What a fucking shambles

The working week looms. Do you have a sinking feeling at the prospect? Or has this sporting weekend been such a pile of wank that you find yourself glad it's almost over?

Another frustrating away day

Saturday was certainly no picnic for those of us who followed QPR up to a shabby-looking corner of the West Midlands conurbation. Yesterday's opponents, West Bromwich Albion, play in a reasonable ground, with the away section of the Smethwick End affording a decent and unobstructed view of the pitch. Once again came the realisation that Loftus Road really is terribly cramped and outdated in comparison to even the more modest Premier League stadia. If our stay in the top flight, then, does prove to be a protracted one, it will surely be desirable for QPR to move to a new ground. That said, any new stadium should certainly be designed in such a way as to retain the atmosphere that is so often remarked upon by our own supporters and players and by the fans and players of some of our visitors. It is, after all, been pretty common for a manager to bring his side to Loftus Road and comment that 18,000 people there seem to generate as much noise as is made elsewhere by crowds several times larger. Also, this is not simply a matter of an enjoyable match day experience for those in attendance. It's way more than that. When roused to do so, the Rangers home crowd can genuinely rattle the opposition. This was never more apparent than during this season's league tie against local rivals Chelsea. Those who were there report shocked expressions on the faces of several Pensioners players. One of them, the story goes, even felt intimidated to the point of not wanting to take his team's corner kicks.

A Rangers roar of that magnitude, though, was not really achieved at the Hawthorns yesterday. The singsong was pretty spasmodic, with long silences between the occasional bursts of song. The game itself? Very frustrating and rarely entertaining, even if there were moments when it seemed an equalising goal might be on the cards.

Squeaky bum time

That this was a fruitless exercise for the Rangers now gives genuine cause for concern. This, after all, was one of the more benign-looking fixtures on our tough run in at the closing stages of this difficult season. So the pressure is really on ahead of next Saturday's home tie against Spurs. Opinions on this will vary greatly, but it does feel like a failure to get at least four points from the remaining four games will cost QPR's hard-won place in the Premier League. Bolton have games in hand and are set to face a number of teams with nothing much left to play for. Wigan? Roberto Martinez's men face Blackburn and Wolves in their final two fixtures. Both of those could be relegated by then, setting up possible romps against completely demotivated opponents. So it really is important for QPR to amass more points than both Martinez's side and Owen Coyle's Bolton. Working on the assumption that away form will continue to be an issue, that means four or even six points look to be needed from the two home games against Tottenham and Stoke. Bloody hell. But who would have confidently predicted the wins against Liverpool and Arsenal?  Or the emphatic nature of the triumph over Swansea? So it ain't over. The fat lady has certainly approached the stage and is confident that she has learned the libretto. But she hasn't yet opened her mouth. So let's see what happens. 

In the meantime, the trip to the Black Country is best forgotten. Though the journey was fairly easy and the ground was a decent one in which to watch the disappointing game, the match day 'experience' had some of the wearisome elements with which football fans have become familiar. Such as? Well, tiresomely humourless and officious stewards for one. Yes, we know that mobile phones aside, we're not really meant to take a camera into a football ground. But those of us who ignore this rule know that at 90% of stadia a sensible steward who spots a camera simply warns its owner not to use it to take pictures of the match in progress. Often, this is done is a perfectly friendly manner. Or, if not actually friendly, then in a reasonably polite manner. West Brom, though, employ a dead-eyed prick who feels it's necessary to try to come across as intimidating when explaining this rule. Even when the person being warned is holding the hand of of a young child. Perhaps he has self-esteem issues. Or maybe he's just a cock. Either way, his demeanour doesn't exactly scream welcome to the Hawthorns. 

Also tedious - the reports from those who travelled up by coach and whose journey home was delayed by the local plod insisting on a police escort. Really? Through pretty much deserted streets and after an aggro-free game? What a waste of time and public money. Moreover, the supposed razzmatazz of the Premier League notwithstanding, this is just too reminiscent of the days of football supporters being treated at times like cattle and at times like criminals.

