Bridle Christmas Bonanza

The ‘Bridle Christmas Bonanza’ against Macclesfield Town brought out a bizarre range of pre-match entertainment. I was sat in my customary row V seat in the Oxford Mail stand, yet as a brass band began to play at the top of the South Stand belting out old classics such as ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Old King Wenceslas,’ it did not feel like the prelude to a football match at the Kassam Stadium. As the brass band brought their set to a close, a woman dressed as a Christmas pudding then proceeded to rollerblade round all corners of the stadium waving enthusiastically at the crowd. Unfortunately, it went down like a lead balloon. Football fans are traditionalists; they like beer before the game, a pie at half time and beer after the game. Flying Christmas puddings will not break that routine.

Eventually the skating girl grew tired of waving cheerily at quizzical looking bald men and disappeared down the tunnel. Moments later, in front of a bumper crowd of over 9,000 (Macclesfield Town had generously brought 61) Oxford United took to the pitch. As the game got underway, it seemed that the crowd was suffering from a post-Christmas hangover and it took a wild tackle by the Macclesfield right-back Izak Reid on James Constable to fire the Oxford faithful back into life after a painful 24 day absence. The growing support of the crowd was clearly felt by the Oxford United players on the pitch. Clever link-up play between Constable and Steve MacLean who combined well throughout put Simon Heslop in on goal who, after an ugly first touch managed to sneak the ball home. In truth, Oxford were very comfortable for the remainder of the first half with MacLean at the heart of everything. After watching the Scot struggle at home to Gillingham, I was beginning to see glimpses of the player who had scored 25 goals in one Championship season for Sheffield Wednesday. Macclesfield did not appear to have any players of such calibre; their left-back, exotically named Aristote Nsiala, was even worse than Northampton’s Liam Davis and takes the prize for most inept player I have seen so far this season.

The second half was not as rosy as the first. For a start, the swirling mist was making it increasingly difficult to pick out the players. Indeed, the 61 Macclesfield fans and Oxford supporters at the furthest end of the North Stand had disappeared from view altogether. Furthermore, we had been brought down to Macclesfield’s level which led to the game becoming a physical slog void of any trickery or invention. That was until, with twenty minutes left, Alfie Potter took off on one of his dazzling runs similar to that famous one at Wembley. After covering over half the pitch, he squared the ball for Beano to smash into the roof of the net. Game over, surely.

Not quite. In classic Oxford United fashion the last ten minutes became an unnecessarily tense affair after a long-throw where goalkeeper Ryan Clarke was clearly impeded found its way into the back of the net through former Oxford loanee Reneil ‘Ricky’ Sappleton. Sappleton is another of those players you will only ever see in the football league. To put it politely, the chubby forward had clearly enjoyed one too many mince pies over the festive period. In my ideal word ‘Ricky’ will one day join up with Adebayo Akinfenwa. A 33 stone forward line would make fantastic viewing.

Not a wholly convincing performance from Oxford United, but after that appalling run of five defeats, a third consecutive victory will do nicely and we can feel confident going into Saturday’s game at home to Southend United.

Two precious wins

Two much-needed wins against top of the table Chesterfield and struggling Barnet has seen Oxford thankfully rise up the League 2 table. Despite going behind to high flying Chesterfield, Oxford rallied themselves earning a fantastic and hopefully season changing victory. A similar pattern followed in the home game to Barnet at the Kassam, largely brought about by the introduction of James Constable.

Perhaps that spirit that we saw at the end of last season where we threw away a position of dominance in the Blue Square Premier only to rekindle our form in the play-offs is coming through once more.

With the busy Christmas period coming up that will see the Oxford faithful turn out in their thousands, let's hope that Oxford United have well and truly turned the corner.

Dreadful

On a bitterly cold, gloomy grey November afternoon, Oxford United slumped to their fifth consecutive defeat at home to Gillingham. The 1-0 loss ended the Gills’ 19 agonizing month wait for an away league win (their fans unsurprisingly went berserk). Despite being evidently low on confidence, Gillingham outplayed and outclassed Oxford running out deserved winners.

Oxford are in disarray. The confidence of the players has been shattered by the four recent defeats and manager Chris Wilder’s decision to completely reshape the spine of the team, after this showing, looks highly dubious.

Despite dropping points at the start of the season, Oxford had been extremely unlucky, namely at home to Bury and away at Wycombe. Here we had played fast flowing football in a team that oozed confidence, having won promotion from a notoriously tough league. The spirit and togetherness was clear for all to see.

That confidence has disappeared and worryingly, so too has that promotion winning team spirit. Dannie Bulman was shipped out to Crawley Town on loan; Jack Midson to Southend and in the last week, the popular figure of Mark ‘Beast’ Creighton to Wrexham and tricky local boy Sam Deering to Newport. These were players that toiled hard for the yellow shirt and more importantly, cared greatly for the club. The three players brought in this week by Wilder all looked drastically unfit, uninterested and in the case of the appalling Ben Futcher, incapable. Every single person who left the Kassam this afternoon had the words ‘Futcher’ and ‘awful’ at their lips. Standing at 6 foot 7, one would have hoped he would have won his fair share of headers. Unfortunately not. I now understand why Bury had let this bumbling fool leave. He made 16 stone Adebayo Akinfenwa look unplayable (and at times even quick). The decision to play Steve Maclean in place of the clinical James ‘Beano’ Constable was baffling.

