FMO's Oxford United Blog

You Looking at My Bird?

2011-11-26T12:00:00.009Z

Hello all! Well, I'm back from an overseas adventure. Looks like I chose some good games to miss out on. Southend in the JPT (L), Southend away (L), Sheffield Utd in the FA Cup (L), Crawley away (L). If ever there was a doubt in your mind that I'm a good luck mascot to the club, it must surely now be gone.

Thankfully, I'm back again and in attendance at the Cheltenham game today. If you were to pick up one of Martin Brodetsky's lovingly-fashioned matchday programmes today - you would see the below article within. Although he'll probably have censored slightly the bit about me not believing in Jesus. Cos he's a Militant Methodist, if you didn't know†.

The article below has a very tentative link to football though, if I'm honest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You Looking at My Bird?

Today we welcome our near-neighbours from the near-WestCountry, The Robins of Cheltenham Town. They will surely be made slightly more welcome than some other Robins might be, perhaps.

The visit of today’s red-breasted friends made me wonder something - why are so many teams nicknamed the Robins exactly? Bristol City, Swindon and Cheltenham all sharing the same moniker; all from nearby each other in the WestCountry, to boot. So what is it about a scrawny little red-breasted bird that makes it such a popular club mascot/logo/nickname anyway?

A Christmas Robin. Ahhh (SHOOT IT!).

I decided to have a detailed and thorough delve into the history books and find out…

Well, OK, I had a 5 minute look on Wikipedia. But that’s good enough research for today’s quick-fingered, surface-not-scratched society, I say.

First up, I couldn’t find any special reason why the WestCountry seem to love their Robins any more than other regions. So sorry about that. If you really want to find out and are willing to fund my research accordingly, please send a cheque to the Campaign for Archive Searching Hunts (or ‘CASH’ for short), to the club marked for my attention.

I can tell you about the general popularity of the Robin though. Sit down – it’s interesting.

According to Wiki, the robin has always featured prominently in British folklore, especially around Christmas when other birds flew south for winter, but the stoic British Robin stuck around to dart amongst holly and mistletoe with us. In the 1960s, the Robin was even adopted as the ‘unofficial national bird’ of the UK.

Wrong Robin.

There is also a rather quaint story that explains the bird’s red-breast as being the stains of Christ’s blood after a robin flew into young Jesus’ ear to sing him a pretty song whilst he was being crucified. Nice idea, but not very well thought through, in my opinion. For a start – Jesus didn’t really exist (my opinion, and the correct one, actually).

Away from Britain, the Robin was also held to be sacred to the mighty Thor, god of thunder in Norse mythology. That might help explain why Jan Aage Fjørtoft decided to spend a few productive seasons at the wrong end of the A420. He thought he was playing for the glory of Thor. Silly boy!

Fjørtoft: In service of Thor.

Thor apart, why has the choice of a well-loved yet still small and scrawny bird as a symbol of sporting prowess become so popular? After all, The Robin is not alone here. I can understand the choice of a majestic, powerful eagle by Crystal Palace, the fictional liverbird and phoenix of Liverpool and Aldershot, the seagull connection with seaside Brighton and Torquay (Although a flying feral rat is hardly a great image, in my view), the wise and wily Owl of Oldham and even the arm-breakingly unnerving menace of Wycombe’s Swan.

But The lowly Norwich Canary, Newcastle & Notts County Magpies, the West Brom Thrush and the Swift* amongst others – all these little birds make appearances on Football League club shirts.

Some of you might say “Yes, but its obvious why Newcastle and Notts County chose Magpie – because they play in black and white stripes you silly man!”

But I say to you – would not the Badger be a better mascot? A big old scary-clawed, sharp-toothed, TB-riddled Badger seems more fitting to strike a bit of fear in the opposition as a sporting mascot than a mangy old shiny-thing hoarding, unlucky bird, wouldn’t it?

“Howay The Badgers, Man!” would go up the cry at St James’ Park.

Well, it’s a thought.

Angry Badger: Watch out Mackems!

One potential answer to the small Bird-love comes in Desmond Morris’ 1981 classic “The Soccer Tribe”, where he states that the choice of a small bird is thought to symbolise agility in darting around the field of play. So there you go.

And yes, that quote was also from Wikipedia, I haven’t actually read the book.

Anyway, back to today’s game! You’ll just need to turn the page to read about that.

Up The U’s!

______________________________________________________________
† He's not really.
*Brownie points for you if you can name the club with the swift on their badge. You are very clever.

Leven on a Jetplane

2011-10-31T07:51:00.007Z

Saturday, 29th October 2011
nPower League Two
OUFC 2 Port Vale 1

Well just what can you say about that goal? 'Sublime' doesn't even come close really, does it? 'Majestic' gives it too much humanity when it deserves to be exalted higher. 'Divine' associates it with gods who fall a little short themselves by comparison. And 'Splendiferous' is just a bit silly sounding.

Either way though, make no mistake that was the greatest goal I have ever seen scored by an Oxford player. And yes, I was there for Beauchamp's against Blackpool too. Sorry Joey, but this just edges that into 2nd place.

As some of you may have read in the rather marvellous matchday programme, I was looking at houses in the South of our fair county on Saturday morning. I nearly ended up having to miss this game in fact, due to one of the houses we really had our eye on not originally being available for viewing until 4pm.

Although I'd already missed quite enough of the season already with these house-buying shenanigans, I was still prepared to sacrifice yet another beery afternoon cheering on the U's if it helped in the long-run to make seeing them every week all the easier. But imagine at how miffed I'd have been had I missed this one?

Well, in the end, I didn't of course. Last house viewing finished at 2pm and I was jetting North to Blackbird Leys just in time to soak up a bit of pre-match atmos in a very busy East Stand.

They said that evening on Sky that it was probably 'game of the day' in League Two, and I'd be surprised if it wasn't. Vale are probably the best footballing side we've played at home so far this season and they went at us for the full 90 minutes and will probably feel aggrieved to have not come away with something out of the game. But they did come away with nothing. Ha ha ha I say.

Port Vale Away Kit: Grey.

Port Vale kicked-off proceedings in an odd fashion by appearing in a strange all-grey kit, probably in homage to their favourite wizard, Gandalf.

Well - they certainly tried to cast their spells on us with some good periods of pressure... umm, now something about Alfie 'Harry' Potter weaving some magic on the wing...all in a cauldron-like atmosphere.. la di da, yada yada yada...(all the clichés about wizardry we seem to have all the time because of Potter, and you know them already and I can't be arsed to finish them off here).

Then Duberry scored a goal. Did you see that one? He liked celebrating that one, didn't he? Well, for a man who has scored almost as many career own-goals as goals in the right end, I'd say he's allowed to go a bit doolally when he heads home a bullet like that. Was he pretending to be a charging bull, do we know?

DOOOOBS. Brilliant.
(Copyright Steve Daniels)

It was end to end stuff throughout and Clarke in goal kept us in it big time with a string of fantastic saves this game - he looked nailed on for man of the match I thought. It would surely take something special to deny him that honour, anyway.

But oh, up steps that cheeky Scot, Peter Leven. Wins the ball in his own half, takes one further touch, then BANG. Oh, the pure arrogance of the man, to even try it.

Here it is again- have a butchers again and marvel at it's majesty.

SPANK. HAVE THAT.
(Copyright Steve Daniels)

It's the best ever I reckon. The keeper was off his line, but not by too much. So Leven had to put a fair amount of power into this lob, as well as accuracy. That for me is why it's better than Beckham's famous effort. Plus it was clearly not speculative - he meant it so it wasn't a Nayim-style fluke. For both these reasons, I think Leven's goal was better than these other two prominent half-way line efforts I can recall.

Mind you - there was also this goal from loanee Jordan Rhodes for OUFC against Merthyr Tydfil in the FA Cup back in October 2007 (view from about 45 secs). Not halfway line, but about as far away - to be fair, that one was pretty special too. But then Rhodes did claim it was a fluke as he was actually crossing the ball. I don't believe him though.

Either way, I would say it's quite clear from the evidence presented to you today that Oxford United have scored the best two goals in the history of Association Football in the last 4 years. FACT.

Who is this ruddy-faced idiot? Unknown, but he liked Leven's goal. As did Paul Weller, bottom-left.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

Once I'd come down from the euphoria of celebrating that strike (a friend commented that it was one of those moments that "You end up kissing a big fat ugly man you don't even know". Well, we've all done it at some point, haven't we?), it really was a nervy last 25 mins as Vale continued to apply pressure. And then...

Penalty. Arrgh. It just wouldn't be on for Leven's strike not to be a match-winner, but looks as though we'd only have a point to show for it after all....

...but NO! Clarkey saves us again! Magnificent! What a game! I know that Leven got MotM for his superlative strike, but really it should have been Ryan's award. Lovely stuff.

And so I returned to London, celebratory Branos spicy chicken burger in hand, a very happy and buzzing man.

Celebration. Well done that man.
(Copyright Steve Daniels)

I'd just seen the greatest goal in the history of mankind. Oxford were up to 4th. I would soon be buying a house and be back in Oxfordshire. And on this coming Friday, I will literally be on that titular jet-plane off on my holidays! So it wasn't just a silly pun for the blog title. It was actually very clever.
Great times to be on OUFC fan. Great times indeed.

Up The U's!

Turf Wars: Attack of the Biscuitmen

2011-10-29T15:00:00.002+01:00

An articleBy Fantastic Mr Ox that appeared in the Port Vale programme 29.10.11

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I haven’t been around these parts much, of late. In the whole of October, I will only have been to 3 matches in fact. That might still sound impressive to some of you part-timers, but for me it’s been hard weeks of cold turkey without my own personal opiate, a regular dose of Yellow Fever.

I’ve been trying to buy a house, mostly. There was a wedding anniversary in there as well that I’ve already bored you with, but mostly it’s been looking around houses in South Oxfordshire with smarmy estate agents. And some nice ones too, I might add.

One of these nice estate agents in fact was a big OUFC fan (well, as big as you can be having chosen a career where Saturdays will always be spent visiting houses instead of cheering on the U’s). We bonded over our mutual love of all things yellow to the point at which I nearly bought a house off him that I couldn’t afford and that my wife didn’t actually like one bit. Such is the power and draw of the Ox.

We also chatted about the most important consideration when buying a house in South Oxfordshire – what is the ratio of OUFC / Reading supporters in the village?

You may think this a rather trite and superfluous question, as did my wife, but if you have spent time living in the South Oxon/Berks borders area, you’ll probably appreciate how important this is. In fact I’m sure those of you living along the A420 border-lands have similar territory-marking issues with our red-breasted friends.

When I was 16, my parents moved to a village 3 miles outside Reading. I eventually had no choice but to join them there and although I could dip my toe into Oxfordshire by just walking across the Thames bridge in the village, I still had a nasty taste in my mouth sleeping each night on the wrong side of that bridge, surrounded by blue & white hoop-shirted buffoons all the time.

Berks-Oxon Border.

So I want to make sure that I’m not similarly cramped in by these Biscuit-loving people by mortgaging my future (literally, as it happens) to a village full of them again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not Berkshirist, some of my very best friends are Reading fans – I just don’t want them living near me.
The village in question is equidistant between Oxford and Reading. So I’d hope for a decent split of Yellows there. And true enough, the estate agent did reveal that he himself lived in said village, and although there were some Reading fans there, there were quite a few Oxford too. Smiles all round then – let’s move in.

Well, would YOU want to live next door to these goobers?

It took some convincing of the wife that moving somewhere closer to Reading just wasn’t on. It was bad enough that one house we looked at had a Reading poster in the children’s bedroom (bless them; they are so young they don’t know any better).
I tried to persuade her the reason I didn’t like this house wasn’t because of this, but because I didn’t like the wallpaper (It was truly awful wallpaper, mind you).

But she saw through my deception easily enough.

“You just want to be with your people, don’t you?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Up The U’s!

My People.

A Football Trivia Teaser!

2011-10-25T19:45:00.024+01:00

An article By Fantastic Mr Ox which appeared in the Plymouth Argyle matchday programme, 25.10.11
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Argyle? What’s all that about then? Funny old ending for a football team name, innit?

Call me a geek, but I’ve always been fascinated with how some Football Clubs got their odd team name endings.

For the record, although the history seems somewhat disputed (if like me you are only doing a quick google search to find out the origins of their name rather than really look into it); Plymouth Argyle are officially so named because the two chaps who founded the club lived together on ‘Argyll Street’. The street itself named after the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders that were stationed in Plymouth in the 1880s.

Apparently that street is now called ‘Sutherland Street’. So they might have instead been called ‘Plymouth Sutherland’ then. Perhaps in honour of Donald’s epic performance in the 1978 remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. But I digress.

Back to topic – it is nice though to have a bit of variety and idiosyncrasies in the names of the teams we play, don’t you think?

This reminds me of something I remember being asking in a pub quiz as a young man (just a few years ago, as it happens). Namely, to list all the different endings there were of Premiership & Football League clubs. Although we’ve lost a couple in recent years such as Harriers and Diamonds, there are still a whopping 22 of them.

Can you Clever Trevors name them all? Don’t cheat and look below – have a little think before you read on and see how many you can get.

The rules are simple: you are looking for the last word of a team where they have more than one word to their full name (i.e. not including teams with just one word like ‘Liverpool’ or ‘Reading’).

Also the words ‘Football Club’ or ‘Association Football Club’ (such as with Sunderland or Bradford) don’t count, as all teams have them at some place or other, don’t they?

Similarly it doesn’t count in this list where an AFC appears before the main name. So don’t include ‘Wimbledon’ or ‘Bournemouth’ in your list. You have been warned. Just don’t include them. It won’t be tolerated, ok? So don’t do it.

All Clear? Good – go off and have a think – I’ll wait here.

Got them all yet? Oh ok, just a few more to go….

Still thinking? You’ll kick yourself at the ones you are missing you know…

So, times up - how did you get on?

Did you get all 22, you great big NERD? Well congratulations if so! And please revel in it - being a football nerd is no bad thing. All Football fans are at heart a little bit geeky, you know. Even the ones who look well cool in their trendy slacks and spiky hair-dos are probably still able to tell you the ground names of 95% of the football teams in the country. Saddos.

Were you missing just a couple? Well good effort – are you kicking yourself for not getting Aston Villa? That’s the one I always miss.

Did you only get 2 or 3? Then what are you doing here, reading this? Suggest you go shopping or bowling next week, this football lark just isn’t for you my friend.

For the record, the 22 answers are:
15x United (although only 1 worth caring about, of course)
12x City
10x Town
4x Rovers
3x each of Albion, Athletic, Wanderers
2x County
1x each of Alexandra, Argyle, Dons, End, Forest, Hotspur, Rangers, Redbridge, Stanley, Orient, Palace, Vale, Villa, Wednesday.

Which leaves 26 teams with no additional ending, of course. Fun that, wasn’t it?

Hope you enjoyed FMO’s trivia page this evening. Back to the normal silly stories next time I’d wager.

Up The U’s!

Still thinking...."VILLA! HOW THE HELL DID I NOT GET VILLA!!!"

Brizzle'd

2011-10-08T15:00:00.021+01:00

An article By Fantastic Mr Ox that originally appeared in the matchday programme v. Bristol Rovers - 8.10.11.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
These are the games you look forward to at home, are they not? The ones against the teams that always tend to bring a decent away following. The Bradfords, the AFC Wimbledons, the Bristol Rovers’ of League Two.

I’m sure many other League Two teams feel that same thing about us when our visit to their place approaches.

“Ooh, Oxford – they always travel well - probably the best supporters in the Football League, I’d wager” they probably say.

“Yes, especially that fellow that does those brilliant articles in their programme – have you read them? Hilarious! And worth the cover price on it’s own in my opinion. I think he should have more than just the one page, myself” would probably be what follows, I’m sure.

But today, that fellow that does those articles won’t be here to appreciate the carnival atmosphere of the big-game crowd. Yet again, I’m neglecting my duties to instead spend a weekend ‘away with the wife’ (I’m not sure why I put quote marks around that as it wasn’t a euphemism for anything else, I’m genuinely just going away for the weekend).

It’s my wedding anniversary, you see. Now hold on, hold on – before you go firing off about how much of a disgrace I am, shouldn’t get married in the football season and all that yada yada, I should point out that it’s not quite what you think.

If I’d really wanted to come today, I probably could have done. Yes, that’s right – my wife is quite nice like that, she would actually let me go to a game on my 1st wedding anniversary without a fuss. But I suggested, in the interests of being a good husband, that it might actually be nice to go away for the weekend; even if it did mean missing a home game.

Now, this act of self-sacrifice impressed my wife so much she suggested I didn’t need to miss the game – we could go away for the weekend AS WELL AS going to the game, by booking a hotel for the Saturday night.

How about that then? Brownie points earned, plus no football-free sacrifice made in the process. This being married lark is a doddle!

So I left my beloved to book a nice hotel for the Saturday night in Oxford (we live in London, you see), and looked forward to a nice meal somewhere in Jericho after the game Saturday evening, and perhaps a Sunday morning stroll across Port Meadow before returning to the big smoke. It was going to be a great weekend.
That was until I suddenly wondered a few hours later why she had asked me who we were playing. I’d not thought about it at the time, but she’d never asked me before who the opponents were when I’d gone off to a game. Oh no…she hasn’t has she? SURELY not…?

FMO: “Ummm, have you booked that hotel yet, dear?”

MrsFMO: “Yes! Just did so – had to pay upfront but got a really good deal. Oh and booked the train tickets too.”

FMO : “You booked it in Bristol, didn’t you?”

MrsFMO: “Well, yes – that’s what you said isn’t it? Bristol Rangers? I assume they are actually from Bristol?”

FMO : “Yes, yes they are….the tickets are non-refundable, you say?”

MrsFMO: “That’s right – but what’s the problem?”

FMO: *sigh* “Oh, no problem. But do you know what? Let’s just spend the day together in Bristol. I won’t actually go to the game, would rather just look round the city with you, my love.”

MrsFMO: “Really? Oh thanks darling – you really are the BEST husband ever!

And so I am. See you next time…hopefully.

Up The U’s!

Bristol City Centre: Romantic Getaway.

Clifton Suspension Bridge: Impressive work, Isambard.

Sherbet Dib-Dag

2011-09-14T07:44:00.001+01:00

Tuesday, 13th September 2011
nPower League Two

Dagenham & Redbridge 0 OUFC 1

Well, a lot happens in two weeks, doesn't it? I've been away from football duties for the past few weeks - neglecting them, some would say. Didn't go to Crewe: Had a wedding to go to. Didn't go to the Burton game: Had house-hunting to do. Whether these excuses are valid ones or not is irrelevant, by the way.

What I'm trying to say is, two weeks ago we were all laughing at Coco di Canio making Swindon a laughing stock, whilst we thanked the stars for our saviour Lord Wilder. Two weeks later and Swindon have offloaded their problem player, won a couple of games, gone above Oxford and they seem to be, sadly, clicking into gear in League Two.

But at the nicer end of the A420, Oxford's form has been mixed at worst, and a bizarre 'Wilder Out' campaign has been started on Facebook and online forums by some seriously retarded coounts who clearly have an agenda with our manager for some reason. I will admit things have not been helped by a subsequently alleged incident where Wilder apparently told a pensioner to fuck off.

But the vitriolic, nasty and personal bile being bandied about by some idiots towards Wilder still seems totally out of context and frankly bizarre only 1 month into the season. Plus, who hasn't told the odd pensioner to fuck off now and then? I know I have, the malingering shits.

So, for no real reason, last night's game at Dagenham seemed to take on a bit more importance than perhaps a trip to a de facto non-league side should have done. Anything less than 3 points and the hound-dogs would be out moaning about this selection, that formation, this change, that decision, and on and on.

Lucky then, and one in the eye for the haters and their bizarre anti-Wilder campaign, we did win. And probably by the most convincing 1 goal margin I've ever witnessed. The only criticism I would lay from last night is the same as usual - we should have finished the game off 6 times over rather than leave us fans having to suffer with constant fright for the last 20mins. Finishing. That old chestnut.

This was an easy one for me of course, being a London resident. It was a quick change at Stratford International and the chance to walk through the new Westfield shopping centre on it's first day of opening, to get to the tube station onto Dagenham.

Westfield Stratford City: Busy.

Boy it was big, that Westfield. And busy. Packed to the rafters in fact, with 10's of Thousands of dazzled and awestruck local youths screaming "OMG! Dey got a massif JD Sports!" and running off to buy a new reebok hoodie to cruise the streets in.

The wittering of all these thousands of eager consumers was bouncing off the shiny faux-marble walls and infiltrating the peace inside my head. It was like a very well-lit, well-stocked hell on earth.

Arriving in Dagenham and...well, at least it felt real after Stratford City. I mean, VERY real. 'Gritty' you might say, to be kind. 'Fucking awful shithole', you might say, were you not being so kind.

That said, it is a friendly place, Dagenham. There is no bad atmosphere, no trouble, no hint of intimidation anywhere. It's just run-down and a bit depressing, in truth. But the people seem good sorts, so I should stop being so rude about their home.

Dagenham: No Ball Games Permitted. Oh...

I had a pre-match Doner Kebab from the Eastbrook Cafe, about 5 mins from the ground. It was highly edible, and it was a nice little cafe, but their business card was a little misleading. I didn't spot many snow-capped mountains or tranquil lakes around Dagenham. Perhaps they were a few streets down.

Dagenham: Majestic Mountains (So who needs ball games?)

