The wrap - Forest Green, Bradford, Rochdale, Plymouth

I haven't written anything on this blog for a while. It's not as if things aren't going well on the pitch. Since the last post we've won three and lost one and we're in the third round of the FA Cup after an excellent win over Plymouth.

Not only was that win important in terms of progressing, it was our first one away from home against a team at our level (Checkatrade aside, which it always is). We're scoring goals and we've stopped conceding. The performance against Rochdale was, at times, as good, if not better than performances under Michael Appleton in League 1.

But, something is missing. The opening months of the season have been brutal, and the recovery from the start of the season has been slow. I admire Karl Robinson for getting us out of the hole we were in. I can see why people struggle to warm to him; he's like your mate in the pub who is full of energy and a great laugh. Except when you get home and all you want to do is go to bed, he's the one still going, plotting something, badgering you to go back out to some club or other.

He needs that energy, it's a thankless task being a football manager, harder still turning a team around in the face of an endless stream of criticism. Even harder in the modern game when you can't bring players in outside transfer windows. When everyone was down, he had to be up, he had to keep coming into work and putting the hours in to solidify the defence and create an attacking style that wins games. He's done all of that.

The Nile Ranger affair, as much as it was anything, didn't help with the mood. You can't blame Robinson for looking where he can for players given the constraints they're under. It's not that Ranger doesn't deserve a chance while he's free to take them. If we simply punish people endlessly for things they've done, what is the point of trying to turn yourself around? You might as well keep trucking on with your errant ways. But still, the last thing we need is to become a club that attracts negative press or appears to put its morals aside in the pursuit of league points.

We're also being wound up, apparently. HMRC are taking us to court in an attempt to make us pay our bills. I don't really know how serious these things are, they sound serious. I don't know how easy these things are to resolve. My guess is that, practically, all HMRC want is a cheque and the whole problem will go away.

Yellows Forum is not exactly a good barometer for how serious this is, but OxVox are sufficiently concerned to have written an open letter to the club about it. My guess is that it's not the lack of money that's the problem, more the poor administration of that money to pay bills. It doesn't bode well for January.

But, and I think this is where my head is at the moment. What I felt sitting in the stands against Rochdale is that the club doesn't currently have a narrative. At least not one I can easily relate to. Results on the pitch are good, and that's an important start, but the spirit of the club isn't there. There isn't a buzz on social media for each game, crowds are hardly booming, the relationship with players still seems quite distant, fan culture seems a bit flat, the club doesn't feel part of the city or fans or something.

This season has been one about the mechanics of surviving a terrible start. Perhaps the FA Cup will give us something to believe in, a spark, perhaps January will bring us some inspiring signings and we will take our form into the New Year and, like in 1996, we'll go on a run which will bring a tilt at promotion and everyone together. But, the club have got to resolve its issues, off the field has got to feel better than it currently does, otherwise the results will be a side issue and those with a casual interest in us - who turn 6,000 crowds into 8,000 crowds - will continue to stay at home.

The wrap - Oxford United 2 Plymouth Argyle 0

When we did our house up a few years ago, the plumber who came to sort something out opened a door in the loft and was confronted by a myriad of pipes the like of which he'd never seen before. It was like a pit of vipers that had been turned to copper.

It turned out that the previous owner had been a builder, and had built the heating system himself using bits and pieces of pipes and valves from various jobs he'd done all across Europe. It worked, but as soon something went wrong, only he was be able to figure out where the problem was.

It felt a bit like that on Saturday. Despite the furore over Gavin Whyte during the week, the starting eleven was perhaps the best available in terms of both personnel and formation. John Mousinho sitting in midfield like the world's first free-ranging centre-back was able to protect the back four from it's own disorganisation. It also protected him from his predilection for getting caught in possession whilst being the last man.

Up front, Jamie Mackie defied age, injury and his ability to play exactly how you'd want him to play -  work hard, batter everyone, complain constantly. Get to the edge of exhaustion or a red card, whichever comes sooner, before getting substituted for someone more mobile. He was brilliant throughout, even in his interview afterwards. If you listened quietly, you could almost hear the words 'Danny Hylton' wafting over the airwaves. For a moment, it felt like he was back.

Marcus Browne simplified everything by running in straight lines at ferocious speed, frightening their back-four. He's a curious specimen; his pace is extraordinary and fabulously damaging, but after each burst he'd have his hands on his knees or be visibly trying to catch his breath. Like a Golden Eagle, hugely powerful and dominant, but every exertion seems to weaken him.

