the title winners, the promotion winners, the play-off competitors, there are days like Wednesday when the whole thing fits like a glove, and then there are days like Saturday where you wrestle with a tricky opponent, absorb injuries, ride your luck, and win anyway. It’s what good teams do, and there’s evidence stacking up that’s exactly what we have on our hands here. There was zero expectation of this QPR team at the start of the season, and rather than barrack their players for not producing the steamrollering of a newly promoted team one might have hoped for, the crowd was led from Pu in a round of ‘Mick Beale’s blue and white army’ which lasted a quarter of an hour and dragged the fans, the players, the club and the day towards the conclusion we all so desired. As hopes escalate once more, we must eek that vibe and attitude out as long and as far as we can.
A final whistle long in the blowing. A Silver Lining extra throaty in the singing. A win in wholly different stripes from four days prior. A new Terry Venables in waiting. And a league leadership for our Queens Park Rangers again. We’ll never be beyond that stage. Links >>> Photo Gallery >>> Ratings and Reports >>> Message Board Match Thread QPR: Dieng 6; Laird 6, Balogun 8, Clarke-Salter 7, Paal 7; Johansen 7 (Dozzell 45+3, 5), Field 8, Iroegbunam 6 (Dickie 65, 5); Armstrong 5 (Amos 45, 5), Chair 7 (Richards 90, -), Dykes 7 (Bonne 90, -) Subs not used: Kakay, Archer Goals: Field 12 (assisted Johansen), Balogun 24 (assisted Johansen) Bookings: Richards 90+3 (time wasting) Wigan: Amos 6; Kerr 6, Whatmough 6 (Edmonds-Green 84, -), Tilt 6; Darikwa 6 (Aasgard 72, 6), Power 7, Cousins 5 (Naylor 72, 6), Shinnie 6, McClean 7; Keane 7 (Fletcher 79, 6), Broadhead 8 (Magennis 78, 7) Subs not used: Jones, Bennett Goals: Broadhead 22 (assisted Keane) Bookings: Shinne 90+6 (foul) QPR Star Man — Leon Balogun 8 Few candidates, despite the slight, supposed ‘off day’ from the team. The work rate and effectiveness of both Lyndon Dykes and Ilias Chair was phenomenal, and a goal from either would have pushed them over the top. Sam Field I was in love with even when he wasn’t playing like this, and now he is, and scoring a goal as well, it’s probably him. But I thought as well as his goal, Balogun was 1994-Les Ferdinand-away-at-Newcastle levels of winning every header, every 50/50, everything he went for. Given how backs to the wall we got late in the game I thought he was invaluable, and a goal to boot. Referee — Dean Whitestone (Northants) 6 Would probably have been some marks coming off if that Magennis worldie had found the net because I thought there were two fouls in the build up to that. Didn’t shit the bed, and that’s basically all you can hope for with EFL referees at the moment. Attendance — 16,353 (770 Wigan) That chant, started in Pu, and eventually sustained around the ground for a good 10 minutes in the second half, felt like a big moment. Mick Beale talked when he got here about the potential of weaponizing Loftus Road, and with all four sides full of home fans, and doing everything they could to drag the team through a tough spot in the second half, we might be starting to see what he meant. More please. Let’s get that West Brom game absolutely packed out. If you enjoy LoftforWords, please consider supporting the site through a subscription to our Patreon or tip us via our PayPal account loftforwords@yahoo.co.uk. The Twitter @Loftforwords Pictures — Ian Randall Photography Action Images Please report offensive, libellous or inappropriate posts by using the links provided.
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