One thing I really liked on our last two visits to Daggers was a pint in their excellent social club. It's a great place, although you do have to sign-in and pay £1 to take advantage of the cheap beer inside. I signed in as 'Fantastic Mr Ox'.

"You have to sign in with your real name" said the man on the door.

"How do you know that's not my real name though?" I replied, cheekily.

"Fair point. £1 please."

Cheerleaders at a non-league ground. Whatever next!

The ground has changed quite a lot since our last visit in 2006. Well, it hasn't at three ends, but the stand they put us in was a nice sparkly new one, to replace the crumbling old 3-deep uncovered terrace of yesteryear. I'm a strange fellow but I think I'd rather have been on the old terrace, to be honest. Also not really sure why they put us in there rather than use it for their own fans.

Action at the over-zealously named
'London Borough of Barking & Dagenham Stadium'.

So, the game itself, and as I said above it was pretty one-sided, especially in the 2nd half when Leven got his foot on the ball a bit more often, Potter was all over the place and the new lad Robert Hall had a fantastic debut. Plaudits all round.

But it might have been a different story had Dagenham posed any real threat upfront - we could easily have been punished for our inability to put the many very good chances away.

Heroes salute the travelling fans. Well played boys.

Ho-hum though - we won, and our 100% record at Dagenham still intact, which is also nice. What was furtherly (yes that is a word actually) nice was a short 30 minute tube ride home.

Amazingly in 3 years living in the capital, this is only the 2nd London game for Oxford I've been able to go to due to holidays, business trips and other lame excuses yet again. Now I've got two in a week. What are the chances?

Bring on the Buzzy-Bees!

Up The U's!

Brewing Some Memories

2011-09-10T15:00:00.029+01:00

An article by Fantastic Mr Ox which first appeared in the Burton Albion Programme 10.09.11

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have fond memories of visiting Burton Albion. Some of the fondest of the otherwise rather less-than-fond years of 2006-2010 in non-league.

Burton's Pirelli Stadium: Tiresome.

Burton was of course our second ever away game in that first season in the Conference; and I recall that first visit to the Pirelli in August 2006 was a bit of a cracker, too.

From going behind to the annoyingly ‘prolific-against-Oxford’ Daryl Clare in the first half, then surviving three Burton efforts against the woodwork, Oxford went on to win it with two goals from the mercurial Robert Duffy in the last 15 minutes. Cue some delirious scenes on the concrete terrace that Oxford fans were in.

The win continued The U’s excellent start to the campaign with the third win of the first week. After the sheer misery of relegation from the football league just 3 months before, it felt like a good time to be an Oxford fan again, bouncing around in Burton.

I remember in those early months that season we genuinely seemed unbeatable. We weren’t of course, and despite carrying that unbeaten run into November, at times you could have sensed we were papering over cracks and getting lucky, if you allowed yourself to sense it, that is. But most of us didn’t, did we? Instead got carried away with it and thought we’d have the title wrapped up by Christmas.

Oh how naïve.

By the time Burton made their visit to The Kassam in March the following year, the wheels had well and truly fell off the Belief Bus and a snore-draw 0-0 was an apt pointer to how our season had fizzled out into mediocrity after such an early charge at the title.

We were back at The Pirelli again in August, this time in the new season, our second in the Conference and the one we knew we’d be going up in this time, having learnt the failures of our first season. We were certainly well on our way with another repeat 2-1 victory at Burton. By this our second visit we knew our way around a bit – and by that I mean we had our designated pre-match boozer settled upon - The Beech Inn, just a 5 min walk down the road from the ground past the big booze factory itself.

What a lovely place to go for an away day it was becoming!

The same can’t be said to when we welcomed Burton to Oxford however, where it ranged from goalless snoozefests such as previously mentioned or a 3-0 tonking at their hands the following year.

Our last meeting in non-league was another fond memory though, where a point for Burton in April 2009 would have sealed the title for The Brewers in front of the Setanta cameras at The Pirelli. Although Schadenfreude is not always a pleasant thing, it was really rather a lot of fun to deny Burton their promotion party on the night courtesy of a Chapman free kick, and another fond memory of visiting Burton was added to the list.

Chappers celebrates his free kick winner.

Sorry about that, Aaron.

We only postponed Burton’s party of course as they were crowned champions a few games later. So they shouldn’t hold a grudge.

It was nice to be renewing acquaintances with The Brewers last season after these grand memories of visiting their place in our non-league stint. Long may they continue in the Football League, I say.

Up The U’s!

There's a Circus in the Town...

2011-08-31T13:35:00.000+01:00

The magic roundabout isn't the only comedy installation in Swindon these days.

After last night's antics between Paolo di Canio and his newly-signed "star striker" Leon Clarke, I don't know why they don't just erect a big top around the County Ground and be done with it.

County Ground Big Top: Roll Up, Roll Up! Come See the Circus!

For those who haven't yet seen the latest unprofessional behaviour of the current Swindon Town manager, you can see the video right here courtesy of Sky TV. Comedy gold. He also appears to have got angry more than once during last night's defeat to Southampton, judging by the picture alongside this article by the Telegraph.

This is of course just the latest in a string of poorly-judged decisions for di Canio since he took over at Swindon. The first being probably taking the job in the first place, the stupid fascist. One of the others being the attempted unsettling of two-goal hero James Constable ahead of the A420 Classico two weeks ago. A game in which said Constable scored two-goals, and was a hero, of course, and di Canio was sent to the stands for acting like a clown on the touchline.

Coco di Canio: Clown.

The only problem I can see with all of these amateur managerial moves that Coco di Canio is 'managing' to pack into the first few weeks of the season is that he'll soon run into a brick wall. I was hoping we could string things along with our favourite Mussolini-lover in the County Ground hotseat for the best part of the season. But the way he's exploded onto the scene I'll be surprised if he's still there at Christmas.

Please stay Paolo. We love what you are doing down there. xxx

Both racist AND mentally ill. What a combination!

Shots Across The Bow

2011-08-30T07:53:00.012+01:00

Saturday, 27th August 2011
nPower League Two
OUFC 1 Aldershot Town 1

Urrgh. Another one that finished ugly after starting so promisingly. Come the end of the season, will we be ruing these dropped points at home against Bradford and Aldershot? Who knows, but at least it's still early enough in the season to crack on and get on with the next game without too much undue reflection.

You wouldn't have thought that though given the negativity and moaning from the crowd around me at this game. Jesus, I know it wasn't particularly good but I've never understood the mentality of booing your own players. You might -just about- convince me that it's worth doing at the final whistle if they have been exceptionally shite. Not that I have even ever done that though myself, to be honest. But to do so during the match is a fucking ridiculous way to support your team. Nice one, if you were one of those doing so. I'm sure it motivated the players to up their game.

Shot Down.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

The day had started so brightly, quite literally so. I drove up from London with my mate and his young lad, leaving behind the London sunshine to the unsettled Oxfordshire clouds; whose changeability was to become an unwelcome comparison for the performance on the pitch, it seemed.

I seemed to take leave of my senses on arrival at The Blackbird, as rather than take my traditional Branos spicy chicken burger, I decided to take a punt at the Caribbean BBQ foodstuffs being hawked in the pub car park. I'd already been told that the offerings being sold looked "interesting to say the least", and always one to try something different, I went for it.

BlackBird BBQ: Belting.

The chef behind the BBQ reeled off the list of what they had on offer for my pre-match prandium.
"We got Jerk Chicken, Jerk Pork, Curry Goat, Dumplin', we got Rice..."
"..And Peas?!" I cut in.
"No. No peas."
...and there followed an awkward silence.

Well, serves me right for expecting the cuisine to conform to a stereotype.

I can't say I was disappointed at what got served to me though, when I asked for the Jerk Pork (and was told by the landlady sat chowing down on her grub that the jerk pork "Goes very nice wi' the dumplin". So I had Jerk Pork with Dumplin', and it did indeed go very nice with the dumplin'.

And this is what it looked like:

Jerk Pork @ The BlackBird BBQ. Stonkin' Haunch of Meat.

It was an absolute feast of delicious meat. One that I couldn't get through unaided, but as luck may have it there were a few blokes on hand to help out inside the pub. In fact, I've never had my dinner analysed so intently - at some point or other the whole pub seemed to stop by and poke around in the pork to see for themselves what on earth I'd been given to eat. It was certainly an interesting meal.

It wasn't a cheap meal though. It was a shit load of meat, but not sure £6 was value for it. Probably back to the Branos next time, you'll be pleased to know. Especially considering the effect that jerk sauce had on my bowels later on.

So after wiping the jerk-sauce from my face, we toddled off to the ground and watched a disappointing game. I had a feeling it was going to be a twat of a game when they had the man sent off on 12 minutes. It's amazing how having an extra man on the pitch so often does not end up being an advantage at all.

Thankfully, I spent a good portion of the 2nd half in the East Stand toilets ruing my earlier food decision, so missed a lot of the rubbish. In need of cheering up afterwards myself, my friend and his kid stopped off at my parent's pub on the way back to London, where they were having a Wild West Hoe-Down. As you do on a Bank Holiday.

A couple of hours messing about on a rodeo bull was just the ticket, as it transpired. Yee-Haaa! See you next time, pardners!

Rodeo Action: Post-Match Japes.

Up The U's!

I Don't Like Cricket (as much as OUFC)

2011-08-27T07:00:00.021+01:00

The below article should appear in today's programme for the game against Aldershot.
I say should, because I really don't know what the editor will cut out. He might end up cutting it out altogether. And frankly I wouldn't blame him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm writing these programme notes on Monday evening just gone. The day after the last game. You know, that one we just played last. The one against Swindon. The one we won.

I just spent today at The Oval watching England beat India and pick up the trophy for being the best test cricket side in the world (Well I say Trophy; it was actually a gilded mace. But I digress). The point being, I was watching the pinnacle of achievement for this all-conquering England side, you see. I was watching the two best sides in the world of a sport I also love, probably as much as football. I was even watching a batting innings from Sachin Tendulkar, the leading test run-scorer of all time.

Cricket: Not Football.

Yet all day, all I could really think about was the day before, and that win against Swindon, in Swindon, by my beloved Oxford. And who could blame me, really? It was “38 years of hurt” and all that, after all.

Constable Scores the winner. Oh Yes.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

That means I was hurting even before I was born. Indeed, it means I was hurting a few years before my parent's had even met each other. That's how deep that hurt was. Until last Sunday, that is. No hurt anymore. Just joy, joy, joy.

As I write this (on Monday, if you remember) my throat is still sore, my legs are cut to pieces from jumping around amongst the Stratton Bank seats, I've had a cracking headache for the past 24 hours and worst of all, my face seems to have come out in sympathy with our near-neighbours by turning the colour of their shirts after the afternoon in the open sun (Something I've only added to at The Oval today, incidentally. I thought Spiderman was in my bathroom when I just caught sight of myself in the mirror). Indeed, I also seem to have mild sun-stroke. But I'm still smiling and happy and can't stop looking through the various photos, status updates and tweets posted online about Sunday's victory. It's a great feeling, isn't it?

(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

Let's not lose sight though of the greater goal. As amazing a buzz as Sunday was, the buzz will be so much greater for me if we are a League 1 side next season, just as the buzz was greater (although only just!) after promotion at Wembley last year. I won't say the result against Swindon would be irrelevant if we didn't end up picking up any more points for a while, but the gloss of the result would fade somewhat if we didn’t go on a bit of a run now. The target always has to be promotion this season and today Swindon are irrelevant, it’s all about doing our best against Aldershot.

The Shots haven’t had as good a start as they might have liked so far this season, so will be raring to have a go at us today and hoping we are still a bit hung-over from our derby day exploits. And I think we all know Aldershot like to come and play football, so will be no pushovers today. So let’s all try and sing and cheer Oxford on to another three points this afternoon – even if you did shred your vocal chords on the Stratton Bank last weekend.

And always remember – Up The U’s!

Chim Chimeny

2011-08-25T07:06:00.002+01:00

Sunday, 21st August 2011
nPower League Two
Swindon Town 1 OUFC 2

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write an update. I'm still coming down to be honest.

It's hard to even begin thinking about thinking about* where to start in writing up this particular day out at the football. I'll try at the beginning.

(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

I set out for this match 24hours early, by spending Saturday night at my in-laws' house in Reading. It was a most civilised and refined evening, I'll have you know. Certainly as I sat in the garden washing down a finely grilled slab of rib-eye steak with a fine French wine on this balmy Berkshire summer evening, it was quite far away from the day that was likely to follow in it's understated tranquility.

Sunday definitely started with a bit of a jolt, as I was awoken at 4am to find myself choking on my own vomit. I know that sounds disgusting but just think how worse it would be if it wasn't my own vomit? I'd also only had 2 glasses of wine and there was no sign of food poisoning in the house so this was clearly nerves. Not the best of starts to the day, I found it hard to get back to sleep as even after a bit of listerine that throat was still a little raw.

By 8.30am I was out of the house and on my way to the train station, even though my lift from Didcot wasn't leaving until 11am. I had ants in my pants to go with the earlier vomeur in my oesophagus, and I simply had to go and do something, even if that something was walking in a big circle around Reading town centre for 45 minutes.

45 minutes is long enough to spend walking around Reading town centre without risking more vomit-in-the-mouth shenanigans, so I caught a train to Didcot, arriving at about 9.30am. I was greeted of course by about 300 Oxford fans stood waiting for either the Prince of Wales pub to open, or the next train to Swindon to start the day boozin' early there.

I waited and shared some pre-match chat with fellow Yellows there before my lift arrived. I'd organised this lift rather than getting the train purely because a.) I'm a nancy that doesn't really think he could stomach an all-dayer starting at 9am anymore; and b.) I could not be arsed being kettled and treated like cattle by Wiltshire Police from the moment I stepped off the platform in Swindon - something going on past experience I fully expected to happen. As it turned out, so I am informed, the policing of the matchday experience was low-key, non-invasive and actually done very well. So I feel a pat on the back is due on this occasion for our nipple-headed fluorescently-attired friends. Well done, plod.

There were four very excited and very nervous souls in that car, travelling down the A420. We parked up on the rather foul estate next to the ground, and proceeded in an orderly fashion straight into the Stratton Bank, about an hour before kick off. Time enough to soak up the derby day atmosphere as it built inside the ground. Also time to purchase a dirty burger from the van inside the away end. My god it was rank. I'm not sure whether they actually eat their own dead in Wiltshire but I know where they sell it if they do. It was certainly no Branos Spicy Chicken burger, I can tell you that.

Pre-Match Tension.

The ground quickly filled up and in the Oxford end it was a funny atmosphere. People were clearly enjoying themselves and excitement was mounting, but there were also a fair amount of nerves and it felt a little edgy to be honest. A nervy edginess that didn't really abate during the 90 minutes. Of course I enjoyed the immediate aftermath of both goals and shouted and screamed in delight then for what seemed an age. But other than the immediate euphoria following each constituent part of Constable's brace, I was pig-sick nervous and simply couldn't enjoy it like I should have done. It was agony.

Beano celebrates his first goal. What a shit Swindon fan.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

With Swindon's equaliser came a feeling in the pit of my stomach that I haven't felt since I was last stood on that same feral concrete. "Here we go again," I thought.

Just as we had gone 1-0 up on our last visit, so we had again only to piss it away again. As I watched the utter, utter cock of a man that is Sig. Paolo di Canio skipping like a demented goat towards the Oxford fans with his fists punching the air, I felt that awful feeling, once again. Urrgh. They were going to win, weren't they, yet again.

An Oxford United Legend. Interviewing a Swindon fan.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

My pessimism was mis-placed though, of course. Di Canio's attempts to unsettle Constable couldn't have been more misguided, and whatever happens now he will surely go down in OUFC folklore as the man that broke the 38 year County Ground hoodoo. But my god, we battled and rode our luck on the way to that win.

I don't think anything will ever quite beat the feeling of when Potter smashed in the final goal in in the dying seconds at Wembley. But seeing the referee extend his arm skywards and toot three blasts on his whistle last Sunday ran it close. It was certainly worth throwing up into my mouth for.

The Final Whistle...And Relax.

Leaving the ground was a joy of course. 3,000 exuberant singing Oxford fans all spilling into the park next door with smiles on their faces. I quite enjoyed the journey home too, listening to the most bizarre, inane and rambling soliloquy from di Canio, which seemed to last about 20 minutes and go absolutely nowhere.

See you next year, Scummers!

Thankfully my lift home did go somewhere - it took me back to the Prince of Wales in Didcot where I ended up staying drinking with friends until early evening, with grins the size of a donkey's testicle on all our faces.

The one bit of sense I did make from di Canio's post-match rant was that he thought Swindon were the better side and should have won. Well, maybe. But they didn't win, did they? And do I care if they should have done? Do I bollocks.

Up The U's!

Chim Chimeny, Indeed.(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

Dubes. The Rock.
(Copyright: Steve Daniels)

*Yes, the repetition was delibarate**.

**As was that spelling mistake.
And yes I know the Swindon badge is old too. I just love how shit this old classic really was.

Hateslick

2011-08-19T07:00:00.002+01:00

Oh by crikey, it's almost upon us.

This weekend we wander into the recently-unknown, slap on the war paint and camouflage gear and step foot into the pits of Wiltshire, once again.

The excitement and build-up around this game has been unprecedented in recent memory, given the fact the last time Oxford United took to the pitch inside the dirty cauldron of festered inbreeding known as The County Ground, Swindon - it was as long ago as October 2000.

Urrgh. I feel sick.

Back then, it was just another trip to Swindon. Just another passionate derby. I'd been to a few before, I'd go to more soon. Although some very astute Yellows might have already seen the writing on the wall for our relegation that season, few if any could have imagined it would take another 11 years before we'd present ourselves at the red-breasted swine's doors again. But present ourselves we do - and this time without a kit that looks like it's been dipped in piss.

Early Wiltshire Settlers:
Already confused by that fucking
pointless roundabout.

The Urine Kit. Piss Poor.

I don't know what to expect to be honest. It's been so long since I went there now, I'm actually a little bit nervous about what might await me as I step off the train. By now, the population must surely have mutated even further into a mockery of what should have become humanity, as it crawled out of the primordial Wiltshire swamps and decided to set up residence with loads of pigs on a hill*.

Indeed, judging by the state of some of the population of the town today, it looks like they did more than merely set up residence with those pigs. Of course I jest! I'm sure not everyone in Swindon fucks pigs.

Anyway, enough of this outrageous bile. I'm just getting carried away here with the excitement, I hope you'll forgive me, I am only joking after all.

I'm sure many from outside the Oxon-Wilts environs would come across this game in the fixture list and think little of it. Indeed, a friend commented to me this week that it was a little strange to see such passion inflamed by a match taking place in the basement division. He was suitably chastised for his ignorance of the rivalry - something that wouldn't be any different were Sunday's game taking place in the Premiership or the Hellenic League (probably). Passions that are stoked still further by the 11 years that have passed since we met in the league on equal terms. Oh how patiently we have waited.

And as much as the mere mention of the town makes me instinctively wretch air, I love the fact that they hate us just as much, and we have a proper two-way rivalry. So many football league clubs simply don't have that.

Rivalry: Brilliant.

Fulham despise Chelsea with just as much passion as we despise Swindon. But Chelsea don't give a monkey's about Fulham - so derbies will never be as intense.
Reading hate Oxford, Oxford hate Reading, but both clubs hate Swindon even more, which is actually to the detriment of Reading. As no-one really hates them that much, Oxford-Reading derby days will always be pretty inconsequential in comparison to Oxford-Swindon. And I don't think Swindon care about them at all.

Wycombe - well, Wycombe don't really hate anyone and no-one hates them. And considering the lack of interest from their supporters in their own team, this mutual apathy is hardly surprising. Bad example.

My point being though, I wouldn't have the mutual hate-fest between Oxford and Swindon any other way. For that I salute you Swindon, and not even with just a middle finger, on this occasion.

Fact is though, our record at the County Ground is abysmal. One win, EVER. And that was when everyone was wearing flares or before the war or something. The default score also seems to be 4-1 to Swindon, so we have the handicap of a 3 goal disadvantage to overcome too. So with the weight of history and expectation on the shoulders of the current side, it'll be a tough ask for us to go there and come away happy.

"Fancy a game on Sunday, Joey?"
Total Legend.

But history means nothing. Nothing at all. It's all about the 90mins on the pitch on Sunday, and 22 men -10 in a filthy red rag, 10 in a majestic yellow with navy trim (and two goalkeepers in random colours, obviously. But that ruins the flow of the point, somewhat. As it would if we for some stupid reason wear our blue away kit).

Oh please, please, please, please. Can we please just go there and win this time?

Up The U's!

*Swine = Pigs, Don = Hill.

Shrewd Business Practice

2011-08-17T07:00:00.003+01:00

Tuesday, 16th August 2011
nPower League Two
OUFC 2 Shrewsbury Town 0

I wasn't intending on coming up for this one. I know all the jibes - 'part-timer', 'fair-weather fan', 'stupid f*cking c*nt'... I've been called them all before, often with justification. But hey, you non-exiles don't know what it's like traipsing up for an evening game when you work near France and live in the centre of London.

Last Wednesday I drove from work, a 5 hour round journey which cost me probably around £50-£60 in petrol. I wasn't doing that again. I can always drive from London after work, a cost of a mere £20-ish, but by the time I get back to London it's 6.30pm and it means I'd struggle to make kick-off to justify sitting in rush-hour traffic leaving London for 90minutes.

But a fellow London Yellow was desperate to go and convinced me to drive us both last night from London at 6.30, even if it meant missing the first 20mins. Well I'm glad he convinced me, as that was a corker last night.

