QPR hit top gear, slaughtering woeful Reading - Report Sunday, 30th Jan 2022 18:56 by Clive Whittingham The comfortable win and complete performance fans of high flying Queens Park Rangers have craved arrived in W12 in some style on Saturday, with Reading the hapless victims. When Warbs Warburton plays his greatest hits, Fine Margins gives the audience a warm, nostalgic feeling. We’re at home, safe from the threat of the outside world, enveloped in a comfortable familiarity, when our manager is talking about the fine margins of the Championship. His team had won 14 games this season prior to Saturday, ten of them by one goal. Queens Park Rangers score frequently, they’ve failed to do so in only three league games; but hardly prolifically, it had been 19 outings since they last scored more than two in a game and they’d scored one or fewer in 13 of those. A support base daring to dream once more has stood on terraces in Bristol and Birmingham, Coventry and Derby, Cardiff and London W12, agonising through the never-ending closing stages of one-goal wins that have felt like giving birth to a bowling ball, more relief than elation at the end, more traumatic ordeal than pleasant afternoon at the football. Hair has been lost, or greyed, or both. Sweat has been sweated. Arse cheeks have been clenched and unclenched. Games have been watched through barely parted fingers. Positive results just one mistake, refereeing decision, moment of genius, or poor luck, away from turning negative. If asked for the defining characteristics of QPR, the stuff that makes them different and special, an ability to lose games they really should win, treat teams in strife to a charitable donation, concede a goal to some one-legged lost cause whose last goal came in a game delayed by dinosaurs on the field, would probably be up there. There was that afternoon with John Jensen (and Gallen, and Allen, and Impey); that Swindon debacle Ian Holloway always places in the wrong year when he tells the story, and that other Swindon debacle which provided them their only ever top flight double; there was that time Rotherham won one away game in more than two years of Championship football, and it was at our place. To a certain extent, every football fan thinks this of their team, rolling their eyes and giving it a fatalistic “typical bloody…”, but it’s very pronounced at QPR. Even this current side, which we love dearly, and rejoice in watching, contrived a 2-1 defeat at Peterborough out of thin air. Not so much potential banana skins, as really, really bloody obvious ones — the world’s biggest banana skin, placed on view for the public, surrounded by protective fencing, with flashing signs warning BEWARE BANANA SKIN, that we race up to regardless and slip on so spectacularly it shatters our collar bone into a thousand pieces. Reading, a bin, on wheels, on a hill, on fire, accelerating towards a typically Championship state of self-inflicted financial oblivion, loomed like a visit from the mother-in-law. Two wins from 16 games, morale as flat as a shit-carter’s hat, 17 goals conceded across five straight defeats, a 7-0 against Fulham, an FA Cup exit at Kidderminster. This lot don’t even like each other, and yet… John Swift. Here we fucking go, etc. etc.
And then Saturday dawned bright and breezy, and none of any of this applied. The differences between the two teams in performance levels, commitment, ability, attitude, tactical set ups, management, running, passing, shooting, scoring, defending, feeding and clothing themselves, treatment of elderly relatives, pension saving, were gloriously vast. The result was in doubt only as long as it took both teams to make their way onto the pitch to kick the game off. These margins were fine like the Pacific Ocean is a fine margin between New Zealand and Chile. If you arrived puzzled how Reading had won only two of 16, how a Championship team could lose to National League North outfit Kidderminster, you left wondering how they’d picked up even the two wins they have managed in that run. There was to be no banana skin here, you could have picked a team from the Crown and Sceptre’s lunchtime crowd that would have beaten this rabble. QPR finally cut loose, finally played as we know they can, finally opened a can of sweet unmerciful pain on an opponent. Chris Willock was mesmeric as usual; Lyndon Dykes spectacularly returned to form; Rob Dickie was August Rob Dickie again; Stefan Johansen, Luke Amos and Sam Field all had their best games of the season. In the end the only disappointment was it didn’t reach the five, six or seven it could easily have been, deserved to be. That, though, tempered by finally being able to relax, and just have a nice time.