It was bitterly disappointing to watch. Oxford looked clueless, the team spineless and completely lacking any imagination. My friend, who last accompanied me to the Wycombe away game asked in bewilderment where it had all gone wrong. I could not blame him. It was a painful spectacle.

Oxford could not keep the ball and lacked any width. Our own tactic was to hope that Alfie Potter could produce some magic, yet he was a lone ranger. Josh Payne, who arrived at the club full of confidence, has been depressingly dragged down to the level of League 2 midfield dogfighters. Playing next to the hapless loan signing Paul Wootton, he was unable to influence the game. Chris Wilder’s favourite, the infuriating Tom Craddock once again hugged the left touchline barely noticeable in the game.

Gillingham’s goal came through a mistake from our starlet centre back Jake Wright, who had an afternoon to forget. At half time one of my mates, a Gillingham fan in the away end texting me saying, ‘don’t worry, we’re sure to capitulate.’ Yet Gillingham did not.

Oxford United have sunk back to the dark depths that I thought after that joyous day at Wembley we had put behind us. Hold tight folks, this is going to be a long, hard season.

Three More Defeats...

A home loss to Torquay United, followed by away defeats to Burton Albion and Rotherham United have seen Oxford United crash out of the FA Cup 1st Round and slide down League 2. The dream of playing local rivals Swindon has, once again, diminshed. Moreover, Oxford find themselves being sucked towards the dreaded relegation zone.

How has this run of four league defeats come about? In Chris Wilder's eyes at least it is due to the youthful inexperience of the side. He has responded to this by bringing in three vastly experienced football league players on loan: central midfielder Paul Wootton from Southampton, the towering centre-back Ben Futcher from Bury and Steve Maclean from Plymouth. Despite handing starts to all three and restoring the collected, ever-responsible Simon Clist to the starting line-up, we still came unstuck in our last outing at Rotherham. Wilder has effectively ripped apart our promotion winning team, lost patience with his summer signings and has such turned to these wise-headed loan signings as the key to steadying the ship. Time will tell whether this gamble pays off.

With a greater blend of youth and experience, Wilder hopes to have found the tonic to catapult us up the table. Our next home game against Gillingham gives us the perfect opportunity to do so. The Gills have the worst away record in the whole Football League (they have not won away since May 2009) and possess a 16 stone striker in the (rather round) shape of Adebayo Akinfenwa up front.

Bring on Saturday.

Massacred at the Valley

Bradford City 5-0 Oxford United. An afternoon to forget up in Yorkshire.

With half an hour gone in the game, you would have thought the eventual result an impossibility. Oxford, following last week's win began the game brightly and had the best of the game's opening chances. Indeed, bar the linseman's flag, Oxford would have even been one nil up. The half-time whistle went. Bradford City 0-0 Oxford United.

In the second half, everything that could have gone wrong, unfortunately did go wrong. A brilliantly saved penalty by Ryan Clarke by former England (substitute), whiny-voiced, drug dealer lookalike Len Hendrie had to be re-taken as apparently Clarke had moved from his line too soon. The resulting penalty was cooly converted by Hendrie, who wheeled away grabbing the yellow and gold shirt.

That, incidentally made the score 3-0. Omar Daley, the skillful Jamican had already scored two goals of a higher standard than is usually seen in League 2. He celebrated by attempting to clap hands with every Yorkshireman in the entire ground. What was it with Bradford and overly excitable celebrations? Perhaps it is the fact that they have had nothing to cheer about since their dramatic fall from the glamour of the Premiership.

Our two centre backs, Mark 'Beast' Creighton and Jack Wright were then dismissed. This is never ideal. The Beast went first for two bookable offences. The first was questionable. The second, unfortunately, was not. It was a wild, fully committed lunge at Daley's legs. A punch up ensued, with Wright and Bradford's James Hanson at the thick of it. Both were given their marching orders.

At this point, an inexperienced, young Oxford United side desperately wanted to the referee to blow the final whistle, and to swiftly depart from the confides of Yorkshire. However, twenty painful minutes were to follow where Bradford greedily exploited their battered opposition, scoring two more well-taken goals.

A torrid afternoon, yet hopefully one that Oxford United's young side will learn from.

Bring on January the 15th. Revenge is sweet, remember that Bradford.

Cobblers Left In Payne After Wonder Strike

Two depressing defeats, at home to the ex-army skinheads of Aldershot and away to the diehard supporters of Macclesfield Town followed that wonderful last-gasp win against Port Vale. I say ‘diehard’ here as who in their right mind would support a club only ten miles from the mighty Manchester United and (dare I say it) soon to be mightier Manchester City? The Macclesfield loss was particularly disappointing. We had cruised into a 2-0 lead at half time only to throw it away through some woeful defending in the second.