Still, with Browne's ability to make everyone run in straight lines; Ricky Holmes' talent to disrupt becomes an asset rather than a confusion to his own players.

It worked, and worked well; it was three points we desperately needed. But it still doesn't feel like the sustainable solution that is going to give us the 18 more wins we'd need to trouble the play-offs. Like the plumbing system; when everything works its fine, but what happens when it doesn't? There isn't another John Mousinho, Marcus Browne or Jamie Mackie in the squad. Each new mix of players produces a different system; some that work fine, some terribly. It is, at best, another holding solution.

Karl Robinson was more subdued, which appeared to be deliberate. For him, it was a no-win situation - a loss would have been catastrophic, a win, against Plymouth, at home was no more than a minimum requirement. For many, it was never going to be more impressive than turning up on time for kick-off. The result, whatever it turned out to be, was never likely to turn public opinion in his favour.

Part of Robinson's problem was illustrated by the Gavin Whyte affair. He showed all the frustration of a fan in seeing Whyte miss a crucial game to sit on the bench for Northern Ireland, but his bargaining position was limited. As Michael O'Neill said, it's not his fault League 1 games don't get postponed during an international break, and the rules are clear about who decides who plays. Plus O'Neill probably had 10 times the media opportunities to get his view across than Robinson.

But, Robinson's lack of strategic thinking meant his outburst about the disrespect being shown to the club and the disgrace made him look petulant and childish; particularly when it got amplified via various national media outlets to fill time between international games. From a PR perspective, he walked right onto a sucker punch.

With fans already against him, he was always going to look stupid picking a fight he couldn't win. Fans were always going to spin it to prove their point about his inappropriateness for the role. Had he said, calmly, that he had made attempts to contact O'Neill to see what Whyte's situation was and whether he could play, omitting all the stuff about it being disrespectful and a disgrace, it wouldn't have made the national headlines and local fans may have seen Robinson as the hard working, always thinking manager he appears to be. With Sean Derry on interviewing duties, and Robinson spending long periods on the bench, the aim seemed to be to calm the whole situation down and avoid saying something stupid.

Derry said that Southend and then Plymouth were building blocks. Nothing is solved yet. There is no magic - black or otherwise - as Robinson frequently tries to claim, deciding our fate. It is what it is, a win, and that's all that's important right now.

The wrap - Oxford United 0 Plymouth Argyle 1

One of the things Donald Trump picked up on in Robert Mueller’s indictment of 13 Russians involved in meddling in the US elections was the line that they couldn’t prove that the activities led to a different result. Trump suggested that it proved he would have won anyway. It didn’t, it just highlighted that they simply can’t know for sure whether the meddling worked or not. This plays to the old advertising adage that only half of all advertising works, we just don’t know which half.

Similarly, bad things are causing our form to dip, we just don't know what those things are. It may be the prospect of a takeover, it may be the management, it may be the lack of management, or something else, or all of those things, or none.

But it's reasonable to say that the Russian campaign didn't do the Trump any harm, in the same way that, while not being able to identify the specific problem, our off-the-field paralysis doesn't do much good for our on-field form.

In the short term, apart from being depressing to watch, I don’t think our lack of form matters hugely. It has been fairly apparent from early on this season that we're not equipped to threaten the promotion places and I don’t see the unlikely combination of events - the ongoing collapse of our form along with the resurgence of teams below us sucking us into relegation. It could happen, of course, but probably won't. As everyone acknowledged on Saturday, the performance was a significant improvement on Bristol Rovers with the only difference being Simon Eastwood’s uncharacteristic, but ill-judged, flapping.

The bigger issue is longer term. Of the eleven that started on Saturday, four will go back to their parent clubs, three are likely to be sold, the remaining – Dickie, Mousinho and Obika don’t look like the backbone of a promotion winning team. There is an opportunity now to start planning for next year, but we don't have a manager to oversee that. Although we have Hall, Nelson and Brannagan to come back, the longer the uncertainty goes on, the less prepared we’re likely to be to sustain our position, let alone improve on it.

If this feels familiar, it is; when Chris Wilder left in 2014 we were left without a manager for a couple of months as the club were stuck between the immediate need to appoint the manager and the longer term issue of the club’s ownership. The result was a gentle decay which was only arrested by the appointment of Michael Appleton, and then it took him a year to turn the club around.