We actually made good time and were parked up at The Blackbird by 7.30, and although that meant no time for a drink or even a Spicy Branos Burger, it meant we were in the ground for kick-off and I was delighted I'd made the effort on such a gorgeous August night for football.

There were an awful lot of police about for some reason. Maybe they were looking for Shrewsbury's Steroid Man whom I mentioned last season. Certainly they were out in force with cameras and what have you, which seemed overkill for a mid-week fixture with no real needle, so I can't think what else they were up to.

Walking down to the ground from the Leys, hearing Perkele's Yellow & Blue song floating across the field and noticing the most spectacular Oxfordshire sunset sky, I had a feeling we were in for a treat tonight - and so we were.

Oxfordshire Sunset: Very nice.

Make no mistake, Shrewsbury are a good side and will be up there at the end of the season. The difference between them and Bradford was striking, in my eyes. It's an old cliché I know but we always seem to do well when a good side comes down to the Kassam and lets us play. And last night, we played.

Special mention I think for the young and oddly named Asa Hall. Odd to me at least, as I've never come across the name before. Perhaps you went to school with dozens of Asas, or had a great-uncle Asa. Well I didn't. I know it's a strange thing to be suddenly bringing up well over a year after we signed him, but it's something that's been bugging me for ages. I've also been pronouncing it in my head as "Assa" for a while too, something I may continue, furtively. Apparently it's an old Hebrew word meaning 'Healer' or 'Physician,' if you are interested. Oh, you're not. OK.

Asa: The Great Healer.

Anyway, back to the game and what more can I say except WOW WHAT A FUCKING GOAL from Heslop. Does it rival Beauchamp's against Blackpool? Well, no. But all the same, what a cracker. And there's an excuse to look at that Beauchamp goal again though.

So, we saw the game out. We passed it around lovely-like, we created and we finished some chances and we kept them out at the other end. To top all this off, Swindon lose at Daggers and we are above them in the League standings for the first time in 11 ruddy years - just in time to play them on their patch.

It's all very exciting, isn't it?

I don't know about you, but I might pop along to that game on Sunday after all. Are there any tickets left?

The Taming of the (Oh no, sorry I can't do it).

2011-08-16T07:00:00.030+01:00

The below article should appear in tonight's programme against Shrewsbury. Buy it though - as Martin will put some nice alternate pictures next to it stuff.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
These games are coming thick and fast at the moment, aren’t they? Three in a week – wow. It’s a good job I haven’t run out of things to say yet, isn’t it?

So… what about those riots in London then eh? Yeah, they were pretty fierce and what have you. And the economic situation is still a little shaky, isn’t it? Oh, and did you hear about that man that…ummm, yeah.

Well, tonight we welcome The Shrews of Shrewsbury to Oxford, for another tough early-season test.

Trips to Shrewsbury’s old Gay Meadow were always a treat for me, I loved that old ground. I guess it reminded slightly of our own old Manor Ground – and certainly on my last trip there in 2005 it felt nostalgic, standing on a rickety old terrace behind the goal again.

Gay Meadow: Just Very Happy.

At the time of course, I had little inclination that I’d be about to spend four long years standing on rickety old terraces in non-league, during which time my dewy-eyed nostalgia for grounds of ‘character’ was lessened somewhat by trips to the likes of Droylsden, Southport and Tonbridge Angels.

But for all the obvious advantages of moving to our respective new grounds, fans of both Oxford and Shrewsbury will still miss their old homes in equal measure, I’m sure. Plus Gay Meadow had an old man in a coracle who retrieved the balls from the river, apparently. That’s brilliant.

Trips to Shrewsbury always seemed to involve sitting in a beer garden of the nice pub near the ground beforehand. And if time allowed, an exploration of the town by walking over the ‘English Bridge’ (I always assumed into Wales, but apparently not) and discover and explore some lovely old buildings. Lovely old buildings that mainly served beer, but some lovely old buildings nonetheless.

Matt 'Guitar' Murphy.
I think google image search
has let me down this time.

I went to Gay Meadow on three occasions and the games were all very different affairs indeed. First up was an FA Cup tie in November 1999. I remember this being an exciting game, with goals from Matt Murphy and Rob Folland salvaging a 2-2 draw for Oxford and a replay back at the Manor. The replay was also a cracker which went into Extra-Time – but a brace from the unfairly maligned Murphy again saw us through the tie.

McNiven: Not a goalkeeper.

The second trip was a very strange affair in March 2003. After a collision during the Shrewsbury equaliser on the stroke of half-time, Oxford keeper Andy Woodman had to be taken off with facial injuries, and with no substitute goalkeeper on the bench, the 5’8” Scott McNiven went in goal for the last 45 minutes. I remember wondering why the hell the shortest man on the pitch had been given the gloves, but he had and that was that.

So, imagining the rest of the game was only going to go one way with an under-tall novice in goal, straight after the re-start Jefferson Louis defied my expectations and bags a goal to give Oxford a 2-1 lead.

Gay Meadow: I never saw it this packed.

It was a mad end to the game, with Oxford having numerous chances to finish it off and McNiven thankfully not having much cause to test out his goal-keeping skills with Oxford attacking the Shrewsbury half. There was still even time for a red card apiece in this bad-tempered affair, but Oxford managed to hold on for the victory, somehow. Great game.

The third and last trip to Gay Meadow was in April 2005, and the home side won 3-0. Don’t remember much about that game. Think it was probably a load of old rubbish.
Up The U’s!

Bantam Wait

2011-08-13T07:00:00.006+01:00

The below article should appear in today's match programme against Bradford City. That's only if it was deemed worthy, of course.
______________________________________________________________
Ahhh, the new Football League season is upon us at last!

It might not seem very long since the season finished, especially if listening to my wife complaining about the paucity of football-free weekends. But the summer break still seems to last too long for me and I suspect many of you reading this.

So what do you do to get through the barren months? You could watch a spot of cricket, perhaps. You could even spend your Saturday afternoons shopping, god forbid.

Or, like me, you could try and distract yourself and leave the country on a summer holiday. I decided to go to East Africa and have a real adventure. Now ridden with bilharzia and fearful of having contracted malaria and dysentery too, I wish I’d just got those tickets to Lord’s instead, to be honest.

I must admit – I love August and watching the football in the sunshine in those early weeks of the season. Decked out in shorts and shades, the pre-match lager-shandy, and entering the ground full of confidence and expectation for the coming season.

Passerine: Scum.

And what is this? A long-overdue trip to Wiltshire added into the mix in these early weeks? Surely not! But yes indeed, there it is, burning a hole on all our wall-calendars with a very thick ring circled around it – the date of August 21st. It’s easy to get carried away of course by this upcoming trip, but let’s not lose track of the bigger picture of promotion out of League Two and that the games against the red-breasted passerines are just two games on the way to that goal. But oh, what two games, eh?

Today we welcome Bradford City to sunny Oxford - so last season’s two best-supported sides at this level should hopefully create a great atmosphere for our first home league game of the campaign.

Although obviously we played each other last season (can’t seem to remember playing them away though, for some reason), my most distinct memories of playing Bradford come from when we were in the same division from 1994-99.

The most vivid memory was my first trip to Valley Parade in Jan 1997. The Coach was delayed on the M6 for hours and we eventually arrived at the outskirts of Bradford only to hear that Bradford had gone 1-0 up. By the time the coach limply pulled up outside the turnstiles, there was just 30mins left and many of us were debating whether it was worth paying the entrance fee (which had only been reduced by £2!) to go in. We decided it was with the result of the match still in balance, but just as we entered the stand we heard the roar of 12,000 people above us, and rightly surmised that Oxford hadn’t on this occasion traveled in such great numbers, so it must mean Bradford were 2-0 up and the game was done and dusted.

McElliott: Classy Scot.

To make the memory even more painful, this also proved to be Matt Elliott's last game for Oxford and those dreams of play-offs to the Premiership faded forever as January wore on and we slipped down the league.

It’s a long time ago now – since then Bradford of course did spend time in the Premiership, and the less said about where we went the better, but today we both find ourselves in League Two hoping to bounce back up the leagues.

I’d be quite happy to re-visit Valley Parade, even to watch just the last 30mins, if in a few years’ time it was in the 2nd tier again (And with a 1997-era Matt Elliott playing for us too, if I’m allowed to be greedy).

Up The U's!

Welsh Scarebits

2011-08-11T08:21:00.011+01:00

Wednesday, 10th August 2011
Carling Cup, 1st Round

OUFC 1 Cardiff City 3 AET

Always the way isn’t it? The amount of football clichés last night almost defies belief.

A plucky underdog battering a higher-placed team for 60 mins but giving away a poor goal early on.

Referee giving said plucky side nothing, despite numerous penalty claims and dodgy tackles.

Referee not going into his pocket to punish the infringing team for their reckless tackles until 20mins into extra time.

Fantastic Mr Ox grabbing a Branos Spicy Chicken burger on Matchday. But what is this? Getting one AFTER the game rather than before it? Good lord!

That apart though, it was the same, well-worn old story of we played well, probably should have won, but lost to a technically better side last night. I say technically better, because they technically were, technically at least, if you look at things from a technical perspective. But you wouldn’t have noticed that for much of the 2nd half last night, in my opinion. With our new YELLOW shirts* we were like a swarm of bees round beekeepers (cos Cardiff were wearing white, see?).

Beekeepers: Calm.

That’s actually quite a good analogy as despite buzzing round the bastards for ages we never ended up stinging them in the end and Cardiff saw out the last 20mins with a kind of calm and ease that only a beekeeper in his protective gear would retain when bombarded in such a manner.
Well, OK it’s a silly analogy, but I still like it.

As usual, it was quite an effort for me to get up to a night game, working as I do in deepest darkest Kent, before having to return to a currently riotous London after the game. That I made this round trip of 250 miles probably makes me a better person and a bigger fan than you. Probably.

I set off early from work and on the way enjoyed the last few hours of Test Match Special from Edgbaston in the late afternoon sun, listening to lovely Mr Strauss pick up his 50 and help England on their way to becoming the number 1 test side in the world. Ahh Cricket!

But of course, the cricket season was symbolically drawing to a close for me with the close of play last night. From here on in until May, it’s football season, and I was very excited about my first Oxford game of the new campaign.

Arrived in good time at The Blackbird for a quick pre-match pint and discussion of the riots in London this week. A friend of mine thinks he has the solution – a crack Serbian-style Containment & Discipline Battalion to be deployed onto the streets with free rein to kick the living shit out of anyone causing trouble. Whilst I had my doubts that jackbooted martial law was actually the answer, he was quite adamant that it was, and proceeded to expand on the potential for his Battalion’s deployment for much of the rest of the evening.

First half then – not so convincing from Oxford, we didn’t seem to be gelling at times and looked a little out of sorts. Cardiff’s goal though was pretty shocking – I still don’t know how the buggery it went in.
At half-time, a complaint I had about the stink of all the buggers smoking in the toilets and the meekness of the stewards in dealing with it was another opportunity for my friend to expand on the potential of his C&D Battalion.

Battalion members should be issued with metal bars and if the smoker denies they are holding a cigarette behind their back and it is discovered to be a lie – a quick rap from the bar and a broken arm should prevent them from doing it again. All of a sudden I was coming around to the idea.

Second half, and my rose-tinted blinkers convince me that we should have won it in the 90 minutes. We played well and I tell you what, that Leven does look like a touch of magic. Let’s hope he proved to be as anticipated. I also really hope Constable doesn't go to Luton as it seems he might. His work-rate can never, ever be faulted and last night I thought he put himself about and harried the Cardiff back line with aplomb. He would most certainly be missed, for all his faults, in my opinion.

Constable: Respected.

I really didn’t want extra time, given the drive back to London to still come. And given that we ended up losing anyway and have a far more important League fixture in 3 day’s time – I’m sure Wilder and the players didn’t really want it either. In the end, despite their ET goals being more defensive errors than anything else, they saw the match out and that was that. Disappointing, but loads of positives too and I’m still excited about this season. Just like I am every season.

London Riots: Actually quite merry.

And so back to London. Thankfully the journey home took my car only through Marylebone and Bloomsbury, quite salubrious districts that were hardly likely to see any bricks coming through my windscreen. No police about round there though, so if you do fancy grabbing some free organic muesli or putting together the ingredients for a quinoa salad, I suggest you rioters abandon looting the obvious chavvy branches of Footlocker you live in and smash up the West End instead. Although leave it until I’ve moved back to Oxford, if you could.

I’m totally shattered today after an early start and late return, but despite the defeat it was worth it, as ever. A good game and a good performance and great to see all the old faces again, and hear all their giddy stories.

I’m already looking forward to the Bradford game at the weekend, and I’m back in the programme then too. So pick up a copy and read that, if you want to help the club and my ego at the same time.

Up The U’s!

*Yes, I am quite pleased about that.

Canio Be Serious?

2011-05-20T13:17:00.001+01:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, May I present to you the new Swindon Town manager, S. Paulo Di Canio.

Lovely chap. Big fan of that Mussolini fellow, apparently.

Looking forward very much to warmly greeting him and his new team at the Kassam Stadium next season.

You Shrews, You Lose.

2011-05-09T08:16:00.001+01:00

Saturday, 7th May 2011.
nPower League Two
Shrewsbury Town 3 OUFC 0

I always like the last game of the season, even when there is nothing to play for. As long as you don't end the day relegated there is always something of a party atmosphere about a last-day away trip.

For the travelling 800+ Oxford fans, this was really a non-event - Oxford were playing for pride only. But for Shrewsbury of course, a win for them and anything less for Wycombe at home to Southend, and Shrewsbury would leap-frog our near-neighbours into the last promotion spot. So we had a chance to wreck their party.

I had a full car for a change for the trip to Salop* this weekend. Rising fuel costs dictate that trips like this can't be done alone anymore, however much I'd like to be able to wallow in solitude to a Leonard Cohen soundtrack for the journey. So I rounded up a couple of chaps from London, and a further wastrel from Oxford and off we set to the Welsh borderlands.

It's a funny old town, Shrewsbury. So obviously a bit of a cut-off backwater these days, it has a civic grandeur in places that reminds it was once on the doorstep of the industrial revolution and a very wealthy trading centre some 200 years ago.

It's one of those places that appears a lovely quaint market town with grand civic buildings, but when you scratch under the surface it's quite a rough-and-ready town. A place where the seemingly innocent choice of pub you go into can mean the difference between sharing pre-match drinks with an eccentric bunch of hippies and bikers guilty only of too-much substance abuse over the years; or walking into an angry wall of imitation stone-island jumpers and coke'd-up chavs in tracksuits willing to knock your nose into the back of your head.

Thankfully, after parking up in the town centre we ended up walking into the former rather than the latter - and perhaps the most bizarre pub I think I've ever been to. It was called Yorkshire House and the outside facade in a lovely quiet square next to a beautiful red-stone church did little to prepare us for the delights of the interior that awaited.

This pub you see, had wizards and goblins in it. No, seriously - wizards and goblins. Next to the bar. Wizards and goblins.

I see you don't believe me? Well - here is the proof, as modelled by my lovely assistant Susan.

Wizards...

...and Goblins. In a pub.

Yorkshire House was a metallers pub, with leather-clad patrons and wall-murals of classic Slayer and Iron Maiden albums, and also statues of wizards and goblins by the bar. Well why not I say?

We had a good hour or two chatting to some of the quite crazy locals in there to the soundtrack of Norwegian Black Metal. One friend of mine got chatting to a local who told him he refused to watch football any more because his dad was killed at Shrewsbury's old Gay Meadow ground by a flying tomato which hit him right on the temple. I kid you not, and this chap was either a genius at delivering deadpan comedy or was totally serious.

After our cultural exchange with these crazed Salopians, we got a taxi out to Shrewsbury's new ground. A ground which is a good 3 miles well out of town, surrounded on all sides by fields (fields that had clearly just been coated in shit, judging by the stench), and yet provided not a single parking space for visiting fans. A ridiculous state of affairs and having to traipse back to the town centre was not something I was looking forward to having seen how up for a scrap some of their fans seemed to be inside the ground.

I've not got an awful lot to say about the game itself. More than anything because it was far more entertaining watching the Salopians fighting amongst themselves and with the stewards. There was also the quite hilarious sight of Shrews fans TWICE celebrating what they perceived to be Southend goals, when in fact they were Wycombe goals. Someone must have been having a laugh in there feeding them dud information. Perhaps that is what caused them to kick the living shit out of each other.

"Breathe On 'Em, Salop!"

"Well, either that or kick the shit out of the bloke sat next to you."

90mins came and went, and as an apt reflection for the way the season as a whole petered out too early, our defenders looked like they'd already boarded the plane for their summer holidays by the time Shrewsbury walked through for their third goal. And so, that was that - the season was over.

Our day's adventures still involved trying to get back to our car amidst a mildly-sinister atmosphere though. Whilst walking back amidst the Shrews fans, keeping our heads down just in case any of them were as mentally-ill as they looked they were in the ground, I realised that I wasn't used to this feeling any more. This edgy uneasiness leaving a football game - the feeling that you need to be on guard as it might kick-off at any point.

This used to be par for the course of going to football for me, 10 years ago. The fact is these days I rarely take the train and/or have to walk back to the town centre after a game like I used to- It's normally straight back to the car and off. Plus, for the past 4 seasons we've been travelling to villages or nothing-towns where the threat of trouble just doesn't raise it's head. Other than Luton, the most threatening thing in recent years has been the danger of falling into the duck-pond at Histon and getting the unwanted attentions of a randy mallard.

Nothing did happen on the way back to the car of course, but there was a nervy moment at the bus-stop when I noticed a Schwarzenegger-wannabe who'd been giving it the big-un all through the first half was approaching us, clearly off his tits and also bang up for slapping somebody, if he could.

Shrews Steroid-Man. He looked just like this (or thought he did, at least).

Thankfully, he walked straight past us, probably off home to spit on his mum and beat up his dog. Of course, had he tried it on I'd have used my kung-fu skills on him and he'd have been mincemeat. But I don't like getting the chops flying unless I really have to.

It was a long old day, and the trip home pretty uneventful - but it had all been too much for one of the passengers. Bless.

So, 12th place in the end isn't a bad finish for our first season back in the league - but you can't help feeling that we should have been in the play-off mix, and anything less that that next season will be viewed a lot more critically by most fans than it was this season.

Roll on August!

*Yes, that's right, Salop.

It may now officially be Shropshire but I remember when my Phillip's School Atlas clearly marked this borderlands county as Salop. And the locals seem to still like being called Salopians from Salop. Weirdos. Incidentally, Salop is also French slang for a slapper. Haha, you Shrewsbury Salops!

Last Home Game

2011-04-30T08:00:00.033+01:00

An Article also published in today's matchday programme against Lincoln City.

Blimey, is it that time already? Last home game of the season? Time flies doesn’t it?

I mean, it only seems like, what? Nine months ago that we were sat here for that Carling Cup game against Brizzle Rovers?

Oh, it was nine months ago. Well there you go then.

It’s been a topsy-turvy old season and that’s for sure. Beating a team a division above 6-1 in the cup, a trip to Premiership West Ham and some fine, fine performances putting us within a whisker of promotion at one point were all on the topsy side of things.

Losing 5-0 at Bradford, crashing out early in the FA Cup, losing points at home we shouldn’t have with some mediocre performances and the season fizzling out two weeks early probably were all on the turvy side of things. Whatever a turvy is. (Actually, didn’t he used to play in goal for us?)

So we will be missing out on play-offs and promotion this season barring some strange points deduction shenanigans, a mass resignation of clubs from the league or a plague of locusts somehow contriving to affect the established points totals (don’t scoff - this was exactly what curtailed the Egyptian League season early in the 1,500 BC -1,549 BC season).

Smokebombs at Accrington. Smoky.

But hey, come on guys – has it really been a disappointing season? It’s an old cliché but we know we’d all have taken mid-table security in August if it had been offered to us, after the nightmare of 4 seasons in exile outside the 92.

And although there is one mentalist who rings up Radio Oxford after every game to say what a disgrace and a disaster this season has been (seriously though, what is that guy on?), I think most of us can say we’ve enjoyed it can’t we? Being a FL club, in the national media every weekend again. Picking up any newspaper’s sport section and knowing our results will be in there – not just in a small-type paragraph at the bottom of the page, but with it’s own little spot and probably featuring the goal scorers from the game as well. Simple pleasures.

Being mentioned every week on BBC’s Football League Show has been a revelation for me too. I don’t always stay up but I always tape it and watch the League 2 bit the next morning, and still give a little cheer to myself whenever our match highlights come on.

Clem & Claridge: BBC Oddbods.

Having the likes of that Clem fellow visit us to do a feature, then being talked about by Steve Claridge and that other nondescript bloke whilst also noticing the little Oxford badge behind their heads on the glass panel. Simple pleasures.

The simple pleasure too of adding to the collection of League grounds visited has been brilliant too (although many of the grounds do still seem to share a lot of the, err, shall we say ‘character’, of the non-league world). I’m now up to 65 of the current 92, if you’re interested.

Yeah, ok, so you say out loud to your mates that counting the grounds is really sad - but we all know that you’ve counted them too at one point and you probably know how many you’ve done as well, don’t pretend otherwise!

So today, as we near the end of that first season back in the league we are playing only for pride and respect for the other teams in the relegation battle, as our opponents Lincoln are still very much looking over their shoulder towards the chasm of non-league that we so greatly returned from last May.

So whereas for Lincoln the fingernail chomp is still very much in evidence – as Oxford fans we can start to sit back and think about next season’s cruise to the title.

Bring on the Swindon.

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha. And another Ha.

