On Friday night, under the lights at Loftus Road, Queens Park Rangers landed on their wheels, pulled over and asked what you were worried about.
To support Queens Park Rangers can feel like being locked into a never-ending search for a long-lost past.
There’s a brick wall that runs around the green on Batman Close that I used to sit on with my grandad. We’d be sent on our way from The Goldhawk a little after two to give his crumbling knee and ailing heart the time to walk up to the ground – difficult to tell who was really looking after who in this relationship. We’d sit on the wall and look back down through the crowd on Loftus Road waiting for my dad’s bald pate to appear above the throngs, eking out every last second and beer he could, and then with a trademark hand in the air, flick of the wrist, the signal was given to walk round to the turnstiles, climb the stairs and enter the Upper Loft. Once inside I could run on ahead, along the concourse, to the far end of the stand and our usual spot at the back of the P Block, eager not to miss the kick off. Tina Turner spilling down the stairwells as I weaved between the adults queueing for pies and pints. 1 Jan Stejskal, 2 David Bardsley, 3 Clive Wilson, 4 Ray Wilkins, 5 Darren Peacock, 6 Alan McDonald, 7 Andy Impey, 8 Ian Holloway, 9 Les Ferdinand, 10 Bradley Allen, 11 Andy Sinton. Let’s play ball.
You take these times and people for granted when they’re happening to you. You assume that it will always be like this, and they’ll be around forever, until it’s not, and they’re not. You’re complacent about it, it slips by in a heartbeat, and then you spend the rest of your life frantically clawing around trying to get scraps of it back. Travelling to Crewe, by yourself, to watch Steve Morrow and Karl Ready, your dreams turning to dust and sliding away between your fingers. Frequently lonely, often miserable.
So much of following QPR for so many of my generation, and the one before it, is about this constant reach back into the past, trying to grasp that illusive way it used to make you feel. Lucas Andersen, who seems to be falling in love with us almost as quickly as we’re becoming smitten with him, said something recently about QPR being a club where you’re a fan because the whole family are fans. You’re going to Loftus Road this weekend because dad would have been going to Loftus Road this weekend, or grandad, or mum, or brother, or sister. You remember those people, and want to feel that connection to them again. You’re going because you remember this club beating Man Utd, Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea, because you remember Bowles, Thomas and Francis, or Ferdinand, Sinton and Wilkins. You remember how that all felt, and you want to feel like that again.
We tell ourselves the long barren years make the rare highs feel so much better, that you enjoy victories so much more because you sat through the midweek defeats at Stoke, that you have to go through the 6-1’s at Blackpool to truly draw the full hit of pleasure from the wins that eventually follow – sometimes many months later. We tell ourselves Man City fans must be bored. But those defeats hurt so much because they feel like a personal affront, because you know QPR can be so much better than this, because they’re moving you ever further away from the illusive feeling you know this life can provide if only this player or that would realise how much this matters and pull their bloody finger out.
The club itself, so desperate to please, frequently does this lazy, nostalgic reach as well. It re-signs Charlie Austin, Lee Cook or Jamie Mackie; it brings back Ian Holloway, Les Ferdinand or Gary Waddock; very, very frequently, it picks up the phone and calls Gerry Francis. Pacification from the Kerry Katona school of parenting. Oooh it's Gareth Ainsworth, look, you like Gareth Ainsworth don't you? Please stop crying. Blackburn come to Shepherd’s Bush and win 4-0. And that feeling, that euphoria, that pride remains just a couple more times over the horizon. Ever out of reach.
Then Leeds United turn up.
Every generation of QPR supporter has a Leeds United at Loftus Road story. Whether you’re a child of the 70s, crammed into the old Loft, trying to reach up and see over the heads if Stan Bowles’ shot had crept in to keep title hopes alive, or a 90s baby like myself who remembers oh so many Les Ferdinand goals and Andy Sinton giving Chris Whyte such a fright in the end he deliberately booted him up in the air for a red card he was relieved to receive. Even the newcomers have Luke Freeman’s emperor penguin routine, and Ebere Eze making Kalvin Phillips look like, well, like Kalvin Phillips. The much-revered Marcelo Bielsa lost three times in two years with Leeds here, the only away ground he’s been beaten three times on in his career.