Fans are demanding answers, which are, in the main, unreasonable. However, the uncertainty appears to be grating on everyone, including Derek Fazackerley who struggled to maintain his poker face post-match. It is very likely that any announcement will be necessarily vacuous - takeovers take time, managerial appointments are a process. But, there is a credibility issue here.

Theoretically, Darryl Eales being overseas (perhaps on holiday, it was half-term) shouldn't prevent the club from making some sort of comment. We have a chief executive back at base who should be equipped to make some reassuring noises that the club are actively working on the issues. Not providing a running commentary of the appointment process is perfectly reasonable, but saying nothing at all creates a vacuum which is filled with debilitating gossip.

The wrap - Plymouth Argyle and Blackburn Rovers

Plymouth Argyle 0 Oxford United 4
People, who are paid to do such things, once observed that if you add pot plants to an office, productivity increased. They postulated that it was something to do with oxygenation of the environment or a calming influence of nature. An idea that is still believed in some quarters today. After a while, productivity in these places dropped back to normal levels so they took away the plants. At that point productivity went up again. The only reasonable conclusion is not the relative qualities of the pot plants, but the restorative powers of change.

Saturday's win was both a surprise, and not a surprise at all. After six games without a win, nobody could reasonably have expected such an emphatic victory over Plymouth. And all after a week which saw us lose two match winning players to long term injury.

Some were predicting the end of our season, and possibly every season after that, but that's football for you. The injuries, in particular, instead forced a change of mindset and the removal of expectation. Had we traveled to Plymouth with a full-strength team and a winning run, then there was always the possibility of complacency setting in. Instead, there was almost a resigned belief that we couldn't win, which gave those who did play the opportunity just to get their heads down and see where it took them. In this case, the changes, although negative, had a positive effect.

There have been countless occasions when runs have been broken by goals from usual sources and wins where you least expect them. Consider the derby against Swindon in 2012; a game which had Andy Whing playing centre-back in place of captain Jake Wright. Oli Johnson and Mark Wilson in midfield and Peter Leven nursing an injury on the sidelines. To make matters worse, barely 20 minutes in talismanic striker James Constable was sent off. From weeks of anticipation, all expectation was re-set to zero and any pressure was released. It allowed us to set to the task at hand and secure a famous victory.

So, while losing two key players is a problem in the long term, the mental re-set is created served us well.

Oxford United 2 Blackburn Rovers 4
I get the politics of leaving early. 0-3 down after 20 minutes is enough to tip the balance between watching a game and going home. By leaving early you miss the traffic, it’s generally more convenient and why should you sit and watch the misery when the outcome is inevitable?

At half time on Tuesday, a whole row in front of me went home at half-time, the only woman left on the row said, incredulously, ‘But, what about Jack’s goal?’ referring to Jack Payne’s strike moments before half time which offered a glimmer of hope.

That hope was never likely to see us claw back in the game, but I could wholly empathise. This is the other side of leaving early. If you want guaranteed success, then you go to the cinema or theatre where the outcome is scripted and fully controlled. Sport, of course, has no such guarantees and is all the richer for it.

The other day, a BBC commentator said that Manchester City were playing the best football in Premier League history and long may it continue because of the entertainment it provides. That’s great if you’re a Manchester City fan, or a neutral who watches the game simply as a display of skill and dexterity. But it somehow misses the point.

As a football fan, I would happy sacrifice Manchester City’s slick passing for a five way title scrap which went to the last kick of the season. Recently the documentary 89 was released about Arsenal’s amazing last minute title win over Liverpool. The uncertainty of the destination is what made history, not the quality of football on display. And that's what makes great sport.

I can only remember us coming back from 0-3 down once. It was 1985 at the Manor and we were being trounced by Ipswich. I remember a John Aldridge hat-trick and cascading down the terracing of the London Road as the winner went in. YouTube offers no clues as to the details of the goals, but that’s kind of what makes it special; the feeling is imprinted on me so deeply that even like on Tuesday, being 0-3 down at half-time leaves me glued to my seat. Perhaps, one day, that feeling might return, even if I have to wait over 30 years to feel it.

It is not the guarantee of success that drives a fan to football, it’s the hope, but it’s the hope that kills us all.