The A420 Classico

2011-04-28T08:25:00.004+01:00

Thought I'd share with you this article here, from today's Metro, which talks (albeit briefly and with only a surface-level scratching, as is this particular rag's style) about the long-overdue renewing of rivalries next season with the rancid hordes of Wiltshire.

I agree wholeheartedly with Gavin Brown's sentiment. Just a shame he's a scummer.

Inspired to Give up Football

2011-04-23T08:00:00.022+01:00

Hello there. I'm away on holiday this weekend, so will be missing today's big fixture against the Champions-elect. What a disgrace! Anyway, here is an article I wrote for today's programme. You can let me know if the naughty programme editor doesn't publish it.

It has a rather tenuous link to today's game, but it is about football - and this is a football blog. So I'm publishing it here.

Don't read if you like to keep things a bit more relevant on a matchday.

Chesterfield: Crooked Spire comes to Dreaming Spires.

The Clough, My Uncle, Steve Ogrizovic and his Lover.

Chesterfield are one of those teams I have a soft spot for due to the fact that my Father grew up in nearby Tibshelf. My uncle was also on the books of Chesterfield as a youngster, playing alongside a certain Coventry legend Steve Ogrizovic in the youth team (Younger readers may not remember him but anyone of a certain age will. And I am of a certain age. At least these days if you are too young to remember him you can look him up online. We only had Panini stickers as reference tools in my day).

Ogrizovic: Coventry Goalkeeper turned Ghostbusters foe.

My uncle never made it into the Chesterfield first team, nor as a professional footballer at all – but things might have been very different for him were it not for the whims of a certain red-nosed managerial genius at a nearby first division side. So different in fact, my uncle will often be heard to recount, that instead of owning a flooring business for a living he might have a European Cup winner’s medal were it not for that certain manager’s dismissive and rambunctious style.

My uncle you see went for a brief trial as a teenager in the late 1970’s at Nottingham Forest, whilst Brian Clough was manager. This was certainly a very prestigious opportunity for him, and the chance to get on the books of one of the country’s top sides at the time and play a part in a potential football league championship and European Cup-winning squad.
He was invited to play in a game with other trialists at Forest’s training ground, in front of a number of Forest coaching staff, including Clough’s right-hand man Peter Taylor. Now, whether my Uncle embellishes the tale or not is up for debate – but he tells me he had a remarkable game and even bagged a couple of goals. Surely, he had done enough to impress Forest enough to take a second look, he thinks.

Ol' Big 'Ead with Ol' Jug Ears.

The trialists were then told by Taylor that Mr Clough was on his way down to the training ground to pick out a couple of trialists to come back and feature in a full reserve team game later that week. My uncle was clearly very excited as he knew he’d done enough in that game to impress and Taylor would surely be highlighting that fact to Mr Clough on his arrival.
So in pulled Clough to the car park, who then strolled across to the group, asked them to do a quick lap of the pitch, and then stand in line as he walked past them giving them all nothing but a cursory glance.
He then picked out 4 of the 20 or so boys stood in line with a jabbed finger in their direction and a simple “You, You, You and you. You can come back tomorrow. The rest of you, thanks for your time.”

"You are a bloody disgrace!"

I can just imagine my uncle’s perplexed face at this point, as he still has that pained face whenever he recounts the tale today. He stood forward nervously to ask Old Big ‘ead a question.

Clough: “What do you want lad?"
My Uncle: “Well, I’m sorry Mr Clough but you haven’t even seen us play, you’ve only seen us run around the pitch! How do you know if we are worth coming back if you haven’t even seen us play?”
Clough: “I don’t need to see you play, because you don’t even look like a footballer.”

And with that, quick as a flash Clough was off back to his car. He had not even spoken to a single member of his coaching staff about how any of the boys had played.
It would be nice for my uncle to be able to say that this disillusioned him with the world of football so he simply quit the game forever, but that wouldn’t be true of course, he still had other opportunities and was obviously just not quite good enough. Something that the genius of Clough could obviously tell just by the look in his eyes.
Still, a nice little story, I hope you’ll agree.
A silly little story though and quite vaguely related to today’s fixture maybe, but hey, Whad’ya want from me?

Up the U’s.

Stanley Welcomes Careful Drivers

2011-04-18T08:00:00.017+01:00

Saturday, 16th April 2011

nPower League Two
Accrington Stanley 0 OUFC 0

So, once again the meeting of matter and anti-matter cancel each other out. Professor Brian Cox, sat in a conservatory behind the stand on Saturday in a radiation suit and sunglasses, was there to witness the expected cataclysm in the space-time continuum as two teams that should never have met on the field of play did battle for a second time this season.

Thankfully for all not interested in witnessing a meltdown in the very fabric of the universe, neither Accrington nor Oxford managed to find the net and thus remain in the permanent state of equilibrium with each other, and the galaxy is at peace. Two games played, two 0-0 draws. There is clearly no possible way either team can break this natural ordering of things, no goal will EVER be scored in these ties and Professor Cox will forever be denied his event horizon moment.

So anyway, this was one I was very much looking forward to all season - the trip to Accrington Stanley. It might just be the nostalgia of that Milk commercial from the 80's (If you are too young to remember this, that makes me want to cry). It might be the hype around the coincidence of our mirrored promotions/relegations to and from the football league in 1962 and 2006. Or it might simply be the intrigue of a team so oddly-named as 'Stanley'.

Eitherway, I was bang up for this one, and not even a twat of a gouty foot was going to stop me making the 470-mile round trip. It did try to though.

Those afflicted with gout will know that you need to drink plenty of fluid to stave off an attack. Well I did this, but the 3 litres of water I'd downed on the way up meant no less than 4 emergency stops on the hard shoulder of the M6 to relieve my over-filled bladder. Thankfully, no Juggernaut plowed into the back of my car during these stops and after 3.5 hours of travelling I was into the Northern Lancashire countryside and descending through the escarpment of the Pennines into the surprisingly pleasant town of Accrington.

Crown Ground Accrington: Nice.

I say surprisingly peasant as I have a dreadful preconception of all Lancashire/Yorkshire towns as being run-down places full of dreary black slate & sooty brick houses, abandoned textile mills and feral children with dirty faces running around with no shoes. This LS Lowry-esque preconception I somehow fail to get out of my head because I spent my entire childhood visiting Grandparents in Huddersfield and driving through the many run-down parts of that Town that there were in the 1980s. Bloody Thatcher, eh? Things have changed Oop North, sadly my addled and bigoted mind has not, I am ashamed to admit.

Mind you, there were some feral children with dirty faces and no shoes running around in the streets of the estate next to the ground.

The funny little stand: Brian Cox in a Conservatory behind.

The Crown Ground itself is a wonderfully rustic place. Reminiscent of Altrincham's ground, except with a more dilapidated corrugated-iron stand with only 3 rows of seats to the right of the away end. Before the home end opposite had even filled up, it was festooned with flags and banners and it seemed a very friendly place to visit. I liked the place.

They even had a goggle-eyed Mutt as a mascot, who cheerily gave the Oxford faithful the thumbs up throughout the verbal assault he sustained whilst making a visit to say hello to us. Good on him.

Goggle-Eyed Mutt: Friendly.

What I didn't like was the naughty red-faced groundsman, who peppered the away terraces with high-powered spray from his sprinkler system, then decided that the away fans taking umbrage with being totally soaked was totally outrageous behaviour and decided to have a row with some of them at the front for being so precious. Naughty man.

U's fans getting a soaking.

After wringing my soaked shirt dry and cursing the red-faced loon some more, I settled into my position behind the goal and looked forward to the game, along with what appeared to be extras from Deliverance stood behind me.

The game itself got better as time went on. You can see why Accrington have such a great home record, as they came at Oxford from the off and had a good few chances to take the game away from us before Oxford had even got into 2nd gear. Their fans, although helped by what seemed to be a full brass band, were in good voice and the atmosphere was a great example of what a small but vocal crowd can create in League Two.

Match Action! Wow!

The second half was much better for Oxford. We created a lot more space for ourselves, seemed to pass it about well and although still short on real guilt-edged chances, I thought we did enough to earn that point, despite a few nervy moments at the end. Special mention for Big Jimmy Sangare, who was a rock at the back, I thought and has taken his chance at slotting into the back four well.

Jedward were loving it.

Jedward: Big fans of OUFC

And so, 0-0 it was (and was surely always destined to be) and the long 4 hour drive back to London for me with the knowledge that any real chance of promotion this season is realistically behind Oxford now.

But things are not looking so bad for next season, I reckon. Let's just hope Accrington go up so we don't risk ending the universe again by playing each other for a third time.

The Big M40 Derby

2011-04-09T09:00:00.002+01:00

+++An article you can also read in today's Matchday Programme+++

Why come, Wanderers?

Wycombe Wanderers, our near-neighbours are in town this afternoon, that’s why. But they are not our rivals. Oh no. And we are not theirs. No, no no. We don’t care about each other’s fortunes at all, do we?

Well of course we do.

It’s one of those games we all look forward to, isn’t it? And yet we try to kid ourselves that we do not. Because we are not rivals. No, not in any way.

Well, actually yes, in many ways.

Today will be one of if not the biggest Oxford home crowd of the season, with a bumper home turn-out plus a 1,500+ following expected to journey up the M40 from Buckinghamshire.

But it’s just like any other game really. There’s nothing special to it, just because we happen to be close to each other, so what? There is no rivalry there.

What bunkum!

No it doesn’t ignite the same passions as the increasingly-more-likely visit next season of the web-fingered hordes of Wiltshire. Perhaps also victory this afternoon will never feel as good as would getting one over on a certain jumped-up little Berkshire side that seem to have had ideas above their station in the last decade.
But in the absence of these two, Wycombe will surely do as something to get excited about this season. If either team come away with 3 points today, you tell me it isn’t a rivalry when looking at the differing reactions of the two sets of fans. Even if in the cold, calculated light of day both sets may try to blag indifference, in the heated immediate aftermath of the contest, passions will assuredly be higher than if this were just any random League Two fixture.
If you were to go on proximity alone, Wycombe would win the rivals test hands down. It’s 23 miles from Oxford to Wycombe, and a very easy trip down the M40. Compare that to the distances to Swindon and Reading - 30 and 27 miles respectively, via quickest routes.

OK, so it’s not much fun trying to go via train to Wycombe. You’d need to go from Bicester North or into London and out again – if you are interested. But you are not, so that’s irrelevant.

But it’s not about proximity. Well, not just about proximity anyway. More often it’s about years of playing against each other at a similar level, and the built up tensions of that local derby over many, many seasons. That’s why we don’t like Swindon and Reading – we played them a hell of a lot in the 60s, 70s and 90s (We were a bit too busy winning championships and the league cup to bother with them for most of the 80s, of course).

In both sets of fan’s desire to try and play down any rivalry between Oxford and Wycombe, we often like to point to a lack of history between the two clubs. True enough, Wycombe only entered the football league back in 1993. Not least because of our recent exile to the non-league wastes from whence they came; our respective time together in the same divisions of the football league has been fleeting, in the scheme of things.
But for some of us in our 20s and 30s, matches against Wycombe have seemed as frequent as matches against Reading or Swindon. Certainly in the past 10 years since we moved to Grenoble Road, if they are anything to go by (which they are, after all) we’ve played Swindon only once and Reading only twice. Yet the Chairboys and The U’s have done battle 6 times.

So assuming we both continue to play each other regularly over the years, there is no reason why we can’t develop this rivalry into something we don’t try and brush under the carpet, but embrace it for what it really is. A team from nearby that we don’t really like, and who don’t really like us.

So here’s looking forward to a renewed grudging acquaintance next season, by whatever means that meeting can be arranged. An Oxford win today would be a good start.

I suggest getting a lift with someone though, next time we play at Wycombe. The trains are rubbish.

The Ghost of Gresty Road

2011-03-19T10:00:00.001Z

This article can also be found in today's matchday programme, all printed out and with a glossy picture behind it, no doubt.

This afternoon we welcome Crewe Alexandra, a side that have never visited our new stadium and in fact their last visit to Oxford was way back in October 1998, would you even believe.

So matches against The Railwaymen might well be unknown to most of the younger Oxford fans here today in their scuffed shoes, grazed knees and pockets full of sweeties, firecrackers, scrumped apples and catapults.

Yes, that’s what children are like these days, busy reading about Desperate Dan’s latest exploits and dreaming up all manner of beastly japes whilst blissfully unaware of the heady and frequent encounters with Crewe back in the distant 1990’s.

For some of the older fans though, and some of the ones that aren’t actually that old but still remember the 90’s (like me), matches against Crewe might stoke up some fond memories. Some not so fond memories perhaps too.

My first trip to Gresty Road was certainly of the latter variety, which came on 1st April 1995 and was also the first away game I travelled to without the accompaniment of a responsible adult. It turned out to be the last for a while too after myself and my two schoolmates got into all sorts of bother.

Firstly, one of us got collared at Birmingham Snowshill for travelling on a child’s train ticket when we were clearly not 13 anymore but burly, bumfluff-faced and croaky-throated 16 year olds. Being a bit younger-looking (and stealthier), myself and the third member of the expedition managed to avoid the attentions of the British Transport Police by moving swiftly and meekly – but the other chap got a stiff talking to, a fine and had his details taken so was effectively now a criminal (or so it appeared to our child-like minds at the time). Not an auspicious start to our travelling supporter careers.

After continuing the side-tracked journey to Crewe, we eventually arrived 3 hours before kick-off and failed to get served in a single alcoholic tavern, due to being bumfluff-faced, croaky-throated 16 year olds. So, we found ourselves entering the ground at 12.30pm and sunburnt and bored by kick-off. Then the match itself was cack, obviously, as we lost.

Not finished with us yet, April Fool’s Day 1995 decided it still had some more fun up it’s sleeve for the jaded adventurers when after being locked in the ground for 45mins after the game we missed our expected connection at Birmingham. Confused and angry with the world, we then got on the wrong train and ended up stranded in Leamington Spa with no more trains heading south for the night.

The last leg of the journey was done several hours later in the back of a particularly disgruntled parent’s car, having been called up to rescue us.

It certainly appeared that someone might have been playing me and my travelling companions for fools that day after all those shenanigans, and I vowed never to set foot near Crewe ever again.

Of course, I was back there the very following season, and very glad about it I was too. This is the one that instantly springs to most fans’ minds of course, being a glorious sunny day in late April 1996.

On this occasion, a second half goal from a certain Mr Beauchamp turned out to be the goal that sent Oxford into 2nd with 1 game remaining thanks also to Walsall concurrently destroying Blackpool’s day.

Oh how we celebrated on the way home, and the day was completed with many beers, full adult train tickets and getting on the correct trains every time.

The lesson had been learnt and the ghost of Gresty Road had been laid to rest, for this traveller at least.

Bragging Rights

2011-03-15T16:30:00.009Z

Here is an article you may also read in the excellent and award-winning Machday Programme for tonight's game against Stevenage.

Bragging Rights
By Fantastic Mr Ox

Tonight the two teams promoted last season into the Football League do battle again for the chance to say “we are better than what you are”, or bragging rights, as it’s often called these days.

Although obviously both clubs will still be hoping for a last-ditch push into the play-off spots in the final few months of the season, the real relevance of tonight’s game might turn out to be just to see how far each club has come in adapting to this first season at a higher level.

Last season, despite Oxford leading the pack early off, Stevenage probably did just about deserve to be champions come May, we can grudgingly accept through gritted teeth. They had a consistency in the ‘difficult middle-third’ of the season that we didn’t quite match and that first ever victory over us at their patch 12 months ago cemented their claim to being rightful champions – even if Luton did end up giving them a late scare.

But The Conference and The Football League are two very different beasts – winning the former does not necessarily mean adapting well to life in the latter. Indeed, looking back at previous seasons it’s often not the team that came up as champions, but the one that ascended via the more exciting play-off route that does well the following season.

In fact Stat Fans (and I know you are out there…), in the 7 seasons since play-offs were introduced between the FL and the Conference, only twice have the previous seasons’ Champions finished above the Play-Off winners*.

To make the fact even more interesting (no, honestly it IS possible!), on 3 of the other 5 occasions when the play-off winners finished higher, they really took the Mickey out of the champions by getting promoted straight up to League One (Doncaster in 2004, Carlisle in 2006 both as champions, and Exeter in 2009 in 2nd place).

So you see, it sets a precedent that I’d rather like to continue this season, although am sure our visitors from the wilds of Hertfordshire tonight would rather it didn’t.

As it stands, the outcome is rather delicately balanced. Pending the results of Saturday’s games (which I don’t know as the new programme editor has a very strict deadline I’m too scared to miss); we might be a few points above or below our opponents before the start of tonight’s match. Whichever it is, the result tonight will probably go a long way to deciding which club has adapted better to life at a higher level.

Stevenage have certainly gone full-tilt at trying to metamorphose from the plucky, giant-killing, non-league nearly men of the past decade into a plucky giant-killing football league side this season.

Aside from their very exciting escapades in the FA Cup, they also decided to change their name to fit in with the big boys, by dropped the Borough part of their club’s name.

Had they not done this, perhaps they wouldn’t have beaten Newcastle quite so convincingly, having a ring of a non-leagueness about them. Or perhaps the Newcastle team-coach wouldn’t have known where to turn up in the first place, as the administrative division of this area of Hertfordshire is certainly a less-specific location that is the town itself. Mind you, ‘Stevenage Town’ might have thus been a more specific Football League name – as ‘Stevenage’ might well be confused with an ethereal concept or idea rather than a tangible place.

Who knows, but Newcastle did find the ground and Stevenage did beat them, without the Borough or Town affix. So it’s clearly working, whatever the reason behind it.

All I know is, there is a lot more at stake tonight than three points. We all love to brag, after all.
*If you’re interested, it was 2004 when champions Chester finished 20th, one place above Shrewsbury and last season, when Burton finished 13th to Torquay’s 17th.

On Being a Fan...

2011-02-26T12:30:00.001Z

Here is an article you may also read in today's matchday programme v. Hereford.
On Being a Fan...Football fans are funny creatures. It takes a certain slightly-odd mindset to be one.
I’m not talking about the people that turn up to the pub on a Sunday afternoon in ‘their’ Premiership team’s current replica shirt, have some mild banter with like-minded people in other team’s shirts as they watch their teams battle it out for Premiership seniority on Sky.
No, I don’t mean these kind of people. It’s very easy to be this kind of person. All it takes after all is a trip to JJB Sports, £50 for the shirt and perhaps a lobotomy. These Shirt-wearing, TV-watching, “I’ve never been north of Birmingham but my heart is at Old Trafford” types are not football fans in my eyes. The terminology I use for them is ‘watchers’ of the game.

A real football fan – or supporter, or follower or whatever you wish to call yourself – is someone who has a team they love, normally for a reason other than “they are quite good” or “I like the way they play”, and as often as they are able to they actually go and watch them play. You know, pay money and walk through one of those turnstile thingummies and actually sit in the ground. Someone like you and me (assuming you are reading this at the game and haven’t picked up this programme in a jumble sale in a few years time that is. If you have, you have probably got yourself a real bargain – nice one).
Now, what makes us do this, I don’t know. For all the distaste I sometimes feel for the glory-hunters, you have to admit that to an outsider, it makes a lot more sense to be sat at home watching it on your sofa, or in a nice warm pub with a frothing lager in your hand, and to be supporting a team that wins the trophies every season.

So what is it that makes thousands of people still stream through the turnstiles every week here to watch Fourth-tier football? Surely the easiest solution to frequently being guffawed at by the ignorant Premiership fans in the pub is to get down to JJB, get that replica shirt and join them in their title-winning revelries.

What an easy retort it would be to the Man Utd fan boasting about how great their team are to say “Well actually, I have just decided I support Spain, who are better than Man Utd and current World Champions. I have based this decision on nothing more than that they are really good, and retain the right to change my mind if they start being rubbish again and support someone else. So ner ner nah ner ner!”

But we don’t do that, do we? Instead most of us come back week after week, regardless of how good or bad Oxford results have been, regardless of who Oxford are playing, regardless even of what division or standard of football Oxford are playing in.

That kind of loyalty is of course a wonderful thing – but it is you must admit, also an odd thing. At times it’s also a loyalty that keeps you going to watch them when you’ve not even enjoying the experience.
Although in recent years we have certainly been right-royally entertained by our current crop of stars, I don’t need to tell anyone who has been coming for years that the majority of the last decade has been less than value-for-money entertainment.
I lost count of how many Saturday mornings I spent less in anticipation of an exciting afternoon of football, but more in grudging acceptance that I simply had to go up and watch them play crap football out of ‘duty’. Many a day I left a nice warm bed and passed up the chance to do something else that afternoon that might not have put me in a foul mood or left me shivering on a cold terrace and contracting food poisoning from a manky burger.

FMO: “Oh god, is it Saturday morning already? Christ I’ve got to go up the Manor and watch David Kemp try to assemble something resembling a football team again.”
Girlfriend: “Why do you do it if you don’t enjoy it? Why don’t you just stay here? I’ll make you breakfast in bed, then we can go to the cinema, have a nice meal, a few drinks, it’ll be lovely.”
FMO: “Nah. I’ve got to go. I’d feel like I should be somewhere else all day if I don’t.”
Girlfriend: “Please yourself. But if you go I won’t be here when you get back.”
FMO: “Sorry I didn’t catch that – I’m gonna miss my train. Talk later. Yellows!”
Ex-Girlfriend: “What a mental.”

That’s the mentality of the real football fan and as I say, it is slightly odd and those that don’t subscribe to our strange passion often wonder why we do it.