Leeds Leeds Leeds. Yorkshire Yorkshire Yorkshire. They never stop banging on about the place, how massive the club is, how they’d absolutely have taken more than you did, and about how there’s some divine right to a place in the Premier League for a club of this size. How is a club this big outside the Premier League? A club this size should be in the Premier League. The Premier League needs a strong Leeds United. Leeds United are a Premier League club. That they’ve spent as much time in League One as the top flight in the last 20 years is for pub bores. Your recollections of all those visits to Elland Road with that upper tier empty and closed to supporters are incorrect. This is Leeds United we’re talking about here. Leeds Leeds Leeds. Yorkshire Yorkshire Yorkshire. And they turn up at little old Loftus Road, every single time, expecting insignificant, idiot scum like QPR to just roll over. Don Goodman's predicting a win. And Don Goodman is in for a shock.
On Friday night, Rangers weren’t having it. They weren’t having it at all. 90 points? 27 wins? Automatic promotion? Give a fuck mate. We’ve heard about your Blockbusters, and you’ll need more than that tonight. A strong start, on a high press, Chris Willock driving down Main Street, eschewing a shot at the end of the run when he surely would have unleased 18 months ago. Steve Cook’s ropey pass into midfield dealt with strongly by Sam Field. Jack Colback snapping and biting. And Willy Gnonto sat down because somebody poked him in the eye. The poor love.
QPR looked keen and at it. Leeds looked light of weight and low on concentration. It took seven minutes to tell in goals. Ilias Chair allowed to collect the ball in space, run towards the penalty area unchallenged, and then step inside onto his right foot for a shot. Had the visitors done any video prep work for this game at all, or just expected to turn up? This is QPR module 1.1. Chair, predictably, found the far bottom corner from range via a deflection of a pathetically half-arsed block attempt by The Joe Rodon Experience. We'll just leave him in 20 yards of open space I reckon, what harm can come?
Soon Rangers were playing out slickly from the back, crossing to the near post for Lyndon Dykes to head wide. Sam Byram’s nasty crack through Chair’s ankles was the thickest of thick yellow cards. And Gnonto was down on the floor again. We’ve got these. We’ve got these all ends up. Now here’s Jimmy Dunne, Chris Willock and Lucas Andersen working high and right triangles, twisting and turning, poking and probing for an opening. Keeping the ball, keeping possession, keeping the pressure on. Until a space opens up for Andersen to step inside and serve up a nice warm glass of shut the hell up into the far corner. A finish of extreme power and precision. Where’s that been while he’s been running his own miss of the season competition over the last few weeks? Frankly, at this moment, who cares? Loftus Road was starting to rock. Remember when Gordon Strachan got sent off here for dissent? Now that was funny.
Inevitably, Asmir Begovic would be required at some point – Leeds had scored 80 goals prior to kick off, almost exactly twice as many as their opponents. A shot from Piroe was just about stopped, fairly nervously, and he needed Kenneth Paal to swoop in diligently on the rebound and deny Summerville a tap in. Nothing nervous about the later stop from Summerville, and no further assistance required either. Gnonto, finally up and about after his earlier mortal wounds, crossing unchallenged to the back post for the division’s player of the season to stride onto and volley firmly towards goal first time. Begovic’s footwork uncharacteristically sharp, change of direction on point and instinctive save down low to his left exceptional. The goalkeeper has owed his team a big performance, and here it was. We’ll let him have his indecision ten before half time, because the imperious Jake Clarke-Salter dealt with the situation and bollocked him for us.
A Leeds goal there would have been something approaching a footballing travesty. QPR’s passing was purposeful and lively, their press high and suffocating. Marti Cifuentes’ tactical set up spot on, and the execution of it near note perfect. I thought the West Brom game was the best I’d seen Rangers play in many a year, this was a different league to that altogether. Rangers’ best in a decade, perhaps. Daniel Farke, dressed like a German Indiana Jones, talking like an American trying to do a German accent, with work to do. Gruev’s attempts at playing defensive midfield and protecting his defence were laughably bad. This was a man acting like he’d never even heard of Ilias Chair, let alone received any instruction on how to deal with him. The Moroccan ran absolute riot.