Plymouth wrap - Plymouth Argyle 2 Oxford United 2

We seem to have negotiated the various existential crises that come with Oxford United and a successful season; it’s March, so its surely too late for a post-Christmas slump, the transfer window shut with minimal damage, we seem to have strength in depth when we thought we looked a bit flimsy and we've exited from a sequence of Saturday/Tuesday games comfortably in second place.

The club continues to set new standards in the ways it markets itself and the idea of Plymouth being a fans’ weekender want another top notch intiative. It wasn’t without its risks of course, Plymouth might be a nice seaside location and an obvious candidate for a weekend away but had the result gone against us then the panic of a collapse might have set in.

As it turns out, the 2-2 draw could be the signal that - whisper this - we might have actually done enough to seal promotion.

As if to illustrate that the internet's almost endless capacity for trivia the Experimental 361 blog did some analysis on teams’ remaining fixtures. I confess, it was something I thought about doing myself; I had a hunch that things would look pretty good from the analysis and it turns out I was right.

Wycombe have 5 fixtures against teams in the top six, Orient have four, Plymouth three, anyone expecting a Chris Wilder implosion will be disappointed to hear that Northampton have just two... but we have none.

Which then got me thinking; what would happen if you applied some kind of points system to these fixtures to come up with a difficulty score? So, I tried it with 5 points for a top six fixture down to 1 for a bottom six. It turns out that not only do we not have to play anyone in the top six, we have the easiest run-in amongst the top teams. Which got me thinking some more; what about the rest of the division? What is the highest place team with an easier run than us? By the time I got to Dagenham and Redbridge I found out; nobody. On paper at least we have the easiest run-in in the whole division.

Eight points clear and the easiest run-in in the division? You would have to say even by our standards, screwing it up now would be impressive. The Plymouth game appears to have been the final test before we head for home. Of course, maintaining our focus and applying the high standards that have got us here in the first place is easier said than done but with no sign that we will let up only Wembley, perhaps, could be distraction enough to knock us off course now.

Plymouth Argyle wrap - Oxford United 1 Plymouth Argyle 0

There are three versions of the truth; my version, your version and the truth. There are more than three ways to win a game of football. Plymouth have adopted a model for promotion that is tried and tested for this division. In the opening minutes on Tuesday night, they advanced as a unit into our territory and turned on The Crusher.

The Crusher (my term) uses the whole team as a single unit, it suffocates the opposition; overpowers them physically and tactically, and deprives them of the ball. The Crusher just keeps pounding away applying more and more pressure until something breaks.

For the opening 5 minutes they stretched from one side of the pitch to the other and from just inside their half to our penalty box. We couldn’t go round them, we couldn’t go through them, for a while we couldn’t get the ball off them. It looked like we were in for a long night where, possibly, we’d finally discover our level. Most teams will capitulate under such sufferance this year. The question was; would we?

All machines have a weak spot; even the Death Star had an exposed exhaust vent, a tiny chink in its armour which led to its destruction. Speed and agility were key; locate the weak spots and then jimmy away at them.

Roofe, the obvious threat, sat quietly on the flank. Danny Hylton frequently drifted down the other side. MacDonald, Hoban and Taylor; players who have been criticised this season, filled the gaps; each hitting the woodwork. It was a constant change of shape and position which Plymouth’s machine couldn't calibrate fast enough to counter. Eventually that left space into which Liam Sercombe confidently lolloped for the goal.

This was art versus science, flare versus intensity, Ali versus Fraser, Barcelona v Real. It’s no criticism of Plymouth’s approach; their football is good and if I had the choice it’s exactly how I would go about winning a League 2 promotion.

As with all art, there were times it didn’t work, we were fussy in front of goal, choosing to cut in rather than shoot. Sometimes, despite our pressure and chances, The Crusher would eventually overcome us; we burn a lot of energy and sometimes looked to be hanging on. At one point we were forced to defend on our goal line; that’s how close we were to buckling.

I said a few weeks ago that it felt like a selection had been made with five teams at the top all with the ability to go up. A few weeks on, and with the opening third of the season complete, it feels like an elite is establishing; Plymouth, Portsmouth and us.

Can we keep it up? In the last seven games we’ve played five teams in and around the promotion and play-off spots, plus Swindon. The next month or so is far less intense on paper. It won’t be a test of ability, more a test of concentration. Can we play with the same intensity when the stakes feel less high?