Reading, initially, tried to be proactive. We’ve talked a lot about teams seeing a point at Loftus Road as a good result this season, and QPR’s task often boiling down to whether they can break through the massed ranks of Blackburn, Huddersfield, Swansea and others and win 1-0 rather than draw 0-0. Here, on the contrary, was an approach with some chest hair: the now weekly first minute opposition corner cleared, returned, and shot over; a very obvious Lee Wallace foul by lee Wallace on Andy Yiadom probably a yellow card if the reaction hadn’t been so ridiculously over the top; a header from fit-again Lucas Joao saved by David Marshall and the corner cleared. There was, ostensibly, a very pronounced front three, that included Joao and our frequent tormenter John Swift. However, it also included George Puscas, and so in reality was only a two. The oversized Romanian really should be counted among the attendance figure, such was the extent of his impact - not that you'd want to try and squeeze into the seat next to him -and was hooked at half time. I guess you could argue this is why teams come here and try to keep it tight. But Reading had greater problems than their approach. Behind the forwards… nothing at all. A paper-thin midfield, dominated throughout by Amos, Field and Johansen, allegedly included Danny Drinkwater, although surely not? This guy must have the real one tied up in a basement somewhere. Josh Laurent was better, he could hardly have been worse, but when he surged into the weakest penalty appeal you’ll ever see there was nothing but clear blue water behind him for QPR to spring Chris Willock through an excellent advantage played by the referee and into a crossing position from which he produced a typically high quality assist for Lyndon Dykes to power home with his head.
After that, all bets were off. What meagre interest in, and commitment to, this game Reading held at kick off evaporated entirely. This was Moe on holiday leaving Barney in charge of the bar levels of help your-fucking-selves lads. Johansen swooping in to clean house, Wallace somehow killing the rebounded ball stone dead, a low cross and Dykes at full stretch saved just about by Luke Southwood, apparently playing in goal after the drawing of straws on the bus journey here. Rob Dickie’s tremendous piece of recovery work set another dangerous transition away, with Lyndon Dykes channelling a young Les Ferdinand with his headed lay-off, and Chris Willock bent one wide of the top corner. Johansen, imperious, controlling the game, set in motion a chain of events that ended with Luke Amos beating the goalkeeper but not the inside of the post for the second time this week. Finds his own thumb in a barrel of tits that poor boy. Johansen had a go himself, from similar range, and Southwood saved.
This was all inside half an hour and if the nervous among you then began to wonder whether it was, instead, one of those days, well those fears were swiftly allayed as well. Puscas fell over the ball, Jimmy Dunne monstered him on halfway, Albert Adomah received the fruits of those labours, the cross was pin point, and the diving header from Dykes made it two nil. Reading, it seems, a useful kickstart when our Scostralian stalls — a run of no goals in 21 games which turned into seven in seven last season began with a goal in Berkshire, and now here he was blowing away the memories of a bad miss against Swansea on Tuesday with a sensational centre forward display. In the second half he came within inches of completing a spectacular hat trick, taking on an audacious 25-yarder that flew towards the top corner and required Southwood’s very best to keep out. That would have been what they call on the edge of F Block “a stairs goal”, but we had one of those to celebrate anyway two minutes after the second had gone in. Dykes won a header from a corner at his own near post triggering Amos, who fed the ball from the edge of the QPR penalty area up to Willock, and then set off on a lightning support run almost the full length of the pitch to receive the perfect return ball and score a spectacular third. Southwood’s actions not those of somebody who appears to have played in goal before, but at this point who cared very much about that? If anybody deserved a goal, it was Luke, and what a goal it was. These are the good old days.
Three cynical interruptions of counter attacks brought quickfire yellow cards for Rob Dickie, Lee Wallace and Albert Adomah either side of the drinks. Dickie’s eighth of the season in the league, two shy of a ban. Reading fans, those that haven’t been at the bleach, may forlornly point out that had Wallace been booked for that early lunge on Yiadom then he might have been sent off here. Sam Field, absolutely superb in the Rangers midfield, was also allowed away with so much that I couldn’t quite believe his eventual yellow card in stoppage time wasn’t his second of the game. For their part they became the latest club for whom the only solution to the ongoing Chris Willock torment was to take turns kicking him, and Andy Rinomhota was eventually booked for this targeting. Overall, Jeremy Simpson refereed this well. Second half, a new hat for Yoann Barbet, but everything else stayed the same. Johansen’s influence on the game spread like Japanese knotweed, and when everybody thought he was simply going to slide Lee Wallace into the left channel, he perfectly played a switch ball that nobody else had seen. That deserved a goal, got a corner, which he took himself, and Jimmy Dunne taking three steps to his right was too much for the visitors to cope with — his free header sailed into the top corner for 4-0. Only Peterborough have conceded more goals than Reading this season and my good God almighty in heaven can you see why. Hopelessly exposed, not a single fuck left to give, tactically inept, all over the show, falling out with each other, completely powerless to do anything about the brutal punishment they were receiving — and so sorely deserved. Tom Holmes, bless him, cutting the disinterested figure of the student barman at a shit pub, glued to his phone and wishing this day was done. Do you take card payments? No. Is there a cash point nearby? No. Thanks mate that’s great.