Well, we all know why, don’t we? The feeling of belonging to something, being a part of a group, is of course a very strong bond. The camaraderie between others around you that you see every week but wouldn’t probably have even considered socialising with were it not for your mutual love of Oxford. The shared experience of the many, many, (way too many) disappointments makes the elation felt and shared in the highs all the more enjoyable. A passing fan could not enjoy the promotion party at Wembley as much as we did because they never felt the lows of all the Tonbridge Angels and Droylsdens.
Quite simply – the glory-hunters would never understand nor be able to appreciate the joy of supporting a team like Oxford on anything like as many levels as we can as regulars through the turnstiles.

That’s right – this is deep intellectual stuff right here. Feel good about it.
And up those U’s!

The Boroughers

2011-02-16T08:28:00.076Z

Tuesday, 15th February 2011.
nPower League Two
Stevenage (not Borough) 0 OUFC 0

Why does it always fucking rain when we play at Stevenage? Last night was my 5th visit to Broadhall Way and other than an August Bank Holiday visit back in 2007, I remember vividly getting pissed on to and from every game.

Another thing that always seems to happen is that we fail to win. Sadly this means that should we have the misfortune to find ourselves in the same division as this charlatan non-league outfit again next season, I'll probably have to get wet again in the vain hope we'll beat them on their soggy, muddy patch.

For me, the trip to Stevenage on a Tuesday night is not a difficult one - my normal train home from work arriving at St Pancras in good time to hop over to adjacent Kings Cross and get the packed commuter train North from there - first stop Stevenage just 20mins later.

The problem with arriving at Stevenage by train though is that the ground is just under 2 miles away and a pig of a walk along the new-town's many roundabout underpasses and long, boring conecting roads with nothing but retail parks for the view. The concrete structures around the train station and pedestrianised shopping areas of Stevenage remind you of what they thought the near-future would look like in 1970s sci-fi films. Only a bit run-down and grubby. If you've seen 'Conquest of the Planet of the Apes', you'll know what I mean.

One of my very best friends used to live in Stevenage and always used to go on about how good a place it is to live because of it's connections to London. I'd agree with him- the best thing about Stevenage is that it's easy to get the fuck away from the place quickly once you are at the station. The trouble is getting to and from the station though amidst a concrete nightmare of the town centre.

Stevenage: Is it just me or does it look like an airport?

See, I'm too mean to get a taxi, and too aloof to share a bus with locals. so I walked in the rain to the ground. I wish I'd just found a taxi by the time the drizzle had taken it's toll on my inappropriate rainwear, when i stopped half-way for a warming apple pie in one of the ubiquitous McDonald's (the third one I'd walked past).

It didn't warm me or my soggy jeans up, but it certainly did scorch the inside of my mouth. I'd have complained but they did clearly warn me about the potential molten contents on the packaging. Lesson learnt.

So I rejoined the drizzle and found my way to the miserably tin-pot 'Lamex Stadium' of Stevenage FC. Yes, that's right - they appear to have had a name-makeover since being (incorrectly in my view) admitted to the Football League this season.

Apparently the dropping of the 'Borough' was an attempt to make the club look a bit less non-league with all the mickey-mouse connotations that the affix is thought to have in people's mind. If they really want to try and impress us though with affected Football League credentials, they could move Stevenage to a real town rather than one built 30 years ago and not have a drummer as the only noise coming out of their home end. Plus it's a bit half-hearted to still have 'Boro' as their official nickname. Why not pick something apt like the "Contretists" or "Roundabouters" ?

Pre-Match Huddle

I'm procrastinating a bit as the game itself wasn't really much to write home about. It looked as though it might be, with both sides rattling the woodwork within the first 4 minutes - but there wasn't really much else to write home about for the remainder of the game, save for a second rattle of the post by Craddock and an unnervingly physical game that at times Oxford seemed to struggle with from a typical niggly Stevenage side.

2nd half especially, Oxford looked a bit short of ideas - although we did have a few good chances late in the game when we pressured the goal at the end that we were sat in. Here are a few low-grade action shots of that period of pressure.

Not very good are they? Well, neither was the game, so it's giving you a fair reflection. Still, positives are it was another decent clean sheet, and 4 points from the week is a good haul against two sides also still very much 'in the mix'.

So, another 90mins at Stevenage and another draw there, our 4th in 5 visits. Now it was time to get back to the station. I decided I could do with some exercise, plus it was no longer raining so I bust a gut to get the earlier train back to the Big Smoke. I made it with seconds to spare, to find out the bastard was delayed. OK, only by 4 minutes, but I was still annoyed after all that running that I might have been able to take a breather.

Made some new friends on the platform who were excited about something or other and having some exuberant pictures of themselves taken before getting their train to London. Perhaps they were celebrating how easy it was to get out of Stevenage. Good on them.

Girls Leaving Stevenage: Excited.

Millers Crossing

2011-02-14T07:31:00.007Z

Saturday, 12th February 2011.
nPower League Two
OUFC 2 Rotherham United 1

The U's are going up! The U's are going up! And now you're gonna believe us...etc., etc.

You start thinking it might actually be our year when things start dropping in our favour. Yes we battered Rotherham at times in that 2nd half, but we might have even ended up coming away with nothing thanks to an annoyingly fine display from a 70-year old man in the Rotherham goal and the inability of Le Fondre to put away a gilt-edged chance with minutes to spare.

You could point to bad luck in that we should have been coasting with 20mins to go, especially after the two one-on-ones that Beano failed to finish from. But it was beginning to look like 'one of those days' as shot after shot was either squandered or turned wide by the liver-spotted hand of Andy Warrington. Some of his reaction saves in that second half were first class in fact, and as great an advert for the beneficial affects of Cod Liver Oil pills as you are likely to find.

The Rotherham keeper claims another loose ball

So well was the old-timer playing in fact that it looked like he'd kept out MacLean's penalty with another fine reaction save. Luckily, the luck was with the lucky boys, and as he seemed to explain to Big Steve whilst waiting for a corner delivery shortly afterwards, the ball caught him on the inside of his wrist. Bad luck old feller, good luck Oxford. 2-1.
Anyway I've babbled too much about the actual game - I'm sure most people reading this are more interested in what I got up to before and after the game, aren't you?

Well I'm going to tell you anyway.

No drive up the M40 this week as I'd spent Friday night at the in-laws in Reading, so it was a relaxing country drive up the A4074 instead. I love that road. I used to do it every day for a number of years when I lived in Oxford and worked in Henley and still know the position of every bend and pot-hole on the stretch between Nuneham Courtney and Crowmarsh Gifford. One of the potholes near Benson has got a little bigger in the past few years though, so my efforts to drive round it by memory alone without reducing my speed saw me slam my front wheels in to the corner of the hole and nearly lose control and end up in an adjacent field. Luckily, the luck was smiling on the lucky today, as already established. So instead I just soiled myself slightly and decided to be a bit more careful, and perhaps stop for some wet-wipes at the next garage.

After my normal pre-match pint in the Blackbird, I took leave of my senses and didn't go to Branos for a spicy chicken burger. For some reason, I decided to go elsewhere. It might have been that I just felt like a change. It might have been that it seemed like too much effort to walk out of my way on this occasion. Or it might have been the fact that at the last game I seemed to contract a mild dose of food poisoning (which might or might not have been down to the spicy chicken burger, my legal advisors have asked me to point out) and I didn't fancy an afternoon on the toilets in the Kassam.

So I thought I'd play it safe and check out the fishcakes on offer at the Fish & Chip shop. I'm afraid the fishcake wasn't as good as the one from Gillingham last weekend, and my request to have extra vinegar on the chips seemed to have been taken that I would like to eat a vinegar soup with chip croutons.

I'll be honest - these establishments are never going to get into the Egon Ronay guides unless they listen more attentively to their customers.

Fishcake & Chips: Vinegary.

My heart screaming at me to cease digesting the acidic broth, I eventually stumbled down to the ground and into another exciting footballing adventure.

Once again, the excitement was mostly in the last 20mins and consisted yet again of Oxford failing to do it the easy way and keeping us with squeaky bums right up until the final whistle - but we did it again, another 3 points and a great performance.

I hate to focus too much on the game itself when there is so much fast-food based content to spew out at you, but I must tell you that I am very excited about the new lad Hackney. Looked a touch of class when he came on, terrorised their back line with his pace and could be a very effective impact partnership with Potter, especially if brought on together for the last 30 minutes.

Still early days and of course Wilder will be judged on the end of season rather than mid-Feb position, but how many people at the moment look as though they might be eating their words about the players he's let go compared to what he's brought in to replace them?

It's looking pretty good right now, don't you think?

Gillingham Taylforth

2011-02-07T08:16:00.005Z

Saturday, 5th February 2011.
nPower League Two

Gillingham 0 OUFC 0

Bah, what a bore-draw that was! I didn't really enjoy this one - thought both sides were pretty mediocre to be honest and no amount of "but it is a good point away from home"-ing from other fans can change my mind on this. We were average, they were average, the point was earned through attrition and lack of adventure. There, that's that said.

Getting down to Gillingham was a doddle for me. As I go through North Kent everyday on the train to and from work, I simply had to hop on the HighSpeed line from St Pancras and pay an extra £5 from Ebbsfleet to get me to the wonders of Gillingham.

My, my - what a delightfully shit town this is. A lot of people from the South of England probably have a conception as the North of our wonderful country to be 'run-down' and have the most crappy towns. A quick trip to Gillingham may have you thinking again.

The word 'bleak' might well have been invented to describe Gillingham.* I know Oxford have their fair share of Chavs on show at every away day, but this little enclave of North Kent seemed to have been broadcasting a trance-inducing Pikey-signal, drawing them in from all around to mope about aimlessly on the streets like a scene from Dawn of the Dead.

The Rt. Hon MP for Gillingham North

Every fake burberry-capped, spotty, tracksuit-wearing oaf and every WKD-swigging teenage mother with scraped-back peroxide hair seem to have congregated in Gillingham on Saturday to hang about outside the dodgy fried chicken outlets and no doubt sniff some glue, or whatever it is the displaced yoofs of today get up to (To be honest my cultural references to these wasted generations hasn't really been updated since 1980s Grange Hill).

I might be being unfair to Gillingham - it might have it's nice points. Just I didn't notice them on my visit. I did meet a friendly Oxford face on the train down though, and joined him and a few other Yellows for a few pre-match pints in a pub opposite the station - typically dingy but quite a welcoming watering hole to be fair. It might well be a run-down town, but I will admit that it wasn't an unfriendly place.

Although if any of the residents read this blog they may be waiting for me with pitchforks and torches next time we play there.

Oooh, Sauce!

I ended up getting a little drunk before the game and in need of spicy-burger refreshment to sober up somewhat. Sadly, there is no Branos in Gillingham and I didn't like the look of Kent Fried Chicken in town.

So instead I followed my nose to the ground and found a well-placed Turkish-run place and ordered a fishcake and chips. I also took some rather arty shots of the inside of the takeaway, that I think highlights to you just how pissed I was.

Fishcake-Dispensing Action!

I can however heartily recommend their fishcakes, next time you happen to be in the area. Very well-fried.

The entrance for away fans to Gillingham's ground is an odd one, with away turnstiles placed at the dead-end of a residential cul-de-sac of mostly run-down terrace housing.

Mind you, if I lived there, I might not bother to do up the front of my house too much, considering the heavy footfall of away fans each season that might enjoy relieving themselves in my front garden or chucking their rubbish at my windows.

That said, I doubt very much if I'd ever find myself living there in the first place, actually.

Away Turnstiles, Gillingham

Inside the ground, the temporary away seating held together with precarious-looking scaffolding was still there from my previous visit in 2005. I had assumed at the time it was temporary, at least. Seeing as how it's Six years later and still there though, I'd say it has a feeling of permanence about it. Although, it felt at any moment as though that permanency would soon be tested when the Oxford fans at the back started doing the 'Jump up if you love Oxford' song.

The view under my seat. Terrifying.

Mind you, at least the threat of almost perishing amidst a collapsing jungle of scaffolding made the 90mins interesting. As it was, the most interesting bit of the day was that fishcake.

Here are a couple more pictures of Priestfield Road - I don't have much else to say, as it was a fairly uneventful journey home.

Priestfield Road: Gillingham.

Oh, there was also the bloke that threatened to smack my head in because I took a picture of a placard in the back seat of his car that read "My Fucking Brother". Quite a funny story actually.

My Fucking Brother: "I just had to tell people, Bro".

*It wasn't though.

I Can't Think of a Pun on 'Cheltenham'

2011-01-31T08:01:00.001Z

Saturday, 29th January 2011.
nPower League Two
OUFC 1 Cheltenham Town 1

Well, that was alright, wasn't it?

No victory to crow about this morning and honours even over the two legs of the first 'Cotswolds Derby' season in 5 years. But another great team performance and things are looking tasty for the remainder of the season.

Another late start for myself for this one, only leaving London at noon for the drive up the M40. I've started to enjoy that drive of late, which I'm sure is in no small part thanks to our recent form on the pitch. It's a great feeling getting into the car and driving out of central London on a Saturday, towards the open green spaces of the shires. I always do a little "yaaay!" to myself whenever I go through Stokenchurch Gap and Oxfordshire opens up in front of me - such a wonderful presentation of our beloved county to the eyes. I also now know the position of every speed camera, every bend in the road and every traffic bottleneck between Tottenham Court Road and Blackbird Leys. Which is handy.

Stokenchurch Gap: Majestic Gateway

For those of you logging my spicy chicken burger pursuits (and I know some of you are), yes I can re-assure you that Branos did receive my custom before the game, and they seem to be back on their game after our little falling out early this season. Perhaps they have read this blog and cleaned up their customer service act a little as a result. A fine delectable pre-match spicy treat, delivered with a smile. Well done.

I like to get into the ground a little earlier these days, especially as I'm usually driving so can't cram pints in until 2.50pm in the Blackbird, so I was in my seat a good 30 minutes before kick off. I was thus witness to the sight of two dozen scantily-clad teenage girls prancing around in the centre circle as we were treated to a routine from Oxford Brookes' cheerleading squad.

Now, I'm not one to balk at the idea of a little pre-match entertainment, especially of the jiggling young bodies kind, but there is something about this Americanisation of pre-match entertainment that just doesn't work on a cold, grey day in England. I've been to many sporting venues in the States and Cheerleading is very much a welcome part of the furniture there - but it just seems slightly ridiculous at a League Two game of football, as echoes of 'get your tits out for the lads' ring around the ground, nearly drowning out the Britney Spears soundtrack.

Cheerleaders: It didn't look like this.

It's also a sign of my age that rather than join in the chant, I was tutting at the length of their skirts and thinking "They'll catch an awful chill in this weather."

Anyway, the game itself was a frustrating affair given our dominance for much of the 90mins, but I left the ground in rather high spirits, all things considered. It's easy to think of it as two points dropped rather than 1 gained, but you can't win every game and frankly if we continue to play such beautiful attacking football as that we will not drop too many more points this season.

My only concern is the leakiness at the back. Defending at set pieces and general sloppiness at times has meant we are conceding far too easily despite dominating matches. Someone said to me before the game on Saturday that they don't care how many goals we leak if we go and score at the other end - that they'd rather we played like Keegan's Newcastle and win every game 4-3.

Trouble is, Keegan's Newcastle didn't actually win anything. And although we are scoring goals, we are not putting away enough chances to score 3 or 4 in a game, so these defensive frailties are a slight concern. If we are serious about going up this year, we'll still need to grind out a few 1-0 victories along the way, and learn how to keep clean sheets.

Still, I don't want to sound all pessimistic as the performances of late have actually been top class on the whole and we should be very proud of the squad Wilder has now put together - it's working. His tinkering has seemed worth it, after all.

It IS working. And that is a very good thing indeed.

Cheltenham Nearly Man

2011-01-28T08:10:00.006Z

Tomorrow afternoon we take on Cheltenham Town in "The Cotswolds Derby" (as this fixture has been christened by the media in the past, despite not really being a derby and Oxford not being in the Cotswolds).

This is a fixture that although reasonably local, may not feel that much of a derby for most amongst the two sets of fans. For me though, it’s one that always pricks my interest – for I have a now long-distant association with the town of Cheltenham.

It could have been oh so different for me, tomorrow. But for a twist of fate I might have been amongst the away fans, you see. A very tenuous twist of fate perhaps, but nonetheless I’ll expand and waffle for a few paragraphs, as you have come to expect…

Whaddon Road with my Cotswold homelands behind.

Had I become a Cheltenham fan, I wouldn’t have seen the agony of relegation after relegation, as my side tumbled and stumbled from the top flight to non-league in the space of 18 years. Instead I would have seen my side promoted from Southern League obscurity in 1997, before finding a way into the Football League only five years later.

Instead of watching Oxford in our non-league low ebb, I’d have been excited by a Cheltenham team playing at their highest (to date) pinnacle – even reaching the dizzy heights of League One.

I wouldn’t have been amongst 33,000 ecstatic Yellows at Wembley last May, but I’d have been at the Millennium Stadium in May 2006, watching Cheltenham reach that vertigous League One height just a few weeks after a team in yellow down the road that I didn’t really give a monkey’s about had dropped out of the football league.

The reason this might have happened is that I grew up in the Cotswolds town of Moreton-in-Marsh, a mere 22 miles from Whaddon Road. In those early-teen years before I discovered the joys of the London Road, the young FMO was a regular visitor to Cheltenham, the nearest decent-sized town to my home.

Badlands Cheltenham: Music on Sale Here.

In the summer I would regularly catch the Pulham’s bus to Cheltenham and go shopping in Badlands Record shop for the latest grunge & death metal releases, before hanging out in the park opposite Whaddon Road, chatting about Kurt Cobain with similarly disaffected youths. It seemed such an adventure for a 14 year old boy to be off gallivanting in another town and I have very fond memories of lazy Saturday afternoons spent wandering around Cheltenham’s town centre.

Regent Arcade: Cheltenham: Exciting

I even went on my first ever proper date in Cheltenham, where I treated Becky Cother to a coke float in PizzaLand, before a Graham Gooch book-signing event in the Regent shopping arcade caught my eye. I later wondered if this particular Cheltenham adventure had some part in why that particular relationship didn’t work out.

Back then, despite liking football, the thought of spending an afternoon watching non-league dross was far from being on my ‘to do’ list. I’d never even noticed that the club existed to be honest – so ignorant were my young, innocent eyes to anything other than the Football League and the fledgling Premiership.

So despite my very fond attachment to the town of Cheltenham, it was east and to the city of Oxford that I eventually drifted – for some League football, no less. I was taken to The Manor Ground by a friend’s father one eventful afternoon in Jan 1994 and I haven’t looked back since - I was hooked.

Rarely did I ever even venture to Cheltenham again in fact, until our paths crossed on the football pitch many years later of course. For every Saturday from then was pretty much spent heading up the Manor Ground to watch Oxford with a couple of school friends.

How different things might have been had I had a friend who’s Dad watched Cheltenham, rather than Oxford, perhaps? Or if I’d been just a few years younger, and had caught the buzz around the town during Cheltenham’s rise to the Football League? If it’d been 2006 rather than 1996 when I was gallivanting around Cheltenham, Oxford would have been the non-league club and Cheltenham the nearest ‘decent’ team.

I would almost certainly have gone along to Whaddon Road were that the case. Perhaps it wouldn’t have instilled the same excitement in me that the London Road did all those years ago, but things would certainly have been different and I doubt I’d have ever found my way to Oxford subsequently.

These might be rather tenuous (and, well, frankly a little farcical) ‘what ifs’ – but nonetheless the scenario did make me think how different my life might have been had I taken the A429 rather than the good old A44.

My whole centre of gravity would have shifted westwards – I never would have lived in Oxford, nor gone to university here, and probably today I’d be living in Bristol rather than London. I’d never have met my wife, as I’d have no reason to be in her home-town of Reading, where I lived for a time in order to easily get back to Oxford for games. I’d probably have pickled my liver on scrumpy cider, too.

I’m sure there are some lovely people that I’d have got to know supporting Cheltenham, but I’d never have come to know all the brilliant people I know through supporting Oxford over all these years, either.

Worst of all though, I’d have been happily chanting ‘Come on you Robins’ tomorrow afternoon whilst wearing a red scarf around my neck. The whole thing makes me shudder.
Thank heavens for fate, and Up those Yellows!

Djoumin to do that?

2011-01-18T11:23:00.001Z

Djoumin Sangare: Instant Legend.

Our new signing Djoumin 'Jimmy' Sangare looks like he has the potential to become one of those players that will go down in U's folklore for being a bit of a character.

He signing has generated a lot of excitement and speculation, something that adds further to his folk hero potential. He was a living legend at York City and even has his own Djoumin Sangare Appreciation Society page on Facebook.

There is also a video compilation of his finest moments on you tube here. It's quite an impressive selection, although it might be noted that the poster of the video, a certain 'MrDjoumin', might have had a motive behind making sure the video showed him in the most favourable of lights. That there might also be another potential video out there showing him getting constantly nutmegged, falling over and scoring spectacular own goals should also be a consideration before we fall in love with the man!

I'm already enjoying his yellow player interviews this week though. He's a Muslim, so he told us in his first interview. It may seem an irrelevant comment, but I like to know the religious persuasions of the players.

That Jimmy feels the need to tell us of his dedication to Islam as a way of introduction tells me he is a committed individual that will always give his all to the cause, you see. Very good too.

Is Tonkin a Methodist? Perhaps Sammy Deering is a Mormon? How has Beano learnt to kept his cool so well of late? Meditative Buddhism? Who knows? I wish I did.