I think we can, it looks like a joy to play in this team and hopefully that will carry us through games where the crowds a quieter and more sparse and the result less anticipated, more expected.

Pound for pound, this is the best football we’ve seen at Oxford in 30 years; since the double promotions of 1984 and 1985. Wilder’s promotion team applied The Crusher, Denis Smith’s ’96 vintage were direct and pragmatic. We’ve not seen the art form exploited like this since Jim Smith was in charge and look where that took us.

Coming up: Plymouth Argyle

The biggest game of the season? Maybe. Yeovil, Notts County, Bristol Rovers, Portsmouth, Swindon, Leyton Orient... we've been building up to something since the start of the season. We've been constantly testing our level and pretty much, passed at every stage. This isn't going to get us promoted, not by a long way, but it could secure our candidature for this year's league title.

As well as the game itself, we also need to cope with the (sort of) disappointment of Saturday. There are positives in all this; the draw against Orient reminds us of our mortality, which can be helpful in maintaining focus on the bigger prize. Going into a game against the team at the top with a sense of invincibility is asking for trouble.

Old game of the day 

I'm going to use this post to explain something I hear all the time about Plymouth Argyle. Whenever we play Argyle, someone is bound to comment on how amazing it is that they've brought as many away fans as they have. All the way from Devon.

An Argyle fan once explained this to me; it's because of the Devonian diaspora. Lots of people born in the area move away, particularly to London, due to a lack of employment opportunities. As a result, Plymouth have always had a good away following because most away games are closer than their home games. There you go, next time you hear someone go on about how far they've all travelled, you can put them straight.

Anyway, here's us missing a hatful of chances in the League Cup in 1997.

Standard response

When Leo Roget arrived at the club in 2004 I thought we’d made a good signing. I’d heard of Roget, which was a good start; it was one of those distinctive names that echoed across the lower-leagues. We had been in reasonably good shape on the pitch, the previous season we had a solid back-four with Andy Crosby and Matt Bound and, although they’d left the season before, it seemed like we were learning lessons from the past and that Roget would fit right in. Plus, he was coming from Rushden, who at the time were nouveau riche and seemed to be going places.

But Roget’s first season was terrible, he was gangly and awkward, not a patch on his predecessors. If he used his height it wasn’t to dominate strikers, it was to fall on top of them. The following season he improved, in fact, he was a stand-out player. Fans seemed to like him and sang his name. By the end of that season, though, we’d been relegated from the Football League. So, did Roget really improve or did our standards drop? Did he play better or did he have to do more defending and blocking because we were getting worse?

Presumably one day Michael Appleton will be sitting in an interview for a new job and his prospective employer will ask about his achievements at Oxford. He may have to think hard, but perhaps he will cite this season’s highlight; the double over Bury.

That it: the highlight of our season so far is doing the double over Bury. In fact, up until Tuesday night, we were considered to be ‘in form’; a form which had seen us win 3 in 10, score 8, climb to 17th and be 9 points clear of relegation. Of relegation.

The fact is that the win at Bury shouldn’t have been a reason for celebration; it should have been a wake-up call. As decent as Bury might be this season, we should be expecting to pick off at least a couple of promotion chasers away from home, more if we have ambitions to go up ourselves. We should be expecting to win against Plymouth and we should definitely, definitely, definitely beat Hartlepool.

This is not because we deserve better because of who we are, progressively as the season has passed we’ve allow our standards to drop. At first it was good performances but bad results, then it was wins against poor teams, then it was a sense of celebration that our relegation fears were easing. Draws were celebrated as wins because we never seem to win. Now we’re losing at home to the bottom team in the division and Michael Appleton is applauding our ‘effort’.

He knows he is defending the indefensible now. I agree with him that the players put in a lot of effort against Hartlepool, but the merry-go round of players throughout the season means that for all the effort we remain utterly listless. There is no system. Does anyone know how Roofe or Gnanduillet want the ball in order to score? Well, no because neither have played more than a handful of games for Oxford and neither have the players passing to them. No wonder it’s so disjointed.

Appleton, by his own admission doesn’t have an angry gear, so he’s going to be objective and look for learning points and positives. It’s a good quality to have if you’re coaching youngsters who make lots of mistakes in the process of learning, but managing experienced professionals who are tired, demoralised and battle weary is different. Managers need to show players where they can go if standards do drop whether that be through a volcanic temper or whatever. Plus, they need to show it as the merest inclination of a problem; like the time Chris Wilder (yes him) criticised us for winning 4-0 against Eastbourne after being poor in the second half.