Two nil at half time then and we’d all probably have been quite happy to call the dogs off at that point. Got what we came for, Championship survival secured, nice win against a good team to finish, all back to the Crown for buckets of beer and Joe Hylton getting up on the table to sing. Then the Leeds fans, who you may recall recently stopped a game for two minutes so they could applaud the memory and anniversary of their own stabbing victims, decided to boo Mark Prince. Now, the Leeds United Supporters Trust would like you to buy into the story that this is because they couldn’t hear what was being said, and of course the natural reaction when you cannot hear what somebody is saying to you is to boo in their face. Mark Prince, a man you can hear from space. I found it interesting that they managed to make it through the majority of the speech untroubled by being unable to hear it, but when he got to the bit about kids being afraid to go out on the streets suddenly decided to object to the volume problem then. Whatever the truth of the matter, and let’s be honest here if you’re accepting the "we couldn’t hear him so we aggressively booed” line I’d take a friend with you when going to buy a used car, you boo Mark Prince and you’d better believe that’s a paddlin. I’m afraid you leave me little recourse.
There were scares to survive. Rutter in at the near post denied by a brilliant challenge from Steve Cook, later hooking wide with his left foot when he should have scored off Ampadu’s bobbled cross. Jimmy Dunne, superb, repelling all boarders, into the ear of team mates not helping as much as he’d have liked. Begovic another critical save, this time at the near post with his feet to deny substitute Joseph, referee Darren Bond a rare error in awarding a goal kick.
Every team has ten minutes, and your ten minutes are up. QPR, dressed in the Dulux colour chart, were ready to go through the gears again. Sometimes the only way to make yourself feel better is by making somebody else look bad, and I’m tired of making other people feel better.
Ilias Chair, once more being allowed to maraud infield unchecked, unleashed from range and saw the shot deflect wide rather than into the net. From that corner a loose ball dropped the way of Jack Colback whose shot was blocked. Pressure released, but not for long. Rattled Meslier kicked a ball straight into touch. Chair and Willock pressing Leeds almost back to the Green, a panicked clearance from Gray straight to Field, fed back into Chair for a spin and hit deflected over. Field revving the crowd up. You R’s in full voice. Hayden a word in Chair’s ear for a delivery knocked agonisingly out of Colback’s reach on the penalty spot. Leeds try to escape once and give it straight to Paul Smyth on from the bench, a second time and the pathway blocked by Steve Cook, a third and Jack Colback bastarded them straight into touch. Such energy about these Rangers. This was incessant stuff, ceaseless, and the crowd responded in kind. These are the good old days.
Field robbed Piroe. Dykes, his best performance for months, won a free kick from nothing. Smyth dancing around Firpo, Meslier forced from his line to take evasive action. Another corner, another Chair delivery, Dunne at the back post back into traffic, Firpo a wild hack, Field just unable to sort his feet, Dunne on the high win once more. Just constantly turning the torture rack ever tighter on a visiting team giving the very strong impression they’d rather be anywhere else. Out in deep water, at night; out of their depth, in the dark. Every visit down the right found Jimmy Dunne in thou shalt not pass mode. On the other side Kenneth Paal was always mentally two steps ahead, standing in every passing lane before Leeds even realised they wanted to use it. Field and Colback were permanent pests. And Jake Clarke-Salter could have played in a suit.
The midfield domination was total – Field and Colback versus Gruev and Gray, Alton Towers to their LegoLand. Too strong, too experienced. Summerville, pressed by Field into going backwards. Ampadu, hassled by Dykes into a back pass to keeper and shrug. Rodon, all over the place, remonstrating with everybody but himself. Gnonto beaten twice by Paal who simply wanted it more. Will you piss off and leave me alone for a minute? Willock’s cross towards Dykes hacked behind. Leeds starting to bend, starting to creak, starting to crack. You can hear it from here. It’s coming. A Chair corner, because of course. Dykes reading the sign and manoeuvring Joseph out the way before a dart to the near post right on cue for the low delivery which he glanced goalwards. Towards Meslier, through Meslier, and into Meslier’s net. From none in 16 to two in two. Scotland boss Steve Clarke watching on. Three nil now, and the Crown & Sceptre put on amber alert. I don’t care, change the bulb. Summerville sauntered off – don’t worry about it mate, no rush. And the Leeds fans were marching out together.