Somehow despite our bright start to the season, we now found ourselves looking down, rather than up, the division. Only four points now separated us from the relegation zone. Our visitors today were our friends from down the A43, Northampton Town. Judging from the huge numbers of men kitted out in luminous jackets that were patrolling the Kassam, you would have thought that we were playing Luton Town. Northampton Town, to put in mildly, are not the fiercest of football clubs. During the ninety minutes, no bellowing chants were aimed at the Oxford faithful. Indeed, the Cobblers barely broke into a smattering of applause.

With fans still finishing their meat pies and putting adventurous bets on Oxford thrashing our opponents (sorry fat man in the blue fleece but we were never going to win 5-0), we went 1-0 up. Some questionable defending by the Northampton left-back, Liam Davis, allowed James Constable to turn and thrash the ball across the box. Northampton were unable to clear the ball, leaving Alfie Potter to turn and tuck the ball away with his left foot. Davis was to have a torrid afternoon, as he was run ragged by our wing wizard, Potter. He was one of those players who occasionally take to the Kassam turf that make me wonder just how exactly he ever made it as a professional footballer. He was clumsy, uncomfortable on the ball and unable to defend. Indeed, the lad appeared to possess no footballing attributes. Unfortunately, I have said the same about a number of players who have pulled on the yellow shirt too. Emiliano Diaz springs to mind.

After racing into an early lead, Oxford went into their shell, allowing Northampton back in the game. Eventually, their pressure told after a clever move was finished by ex-Premiership, ex-chest baring striker Leon McKenzie for his fourth goal in two games. The Northampton fans even got a little bit excited at this moment and a chant of ‘Leon, Leon, Leon!’ went up. Oh, how original.

The rest of the half was an end to end, exciting encounter. Both sides looked threatening when attacking and brittle defensively. With one minute left on the clock, we were awarded a free-kick. I was not overly hopeful. I had not seen Oxford score a direct free-kick since a Dean Whitehead wonder goal at home to Darlington. He has since made his name in the Premiership. As Josh Payne stepped up and curled a sumptuous shot past the helpless goalkeeper, my brother and I thus shared the same astonished expression before being mobbed by spotty teenagers in yellow shirts and beanie hats.

The second half was not quite as enthralling as the first. Oxford seemed terrified of conceding a goal after two defeats, whereas Northampton appeared equally as terrified of pushing forward to try and score one. As the game drifted into an ugly encounter with heavy touches, high punts into the cold autumnal breeze and late challenges, the crowd decided to turn their attention to one figure: the referee. This is quite common at football matches all over the country. If the match is becoming a nothing spectacle, shout and scream at the referee (and his assistants). After a blatant foul on captain ‘Beano’ was not given, that was it for the men behind me. That was enough. The referee quickly became ‘a cunt, a wanker and a short arsed tosser’ in the space of a minute. Similar abuse was levelled at the poor gentleman for the remainder of the game.

Thankfully for Mr. Tierney (and his assistants), Northampton failed to make the most of a couple of chances at the death that could have turned the men’s anger behind me to uncontrollable rage. Instead, on the break substitute Matt Green raced clear before feeding fellow sub Simon Clist in the area. Clist was hauled down, Mr. Tierney awarded a penalty (that calmed down the men) and from the resulting spot-kick Tom Craddock put the match out of reach.

By no means our most convincing performance of the season, but certainly the confidence boost Oxford United needed before our appetising away game next week away at the league giants, Bradford City.

From The Depths Of Despair To Joy In Thirty Seconds

We were in to stoppage time. Oxford United were still holding on to a deserved 1-0 lead over the league leaders, Port Vale. Ryan Clarke was performing wonders in the Oxford goal. The whole of the Oxford Mail stand was on their feet urging the men in yellow over the finishing line. We needed this win. We had drawn too many games already this season.

With Port Vale camped in our half, they pumped yet another ball into the Oxford box. It looped over the defence and was slammed home on the volley by centre-half, Gareth Owen. A deadly silence took over the Oxford fans; some stood and watched expressionless, others hung their heads, while the more animated kicked out at the seat in front of them. The Port Vale fans, however, had gone berserk. They had come back at the death to pinch a point and remain top of the league. Some of their fans could not hide their delight and poured onto the pitch, mobbing their players. With their tough Staffordshire accents, they bellowed ‘Vale, Vale, Vale!’ at us. It was a party atmosphere in the away stand.