Slowly but surely corners have been cut, standards have slipped and the previously unacceptable has become acceptable.

A spineless defeat to the bottom club in the division – who are in dire trouble on and off the pitch - removes any last shred of credibility Appleton had in claiming that his philosophy will work given time. It’s like going down a hill with worn brake pads; you just have to hope something will stop you because you can’t rely on what you thought you had. This has been coming for a long time, but any lingering hope that we’re going in the right direction has been cast into the dustbin.

Where now? It’s so hard to imagine a scenario now where Appleton not just turns this round but sustains an upward trajectory toward the play-offs and beyond, this season or next. The squad is a mess of panic signings and loanees, players we’ve bought or haven’t bought, players that we’ve announced and never seen sight nor sound of. These are his players working to his confused philosophy stuck in a vortex between what is ‘right’ and what is needed. In order to change, he’s going to have to back down admit he’s been wrong – wrong players, wrong tactics. Not only will he lose face, this is going to take time or money or both to sort out. People are going to get hurt. I can’t see him doing that.

But, he’s not going to resign either; his managerial career has become an absolute wreck with not only this debacle on his CV, but also some of the football league’s greatest basket cases – Portsmouth, Blackburn, Blackpool – all with his name on them. It’s not all been his fault – far from it - but he knows how it’s difficult to shake a reputation.

So, we're left with one option… Mark Ashton, over to you.

T'is the season to be jolly?

There are basically two theories about mince pies; either we hate them and tolerate them only at Christmas or we love them and abstain from having them at any other time in the year. The same goes for turkey, Christmas pudding and almost everything else we associate with Christmas. We could quite easily break Christmas - a curry on the 25th December, a mince pie after a barbecue in August, we could buy each other presents on, say, 13th February, just because that would be a nice thing to do. But, it wouldn’t feel right; it wouldn’t be right. We want to believe that Christmas exists, so we defer to its traditions.

It’s much the same with the Eales/Ashton/Appleton revolution; most want it to exist; better football, new stadium, a whole bright future; but for the first time on Boxing Day, it did appear that even the most devout converts were beginning to doubt its existence.

The display itself was gutless. A true demonstration of just how far behind the standard we’ve fallen in the division. Shrewsbury were stronger, faster and more efficient with the ball and far better in every department imaginable. We trudged around trying to pass it on a boggy pitch increasingly tiny triangles; if Shrewsbury weren’t out-muscling us, they were simply waiting for a mistake to happen. When they got the ball, they moved it quickly and looked a continual threat. When they chose to shut us down, they did. It was much the same against Wycombe. It was much the same against Burton.

Post-match, Appleton tied himself up in knots. He was, he said, ‘man enough’ to admit we were beaten by a better team, as if this was a positive. It certainly paints him as an intelligent, reflective, objective individual; all of which are good qualities to have. But it ignores the fact that it’s ultimately his job to ensure we aren’t swept aside by better teams in the manner that we were. No matter that a team is better resourced, we should expect to compete with every team that comes to the Kassam rather than passively wait to see what turns up. He reinforced his normal stance that he wouldn’t be stepping back or ranting and raving at the players; a point he regularly makes. He appeared to take a swipe at the club; pointing out that we’ve not been higher than League 2 for over a decade and that it’s not as if they’re playing in front of big crowds. It’s something that both David Kemp and Chris Wilder did in the past when they were under pressure. He failed, as he increasingly does, to explain what he was trying to do; If they were simply a better team, what was the plan to neutralise that?

Then Ryan Clarke came on to try and explain things from the players’ perspective. Players rarely say anything of genuine interest; it’s not really in their professional interest to do so. To criticise your employer in the media is career limiting, so we shouldn’t expect a player to come out and blame tactics or lack of investment or whatever. However, Clarke seemed to struggle to contain his frustration. He followed the party line; he praised being treated like an adult by the management and the commitment to playing ‘proper’ football. He also claimed he had nothing to do beyond the two goals, although this ignored at least one shot coming off the crossbar and one cleared off the line. He just seemed to want the interview to end before he said something he shouldn’t.

