Turf Moor buzzed with nervous energy. A cold January night, and the stakes couldn't have been higher. Burnley knew a slip here could cost them top spot. Reading, quietly climbing under Rafael Moretti, were on a four-game unbeaten run — but tonight, nobody outside their dressing room gave them a chance.
The whistle blew, and the battle began.
Burnley started like a team desperate to stamp their authority, pressing high and forcing Reading into uncomfortable passes. Rafael Moretti stood still on the touchline, arms folded, calmly watching his side absorb the pressure.
Reading grew into it.
In the 14th minute, they struck. Savio, twisting past two Burnley players, fed the ball out wide to Ince, who, with a quick drop of the shoulder, whipped in a low cross across the box. João timed his run perfectly, sliding ahead of his marker and steering the ball into the far corner.
1-0 Reading.
The away fans in the corner of Turf Moor erupted into celebration. Reading had drawn first blood — and it had come from playing fearlessly.
But Burnley didn't stay behind for long. They ramped up the tempo, swarming Reading's backline. A Burnley free-kick in the 24th minute wasn't properly cleared, and the second ball fell to Brownhill, who smashed it low and hard into the net.
1-1.
Reading barely had time to reset. Five minutes later, another cross — chaotic defending — and Burnley's forward Foster bundled it in at the back post.
Suddenly, it was 2-1 to Burnley, and the crowd were back on their feet.
Moretti clapped his hands, urging calm. This wasn't over.
Reading adjusted. They slowed the game down, kept the ball moving, found pockets of space. Ince, buzzing between midfield and attack, looked the liveliest.
In the 38th minute, Ince picked up the ball again just outside the Burnley box. He spotted Savio darting in behind. With the outside of his boot, Ince played a clever disguised pass into Savio's path. The Brazilian teen — with one flick — backheeled the ball through the keeper's legs and into the net.
2-2.
"Oh my word, what a goal! Audacious!" one commentator shouted.
"We are witnessing something truly special in Savio!" another added.
Halftime arrived with the scores level, but the match had only just begun.
….
The away dressing room at Turf Moor was thick with the sound of heavy breathing, boots scuffing the floor, water bottles clicking against the benches.
2-2 at the break — but Rafael Moretti knew it should have been better.
Reading had played fluid, intelligent football. Their movement had torn open Burnley's rigid structure time and again. But two small mistakes — a miscommunication, a half-cleared ball — had let Burnley back in.
Moretti stood in the center of the room, calm but sharp, his eyes scanning every player.
"Listen up." he said, voice steady but commanding.
The noise died almost instantly. Every head lifted toward him.
"We are outplaying them. You know it. You can feel it. They can't live with our movement, with our fluidity."
"This isn't about being better individually — it's about being smarter as a team. Smarter and sharper."
He paced slowly, deliberate, making sure the message hit home.
"But if we keep gifting them easy chances, we're only hurting ourselves. That's the only way they stay in this. No more silly mistakes. No more soft goals."
His eyes locked on Sam McIntyre and Naby Sarr, Reading's defensive pillars tonight.
"Sam, Sarr — clear your lines. If in doubt, put it in the stands. I don't want any pretty football at the back. No risks. None."
He stepped closer, dropping his voice into something rougher, heavier.
"We can beat them. You can feel it. You can see it. We just need faith. Faith in what we're doing, in each other, and in the work we've put in."
A beat of silence. Just the hum of belief building in the air.
Then Moretti nodded once, sharply.
"How many points are we leaving with today?"
It was Andy Yiadom, the captain, who answered first, his voice fierce:
"Three!"
The response caught fire around the room:
"Three! THREE! THREE!"
Moretti allowed himself the faintest of smiles.
"Good. Now go and take them."
The players roared as they rose, sleeves tugged down, boots tightening, minds locked.
The second half was waiting.
The battle wasn't over — but Reading were ready.
…
At the start of the second half, Moretti made a surprising change. João, the natural striker, was withdrawn, and Ovie Ejaria was sent on.
"Strange move this," one of the commentators said. "Four wingers on the pitch now — no traditional number nine. Seems Moretti wants to go even more fluid, confuse Burnley's backline."
It worked.
Reading moved like water, players interchanging positions, pulling Burnley's defenders out of shape. Savio, drifting into a more central role, picked up a loose ball near the edge of the area in the 62nd minute. He feinted right, cut back onto his left, and fed a disguised pass to Ejaria, who, with a composed sidefooted finish, rolled the ball into the bottom corner.
3-2 Reading.
Ejaria, usually so laid-back, sprinted to the corner flag, fists pumping.
The Reading bench went wild.
Burnley, stunned, piled forward in desperation. The game grew more frantic. Reading defended with bravery, but Burnley kept knocking.
The clock ticks into the 78th minute.
Reading are 3-2 up, edging closer to what would be a famous victory at Turf Moor.