You can tell a lot about a player from his religious persuasion. Certainly, we have had quite a few 7th Day Adventists play for us over the years, considering their unwillingness to do anything on a Saturday.

Anyway, back to Jimmy. I was also happy to hear he already knew quite a few of the other players - Purkiss of course whilst recently at York; Damien Batt when they were at St Albans together a few years back. But more importantly he played alongside Ryan Clarke at Salisbury - and it's important that a centre-back forms a good relationship with his keeper.

Thankfully, Clarke and Sangare need no introductions to each other, it seems.

Bantam Wait

2011-01-17T09:51:00.000Z

Saturday, 15th January 2011

nPower League Two

OUFC 2 Bradford City 1

The last time Oxford played Bradford at home was in December 1998, when we were both in the 2nd tier of English Football. They beat us on that occasion, 1-0. They also ended up finishing 2nd and being promoted to the Premiership that season, whilst we went in the other direction in what would become the eventual decline out of the football league for our recent wilderness years.

Hard to believe then that the Bradford team going up to the Premiership would pretty soon after find themselves following a similar spiral to us so that we met again this weekend in the basement tier of the Football League. The difference being after the drop out of the League, most Oxford fans are surely pretty grateful to be here. For Bradford fans though I'm sure most are still coming to terms with their rapid decline that finds them where they are.

As one old pundit might have said whilst scratching his bulging balls at half-time during the Milk Cup final, "Funny old game, isn't it?"

I'd been looking forward to this game for a few days. It had a big game feel about it, being the two best supported sides in League Two, currently. I was excited. After promising myself never to have a Branos spicy burger again, I even thought "what the hey" and went and got one of the zingy treats for the walk down to the stadium. I got garlic mayonnaise all over my pigging coat in the process. Nadgers. Then I bit into a jalapeno and it's searing pickled heaty liquid splashed into my eye. Double Nadgers. It was going to be one of those days I thought.

And it so nearly was. How many of us thought it just wasn't our day as the 70minute mark passed and chance after chance was put wide, tipped over the bar or inexplicably blocked on the goal-line in a manner that seemed to defy the laws of physics?

True, it was a ridiculous goal to concede early on to a mediocre and unadventurous Bradford side. From then on in though, there was only one team in it. If there is a single Bradford player, fan or official that genuinely thinks they deserved even a point out of that game, they need to be sectioned immediately. They wouldn't be looking at the game through rose-tinted glasses - they would be 100ft lead-lined, sound-proofed screens they would be standing behind to come to that conclusion.

In the post match interview, Chris Wilder made mention of the "55 chances" we had on the day. The fact of the matter is, it really didn't feel as though it was that far off this figure. We were amazing. Every player out there was amazing. Six wins from Seven. 1 point off the play-offs. 6 from automatic spots.

We can do this, you know.

We really can.

I'm excited.

Return of The Macc

2010-12-29T08:08:00.001Z

Tuesday, 28th December 2010
nPower League Two
OUFC 2 Macc Lads 1

Foggy, wasn't it?

I must admit, the way the pea-souper was descending just before half-time, I nearly had a gentlemen's bet with those around me in the East Stand that the match would not last 90 mins. Then I realised that I wasn't really an expert in localised meteorological predictions. Plus there were no gentlemen anywhere near me.

After no less than five full Earth-weeks since I last saw Oxford play, it was certainly a rousing performance to warm the cockles after those freezing few weeks, despite the ghostly presence of the fog.

I started the day in snowless, fogless Reading at the in-laws after an extended few days of engorging myself. After setting out on Boxing Day for the aborted trip to Stevenage, I returned whence I'd came for another day of eating Christmas leftovers.

After Roast Turkey, Cold Turkey, Turkey Salad, Turkey Sandwiches, Curried Turkey and Turkey Soup, I felt an urgent need to sample a manky grot-burger at the football instead.

Even the Turkey had had enough of eating turkey: Here he tries to make a quick getaway.

Sadly for those awaiting news of my latest run-in with Branos staff, I wasn't to make it there for a spicy chicken burger this time out - a new-found aversion to all things poultry put paid to that. So to the McDonalds on the Oxford Road at Benson it was for my first non-Turkey treat of the festive season. Nothing very interesting happened there, but it is an actual fact.

Arrived soon after in Oxford and popped into a very busy Blackbird for a swift pre-match pint; the place was heaving and the spirits were high. Which is a good thing too as any lower and the children might have reached the whisky.

The coming fog had been forewarned to us whilst we supped our mulled fosters - it was bumper to bumper on the M40 due to the reduced visibility and if it moved towards the City the game might be in peril. It seemed unlikely, given it was quite clear and rather mild outside.

The game started then with no serious concerns about fog. The First-half was played at a high-tempo and we knew it was going to be quite a physical affair early when one of the gigantic Macclesfield full-backs up-ended Constable maliciously down by the touchline.
We were clearly causing the bully-boys of Macc problems though and stamped our authority on the game with a very well-worked opener from the magnificent Heslop.

The spectre of abandonment soon became quite evident as the first half progressed though. Not normally one to panic or fear the worst, I was panicking and fearing the worst. My next-door neighbour eased my worries. "Look, you can clearly still see the Vue cinema behind the goal."

He was right. There was hardly going to be a problem of the game being called off if we could still see the Vue Cinema from the East Stand.

Five minutes later, you couldn't see the Vue cinema from the East Stand anymore.

Suddenly I wasn't the only one wondering if we might see our first abandoned game at the Kassam. People were asking each other how many minutes would need to be played for the result to stand? (I believe it is 79 minutes, but someone may be able to confirm or deny that).

The fog was rolling in fast and a half-time plea by Rosie for the East Stand to blow the fog away was taken seriously by some of the children, I noticed. The silly child-fools only seemed to be adding to the problem though, as their warm exhales of breath added to the foggy smoke of the early evening. Bloody idiots.

As the second half recommenced, the Macclesfield players took the field and their imposing back-line emerged from the fog renewed and desperate to stamp their ghastly menace back into the game. Despite this our persistence paid off and a lovely run from young Mr Potter was eventually finished off by Mr Constable and it seemed like the Macc brutes were sure to disappear back into the fog, whence they came.

Macclesfield emerging from the fog: Menacing.

Yet despite this, the hordes continued to terrorise and a dodgy late goal led to a nervy last 10 minutes (can we ever, EVER do it the easy way?!), but we dang well held on as the fog finally seemed to lift on the final whistle, as did our spirits as we march on up the table to the dizzy heights of 11th.

After the 2nd half horror-show at Moss Rose in October, do I think we deserved to hang on for a win after going 2-0 up in the Return of the Macc?

Yes I do. Yes I do, do, do.

In Pursuit of the Perfect Boxing Day

2010-12-24T08:00:00.000Z

Jingle Balls.

Ahh, Christmas time! Mistletoe & wine! Children singing Christian rhymes…

Doesn’t it make you feel all warm inside, thinking about all those lovely Christmas things? Actually though, I don’t know about the children singing Christian rhymes - certainly hearing local youths rapping about Jesus isn’t something I’ve really seen this Christmas or any.

Perhaps Cliff meant Christian carols? But then that wouldn’t fit with the song, would it? Unless it went “Christmas carols, mistletoe and barrels” perhaps. But then that just sounds odd.

Anyway, I digress.

Once I’ve listened to a bit of Cliff, what Christmas really means for me is a long, exciting build up to the big day itself.

And no, I don’t mean Christmas Day – I mean the day after that, for the big Boxing Day Oxford game. When we all forget about stuffing our faces, trying not to swear in front of granny and pretending to be happy with the nice reindeer jumper she’s knitted for us.

Indeed Boxing Day for most people reading this programme is likely to be the day when we put on our bobble hats and scarves (and maybe even Granny’s jumper, if it’s very cold) and head out for a few hours to the most anticipated game of the year.

It’s always one of the first fixtures you look at when the list comes out in the summer. It’s the only one you really, really want to be a home game. There’s nothing quite like a Boxing Day home game, after all.

A quick poke of the head into your regular drinking hole before the game, merry Christmases all round and everyone there with all the family in tow. Old faces you haven’t seen all season, all then making their merry way to Grenoble Road, perhaps with a festive bag of chips, and a few larks throwing snowballs at your friends.

You take your seat; you’ve warmed up with a nice cup of Bovril and get ready to cheer on the Yellows in front of a packed, full-capacity stadium. After the game and a resounding victory for The U’s perhaps back to that drinking hole again for a few more winter warmers – after all, there are at least another two or three days left before having to think about going back to work! So ends the perfect Boxing Day and Christmas are complete.

Sadly, this perfect Dickensian rosy picture of how I love the day-after-Christmas to pan out hasn’t quite worked out for the last few seasons. In fact you have to go back to 2007 since we last had a home Boxing Day game.

Last year, the game was postponed of course due to the weather. I’d already driven up by the time I found out so it was a disappointed trip to the pub with other aggrieved faces before a last minute decision to take in Didcot v. Oxford City instead on the way back home. It was a good game in truth (4-4 if you are interested. You’re not you say? Oh), but hardly made up for the Boxing Day experience I was expecting.

A Sorry Sight.

The year before that, 2008 brought a miserable trip to a windy field on the outskirts of Salisbury to what is surely the most disappointing place to hold a Boxing Day game of football.

Too far from the City centre to use it as a base, the nearest pub a 45mins walk away down a busy road with no pavement, so either up to the ankles in boggy mud or running the risk of getting a festive smack by a car.

To top that off, away fans not allowed into the supporters’ bar on the day. In fact, I think I remember being told there wasn’t a supporters’ bar by the very helpful stewards. So having turned up at the giddy hour of 12pm expecting some great pre-match Boxing Day atmosphere in a nearby country pub, I instead sat in my car for two hours, before another two hours queuing for a mediocre burger amongst other hungry, cold and disappointed travelling Oxford. Then we lost the match and Sam Deering had his leg broken by a dastardly rogue. I also got lost on the way home and my sat-nav directed me into the middle of a field somewhere in the wilds of Wiltshire. This wasn’t a good Boxing Day. The only good thing about it was that it marked the first game in the hot seat for a certain Mr Wilder.

So this year, it was a bit disappointing to again know there was to be no home Boxing Day game. Stevenage away isn’t quite the festive treat it might otherwise have been.

Orange Balls, Please.

In fact, as I write this, the weather is still touch and go and may still scupper the game anyway, and after already seeing the pre-Festive game on the 18th against Shrewsbury postponed due to Jack Frost being a mischievous little tyke – in my mind, Christmas is almost ruined.

Almost though, but not entirely because of the game against Macclesfield on the 28th (which WILL go ahead. Yes, it will. Bright sunshine all over Oxford today, mark my words).

December 28th should thus be treated as the REAL Boxing Day by all Oxford fans - I urge you all to treat it as such and have a right rollicking good knees up in front of a decent crowd.

Just write off the two days inbetween – if you are anything like me you’ll have pretty much done so anyway, sleeping off that turkey for the past 48 hours and sticking my fingers in my ears and pretending I don’t have to go to work on the 29th.

I’m sure my boss will understand…

No Football

2010-12-22T07:12:00.005Z

Ok, this is getting ridiculous now. It's now a whole calendar month since I attended an Oxford United game.

It just doesn't feel right. Assuming the game goes ahead on Boxing Day, that'll be 2 days short of 5 weeks since I last saw the (mostly Blue &)Yellow on display. Actually, we were wearing white the last time out anyway. Ho-hum.

It'll be the second time already this season I've gone a full calendar month without being to a game.

In my entire adult life (other than a year travelling (and yes, obviously also the summer, smart arse)), I have never gone more than 3 weeks without watching Oxford; until this season. Now I've gone and done it twice within 3 months. I don't like it.

The first time was due to a once-in-a-lifetime thing. A marriage. My own in fact. Hopefully a once-in-a-lifetime thing, anyway. All the pre-and post thingummies around that marriage, like planning it and going on a honeymoon, all took me away from football-watching duties.

Impossible as some of you may think, it was actually worth missing a few relatively unimportant games over.

But with all this weather nonsense hot on the heels and providing me yet another football-free month at such notice, I'm a little worried I may get out of the habit.

At the moment, oh yes I'm chomping at the bit to get to the Stevenage game. If it's off I'll be forced to spend Boxing Day watching TV, eating more food and socially engaging still-further with loved ones. Dear god. I'm not sure I can stay socially engaging myself for such prolonged periods - I need to get out, jump around and sing and swear at the football a bit. It's just not Christmas otherwise.

However, it's very easy to fall out of the habit. One thing I've noticed over the years is that whilst faces come and go, most that do go tend to go for good.

Those that do still go are the hardy common or garden perennials that rarely miss a game, certainly not at home. You do get the odd sighting of the Lesser-Spotted new parent, the Rare-Crested Exile or the Fair-Weathered Great Tit. Generally though, if someone flies south for winter for an extended period, you rarely see them back again.

I was actually guilty of nearly falling off the badly-metaphored bird-seed feeder of support after returning from my travels in 2004. Having spent 14 months traipsing across mountains, atolls, glaciers and backwaters, I had come to terms with an absence from the world of football. I had concluded that I had wasted too much time watching it and should do more with my spare time on my return to Britain, or more likely just bugger off around the world again.

This mindset lasted about 3 weeks. I thought I'd be social and go and say hello to the hardcores still going every week, before continuing my voyage of discovery in different fields. Perhaps I would pop in every couple of months like the Great Tit mentioned above, perhaps disappear forever into legend.

It only took a 0-0 bore-draw with Rushden & Diamonds to convince me to get a season ticket again. The magnet had been too strong, my inkling to leave this mad, crazy, obsessive compulsive world too ethereal to stop it's onslaught on my senses and sensibilities.

The Oxford United juggernaut steam-rollered me into submission once again. Even now, married and living in exile, I still attend around 80%* of games.

Only time will tell if this year's double-hiatus will send me back to the dark, football-free thoughts of Autumn 2004.

See you on Boxing Day!

*This statistic made-up on the spot, but rather convincingly, I'm sure you'll agree.

Holding Message

2010-12-06T14:57:00.000Z

Sorry if you turned up here expecting something about the game at the weekend this morning.

Afraid I didn't go to this one. Heard it was an exciting end though. Suggest you go and have a look at someone else's blog for an idea of what happened. To be honest I don't even know who were were playing.
Might be going to Lincoln next Saturday- havn't decided yet though, as the weather may not be fair enough for a part-timer like me.

I'll definately be at the Shrewsbury game on the 18th though. You can be sure of that.

Toodle-pip.

In-SPIRE-d

2010-11-24T07:42:00.001Z

Tuesday, 23rd November 2010.

nPower League Two
Chesterfield 1 OUFC 2

Quite an effort to get up to Chesterfield on a Tuesday night for me.

For a start - I work in South Kent. So had to take a half-day really to have any hope of making this fixture.

So I did take one.

A few people thought I was a mental. "Why are you going up there, a 300-mile round trip, on a freezing November evening, to watch us almost certainly get dicked by the league leaders?"

Well, I don't know really. The same reason I cried at Wembley I guess - because I love the football club. Can't really explain away such irrationality. And so, fully expecting not to be back home till 1am, anticipating a likely miserable defeat, I still decided to set off to North Derbyshire.

I left London at about 2pm for the trudge up the M1, actually not realising quite how far up Chesterfield was until I got to the outskirts of town and saw that Sheffield was only 12 miles away. My heart sank a little, thinking about the journey home.

Spire: Out of Shape

As regular readers will know, I always like to see a bit of local culture on an away day, and other than the pots of yoplait in the local Lidl, the famous crooked spire is about all Chesterfield has to offer as far as I am aware. So it was nice to drive past it. You can see it to the left here. It's quite a retarded old thing.

Very little else to see or do before the match, but I did manage to get some shoddy service in a fast-food establishment, which seems to be becoming a bit of a regular matchday experience.

The establishment in question was one of those Chinese takeaways with a sideline of Fish & Chips. I've always thought them an odd thing - why is it only Chinese takeaways that decide to stick a fryer on the counter and offer saveloys alongside their chop suey? You never see Indian takeaways doing that do you?

Anyway, if they are going to sideline into a different cuisine, the least they can do is put someone on the counter who knows what it is. When I asked the young chap for a Chip Cob, he looked at me perplexed. You may think this not that unusual, as unless you have spent time living in the Midlands yourself, you might wonder what the feck a cob is yourself.

A cob is a bread roll to us Southerners, or a bap or barm to those of a more Northerly persuasion. In the Midlands though - it's a cob. I know this as I lived in Leicester as a child and my father is from Mansfield.

I could tell the chap in the takeaway was from China by his heavy accent, and so yes, might not have had this ingrained knowledge from a young age such as I did. But he was living in Chesterfield, where Cob is an often-bandied about term. He was also working in a fish & chip shop, where a Chip Cob would be an oft-asked for local item. To top it all off, 'Chip Cob' was also number 114 on the pigging menu in front of him.

He had no fucking idea what I was asking for. He kept asking "Chip what?" and gesturing if I meant I wanted chips in a plastic tray. He even asked me to show him what number it was on the menu, but that didn't help, and he had to get the manager. Very poor.

I'm not going to name and shame this establishment, but it WAS the New Dragon Inn on the Sheffield Road.

When the Chip cob eventually came, it certainly did warm the cockles however, on what was becoming a very cold night, a long way from home. My mind again flitted back to the long drive ahead as I pulled on my thermal coat, hat and scarf, and trudged into the new stadium of the current league leaders.

B2net Stadium: New.

Starting brightly, it all seemed like it would again be for nothing after 14mins when Chesterfield went 1-0 up after a wildly speculative effort was deflected past Clarke. The chap sat behind me even turned to ask the rest of us if we had already decided what the score would be before we gave up and started back home.

My answer was that I'd probably head home if Chesterfield went 3 goals up. So had my confidence been dented by a month of mediocre and at times piss-poor football from Oxford. How fickle, and how wrong I had been.

We were amazing. At times, Chesterfield showed why they are up at the top and bossed the midfield and looked dangerous upfront - but we seemed to be matching them. At Half-Time, all of the 348 Oxford in attendance seemed pretty positive of our chances of getting something from this, if we carried on taking it to them like we had done in the first 45.

And oh, how we took it to them. What a Second Half. There were scares at the end as Chesterfield chased the game, but we deserved that result, and not a man amongst the Oxford on the pitch comes out of last night with anything but the utmost credit.

It just goes to show how much it's about confidence. We clearly have the players to do it, and we did do it last night. After idle rumour and speculation yesterday, it was great to see that reaction from the players, and especially from Wilder at the end - passionately grabbing the badge on his coat and raising it to the fans in jubilation.

As for the fans, well, we were rather excited too. Check out the look on this old boy's face below - one of many, myself included, who made the journey home happy, buzzing and content at the long trip North.

Oxford Fan at Full-Time: Rather Happy.

I myself got back home just before 1am, after numerous lane closures and 50mph limits on the M1.

Madness. But worth it.

Sick to The Gills

2010-11-22T07:09:00.001Z

Saturday, 20th November 2010
nPower League Two
OUFC 0 Gillingham 1

Meh.

I'd Rother Not Bother.

2010-11-15T15:31:00.003Z

Saturday, 13th November 2010.
nPower League Two
Rotherham United 2 OUFC 1

Better. Much Better. Yet still nothing to show for it.

My new wife & I decided to make a weekend of this one. Not that she would be coming to the game of course - oh no, I've learnt my lesson there about trying to force football upon her. But she will, at least, tolerate my obsession and from time to time allow me to build a weekend around it if there is something in it for her.

With the rather large shopping complex of Meadowhall only 2 miles away from Don Valley Stadium, Rotherham's odd decision to become Sheffield's third team* certainly helped in this regard. As did a friend's house party in Leeds that evening. And my wife's grandma inviting us for Sunday lunch in Doncaster the following day. I love it when a plan comes together.

So, off we set early on Saturday morning up the M1 to the outskirts of Sheffield to Itinerant Rotherham's new ground.

Well, I say 'ground', but what I actually mean is athletics track. This was not a football ground, quite clearly. It did have a nice enough stand down the side, that the Rotherham fans were in. Then it had 2 small single-block covered stands either-side of the main stand, looking onto the corner of the pitch - one of which housed the travelling U's fans. Completing the circuit around the athletics track were a number of uncovered blocks, all un-used leaving around ¾ of the ground looking rather desolate and empty.

Don Valley: It's Just Not Football.

As you can see, the view was pretty cock from where we were. I could just make out the far goal, beyond the long jump sand pit and steeplechase water jump. The atmosphere was even worse than the view though - as you might expect from a ground miles away from the fucking pitch and with three empty sides.

It was cold last week at Burton, but colder still in Sheffield - and as I watched Rotherham's second go in just after 30 mins, I couldn't help wondering whether it might be nicer sat in Cafe Rouge with a Steak Frites and a glass of Stella with my wife, only 2 miles away.

As it was I was sat with blue fingers sipping luke-warm tea and listening to some of the more backwards Oxford fans around me talking utter shite, and wondering how the hell they managed to survive this long in life.

One guy was still shouting and swearing at the ball boys having a kick around with a ball that had gone out of play a full 2 minutes after another ball boy had already sent a second ball into play and the game had resumed. When he eventually noticed that the game had re-started while the ball he clearly thought was the only one in the ground was still with the ball boys, it very nearly blew his fragile mind.

Despite a spirited performance, there was no way back from the Le Fondre brace for Oxford it seemed, and so we sunk to yet another defeat and alarm bells might well be sounding for some. Not for me though - I was impressed with new loanees Wotton & MacLean, and thought that generally we played well and on another day might have even won, rather than coming away with nothing.