If he was frustrated, then it would stand to reason. Clarke has played in successful Oxford sides and now finds himself defending a team that barely resembles that of the past in terms of quality, character or results. He may be telling the truth about being treated like an adult; but does that mean that everyone is acting like an adult? Jamie Cook describes Chris Wilder ‘a good coach but a terrible man’, but maybe that’s what is needed sometimes - somebody has to take a bunch of fit, healthy alpha males and tell them what to do and how to work together. Is Appleton almost giving the players too much leeway to express themselves, because when they do, they become disjointed and ineffectual.

How much longer will the players believe the philosophy, whatever that turns out to be, when it’s not producing results? At one point against Shrewsbury, Tareiq Holmes-Dennis broke free down the left flank. He was fouled and lay prone on the floor in the mud. But what was significant was that he would have looked up around him to see five Shrewsbury players, surrounding him ready to put a challenge in or at least shepherd him into a neutral position. Being dominated like that must become demoralising, not getting results even more so.

The Plymouth result was welcomed, of course, but papered over the cracks. It will be some time yet before we find out whether the result resembles a turning point or whether it was simply a chink in the prevailing direction of travel that was evident against Shrewsbury. We benefited from an early sending off and another James Roberts special. There’s something melancholic about Roberts’ emergence as, possibly, the biggest talent to come out of the club since Jamie Brooks. On one hand, it’s great to see him thriving but you also suspect that if he continues to do so then he’s unlikely to score more than 20 goals for us before being picked up by a bigger club. We should enjoy him while he lasts.

As 2014 concludes we’ve conceded about 10 places in the league for this new philosophy, we’ve taken a point less at home compared to the same point last year, we’ve scored the same number of goals and conceded 2 more. We’ve won the same and lost one more. Our away form, of course, doesn’t compare. The statistics suggest we’re going backwards, Christmas has proved a microcosm of the season, patchy and unconvincing punctuated by flickers of a new future. Outwardly Ashton and Eales remain committed to Appleton, but they can’t completely ignore our league position. If he was under threat, then Plymouth will have bought him some more time. January’s form - with a number of games against teams around us - will be more telling.

The value of Kitson?

We're back on track, promotion is on and it's all down to Dave Kitson, isn't it? But, can he keep his head and body together long enough to propel us up the division?

I’ve a lot of sympathy for Gary Waddock, when he applied for the Oxford job he was potentially taking over a team in the unusual position of seeking a new manager while actually being on the up. The squad, he might reasonably have assumed, would be an easy one to take over. They are experienced; they would be focussed and in the groove, he could steer them to the play-offs or promotion; tweak for next season and move forward. It was almost the dream job.

Then, he takes over a club with an entirely different set of characteristics. One in free fall; the challenge suddenly shifting focus entirely. A team not on the up, but on the down, players seemingly incapable of stringing two passes together. Confidence fast evaporating and the idea of shots on target becoming more baffling than the conceptualisation of a new branch of theoretical physics.

Granted, this is a more normal position for a new boss to come into; the previous manager has usually been fired because the team has not been performing. The new broom cannot fail to have some kind of positive impact, so he has very little to lose in his first few weeks and months. So was Waddock taking over a successful team that needed a tweak or a failing team that needs an overhaul? The fans can’t even decide that despite having watched this team for 7 months, why should it be easier for him given that he’s only had three weeks?

Last week after the Fleetwood game Waddock was asked why he doesn’t start with James Constable. There’s been an understandable sense of apoplexy in his preference for Dean Smalley. Waddock said it was because he wasn’t showing in training. The implication is laziness, but it’s probably much more marginal than that. What else has Waddock got to use to assess his team? Before Saturday, Constable hadn’t scored for nearly 2 months and not in a winning team since mid-December. A timespan where Dean Smalley has scored twice in winning teams.

Waddock should have enough experience to know that, at this level, there are an awful lot of solid competent and reliable players and the difference between one club and another is the availability of one bit of class. What he must have struggled with was is where our dose of class had come from.

The answer to that question, is not James Constable, while there might appear to be a chasm of difference in attitude by Constable and Smalley, objectively there is not much difference in performance. The man who has made us tick is Dave Kitson.

I actually thought we’d seen the last of Kitson, he is a precarious balance of form, fitness and mental state, especially if his terrible books are anything to go by. I think it’s quite likely that depression is an issue, as the books suggest, but even if not, then his disciplinary record is significantly more awful than his writing. Especially if you consider he’s an experienced player with Premier League pedigree. Compare him to, say, Michael Duberry who was able to get away with all sorts of things due to his presence and experience, Kitson's inability to manage a game is even more remarkable. He might write it off as 'passion', but you’d hope that he might, at some point, step back and think that whatever the injustices of it all are, it’s not working with referees.