Burnley win a free kick out wide. The ball is floated in high, tense and spinning.
Andy Yiadom tracks the Burnley striker perfectly, shoulder to shoulder, both leaping for the same ball.
A slight coming together — barely anything more than a graze — and the Burnley man collapses theatrically to the ground.
The whistle shrieks.
The referee sprints toward the penalty spot, arm outstretched.
Penalty.
The moment hangs heavy. A second of stunned silence. Then — chaos.
Yiadom throws his arms in the air, furious.
Sarr charges toward the official, yelling in disbelief.
Moretti is already on the touchline, barking at the fourth official.
"Never! Never! He's dived!"
Replays are instant and damning.
Minimal contact.
If anything, Yiadom had simply held his ground.
Even the Burnley bench looks a little embarrassed.
Commentators, normally cautious, can't hold back.
"Oh my… that is such a soft penalty. Absolutely no way that's a foul. If that's a penalty, you might as well outlaw defending."
"That's a massive, massive call. And it's gone the wrong way."
Burnley step up and smash the penalty into the bottom corner.
3-3.
Just six minutes later, Reading break on the counter.
Hoilett charges into the Burnley box, defenders backpedaling.
He drops a shoulder, cuts inside — and a desperate Burnley leg sweeps him off his feet.
It's a clear trip.
Clear as day.
Hoilett crashes to the turf.
Moretti turns toward the referee, waiting, begging for the whistle.
It never comes.
The referee waves play on.
Turf Moor erupts again — this time in confusion, even some Burnley fans booing.
The Reading bench is apoplectic.
Hoilett smashes the ground with his fist in frustration.
Replays are even worse.
Slow motion shows Hoilett being taken clean out, the defender nowhere near the ball.
Commentators almost explode.
"That's a stonewall penalty! How has he not given that?!"
"If the earlier one was soft, this is criminal."
"You just cannot miss that."
Even the normally composed pundits in the studio can't believe it.
"Two wrongs don't make a right — and tonight, Reading have been absolutely done."
Moretti stands motionless on the touchline, hands on his hips, a thousand emotions flashing across his face.
The final whistle feels inevitable. It comes sharp and brutal.
Reading walk off, heads high, knowing they had played the better football — smarter, braver, more fluid — and had been robbed by two catastrophic officiating errors.
The anger and disbelief would not stay bottled for long.
…
Rafael Moretti tugged his coat tighter as he stepped off the pitch, the cold Lancashire air biting at his skin — but it wasn't the cold that had him clenching his jaw.
Inside, he was fuming.
Robbed.
Absolutely robbed.
They had come to Turf Moor, outplayed the league leaders in their own backyard, ripped apart their structure, moved the ball with elegance and bite — and yet… two decisions. Two gut-wrenching decisions. A soft penalty given to Burnley. A stonewall penalty for Hoilett waved away like nothing.
He could still see it — Yiadom barely touching their striker, the Burnley man throwing himself onto the turf.
He could still hear it — the referee's whistle slicing through the noise, pointing to the spot like it was inevitable.
Rafael's fists tightened at his sides as he made his way down the tunnel, past the flashing lights, the low hum of broadcasters setting up for post-match interviews.
"Stay calm."
"Don't give them anything to twist. Don't give the league any reason to fine you."
"Control the narrative. Show them who we are."
The anger bubbled under his skin, but he smothered it beneath a layer of cold professionalism. He thought about his players — how they had fought tonight, how they had deserved to leave with the full three points.
He owed it to them to carry himself properly.
Moretti straightened his jacket as a club staffer waved him toward the interview area.
He caught his reflection briefly in the glass of a door — stern, intense, but composed.
"They stole two points from us," he thought grimly. "But they can't steal the belief we've built tonight. They can't steal what's coming next."
He stepped into the bright lights, into the buzz of waiting microphones. The reporter smiled politely, oblivious to the storm simmering behind his dark eyes.
Rafael nodded once, preparing himself.
He was going to say the right things.
But inside, he was already planning how they would make sure no referee, no decision, no injustice would stop them next time.
The lights blared as Rafael Moretti adjusted his jacket one last time.
The interviewer — a familiar face from Sky Sports — greeted him with a handshake.
"Rafael, first of all, what a match. A 3–3 draw here at Turf Moor — the league leaders. How are you feeling right now?"
Rafael took a moment. He nodded slowly, choosing his words carefully.
"Proud. Immensely proud. Of the performance, of the attitude, of the football we played tonight. We came here to impose ourselves, not to hide. And I think everyone watching could see that."
The interviewer smiled, sensing the tension still hanging beneath Moretti's calm exterior.
"You certainly did. Burnley had 57% possession, but the xG numbers tell another story — 3.23 for Reading, 1.70 for Burnley. You out-chanced them at their own ground. How much does that mean?"
Rafael's mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile.