There was more to come. There was an Albert Adomah farewell tour to come; 525 Championship appearances a divisional record. And there was a fourth goal to come. QPR have scored more than two goals in a game once in 78 goes. Here they were about to score a fourth. A fourth. They didn't need it, but then who needs anything? It was in want territory, and I wanted it.
Gruev’s horrible personal evening concluding with a needless foul on Smyth allowing Chair another free chance to cross into a box populated big bigger, taller, stronger, more committed QPR players. Sam Field putting down his shield and picking up his sword. Meslier should have saved it in his sleep. Do we care? Ask that Lower Loft, dissolving before your eyes. Sinton with the shot, and Brian Moore talking about QPR going comfortably, triumphantly, into a 4-0 lead. Leeds. Are. Rocking.
It has been all Shawshank and no Redemption for Queens Park Rangers for a long time now. Two years of tunnelling through shit with no escape. All we’ve had to cling to, and reference, and write about, is tired nostalgia. Roy Wegerle dancing around Tony Adams, and somewhere in the middle of all that is Kenny Sansom. Every week in the Crown & Sceptre I’ve seen the tired, drawn faces of those who’ve seen such riches and can’t live with this QPR now they’re old. Of the parents who take their kids, desperate for them to experience some of that magic that got them hooked in the first place. Daughters looking up at dads, sort of quizzically, as they stand and stare at a long dormant volcano – just give it another ten minutes, I’m telling you it’s going to go off. And we pass the time by drinking and talking about that Les Ferdinand goal, that Gary Bannister hat trick against Chelsea, that walk to Wembley Stadium.
It's time to make some new memories now, not constantly looking back mournfully. The crowds are coming back, the atmosphere is building, there are young people following QPR again and Loftus Road is all abuzz once more. With a kinder FFP cycle, with big earners coming off the wage bill, and with a potential Eze sell on to come, there could be quite a handy warchest to build on what’s happening here. Of course, the last time we had one of those, we declared war on ourselves. That must not happen again. With this manager, there’s reason for genuine optimism it won’t.
Tearing Leeds United a new arse is a staple of the good times In W12. It’s a great place to start, and that’s exactly what this needs to be for this club, manager and team. A start. The end of the beginning.
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QPR: Begovic 8; Dunne 8, Cook 8, Clarke-Salter 8 (Fox 81, -), Paal 8; Colback 8 (Hayden 81, -), Field 8; Willock 8 (Adomah 87, -), Andersen 8 (Smyth 57, 7), Chair 9; Dykes 8 (Armstrong 87, -)
Subs Not Used: Dixon-Bonner, Cannon, Larkeche, Walsh
Goals: Chair 8 (assisted Clarke-Salter), Andersen 22 (assisted Willock), Dykes 73 (assisted Chair), Field 86 (assisted Chair)
Yellow Cards: Colback 64 (kicking ball away)
Leeds: Meslier 3; Byram 4 (Joseph 63, 4), Rodon 4, Ampadu 4, Firpo 3; Gray 5, Gruev 2 (Kamara 88, -); Gnonto 3 (Shackleton 88, -), Rutter 4 (Gelhardt 80, -), Summerville 3 (Anthony 80, -); Piroe 4
Subs not used: Cresswell, Cooper, Darlow, Crew
Yellow Cards: Byram 16 (foul), Gnonto 40 (foul)
QPR Star Man – Ilias Chair 9 You could genuinely have picked any one of the whole team. Even the much-maligned Begovic made crucial saves at big moments in this game – no less than the brilliant leg stop from Joseph just moments before Dykes scored his goal, from 2-1 and nervous to 3-0 and done. The back four were note perfect, with Paal giving his best performance for months. Field and Colback absolutely monstered Leeds’ lightweight midfield. Dykes showed he can do it. But you cannot argue with all of that plus a goal and two assists, which is what Chair provided and why he’s the top man this week. Leeds’ approach to dealing with him as bad as anything we’ve seen from any opponent all season long.
Referee – Darren Bond (Lancashire) 8 Excellent.
Attendance – 16, 677 (2,000 Leeds approx.) One of those nights, under the lights, at Loftus Road.
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Pictures — Ian Randall Photography
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