The life was quickly sucked out of the Port Vale party though. Off the re-start Ben Purkiss, the Oxford deputy right back who is improving every week, launched the ball forward. It fell to substitute Matt Green who swivelled on the edge of the box and fed the ball to Tom Craddock in acres of room. Craddock turned and with his left foot tucked the ball away into the corner of the net for his second goal of the game. Mayhem followed. I grabbed my two brothers, one of whom had just flown in from the States and the other who was watching his last Oxford game for many months as he jets off to New Zealand this week. Dad was caught somewhere in the ruckus and was desperately trying to keep his glasses on his face. The man and his son seated next to me went potty too. Judging by his breath as he roared in my face, the man had eaten a hot dog during the half time interval. Fans in yellow leant back and shouted with relief into the autumn Oxford sunshine. In the five minutes that followed, the Oxford supporters created that same deafening atmosphere that we had in the play-off semi final against Rushden and against Luton. We screamed in the direction of the Port Vale fans, whose afternoon had turned from ecstasy to misery in the space of thirty seconds. The ‘you’re not singing anymore’ chant was even more appropriate than it had been at Crewe the week before.

A minute later and the final whistle was finally blown. My voice was hoarse, my heart was hammering and I felt utterly elated. So too did the greasy lad behind me who stated that October 2 2010 had been, ‘the best day of my life.’ As I left the stadium, with the Oxford fans still singing and clapping, I thought that the match I had just watched is the reason why thousands flock every week to watch their various teams up and down the country. It is for that moment, when you are seemingly down and out and can give no more to rise and snatch a game at the brink why as football fans we are addicted to our sport. It is feeling matched by no other in life and the time that it happens in the season, as it did today, is truly wonderful. As football fans, we suffer watching out teams. I remember sitting through a turgid goalless draw against Boston United on a bitterly cold, wind-swept December day where there were no shots on target. Not one. I also remember that horrible, hollow feeling after being beaten in the 2007 play-off semi final by Exeter City on penalties. Having to witness the episodes such as this, make days like today even sweeter.

The match itself was a lively encounter. Port Vale were organised and efficient. They were not the best team that I have seen this season, but I think that they will be in and around the play-off spots. Throughout the ninety minutes, Oxford United were superb. Josh Payne was again, influential in the middle of the midfield. His floated cross for the first goal was sublime. The weight on the ball was perfect. It was enough to beat the defender, but also gave the on-rushing Tom Craddock the time to pick his spot and bury his header past Stuart Tomlinson in the Port Vale goal. Payne was backed up brilliantly by Asa Hall and in particular, Simon Heslop. The game also showed the depth that exists in the Oxford United squad. This is a real reason for optimism. When Simon Clist cannot make the starting line-up of a league 2 team, you know you are heading in the right direction. Furthermore Leigh Franks and Stevie Kinniburgh brought in for their first starts of the season both performed admirably.

What an afternoon. No regrets eh, Robbie Williams?

Feisty Encounter In Crewe

After a largely uneventful first half, a contentious disallowed goal, a scuffle and a sending off brought the match between Oxford United and Crewe Alexandra to life at Gresty Road on a sunny autumn afternoon.

The train up to Crewe was an interesting journey as my younger brother and I were joined by the classic football anorak, who had spotted our yellow and blue scarves at the back of the carriage. These oddities are one of the three categories of people who tend to travel the long distances to watch their beloved team. The other two are those who adore the atmosphere and those who seek out violence. The anoraks are the fanatics, the ones who travel with the team to watch their pre-season games in somewhere deeply unprepossessing such as Stenhousemuir or Kilmarnock. They can recite the names of almost any player (including the loanees) that have pulled on the club shirt. I had no doubt that this gentleman had been to all corners of the country with Oxford United; from Torquay to Barrow. As the train rattled from Birmingham New Street to Crewe, I was proved right. The man, who sported a mop of bright red hair, wore bulky Cat Boots and had a host of Oxford United badges pinned to his stripy T-shirt proceeded to enlighten us with Oxford United stories of old. This, he told us as we stepped off at the famous Crewe Railway Station was his ‘fifth time’ at Gresty Road. An admirable achievement given that we had not even played Crewe since 1999.   

Gresty Road itself is a peculiar stadium. A newly developed stand running along the side of the pitch sits almost the entire Crewe faithful and dominates the other three, battered and run-down stands. The Oxford fans were positioned in one of these ancient stands looking up the state of the art Air Products end. As ever, we had brought a healthy following.

We started poorly, and if truth be told were below par for the whole of the first half. Our passing was sloppy, worsened by the fact that Crewe pressed and harried us on the ball effectively. Dario Gradi, Crewe’s long serving manager had instilled in his team a passing ethos and as such his team were comfortable on the ball, spraying it elegantly across the pitch. However when Crewe finally scored it was not a well-worked footballing goal. Instead, it was a thump from the solid head of centre half and skipper, David Artell off a corner. 1-0 at the break and not much to shout thus far. Well, actually that is not strictly true. The women behind me had indeed found reason to shout. She had not taken a liking the referee, Mr. Eltringham and spent the whole half yelling ‘bumboy’ at the plump official.

The second half was frenetic and made me feel satisfied to have undertaken the two and a half hour journey to the Northern railway town (and three and a half on the way back, but that is another story. Quick tip to those thinking of coming from Crewe to Oxford; do not get off at Wolverhampton. Stay on till Birmingham New Street.) Chris Wilder rung the changes, bringing on Richie Baker, Matt Green and Jack Midson from the bench that meant for the majority of the second half we were essentially playing a 4-2-4 formation. The gamble paid off. Baker was influential, while the pace of Green created chaos in the Crewe defence. That is, until in classic Matt Green fashion, he stopped running with ten minutes to go.