"It means we're growing. It means the players are believing in what we're trying to build here. You can have all the possession you want — what matters is what you do with it. Tonight, we were brave, we were smart. We made it a real game."
The interviewer shifted slightly, glancing at his notes before diving into the harder questions.
"And yet… controversial scenes. That late penalty for Burnley… many feel it was soft. Then Hoilett looked to have been fouled inside the box late on, and nothing was given. Your thoughts on the refereeing tonight?"
There was a beat of silence.
Rafael's jaw flexed once. He took a slow breath through his nose.
He leaned into the microphone slightly.
"I prefer not to speak," he said, voice low but firm.
"If I speak, I am in big trouble."
The interviewer gave a small chuckle, sensing the landmine he had stepped near.
"Understood. Understood," he said quickly, moving on. "Let's focus on the positives — that fluid football you're building. No recognized striker for the final 35 minutes, yet still dangerous, still inventive. How much planning went into that approach?"
Rafael allowed himself a small, knowing smile.
"A lot of work behind the scenes. Fluidity, unpredictability. We knew Burnley are very structured. Sometimes you beat structure with chaos — controlled chaos. I'm proud of how the players trusted the plan."
"Lastly," the interviewer said, leaning closer, "five games unbeaten now. You have the longest current unbeaten run in the Championship. After being 18 points off the play-offs a few weeks ago, are you starting to believe you can dream?"
Another small pause. Rafael's eyes glinted slightly.
"We're taking it one game at a time," he said calmly. "We focus on our work. The rest will take care of itself."
The interviewer smiled, wrapping things up.
"Thanks for your time, Rafael. And well played tonight."
Rafael nodded once more, then turned, walking away from the cameras — head high, shoulders squared.
…
@EFLZone
FULL TIME: Burnley 3-3 Reading.
Absolute chaos at Turf Moor. Reading outplay the leaders but robbed by two massive refereeing decisions.
Reading xG: 3.23
Burnley xG: 1.70
Fluid football from Moretti's men. They deserved more.
@ChampChatPod
Genuinely gutted for Reading. Moretti coached a 4-2 away to the league leaders and they were robbed of TWO stonewall decisions.
The penalty Burnley got + Hoilett being fouled late on. Scandalous.
@TurfTalkPodcast
We'll take the point, but wow… Reading were different class tonight.
Moretti's system gave us nightmares — so fluid, so unpredictable.
They're not 16th for long playing like that.
@EFLFanatic (tweet thread)
Burnley needed a penalty to draw against 16th-placed Reading at home.
Clear foul on Hoilett ignored
Soft penalty given to Burnley
If Moretti had been in charge of Reading from August, the table would look VERY different.
@LiamRFC: Robbed. Simple.
@BurnleyFan1892: The game's the game.
@TaylorRFC: Embarrassing. Burnley needed to pay refs to beat a mid-table side at home.
@BarcaFanWorld
This Moretti guy at Reading… elite. That style tonight? Could easily fit a top La Liga side.
Big future ahead.
@neymarjr (quote tweeting a Savio clip)
Quality is quality.
Congrats @savio10 and coach Moretti. Future is bright!
…
The Reading team bus hummed softly as it cruised down the motorway, a heavy silence hanging in the air. Some players had their headphones on, others stared out the windows, still visibly stung by what had unfolded at Turf Moor. Rafael Moretti sat by himself near the front, his arms crossed, mind still turning over every decision, every moment.
Dempsey slid into the seat across from him, phone in hand.
"Boss," he said, keeping his voice low, almost cautious, "thought you might want to see this."
Moretti raised an eyebrow. Dempsey handed over the phone, the screen already pulled up on a football news site.
The headline hit him first.
"I Prefer Not to Speak!" – Moretti Explodes After Turf Moor Robbery
He read on, the lines almost vibrating with the anger he felt himself.
Reading manager Rafael Moretti was left fuming after his side were denied a historic victory against league leaders Burnley, in a night marred by controversial officiating and outrage across the Championship…
The article laid it all out: the dominant Reading performance, the outrageous penalty decision, the ignored foul on Hoilett. The quotes from fans, the numbers proving Reading had been the better side.
And then he got to it.
Paul Heckingbottom's comment.
"Maybe when Moretti's had a few more years in management, he'll know how to handle nights like that better."
Moretti's jaw tightened. He handed the phone back to Dempsey without a word, leaning back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the coach.
After a long moment, he muttered under his breath, almost like a vow to himself.
"Ok. We'll play that game."
Dempsey just grinned, tucking the phone back into his pocket. He knew that look in Moretti's eyes. The kind that didn't forget.
Outside the window, the lights of the motorway blurred past, and somewhere, in the silence of the bus, something hardened inside Rafael Moretti.
The season wasn't over. Not even close.
——
Thoughts on this chapter? Lowkey my favourite chaoter so far.