Sherbet Dib-Dag

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

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...

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

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)

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

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

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.