Our goal was brought about by Asa Hall, who ran himself into the ground as ever, who won the ball with a crunching tackle on the half way line, creating a three on one situation in favour of Oxford. It seemed as if Tom Craddock had wasted the opportunity as he dithered on the ball before laying a sloppy pass to the prolific James ‘Beano’ Constable. Beano slammed his shot against the keeper, yet the rebound fell kindly back to the Oxford captain, who scrambled the second attempt home. Our fans went potty (that is apart from the elderly man seated next to me, who just about managed to get to his feet for the goal).

The next twenty minutes were terrific viewing. Oxford were attacking with purpose, tackles were flying in and both sets of supporters had been sucked into the encounter. Our brave formation however meant that we were susceptible to the counter-attack and that is exactly what happened with ten minutes to go (when Matt Green had stopped running). The hate-figure, Clayton Donaldson, who had spent the whole afternoon theatrically going to ground, cut inside the Oxford box and lashed a right-foot shot at Ryan Clarke’s goal. The net rippled, the Oxford fans let out a united groan, and the Crewe fans went wild. My little brother put his head to his hands. Something was not right though. Clarke, a model professional had sprinted to the linesman, his hands held out in disbelief. Oxford’s centre half, Mark Creighton, ‘the Beast’ had followed him for moral support. After a couple of minutes of our players protesting with the officials, the goal was chalked off. I had not seen the incident, yet the ancient fellow next to me explained how Donaldson’s shot had hit his team mate, positioned five yards off side and then flown past keeper Clarke. The officials had therefore made the correct decision. The chant went up of ‘you’re not singing anymore’ to the Crewe fans. It had never been more fitting.

Emotions were running high; fans punched their fists in the air imploring Oxford on. We were awarded a corner, but their goalkeeper collected the goal comfortably, before being floored by captain Constable. A scuffled ensued, with players squaring up to each other. In front of the Oxford fans, Artell put his arm round Craddock’s neck. I saw ‘the Beast’ do the same to one of theirs. After what seemed as if everyone had been cautioned, the game resumed. After what had just happened, it was probably not the best idea for Beano to launch himself into a full-blown tackle on their right back. A second yellow came, and we were without our captain for injury time. We held on though. A battling yet deserved point against a team that will certainly be pushing for promotion.

The March Goes On

Hereford 0-2 Oxford United might not mean much to a neutral. To an Oxford United fan though it means a four and a half year wait for a football league away win is over. In a town known for its cider, a celebratory pint followed.

After this game, where Tom Craddock opened his Oxford United account with a sublime finish with the outside of his right foot that (dare I say it) reminded me of Dennis Bergkamp in his heyday, I have now become overly optimistic about our prospects this season. I'll tell you why.

Firstly, this is largely a squad of players that have won promotion together out of a notoriously tough league and that togetherness and team spirit rubs off on the pitch. In addition to this our new signings have a similar work ethic, in particular Asa Hall, and are prepared to run themselves into the ground for the sake of the team. Secondly, we have a large squad; not many teams in the league will possess the quality of subsitutes that we have, such as Alfie Potter and Sam Deering. Thirdly, we have a proven predator up front in the shape of James Constable. This is fundamental to achieving success in the lower leagues. Fourthly we have a manager that is level-headed, has the respect of the players and has instilled a dogged and determined attitude into the team.

I never thought I would say this after that dire Accrington game, but this could be another very eventful season for Oxford United.

First League Win

Three vital points, a much improved performance and a hat-trick from talisman, James Constable; Oxford United have got their season back on track.

I was sceptical of our opposition, Morecambe, from the outset. Their shirts were firstly sponsored by the skateboarding clothing brand, ‘Bench.’ Football and skateboarding are quite separate recreations. Let’s keep it that way.

Secondly, the away stand, made up of a hundred hardy souls, were seated the entire game. Having made the four hour drive to the Kassam, I expected to see some passion from the Morecambe faithful. However, when the game got underway, it quickly became clear why they had nothing to shout about. Morecambe were the worst team I have ever seen at the Kassam Stadium. Worse even than St. Albans. They were a shambles; disorganised, un-interested and quite frankly, incapable of keeping hold of the ball. To make matters worse for Morecambe their star player, Phil Jevons, had to be substituted in the first five minutes after clashing heads with Jake Wright.

As such, Oxford were given ample time on the ball and unlike last week’s game against Accrington, we were much better in possession and fizzed the ball around neatly at a high tempo. Last week I wrote how we lacked class in the midfield. No more. Enter Josh Payne, whom Chris Wilder has signed on loan from Doncaster for the month. As Jimmy Ryan had done for Accrington last week, Payne did for Oxford today. He was at the certain of everything, dictating the play and like all great football players, never looked rushed on the ball. He had an aura about him, and his quality showed in the fifteenth minute, where near the corner flag he jinxed past two defenders with an outrageous piece of skill rarely displayed in the lower leagues. Added to these attributes, he can also add a crunching tackle to his repertoire. At 19 years old, he has a bright future ahead of him.