Eat that and tell me you’re still hungry. Actually, we kind of were. At this point, this could have been anything Rangers liked, and like I say there is a tinge of disappointment that it wasn’t. Five at least, six a fairer reflection, seven not beyond the realms of possibility, but eventually stuck on four, more through Rangers’ mercy than anything Reading contributed. Lee Wallace and Luke Amos were taken off and wrapped in cotton wool, replacements Charlie Austin and George Thomas combined immediately for what should have been a fifth if only the latter hadn’t delayed his finish quite as long. I wonder, like Dykes, what the effect of a goal might be on George, if only he could get one. Dykes, apparently so lacking in confidence when the chance to win the Swansea game dropped his way, was now running a Tony Yeboah tribute act, and had his scorching 25 yarder found the top corner we’d all still be in the Crown now. Instead, the faculty hailed Dion Sanderson’s life-threatening sliding tackle which he picked from the bag to introduce himself to the club with, and a stylish camera save under the bar from David Marshall which preserved a third clean sheet in four appearances and should have Seny Dieng sweating on his place when he returns from AFCON. What to do with Marshall, and how Sanderson fits into all of this, issues coming to a head — The Many Varied of Adventures of Yoann Barbet’s Headgear starting a run at a new theatre over at left wing back, and the wayward crosses that sadly resulted, rather temper that as a potential option. Like so much of what went on here, nice problems to have.
Four nil down and the final sand draining out of the hour glass, Reading fans decided to cob a flare onto the pitch. Like you do. It coughed briefly in the back of the net, and died. Metaphor klaxon. This now one of those Kitchen Nightmares where Gordon leaves halfway through, not even making it as far as the complication on relaunch night. Beyond help. As stewards waded in, so fighting broke out in the lower tier. They sent on Ovie Ejaria, who apparently is better than Ebere Eze, and, well, you can all do your own jokes for that one. “We want our Reading back”. Natives from the town that called its shopping centre The Oracle, apparently hadn't seen this coming.  QPR had won. Handsomely, stylishly, deservedly. They enjoyed it. You couldn’t separate six of them for man of the match, and the other five weren’t far behind either. Sam Field’s midfield dominance total, Luke Amos’ energy electrifying, Stefan Johansen treating us to a couple of passes and turns around the corner that would have had him immediately crowned Player of the Year here a couple of seasons back, now barely bringing a round of applause from fans so accustomed to this new Rangers and their way of doing things. Dykes, with confidence, a different beast entirely. Chris Willock, literally unplayable. Couldn’t do a thing with him. Who on earth found Jimmy Dunne on a free transfer? Who on earth let him leave for that? Sometimes, it turns out, we can have nice things after all. Links >>> Photo Gallery >>> Ratings and Reports >>> Message Board Match Thread QPR: Marshall 7; Adomah 7, Dickie 7, Dunne 8, Barbet 7, Wallace 7 (Sanderson 66, 7); Field 8, Johansen 8, Amos 8 (Thomas 65, 6); Willock 8 (Austin 71, 6), Dykes 8 Subs not used: Ball, Dozzell, Odubajo, Walsh Goals: Dykes 13 (assisted Willock), 35 (assisted Adomah), Amos 37 (assisted Willock), Dunne 51 (assisted Johansen) Bookings: Dickie 44 (yellow), Wallace 45+2 (foul), Adomah 49 (foul), Field 90+1 (repetitive fouling) Reading: Southwood 3; Yiadom 4, Holmes 3, Morrison 3, Baba 5; Drinkwater 2, Rinomhota 4, Laurent 5 (Dele-Bashiru 59, 5); Joao 3, Swift 3, Puscas 2 (Ejaria 46, 4) Subs not used: Hein, Camara, Clarke, Ashcroft, Abrefa Bookings: Rinomhota 48 (foul), Swift 72 (foul) QPR Star Man — Chris Willock 8 Perm any one from seven or eight, with Luke Amos, Stefan Johansen, Jimmy Dunne and Sam Field all worthy of strong consideration and Rob Dickie also returning to form. In the end it came down to two-goal hero Lyndon Dykes, and had that spectacular attempt at a hat trick goal found the top corner than we probably would have gone for him, but for making us tick, cutting them apart, putting goals on a plate, and winning the message board vote on this we’ve gone for Chris Willock. Nice problem to have. Referee — Jeremy Simpson (Lancashire) 8 Not the first time recently a team has given up trying to stop Chris Willock by fair means and just taken it in turns to boot him instead. That sort of systematic fouling, where the players take turns, is difficult for a referee to clamp down on and I guess Simpson would point out that Rinomhota was booked during a flurry of trips on Willock in the second half. Leniency, or perhaps slowness to act on that, more than balanced out with the amount that Sam Field got away with — I was so sure he must have already been booked when he finally did get a card in the last minute that I’d already noted it down as a second yellow and a red. Overall though, pretty well refereed. Played a terrific advantage for the first goal. Attendance — 16,057 (1,948 from Reading) Looked great, sounded even better.
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