And it could be worse. It must be fucking terrible for Rotherham fans, to be fair. Not only do they have to travel to the next town to see their team play, but to the next town that already has two much better Football League sides in it, so they are hardly likely even to pick up any new fans. They are more likely to just have the piss taken out of them by any Wednesday & United fans that come across the brave few souls who cross the M1 on a matchday into enemy territory.

Luckily for them, yet certainly not for us, they have Mr Le Fondre at the moment and the way he's scoring, I don't imagine we'll see him still with the Millers for the return fixture in Oxford next February.

He proved the difference on the day, as both teams got into space, had good chances, made mistakes - but Mr Le Fondre put his away very simply where perhaps we did not make the best of ours.

Soon we were being forced to make the walk of shame out of the ground around the track, past 7 or 8 blocks of empty seats that will presumably only ever be filled if Usain Bolt were to visit during an athletics meet.

It was certainly an odd place to watch a game of league football, and one I'd rather wasn't a football venue. I must admit to be hankering somewhat for a rickety old moss-covered stand, crumbling underfoot, with the threat of iron girders falling from above never far from your mind. Ahh, the beauty of what should be the lower leagues.

Instead of driving South with all the other mildly-disgruntled Oxford fans, I was heading North up the M1 after the game, to Leeds for the house-warming of a Sheffield Wednesday fan. One interesting snippet from him to end the day, was that Steve MacLean was absolute class when he was with them, just a few years ago.

Let's hope he has still got it.

He was also a fucking Astronaut, I ought to add. Amazing guy.

*Rotherham are even in the process of changing names it seems to 'The Sheffield Eagles', judging by all the signs around the ground.

Burton Men Swear

2010-11-08T10:48:00.001Z

Sunday, 7th November 2010
FA Cup - 1st Round
Burton Albion 1 OUFC 0

Fucking Hell.

I'm gonna break with tradition in this entry and talk a little bit more about the actual game than I usually do. Because it was rather poor yesterday.

First though, the normal pointless ramble about my pre-match.

The day started quite badly, to be honest, as I had a bastard behind the eyes after a few too many in my parents' pub on Saturday night. Even one of my mother's famous cooked breakfasts wasn't going down very well. In fact it was close to coming back up very rapidly. The idea of driving to the home of beer after the skinful I'd had the night before didn't appeal much either.

So I was pleased to have been offered a lift from Oxford to Burton by a friend, and so soon set off to make this lift. I couldn't help noticing how beautiful the autumnal colours of the trees were on this crisp day as I drove down the A4074, so I slowed to capture the image below on my phone.

Autumn Colours: Grave

Only on looking back later did I notice the omen of our early exit from the FA Cup in the bottom left-hand corner of the photo, a grave marker. If you look closely, it clearly marks the end of our season...

We arrived swiftly in Burton after a good run and straight to The Beech Inn just down the road from the ground, an old haunt ever since our first visit there back in 2006. Just in time to see Count von Count from Sesame Street commence the 2nd Round draw.

"Welcome to FA Headquarters for the FA Cup
2nd Round Draw. Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha"

Always nice to be in the hat for the next round, and for once we were in it before knowing whether we'd progressed due to the Sunday kick-off of our game with Burton.

Much excitement in The Beech, as it was possible not only to draw Swindon, but perhaps even Swindon Supermarine. Imagine.

As it was, The Count wasn't able to give us a plum draw, instead getting the League 2 leaders Chesterfield at home. Shit draw.

Not that it would matter anyway of course by 5pm, as a grossly inadequate performance meant we were out and this season's cup exploits over without even the hint of a whimper.

Not sure where to start on the game itself. I don't think I've ever seen an Oxford side look so inept, so woefully out of shape, so lacking in desire for the ball or inspiration as the one that took to the field in the 1st half.

I'm loathe to criticise what I don't understand, but I don't think I've ever seen a team start with 4 full-backs on the pitch before. Quite novel. Perhaps Wilder has come up with a revolutionary new tactic designed to totally baffle the other side.

Sadly, it seemed more to baffle his own players, none of who seemed to know where they were supposed to be, weren't picking up their men and become totally over-ran by a Burton side who looked a division above Oxford for the entire first half.

After the woeful form of Tonkin in recent weeks, and the lack of decent crossing in the team noticeable especially against Turkey in mid-week, you'd have thought Kinniburgh & arguably our best crosser Purkiss were due a recall. Well, they were recalled, but not instead of the incumbents, AS WELL as them.

Wilder on acid? Such suspicions seemed to have more weight when changes in the 2nd half saw one of the four starting full-backs, Purkiss, moved to centre-midfield. Strangely though, this seemed to improve things somewhat - which sadly only highlights how inept and out of the game our midfield had been until this point.

As my hangover seemed to get worse, the home fans seemed to be taunting me with chants of "Brewers, Brewers!" ringing out around the ground. Well, I say ringing out - I more mean shallowly audible above the swearing and tutting from the away terrace.
Although we did start to play in the 2nd half, you just always felt it was a matter of time before Burton grabbed something - and only the most blinkered of fans would suggest they deserved anything more than to progress to the 2nd Round at our expense.

Make no mistake, had we been playing a more clinical side yesterday, or Clarke hadn't had another good game closing down quickly when the players in front of him had let Burton waltz through the middle of them, we'd have lost the game by a hatful of goals.

Something clearly is wrong somewhere right now. Confidence is low and there seems to be a general malaise at the moment among the players and the fans.

Things change quickly though and we can only hope that Wilder gets to the bottom of it soon before the season really will be over as far as any ambitions of sneaking into the play-offs are concerned.

To quote the bard - "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark".
To quote the bloke stood next to me yesterday - "Fucking Hell Oxford! Sort it fucking out you fucking cunts!"

Pre-Christmas Turkeys

2010-11-03T09:54:00.001Z

Tuesday, 2nd November 2010.

nPower League Two

OUFC 0 Turkey 2

For some reason, I knew it wasn't going to be a good evening early on yesterday, when I had an argument with the man in the Branos fast food outlet on Blackbird Leys on my way to the game.

Regular readers will know that I often chow down on a Branos spicy chicken burger before home games. It's become something of a ritual this season in fact. Even though I'd heard alleged stories about them cooking flies in their chicken, I simply can't resist their spicy secret recipe, and if it does allegedly trump the Colonel's 11 herbs and spices with the addition of insects, it's a winning recipe. As I said, allegedly.

So, imagine my disdain last night when having ordered a Spicy chicken burger, waited 15mins as others got served before me, the cheeky chappy tried to pass off a NON-spicy chicken burger to me. He obviously didn't realise I was a seasoned Branos man, and fully aware that their chicken pieces have a slight orange tinge to them if they've been coated in their spicy glaze. The one he'd presented to me was not orange...

J'ACCUSE, BRANOS MAN!!!

What really incensed me was his dismissive tone, saying that they didn't have any spicy pieces so I would have to have a non-spicy burger.

OH WOULD I INDEED, MR BRANOS MAN?! Maybe I could just demand my money back and take my spicy chicken lust elsewhere!!! That would teach you, wouldn't it, you spicy-burger tease, you!

As it was, I was pretty hungry after a 2 hour drive from work, so I begrudgingly took the non-spicy burger, with or without the alleged flies. But not before I'd made him feel slightly awkward. A small victory, I thought.

It was only after I left the shop that I realised that the Turkish-run Branos had clearly deliberately refused me my spicy chicken in a bid to upset me before Oxford played their fellow countrymen that evening. Dastardly behaviour indeed, but I had to admire their cunning attempt to put me off cheering on Oxford that evening due to mild food-based disgruntlement.

As it was, my disgruntlement was further heightened on watching the teams come out onto the field - Turkey, not in their traditional red kit, but in YELLOW. What the flying fuck? It was bad enough having to for some reason play a nation state as part of the League 2 campaign (and a rapidly improving football nation at that), but they also get to play in our home colours?

I'd already aired my reservations about the new mostly blue kit earlier in the season - but this now highlighted exactly why it wasn't quite sitting right with me. A team could come to our home and get away with an all-yellow kit, so un-yellow was our own current strip. Very disappointing and I'm blaming that as much as the lack of a pre-match spicy burger for the inept performance last night. Oh, and the players as well. I'm blaming them too.

This was my first match in exactly a month - since the victory over table-toppers Port Vale. How things have changed in that time, and I don't just mean the performance on the pitch, I mean more specifically the attitude of the fans.

True, I wasn't at Bradford last weekend so didn't have to endure the 2nd half collapse, so perhaps the anger was partly justified by those who'd travelled up to Yorkshire to see that. But something that someone who has been away for a few games (such as I) can truly notice more than those there every week is how different the atmosphere was at the KasStad from a month ago.

The optimism - gone.
The confidence - gone.

How quickly things can change. How fickle is both the form of players and the attitude of the fans.

I'm not going to pretend that the outcome last night, against 10 men, was anything less than woeful - but I'm still astounded that people are so quick to get on the players' backs and boo the team. Do people actually think the players will take inspiration from that, or just lose more confidence and play even worse?

Anyone that seriously concludes the former is delusional.

Certainly, we can take little away from last night's performance except that a couple of players may need to take a look at themselves and perhaps have a little time on the bench for the next few games. Some questions again on the tactics, team selection and substitutions from 'Tinkerer' Wilder - we all remember when he got that label last year and the turgid couple of months that came out of it.

To top it all off, the chap in the seat in front of me won the 50/50 draw.

£1,050.

I'm not saying I deserved it more than him, but I did deserve it more than him.

Well, the game is over now. I returned to my car and drove back to London, listening to the rants of the callers on Radio Oxford in a slightly depressed state as you might expect.

It's tight in the league this season - before last night we were 4 points off the play-offs and 4 points of relegation. Things can change quickly, for better or worse. Let's just hope the optimism and the form of just a few weeks ago returns sooner rather than later.

A diversion into the FA Cup might be just what we need right about now.

Up The ~~Yellows!~~ Mostly Blues!

Oh, and did you spot the deliberate mistake? The above flag was of course the flag of Tunisia. The flag of Turkey is here below. More Islamic flag-based tomfoolery next time, folks!

The Real Turkey Flag. Similar to Tunisia.

Getting Married in the Football Season

2010-10-21T15:53:00.001+01:00

Ahoy there fellow Yellows!

Well, I'm now a married man, and soon the football will return to the more prominent areas of my thoughts as my exile for wedding planning, wedding itself and forthcoming honeymoon come to an end.

I next intend to be up watching those boys in (mostly blue &)Yellow on November 2nd, for Turkey at home. I aim to have a new blog entry up for that game.

For now though, I reproduce for your delectation my article from the Matchday Programme against Port Vale, a few weeks back.

ENJOY!

Getting Married in the Football Season
Article first appeared in Matchday Programme v. Port Vale, 2nd October 2010.

Although my attendance this season started well in August, I’ve actually been AWOL for the last two weekends. I am here today, but afraid that I’ll also be absent for the next few weekends after this, too.

Dreadful really, isn’t it? What could possibly have led to such a committed yellow such as I to miss so much of our return to the football league?

Well, I’m getting married next weekend. Yes – in the middle of the football season.

You may laugh at my misfortune. You may even snort in disgust at my disloyalty to commit so heinous a crime. Cleary, I can’t be a real fan, getting married in the football season, eh?

Well, this might be your first impression, but you’d be wrong – and have failed to understand my canny logic for long-term gains.

When I first met my future wife, she had no interest and no understanding of football whatsoever. Now however, she has no interest and no understanding of football whatsoever. But she does know how much it means to me.

She doesn’t claim to be able to relate to my obsession; is appalled that I want to wear an OUFC pin-badge on my wedding suit; and even wanted to wear a red dress to marry me in before I set her straight on what a faux pas that would be. But she knows OUFC is important to me.

So you see, by planning a wedding for a Saturday during the season, I will indeed miss that game, plus a few others with the planning and honeymooning and whatnot. BUT – and this is the clever part – I will prove totally and utterly to my beloved that she comes first before football. So she won’t be so begrudging at handing out the day passes in the future!

Wifey: “Can’t you just miss this one game; it’s my mother’s birthday?”
FMO: “Yes but it really is an important game darling – and I did miss all those games around our wedding, didn’t I?”
Wifey: “Oh, that’s true. OK, fair enough then – just join us in the evening”.
FMO: “OK, but I should also warn you that it may go to extra-time and penalties. So I may be drunk as I’ll be worried about those penalties, so would have had a few for my nerves.”
Wifey: “That’s fine dear, I understand completely. Come on You Yellows!”

Well, that’s how I think it will go anyway…

I still hear you cry though “What about your mates? Are you honestly expecting them to miss a game too just for your poncy wedding?”
Well, to ease the pain, I’ve done a little something for the day that I hope they will quite like, with the help of my second favourite CW, OUFC’s very own Chris Williams. It’s an Order of Service mocked up to look like a Matchday Programme (Sorry, ‘award-winning’ Matchday Programme). It’s got pen pictures of all the wedding party, ‘team sheets’, Bride, Groom & Best Man columns – the lot. I’ve even got a special message of congratulations from Timmy Mallett in there, which also keeps my ‘Wacaday’-loving Fiancée happy.

It’s sure to be a collectors item, and perhaps the one OUFC programme that Martin Brodetsky doesn’t have.

Truth is though, apart from the fun this little project became, it’s been a total nightmare getting the wedding organised during the season. Most things need doing at the weekend, when I want to be at the football. “We need to go to John Lewis to buy some table stands, can you come?”

“No, we’re at Hereford that day."

“We need to finalise the seating arrangements on Tues night. What time will you be home?”

“Errr… about midnight, as we are away at West Ham that night….”

Yes, I’ve been pretty rubbish with the planning, which is why I kept the last two weekends free to get up to speed.

So instead of enjoying Beano’s equaliser at Gresty Road last weekend, I was sat in a 4-hour traffic jam on the M4, trying to get to the soon-to-be-in-laws’ house to discuss the dowry. I started to panic, as we still then had to get back and print the ruddy order of services out, and write the seating plan out, and this and that and this and that….

“Don’t worry!” piped up my wife-to-be, “We still have next weekend.”

“But… I’m going to the Port Vale game next weekend!” I protested.

“Well, you might have to not go if there is still stuff to do…”
“But it’s a really important game!” came my meek response.

Damn, so I’ve used up that excuse already…

In all seriousness though, I should be here today as planned without much fuss as my Fiancée knows all the games I’ve already missed is sacrifice enough for me.

Plus she has that knowledge that I agreed to our wedding during the football season a full year ago, not knowing what the fixture list would throw up for Oxford on October 9th, 2010. I was willing to make that early call and miss a potentially important clash. As far as she is concerned, Oxford might have been playing Swindon and I’d have sacrificed the big derby for the big day.

Well, as long as she thinks that at least, that’s all that really matters…

We're Here for d'Goals!

2010-09-13T13:09:00.001+01:00

nPower League Two
Saturday, 11th September 2010
Hereford United 0 OUFC 2

Having missed the Morecambe game due to my stag weekend inconveniently cutting across the football season, I very nearly also missed the trip to Hereford on Saturday due to a stag-related bout of gout disabling me in the intervening week.

I was hobbling into work all week with a stupidly swollen foot and the thought of a 7-hour return train trip to Hereford didn't really appeal as I got out of bed at 7am on Saturday morning.

But I'm a stubborn old Ox. I could have driven, a little easier than fucking about on trains - but I'd already got my train tickets in advance, hadn't I? And I'm also a tightwad who wasn't going to throw spent money down the drain!

So, I hobbled onto the tube to Paddington & hobbled onto the 08.21 which sped me and my engorged, hobbly foot through the beautiful Saturday morning solitude of the Berkshire & Oxfordshire countryside. This golden quiet was stamped out of course in an hour, when the 08.21 from Paddington became the 09.21 from Oxford - in all but name a 'football special' with a good 60-odd Oxford climbing aboard, tinnies in hand.

I'd been looking forward to this bit - a few beers with my mates on the way up there, lovely! Yet I wasn't going to risk any alcohol on this trip. Those of you that have never had gout may not appreciate how easy a decision it was to avoid alcohol today.

On arrival in Hereford then, I let the others wander into Wetherspoons but went off to do something else myself. Something that did not involve continue watching others get progressively more leathered as I sipped on my mineral water and got further and further away from being able to engage in conversation with them.

So what is there to do with 2 hours to spare in Hereford? Well, you could always visit the Mappa Mundi within the City's Cathedral, of course! So I did.

Hereford Mappa Mundi: Inaccurate & speculative.

I'm sure you are not interested, but the Hereford Mappa Mundi is the largest medieval map known to still exist. Mind you, it was pretty fucking inaccurate - they didn't even have America on it, and you should have seen some of the funny creatures they reckon exist in Africa! I know it's a bit backward up there in the sticks, but you'd have thought they'd have commissioned Phillips to do them up a new projection by now.

Hereford Cathedral: Religious.

After a delightful cuppa in the Cathedral's Cloisters Cafe, I hobbled along to the game and for my first visit to the dilapidated Edgar Street. Terrible ground to be honest, but I'd still rather be stood on the bottom tier of the rickety side terrace, fearing that those above are about to come crashing through the cracked concrete roof, than be at a soulless plastic bowl.

Mind you, the view was fucking shit.

If you stood too far back, you could see very little of the pitch due to the huge pillars supporting the upper tier. Yet standing in front of them, my view of the far goal was obscured by the top of the overflow gate leading onto the pitch. So for the first half, when Oxford were on the attack myself and those around me looked like a mob of Meerkats bobbing up and down and side-to-side with the flow of the game.

Edgar Street: A bit shit.

Apart from a few early scares, we hardly looked troubled on the pitch - Hereford didn't appear to have very much about them and I'd be surprised if they didn't end up in the bottom 5 or so this season at best.

Difficult then to really know how to judge our performance, as we will play better sides, but all we could do was win on the day and we did that with talent to spare. If Constable had been a bit more selfish in the last 20 mins, he'd have had his 2nd League hat-trick and we'd have stuck 4 or 5 past them.

Craddock's goal that wrapped it up was a finish that would not have looked out of place in a Premiership game - as long as he pulls his weight his signing could end up being one hell of a coup for Wilder.

So, all Oxford fans left the ground very happy and despite my gouty foot and the five bastard hours it took me to get home on the most ridiculously ponderous train I'd ever been on, it was a good day out.

Percy & Thomas in no rush to leave Hereford.

I'm getting married in 4 weeks' time. Which means I won't be at the next few games as have wedding planning stuff to attend to (which should have been done earlier in the summer when there was no football, i grant you!).

As such there may something of an intermission on this blog until I'm back as a married man to watch the bleak winter months & the assault on the title.

So see you then!

Up The U's!

Who Calls The Shots?

2010-09-01T16:22:00.000+01:00

Tuesday, 31st August 2010
Johnstone's Pain Trophy, 1st Round
Aldershot Town 2 OUFC 0

Well first of all, I don't like the sky-blue kit either. Last night was the first time I'd seen it and I rather wish I hadn't. Bleurgh. Why anyway, were we wearing sky-blue when we clearly could have worn our (mostly blue &)Yellow home kit?

Anyway.

I had decided I might go to this game some time ago, but a call from my soon-to-be best man the day before to say he'd probably take in this game on his way home made it a trip I thought worthwhile.

Coming from London, It was a 45min train ride out to the Army Town of Aldershot for me. Bit of a craphole, is Aldershot. I don't think that even the residents of this grotty little town would deny that to be a fair shout.

Upon arrival at Aldershot station, you are greeted by a wonderful reminder of the town's Armed Forces heritage - a Tank mounted on a roundabout. As you proceed towards The Recreation Ground, at times you wish you could have commandeered it for the journey.

I met my friend in the pub at the top of the hill near the entrance to the away turnstiles - La Fontaine. Not as the name would suggest an upmarket French wine bar, but a shabby estate pub. I think you'll get the gist of what sort of place it was by telling you that every adult male in the pub seemed to have a Pit Bull.

La Fontaine Pub in Sunny Aldershot

Not that I'm some la-di-da London ponce who doesn't like these sort of places - on the contrary I had a lovely couple of pints in there chatting to the locals and petting their specially-bred fighting dogs in the glorious August evening sunshine.

Getting into Aldershot's away terrace is one of the more convoluted ways of entering a football ground. If approaching the main entrance of the ground expecting to get in there, you need to factor in another 15mins to get to the away terrace. You have to cross under a railway bridge, walk half a mile up a hill, crossing back over the top of the rail tracks and back down the hill through a park. It's silly.

I quite like the ground though - it's a ramshackle shitbox of a place, with nothing at one end of the goal (imagine!) and a corrugated-iron roof cow-shed at the other end, along with lots of moss-covered crumbling terraces in between. The cobbled-together feel of the place reminds very much of The Manor, had The Manor survived a nuclear fallout and the destruction of mankind centuries previous.

View of the Cow-Shed from the Away Side-Terrace.

On the pitch, Aldershot deserved the win. Very few wearing sky-blue on the night can come out of the evening with very much credit - except perhaps Potter who did seem to run his socks off and get barged about mercilessly by the rowdy rough-and-tumble Aldershot boys.

To be honest it was one of those evenings where I spent most of the game chatting away and not really paying attention - saying either something about the quality of the football or my attention span. Or both.

JPT: Tinpot.

So, we are out of the Johnstone's Paint Trophy at the first hurdle without so much as a whimper. Pfft, who cares right?

Well, it may be a relatively pointless trophy, but with an ever-growing squad the chance for the fringe players to get some 1st team action is always a bonus, so it would have been nice to carry on in this Trophy.