Oxford were completely dominant. A goal was inevitable. What was not inevitable though, was a thirty-yard wonder strike from Simon Heslop that flew into the top right corner. As we roared in delight at the brilliance of a goal we normally have to settle for on Match of the Day, I shouted in Dad’s ear to retract his ‘carthorse’ comment from the previous week. He just laughed in astonished delight. Five minutes later, it was 2-0. A corner was met by the bald head of Constable who powered the ball into the roof of the net. A crucial first league goal from our most gifted goal scorer, valued asset and leader. The half time whistle blew and the Oxford fans rose to their feet. A very satisfactory showing.

The fast, free-flowing football that Oxford had produced in the first half was replaced at beginning of the second by the lethargic, sloppy sort that had been on display the previous week. The pressing game we had performed so effectively in the first half had disappeared. We backed off, allowing the woeful Morecambe team to grow in confidence. Bar a wonderful double-save from our fantastic goalkeeper, Ryan Clarke, Morecambe would have pulled a goal back.

However, this double-save kicked Oxford back into life, aided by the introduction of super-sub Alfie Potter and the tricky Sam Deering. Potter, typically, made an instant impact. He was first scythed down by Morecambe left-back Laurence Wilson, who was sent on his merry way by referee Brendan Malone for a second bookable offence. Off the resulting set-piece, the training ground routine worked a treat (though, not in the way that it was intended). The ball was squared to Payne, whose attempted shot was scuffed and rolled kindly to the feet of predator Constable to smash home. In the final minute, Potter turned the Morecambe defender inside out, before laying ‘Beano’ on a plate for his first football league hat-trick.

A crucial first win, but rest assured that there will be much sterner tests than Morecambe in the season ahead.

Reality Check

Enough talk of Wembley and the Tuesday night trip to Premiership opposition West Ham, this match at home to Accrington Stanley was a return to reality for Oxford United.

Accrington Stanley had brought a travelling army of 123 supporters to the Kassam, armed with a banner stuck to the back of the away end that read, ‘Stanley: the pride of Lancashire.’ This was a fitting statement, for as I read through the match day programme, I noticed that bar an Irishman, a Pole and a Yorkshire man, each and every one of the Accrington Stanley squad hailed from the North West of England, nine of whom were Liverpudlians. I remembered having watched three of them, Ray Putterill, Jimmy Ryan and Craig Lindfield in the Liverpool’s FA Youth Cup win over Manchester United in 2007. Even their manager John Coleman was a committed Lancastrian, having played for Kirby Town, Burscough, Marine, Southport, Runcorn, Macclesfield, Morecambe and Lancaster. Oh, what a glittering career. The whole Accrington Stanley set-up was a far cry from another team in Lancashire, owned by a certain Sheik Mansour. It was a refreshing change to see a squad that was made up almost entirely of local lads that played with a great togetherness and spirit. It was unlike the squad of glitzy individuals amassed by Sheik Mansour 20 miles down the county that are held in common only by a hefty pay check at the end of the week.

Back to the game, the energy and purpose that Oxford had shown at Wycombe the previous week and at Upton Park on Tuesday night had been replaced by laborious punts up into the air and wayward passing. (I have been told we played well at West Ham anyway. I unfortunately could not be at the game, as I was at visiting my girlfriend in Edinburgh. Yes, I know what you’re thinking.) The 4-3-3 formation that had proved so effective in the play-offs in promoting fast flowing attacking football, was now encouraging the long-ball game. Our tactic was very simple. As early as possible, a cross field ball was aimed in the direction of tall Jack Midson on the left wing, who in turn tried to flick it on to the tireless James Constable. It reminded me of the Ian Atkins years, where we were dogged and hard to break down, yet created very few clear-cut chances. It did not make for great viewing. I dreaded a return to those days.

Oxford could just not get a foot-hold in the match. We sorely missed the ability of a Dean Whitehead to take the game by the scruff of the neck, or the quality of an Adam Murray to dictate the proceedings. It still greatly pains me that Murray left us for rivals Luton Town for geographical reasons. For those of you not familiar with the story, it is Oxford United club policy that players must live within a commutable distance of the city. Murray was unwillingly to relocate from Derby, and as such he was released. I never knew Derby was such a wonderful place to live. I mean, the spires of Oxford or the Industrial museum of Derby?

As such, we lacked class and invention and were instead flat and one-dimensional. It was a stark contrast to the youthful Accrington Stanley, who zipped the ball about in a style of football that was attractive on the eye. Jimmy Ryan, their squat central midfield player and ex-Liverpool youth was running the show. He was the best player on display by a country mile.