A crap day out then. So much so that the best quality entertainment on offer (for those of us with a puerile sense of humour) was from a bit of rather hopeful/sad/pathetic graffiti in one of the streets around the ground.

The drive home even brought unwelcome news of yet more equine fatalities at the Grand National. Later in the day, we also learned that an Italian player named Piermario Morosini had suffered a cardiac arrest and died during a Serie B match. Shades of the horrible Fabrice Muamba incident. All of this put our own woes into perspective while adding something to the mood of gloom. 

So was Sunday any better? No, not really.

Sunday, bloody Sunday

First came the Manchester United vs. Aston Villa tie, during which that man Ashley Young compounded his growing reputation as a fucking cheat. Having got our Shaun Derry sent off a week ago with an outrageous penalty-winning dive, he was at it again today. Young is deemed to be something of a talent and he's an Englishman. So we face the unhappy prospect of our country being represented by an unprincipled and dishonest player at this summer's European Championships. Look, England ain't gonna win it anyway. No manager. No plan. Rooney suspended (justifiably) for the group stage games. So why not set a good example to the nation's youth by leaving diving, cheating types at home and taking a more honest squad out to Poland and Ukraine?

But the game at Old Trafford offered the least of today's irritations. Worse was to come in the FA Cup semi-final later in the afternoon. Moreover, United's win today may turn out to work to QPR's advantage. It restored the victors' five point lead at the top of the table. This may mean that our final game away at Man City will be against a team with nothing to play for. That could prove to be significant. That said, West Brom didn't have much to play for yesterday and that did not prevent them from chalking up a win.

Same old Chelsea

That semi-final, then. What a pain. What a disgrace. It had so much to which one could take exception, with the tone set when a significant number of Chelsea fans failed to respect the minute's silence that was arranged to honour the victims of the Hillsborough disaster and the more recently deceased Morosini.  

In a statement this evening, the south-west London outfit has since claimed to be "extremely disappointed that a very small minority of fans embarrassed the club today". A very small minority? Really? They have very loud voices then, this tiny number of people. Because their crassness came over very clearly on TV. It was certainly the loudest noise to emanate from Chelsea supporters until some of them decided to have a singsong about thirty-five minutes into the match. On the other hand, the Spurs contingent were, by all accounts, impeccably silent when asked to be so and then very much louder once the game was under way. 

The lamentable lack of common decency before the match was not the only embarrassment for the Pensioners today. Also somewhat embarrassing was the fact that so many seats in the Chelsea half of the ground were empty. Such a large number of unsold red seats were visible that you may be tempted to doubt the accuracy of the official attendance figure, as announced by the Football Association. But surely the FA would never do anything dishonest or shady, right?

Still, these embarrassments aside, Chelsea will be pleased to have thumped Tottenham and booked their place in another FA Cup final. But along the way, one of their five goals was a farcically controversial one. That second 'goal', credited to Juan Mata, came early in the second half. Guess what? The ball DID NOT CROSS THE LINE. But without checking with the linesman, referee Martin Atkinson awarded the goal. Yes. You read that right. Martin Atkinson. The same Martin Atkinson who was officiating when QPR's Clint Hill was denied what would have been an opening goal away at Bolton. On that occasion, Hill's header was clawed out from well behind the line by Wanderers 'keeper Adam Bogdan.

After the match, our old friend John Terry was asked if he'd believed at the time whether the ball had crossed the line. His answer? "I didn't think it did." But this did not stop him from wheeling away, hands raised to celebrate.

Better days ahead?

The only crumb of comfort here is the notion that a humbled Tottenham side could be sufficiently punch-drunk to make the prospect of a vital QPR win a little more likely next weekend. 

So this weekend has had the lot. A QPR defeat. A Chelsea win. More cheating from Ashley Young. More mistakes from Mr Atkinson. Boorish insensitivity from among the Chelsea crowd. Dead horses at Aintree.

Balls to it all. Roll on the commute, the working week and the chance to cheer up with a much needed win over  Spurs when the working week is done.

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