Plus, I bet Aldershot draw Scumdon in the next round.

What concerns me though was that again we looked outclassed in most areas of the pitch by another League Two side.

No need to panic just yet, though...

Whilst waiting on the platform for my train back to London last night, I was approached by a fellow Yellow who shook my hand and told me he really enjoyed my blog. What a nice man. It's nice to be appreciated, and I do try my very best after all.

Next up, Morecambe, who finished 4th last time out and are clearly also a decent side. I'll be missing this one and the debut of young Mr Craddock though, as I shall be off on my stag to deepest darkest Snowdonia. So there will be no report up here of our historic first win back in the Football League next week!

I may be tempted though to take in Porthmadog v. Rhyl on Saturday and bore you with that next week instead...

Dr Livingstone, I Presume?

2010-08-31T16:24:00.001+01:00

Saturday, 28th August 2010.
nPower League Two
OUFC 0 Accrington Stanley 0

Ian Rush said, if I didn't win the Milk Cup, I'd only be good enough to play Accrington Stanley. Or something like that, anyway.

So, you wait five decades to play a side, passing them in and out of the league both ways in the process in a bizarre, coincidental fashion. Then when you do meet, you nearly die of boredom.

So was the remarkable saga of Oxford & Accrington, the ghosts of 1962 for them and 2006 for Oxford, put to rest on Saturday by this first ever meeting between the two sides.

Far from the world collapsing in on itself, we instead were treated to a snooze draw of biblical-proportions of shiteness. Oxford, in fairness will probably consider themselves the luckier of the two teams to have come away with a point - Accrington looked a decent side who passed the ball around very well at times, something we couldn't match over the 90 mins.

The scary thing about Accrington looking half-decent was that this is substantially the same team that finished a mediocre 15th last year in League Two.

Having first been impressed by Bury's footballing side and then assured ourselves a draw at Wycombe was a good one against title contenders, there comes a time when we might have to admit that this League may be a bigger step up than we might like to have thought it was...

In the Conference, you can comfortably look to 10-15 games a season that Oxford would expect to win without breaking too much of a sweat. Teams that are basically shit - cloggers with no ability, no tactics and no brains. I don't think you can say the same in League Two. The sides all seem to be passing it around nicely, and at a pace that we are not used to.

This should not be as much of a worry as it seems though, considering we have for the most matched all we've played. For me, Saturday was the exception as I thought Accrington looked better than us. OK, they weren't exactly on fire and our back line did their job (Wright especially, who was a rock).

Yet I was astounded to hear a couple of callers on Radio Oxford after the game say Accrington came to 'park the bus' and 'stop us from playing'. They were watching a different game to me then, as I thought Accrington over-ran us in midfield, were first to every 2nd ball and gave Oxford no time on the ball to settle. They also swept the ball across the park quite beautifully at times, making Oxford look quite ordinary.

We are allowed a shit performance now and then, and hey - we didn't lose.

The longer we go without that first league win though the more nervy our performances may become, so we have to get back to playing decent stuff on the grass and learn to cope with the change of gear.

Most important of all, the players need to put in a shift and adjust to the fact that week-in, week-out, we'll be playing FOOTBALLING teams this season - not a bunch of part-time, hoof-ball bandits. And frankly, I thank the lord for that.

Upton No Good

2010-08-25T10:22:00.001+01:00

Tuesday, 24th August 2010
Carling Cup, 2nd Round
West Ham Utd 1 OUFC 0

I know that for many of the 3,800 or so that were there last night, a game against a Premiership side will probably be the highlight of their season. Not for me - I was truthfully more excited about Accrington on Saturday.

I've always treated these away cup ties at 'big clubs' as something of a light relief from the season proper rather than something to get terribly worked up about. A game like this is the equivalent of the porter scene in Macbeth; a slapstick bit of frivolity to lighten up the otherwise important and serious business of the campaign.

As such, I'm not particularly gutted about Scott Parker's undeserved 93rd minute winner last night. Probably more gutted than I would be had we not played so well and deserved at least another 30 mins at them, but that's football.

For me this was as close as I'm likely to get to a home game. Living in Central London, my train home from work in deepest, darkest Kent allowing me to stop off en-route at the new Stratford International station amidst the Olympic building site. A short bus-hop from there and I alighted at the wonderful Green Street - not as i expected it to be, full of American-accented faux-hooligans but actually a particularly vibrant corner of Pakistani culture in London.

Although I had been hoping to sample some of the wares of Duncan's Pie, Eels & Mash shop, this had closed by the time I got there so instead it was to Himalaya's canteen-style Restaurant & Takeaway for a plate of curry. Yum. They will win no prizes for appearance at this place, but who cares when the food tastes this good or authentic.

So, as I gazed from my window seat inside at the cooks selling samosas and pakoras to the local populace outside, I reflected that this was not the start to a typical football away day.

A man in a very old West Ham shirt came in and greeted the Restaurant owner, who asked him "who are they playing today?"

The 'appy 'ammer replied "It's a cup game against Oxford, who are a very lowly side - as low as you can get! So we should win tonight."

I was too busy wolfing down my curry to bother interjecting that you can certainly get lower than League Two - something I could articulate at length about if he had wished me to recount our last four years. I was also pleased at his arrogance and only hoped the 1st XI Avram Grant picked were equally dismissive of Oxford. It could be their comeuppance.

Wiping down my spice-soaked face, I decanted myself from this wonderful little place and walked amongst the locals and their sari shops & spice markets for a few hundred feet before the crowd turned into a football one as I passed Upton Park tube with a sea of yellow emerging from within.

One thing I always love about 'big games' is the feeling of being part of something as you walk down the cordoned-off roads in the vicinity of the ground with the throngs all heading in the same direction. Streets lined with burger vans, programme vendors and scarf & badge fly-pitchers. Haven't we missed the opportunity to experience that since we dropped out of the league?

I've been to The Boleyn Ground before, but I'm always amazed at how gaudy those Legoland castle turrets look in front of their main stand. Why not go the whole hog and get some mock-Tudor beams and stone cladding alongside it? Jesus.

So, the match itself then,* and how can you fault either the team or the fans on the night? Official away crowd not yet in, but the steward near us said we had close to 4,000 on the night and would be by far the biggest away following there this season (mainly due to them only giving 2,900 away in the League of course!).

Tremendous support Oxford.

We battled our hearts out on the pitch too of course. Beano looked knackered in that 2nd half, having run around like an enraged bluebottle on his own upfront all night. I was surprised, rose-tinted glasses accepted, to see that West Ham apparently had 65% of possession on the night - I thought we held the ball quite well and seemed to have a good stretch in charge in the 2nd half. It's always nice to hear some olés when you are playing against a Premiership side!

There was much consternation around me that those heading back to The Shire would likely miss their last train as it was heading into extra time. No such worries for me, but on 89 mins I did draft a text to MrsOx to say I'd be home later than expected. What a foolish thing to do, it was bound to enrage the Football God's wrath and teach me a lesson that nothing is ever predictable in football, as Parker (the only player for West Ham that perhaps emerged with any credit on the night) slotted home with 10 seconds to go.

Having experienced the nightmare collapse at Kenilworth Road in February though, this didn't particularly sting for very long.

Still early in the season, but we've already proved we can play football, proved we can mix it with teams at higher levels and proved we can score goals for fun when we are in gear.

Now it's time to pick up some points.

Saturday is a big one. I can't wait.

*You will notice that my 'match reports' are becoming less about the game but more the matchday experience around the football itself. I'd suggest you read Chris Williams reports first so you actually know what's happened in the game. This blog should expand your horizons a bit beyond that though. Maybe.

Wycombe In Peace

2010-08-23T10:43:00.000+01:00

nPower League Two
Saturday, 21st August 2010
Wycombe Wanderers 0 OUFC 0
Att 6,983

What an odd little place High Wycombe is. Going on name and location alone, you expect it to be a sort of St Albans kind of place. A bit of a well-to-do, pretty looking commuter belt town. The sort of place Phil Collins or Paul Daniels would live. Where you would most likely spend the odd afternoon enjoying a glass of Sauvignon by a riverside gastro-pub, eating over-priced sausages and devilled kidneys.

Instead, what High Wycombe actually is would best be described as St Albans having being raped viciously by Stevenage. The vestiges of the old market town in the centre is merely the presence of an old town hall in the immediate vicinity of a giant, grey steel structured Sainsbury's car park and numerous confusing and many exited roundabouts encroaching needlessly on what little is left of a pedestrianised centre.

Even the railway station seems ashamed to be associated with the town, and appears to be edging out of the town by running up a hill away from the centre. Having spent an afternoon in the town, I can hardly blame it.

I arrived with a couple of London-based chums early for this one, as it was meant to be an informal stag do of sorts. Probably a large mistake, in hindsight. After a brief pint in town in a lovely beer garden doubling up as a car park, with scenic views of the aforementioned Sainsbury's car park, we decided to admit defeat in pretending we were above our base instincts and go and look at some bare-naked ladies in The White Horse.

Thankfully for the fate of our misguided souls, it was rammed full of naturist-lovers so we instead ended up having a few quieter ones in the pub right next door. I can't remember what it was called, but an apt name might have been 'The Overflow Arms' perhaps.

I've always thought it was an odd little ground, Adams Park. Positioned at the dead-end of a long residential road that turns into a mini-industrial estate, the ground itself looks like a leisure centre from the outside and is framed on three sides by tree-lined hillsides.

Yet inside, it's more like a morgue. Wycombe must have some of the quietest fans in the Football League and considering this game, for them at least is meant to have a 'derby' feel to it, some of the most apathetic fans too.

I know us Oxford fans often decry the fact that we are rivals, but this is still a very local game - it is a derby. It can be a derby without necessarily being a rivalry. As such, and with the promise of 2,300 away supporters turning up, it's a pretty poor effort on Wycombe's part to not even get close to filling their ground.

On the pitch, very much a game of two-halves - They overran us in the middle of the park in the 1st half and I was wondering if we'd be able to hang on for another 45mins without being ripped apart. 2nd half though, we were all over them and can probably be thinking ourselves the more unlucky not to have won the game with the chances we had. Finishing again, coming back to haunt us.

Wycombe will surely be up there at the end of the season though, and a point at their place in the context is a good point. that first League win must come soon though for psychological reasons if nothing else.

Looks all set then for Accrington next week - given the historical baggage between the two teams, it would be quite apt.

Bury-ed Alive

2010-08-17T09:41:00.004+01:00

nPower League 2
Saturday, 14th August 2010
OUFC 1 Bury 2
Att. 7,552

What a disappointment in the end that was then. I thought that after the romance of Wembley that all these 'special occassions' were meant to go our way.

Our return to the League Cup certainly did, so why couldn't our first home game back in the football league? All that excitement and adrenaline since Tuesday evening, all building up to 3pm on Saturday and yet ending 2 hours later with a damp squib of anti-climax.

The day for me started with a trip to the Fulham Road to pick up a suit, driving past Stamford Bridge at around 10am where preparations were already underway for their first game of the season that afternoon. The burger vans were out in force and the whiff of plastic gave away the presence of Chelsea fans in the vicinity, already stalking out another season of success watching 11 nasty, overpaid arseholes sneer their way arrogantly to the title.

None of that bollocks for me - After picking up my tweed I was straight on the A40 and off to the shire to watch the boys in (mostly blue &)Yellow return to the Football League.

The obligatory Branos spicy chicken burger again preceded my march from Blackbird Leys down to Grenoble Road and full of hope and excitement, I went to the club shop with the intention of spending money on crap I didn't need.

Sadly, the queues were too long so I resisted the urge to pick up one of those new mostly blue novelty home shirts this time. So pleasing though to see those queues - there is hardly more exciting stuff in stock than there has been for the past near-decade down there, but having time and again in recent seasons been the only person in there, it's great to see fans flocking back and as excited as me.

So, then into the ground and a warm handshake and smile for all of my fellow ST-holders nearby. I only saw them on Tuesday night, but it still felt like the 'real' start to the season. Ooh I was excited.

They'd even giganticised the programme! I could now see every freckle and every follicle on Chris Wilder's badly-shaved face. something I never thought I would get the chance to do, so that was good.

My excitement even extended to purchasing a 'match badge' from a geezer who is doing a badge for every home game this season. The mad sod. Still, my collecting-OCD kicked in and it looks like I may have to get them all now. Damn you, badge man.

The result, obviously, was a bit of a let down after all the expectation and excitement. Yet the performance was not. We played well, we created chances - it just wasn't going to be our day. Bury were also an organised side who took advantage perhaps of our naivety at the back - not sure we'd have been opened up so quickly and easily as that in the Conference.

But we'll learn. I'm still confident - Bury are a decent side at this level and if we tighten up at the back we'll win games at this level with our potency & options upfront.

So, next up? Wycombe. See you in the White Horse...

Jellied Heels

2010-08-12T12:58:00.000+01:00

League Cup 2nd Round Draw: West Ham Utd away

Cor Blimey Guv'nor! We've only gone n' pulled the 'ammers owta the 'at!

It'll be jellied eels and mash all around, as I'll be heading out east in two weeks' time to watch the (mostly blue &)Yellows at the Boleyn Ground.

Barely a week back playing in the football league and we are instantly reminded of why a place in the '72' is so cherished; A trip to play a Premiership club at the first opportunity. Maybe even the chance of an upset, with Avram Grant far from settled and doubts about the club's finances still lingering, it's hardly a bunch of roses down at Upton Park.

Plus, West Ham are travelling to Old Trafford on the Saturday following our visit, so there are unlikely to be many first teamers out on display that night.

Mind you, let's not let the exploits of one game let us get carried away with things - If they do play their kids, that could mean we'll get served a lesson directly from 'The Academy of Football' itself...

On another note, I wonder if Joey will be going along to this one? It is quite a long way to travel, especially in midweek rush-hour when the traffic will be really bad.

Beauchamp: Hammering one in on goal.

Brizzle Dazzled

2010-08-11T11:03:00.000+01:00

Carling Cup, 1st Round.
OUFC 6 Bristol Rovers 1.

Christ alive.

I wasn't expecting that.

As I now work down in the bowels of England in Kent's Feral Ashford, getting to night games at the KasStad is something of a hassle, especially as leaving early is always something I'm made to feel quite dirty about asking of my boss.

Nonetheless, I sneaked out at 4.30pm last night and arrived, tired, in Oxford just after 7pm for the customary social how-do-you-do in The Blackbird before strolling down Knight's Road towards the floodlights, shining warmly into the night sky.

On the walk down, Branos spicy chicken burger in hand, I was pondering whether my journey back to London that evening was going to be another one I didn't enjoy. Tired, struggling to stay awake and let-down, wondering why I'd gone so far out of my way to watch us disappoint yet again.

Such is the pessimism that is almost ingrained after so many years of slide, that even a Wembley victory cannot totally stop my mind wondering to when Oxford are next going to make me wish I hadn't bothered attending.

Couple that ingrained expectation of disappointment with the fact that we were playing against an established League 1 side, and I did expect we'd struggle to be in the hat for Round 2 today.

Well how ridiculously wrong can you be.

Apart from a short spell at the very start when they did look half a yard faster than us breaking forward, Rovers were in truth nowhere near us. They might have flattered to deceive by pulling a goal back shortly after Oxford went 2 up, but that lapse in allowing Rovers space and time to shoot was a blip soon forgotten as 5 goals rattled the net in the space of 11 minutes.

When our Fourth goal went in, I noticed boyhood Rovers fan Ryan Clarke in our goal turn back towards his goal and wince, rather than celebrate. Ryan, I'll forgive you for not being over far enough for that one Rovers strike as clearly there was a part of you that found the humiliation of your hometown club last night hard to stomach.

All 6 goals Oxford scored were fantastic strikes, with Constable's cheeky scissor kick to make it 5 in front of the East Stand my personal favourite.

Clearly, Rovers fans will have some questions about some poor defending, but if the argument from U's critics after Saturday was that our finishing wasn't up to League 2 standard yet, that charge was answered with 6 very heavy thumps from our attacking line's boots.

So, returning to my car after the game, it was elation and adrenaline instead of caffeine that kept me alert for the drive home. Can't wait for Saturday now. Boy it's good to be back!

Back on the Coupon!

2010-08-10T18:00:00.021+01:00

A Fan’s View: By FantasticMrOx

In the immortal words of Jerome Sale on the final whistle at Wembley – Oxford United are ‘Back on the Coupon.’

It might at first seem a fairly throwaway comment but in truth, being back on the coupon is for me all tied up with what getting promoted in May was all really about.

Status.

To be able to declare, as I have proudly since young Mr Potter passed the ball so gracefully into the net that day, that we are Football League is to my mind the greatest joy I’ve taken from my 16 years of supporting OUFC.

No more national obscurity.
No more “Oh, yeah, I remember Oxford, what happened to you?”
No more ‘Qualifying rounds’.
No more purchasing speciality papers in order to read a match report.

No, none of that and more. For we are a member of the 92 once again (well, 72 technically but you know what I mean), and tonight we play again in the League Cup - a privilege we had been excluded from for four years. As former winners of this prestigious cup, it was an exile our fans found even harder to bear than most. Well no longer do we have to bear it, as we are Football League.

I enjoyed a lot about being in the Conference though. That might sound odd, but I think all of us will in some way miss the randomness of trips to the likes of Grays, Histon or Ebbsfleet, and the friendliness found at clubs like Forest Green Rovers.

It was also nice to be the big fish in the little pond. Everywhere we went we would swamp grounds & impress with our travelling support, with many clubs looking forward to their fixture against the ‘giants’ of non-league.

It’s all the nicer now we’ve been promoted to have handed that ‘big fish’ crown over to Luton last season though, obviously. I’m sure they’ll enjoy it too, up to a point (which they may have already passed!).

Four years in Non-League was four years too many for most fans, I’m sure. I can understand that.

The very fact that this level of football is described with reference to a negative; NON-League - It seems more about what it wasn’t. About what we had lost. Rather than what it was and what we still had to re-gain.

Yet I believe that those four years will serve us well in the long run – both as a club and as a group of fans.

Never will we have an arrogance about us that we are ‘too big’ to go down again. Never will the commercial & symbolic implications of losing League status be forgotten.

If you were with me on the terraces of Droylsden & Barrow, or on the muddy sidelines at Tonbridge & AFC Sudbury, you will always be grateful for League status regained and truly understand what that means; Something to be cherished in a way fans of clubs who have not dropped out of the league will never, ever understand unless they go through the same.

AFC Sudbury: on a less muddy day than our visit in Dec 2008.

We are back where we belong, something achieved only after learning to respect the non-league world as a club and as fans. The Football Conference is surely the hardest league in the country to get promoted out of - we can all vouch for that.

But we did get promoted out of it.

We are now on the ladder again. It may well be the bottom rung – but you have to start climbing it somewhere. And those windows on the top floor look like they could do with a damn good scrub to me…

It's All Over Now, Baby Blue

2010-08-06T09:01:00.017+01:00

Season starts tomorrow - yippee!

I'm still not convinced about that new kit though, you know.

Let's face it - it's mainly blue. However you want to frame it, it's a blue kit with yellow, rather than a yellow and blue kit.

Now, I know the arguments about the fact that we only started wearing Yellow in the mid-70s, before that it was gold and if you go back far enough we actually wore gold and blue stripes - you can view the entire history here on Long John Silver's excellent OxKits site.

But we are The Yellows. We sing that song "Come on you Yellows" when we get a corner. We sing that other one, about building it up with Yellow & Blue whilst the apparently falling down S***don Town are asked to vacate the general area.

It will seem silly enough if we are singing Come on You Yellows tomorrow at Burton when they will assumedly be the team in yellow, but it will be stranger still to be singing it at home when we are wearing blue.

Look at the picture of the new shirt here. Now, whilst you may think there is quite a bit of yellow on the front, and that will do, you would be wrong. The sleeves and back thanks to the square needed for numbering, are entirely blue. So are the shorts. And Socks.

When the players are attacking the Fence End at The KasStad, The East Stand will only see blue.

I'm still to be convinced about this therefore being a good idea, as you will obviously realise. I guess if the team scores goals and win games, it doesn't really matter what colour shirt they are wearing. I'm just a traditionalist is all, but I'm sure there was a similar ruffling of feathers when yellow was first introduced, only 30-odd years ago.

Plus, the club is making a few bucks out if it too. You'll always find some idiot prepared to part with his cash, it seems.

Incoming...

2010-08-05T09:00:00.011+01:00

Hello there.

I've been asked by the powers that be at OUFC to contribute once more to the Matchday Programme for the coming season.

Now, whereas I won't be contributing to every programme as in season's past, I will be doing a few over the course of the season, and they will be about anything and everything - so thought I would also put the articles up on here as well.

The first one will be in the Bristol Rovers League Cup game, and I'll publish my article from this programme online that evening, August 10th.

Having re-started my non-OUFC specific blog, I may try and write some other stuff specifically about OUFC for this blog as well, but depends how the mood takes me and whether I've actually got much to say. It's quite an effort sometimes to come up with things and I don't want to turn this secondary blog into one that reports on matches or repeats news stories that come along. Or put out crap copy, too often.

This blog is really just for if i do have a thought about OUFC specifically, so I can stick it here where people who might have an interest can find it, rather than clutter up the main blog with articles about James Constable's bean-shaped head or The Beast's latest tattoo that non-OUFC folk will have no idea or interest in.

Subscribe to the RSS feed, and anytime it is updated, you will know. Do pop back tomorrow though, as there will be something new then.

Up The U's, anyway.