Oxford were diabolically wasteful in possession. Our full-backs Anthony Tonkin and Ben Purkiss, were particularly sloppy in their distribution, while midfielders Dannie Bulman and Simon Heslop, in his awkward running style, frequently gave away missed placed passes. We failed to release dangerous winger Matt Green down the right flank in a one-on-one with their left back, while star striker Constable was frustratingly isolated. Worryingly, our new signings looked more like squad players, than those able to set a game alight. My Dad, seated next to me, summed it up by labelling out most exciting summer signing, Heslop, as ‘a carthorse.’

The only time in the game when we looked threatening was with the introduction of Alfie Potter. Fleet-footed Potter, as we saw at Wembley is a fantastic option for Chris Wilder on the bench. He is every tiring defender’s nightmare, as he is direct, quick and skilful. With ten minutes left on the clock, he left the Accrington defence for dead, ghosting three defenders before slipping the ball to Constable, who came alive for the first time in the game forcing a great save from the Accrington Stanley goalkeeper, Alex Cisak (who is unsurprisingly the one Pole in the Accrington squad that I alluded to before.)

Welcome back to reality Oxford United. The adventures of Wembley and Upton Park are behind us now. This is going to be a difficult season and a tricky league that will require much better showings that this one if we are to succeed.

Derby Day

It was one of those days. However hard Oxford United pushed and, despite dominating the second half, the ball would just not find the Wycombe Wanderers net.

Adams Park, home of Wycombe Wanderers, is not your typical football ground. A woodland backdrop overlooks the stadium, rather than a run-down rowdy pub. Indeed, there is no pub in sight; the nearest one is a fifteen minute brisk walk from the ground.

As such, it took longer than usual to fill the away end with yellow shirts. With five minutes till kick off, though, we were in full force and bellowing out the chants. Our desperation to get out of the wretched Conference, and the journey that had taken us to the play-offs and then Wembley had made our fans even more of a collective unit. We had suffered the worst together. Yet now we were back in the Football League, and very happy to be. We thus demonstrated our togetherness and pride by roaring Oxford songs at the muted Wycombe supporters.

The first half was a classic English lower league clash. It was gritty, dogged and passionate, yet lacked that cutting edge. The half belonged to the centre-halves of each side, and also to Wycombe’s well-balanced, elegant central midfielder Lewis Montrose who stroked the ball around with apparent ease. Oxford struggled to assert themselves on proceedings, not helped by losing energetic right-back Damian Batt to injury early on. The best chance of the half fell to Wycombe. An over hit, fizzed cross from the left alluded the Oxford defence and was met by Matt Phillips steaming in at the back post, who scuffed the ball wide.

Wycombe may have shaded the first half, yet Oxford steamrolled them after the break. Straight off the kick off, speedy forward Matt Green was released and crashed the ball against the bar, via a spectacular fingertip stop by keeper Nikki Bull. The crowd sensed Oxford’s growing confidence and the noise levels rose, reverberating round all corners of Adams Park. Five minutes later, it was James Constable who should have put Oxford ahead. A mix-up in the Wycombe penalty area saw the ball drop at Constable’s feet who swivelled and instinctively swung his right foot at it, only to find Bull in the way once more. A goal felt inevitable.

However, as Oxford had found to their peril against Bury the previous week, teams in League 2 are more able to launch a successful counter-attack than those in the Conference, and that is just what happened. Anthony Tonkin, whose distribution had been sloppy throughout, was robbed of the ball on the half-way line by Wycombe’s nippy forward, Kevin Betsy, who sprinted towards the goal and only had Ryan Clarke to beat. Thankfully, Betsy thought he was more Thierry Henry than Dean Windass and his attempted chip sailed harmlessly over the bar. It was a let off.

Still Oxford pushed though, and Green was sent one-on-one with Bull again, but his shot was scrambled out for a corner. Then, a moment of magic from captain Constable. A rare mistake from Bull saw his throw intercepted by Constable who, Torres-like cut in on his right foot and slammed against the upright, via another brilliant fingertip stop from Bull. The final minutes saw both sides go all out for the three points. However, the last chance of the match came to Oxford’s Jack Midson, whose header from a Jake Wright free-kick crept agonizingly past the right post.

Sadly, we were denied the chance to bring the roof down at Adams Park. Still, a positive performance from Oxford United; it is only a matter of time before we record our first league win of the season.

The Joy of Wembley

The 16th of May 2010 is a day that will be fondly remembered forever by supporters of Oxford United.

The season had seen the Yellows top the Conference for the majority of the year, before dramatically collapsing in a way that only we know how. The mid-season slide down the table was prompted by a debacle at Kenilworth Road where, 1-0 up, Oxford conceded two injury time goals. As a result, we were back in the dreaded play-offs. These can spark either utter joy or depressing misery in a football fan depending on the outcome. Thankfully we passed our first test, in the semi final, thus avoiding that hollow nothingness that followed our previous play-off semi final in 2007 when we had crashed out in the cruellest of fashions, a penalty shootout, to Exeter City. A tactical masterstroke by manager Chris Wilder, reverting from 4-4-2 to 4-3-3, saw us comfortably brush aside an unimpressive Rushden & Diamonds over the two legs.

So there we were, back at Wembley.

The M40 was a sea of yellow. Scarves draped out of cars, while Oxford banners attached to bridges fluttered in the wind. At Wembley Stadium itself, the pubs in the vicinity were packed with Oxford supporters. There were fans of old in retro shirts, dragged out of retirement for one last hurrah, sipping on pints of bitter and reminiscing about our last outing at Wembley in 1986. Then there were the hardcore, the ones that had been to Barrow and Gateshead, who were settling their nerves by sinking lagers and belting out Oxford chants. There were whole families on a day out, their young, excitable children kitted out in the latest replica shirts. This was a day of togetherness, when all fans of Oxford were united.

You see, we had suffered like no other club. The last ten years had, quite simply, been a total disaster. In 2001, we entered the basement of the football league, having been relegated suffering a record 33 defeats and conceding 100 goals. At that stage, we even chanted about how rubbish we were. Once in the lowest tier, we tried every formula possible to galvanise the side. The long ball game under Ian Atkins, where players pumped the ball up to sluggish carthorse, Julian Alsop up front, appeared to be paying off for some time until it became too predictable. Alsop, incidentally left the club in acrimonious circumstances for attempting to insert a banana up a youth player’s bottom. The pretty football that followed under Graham Rix was attractive on the eye, but ineffective in bringing about results. We even tried to bring in some Argentinian flair, in the shape of Ramon Diaz. What followed was a bizarre mix of overweight, skilful foreigners plying their trade aside hurly-burly workhorse Englishmen. Diaz left, having failed to obtain a work permit. Brian Talbot came next. He was just no good. We were drifting into obscurity, to the dark depths of the Conference. So we played our last trick, bringing back the man who had led us in our glory years, the ‘Bald Eagle’ himself, Jim Smith. The gamble did not pay off. Following a home defeat to Leyton Orient, we lost our football league status.

The Conference, or the Blue Square Premier to be precise, is a league where no football fan wishes to see their team. The fixture list, including the likes of St. Albans and Lewes, does not exactly set the pulse racing. Some grounds, such as Kettering Town’s Elgoods Brewery Arena, did not even possess a toilet. It was a leak on the wall job. We hoped, and secretly thought, that we were too good for this league. We had won the Milk Cup for goodness sake. However, after our penalty shootout play-off heartache in our first season, the next two seasons had seen us slip into mid-table mediocrity. We were regressing. We had become the ultimate nothing club. A point on the road to Histon was viewed more as a point gained, than one lost. Yet a revival under our 13th manager (including caretakers) in 10 seasons, Chris Wilder, had now given us that chance to return to the promised land.

Wembley Stadium was a cacophony of noise. The ground was awash with yellow. We had brought a staggering 33,000 fans to York City’s 7,000.

Roars from the Oxford faithful echoed around all corners of the enormous arena. Familiar faces met your every turn. We shared a mixture of excitement and anticipation, yet underneath our nerves were jangling. Amid the din and the torrential rain, the match finally got underway.

Wilder had opted for an unchanged line-up from the semi-final games and Oxford started at a ferocious pace, zipping the ball about with purpose on the sodden Wembley pitch. After fifteen dominant minutes, our pressure eventually told. Confusion in the York area saw the ball drop to Matt Green on the edge of the box, who swivelled and lashed home a half-volley into the roof of the net. We were sent into delirium.

Four minutes later, our talisman James Constable was sent through and clinically placed the ball past Michael Ingram in the York goal. 2-0. Deafening noise came from the Oxford contingent. Hugs and smiles all round. Half-time was approaching. We had battered York. Then, disaster struck. Player of the season and ever-reliable goalkeeper Ryan Clark dropped the slimy ball into his net off a corner. The smiling faces had been replaced by heads in hands. That horrible, inevitable feeling that comes with watching Oxford United had returned: we were going to throw away a lead from a position of dominance. I thought of the games against Gateshead, Hayes & Yeading, Ebbsfleet...Please, God. No.

The second half was nervy and tense. The enjoyment of the first half was now but a distant memory. York had found their feet; that fortunate goal had given them the confidence to express themselves. The game had become an equal contest. The next goal was crucial. York had two clear openings, but squandered them both. It was beginning to be painful to watch. I was breathing deeply and chewing frantically at my fingernails. Ten minutes left. Five. We were nearly there. Then in stoppage time, York were awarded a corner and in their desperate attempt to find an equaliser pushed their whole team forward, bar one defender. The looped ball was headed clear and fell to Alfie Potter, who sprung a counter-attack with Sam Deering. After a series of one-twos, Deering passed the ball across the face of the box for Potter to guide it into the gaping net.

Ten painful years were banished in an instant. Heartache and hurt were suddenly taken over by joy and elation. It was all over. There was noise everywhere; there were tears, beaming faces and fists punching the Wembley air. The diehards danced down the Wembley stairs their arms aloft, families jumped up and down hugging one another, while the old-timers just lifted their heads skywards and smiled.

Oxford United were back where they belong.