Fitness and form are also significant factors; the former probably informing the latter. 34 isn’t that old; you might expect a Premier League player to hold his own in League 2 that late into his career. Natural wear and tear, and a slowing of pace, should be compensated by experience and core talent. The big risk with these players is how quickly they degenerate when they do get injured (Phil Gilchrist is another classic examples). Kitson seems to be right on the brink of that precipice, he's a class above but a leg strain from retirement. I can’t see him being at the club next season, but if he was I doubt he’ll be playing much.

But, when Kitson is fit, and playing well, and has the right attitude he is amongst the best in the division and that does two things to the rest of the team; it take pressure off the back four because he gives the midfield he plays slightly in front of space to play offensively and protect defensively. More importantly, he give Constable a platform to work from. By Kitson holding up the play and acting as a target man, Constable benefits from the freedom this gives rather than having to do the job himself.

I’m cautious about assuming that the revival is on after the win at Plymouth, we’ve yet to deal with the pressure and expectation that comes from playing at home. And everything about the York game on Friday suggests that anticipation will be ramped up to 10 now we know that a promotion push is possible. There’s the possibility of a larger than usual holiday crowd and a win will almost certainly put York to the sword in terms of play-off rivals. It won't just be Kitson's ability that will hold the key, it'll be the temperament of those around him too.

Boxing Day; real football fans look away now

Boxing Day football always attracts a curious mix of supporters. The hardcore don't like the sightseers invading their patch and treating games like a mere dose of entertainment. But that's what the club were going for this year and I don't blame them.

You won't get very far during Christmas before someone sanctimoniously reminds you of its 'true meaning'. Typically, they are referring to Christmas's Christian meaning. It's almost competitive; an institution claiming ownership or guardianship of Christmas. But non-Christians rightly point to the non-religious connotations of the season. Alongside carols, there's the pagan tradition of the tree, the Dickensian values of the family and, of course, the modern day focus on commerce. As the years pass, the best bits of each era are retained and the worst excesses are dropped. Most people will claim that Christmas has become 'too commercial', but post recession, the indulgences of present buying have been curtailed to some degree. We don't have endless stories of people paying stupid money to get their hands on this year's must-have toy, for example. What is emerging in our 'social' 21st Century, is the notion of a shared Christmas experience; outside lights, Christmas jumpers and pictures uploaded on Facebook. What Christmas has become, is not a uniquely Christian festival, it's the distillation of all the good things that people do.

Boxing Day is the Christmas Day of football. And it too is an amalgam of all good football experiences. It's not necessarily the best football you'll ever see, but it's a fixture that you can easily remember, after all it's the day after Christmas day. For me in the early years, the games blur a little, but I remember the experience of going to games with my dad when we were visiting my grandparents in Abingdon for Christmas. This was pre-1980 and we didn't live in the area at the time, so it was an early link with the club and an important one in the relationship I've developed with it over the years.

The earliest Boxing Day I specifically remember is a surprisingly late one; a 3-1 defeat away to Wolves in 1996. It was a perfect example of an away day; we didn't really know where we were going, we got there ridiculously early and as soon as we parked there were Oxford fans everywhere. More recently, there was the venomous atmosphere of the Luton game in 2001 with the return of Joe 'heart attack' Kinnear; an example of the vitriolic rivalries that fuel football. There was the slow motion Julian Alsop winner against Leyton Orient - the joyousness of the last minute goal. There was the overblown hyperbole of the draw with Woking in 2006 and the rare treat of a TV win over Wimbledon two years ago. Each game becoming a quintessential element of what makes football great. With the benefit of time, these experiences are blur into one, making it an experience of all football.

But in the same way that the average of 1 and 7 is 4; Christmas Day and Boxing Day are both an all-encompassing average, and completely atypical at the same time. The Boxing Day game always attracts casual fans who may be going to their only game of the season. There are families visiting the area with no interest in the result, they just want to be entertained and get some relief from the stuffiness of Christmas day. Even the regulars and season ticket holders are likely to be with different people or be following a different routine. Everything is different; you don't eat Quality Street at regular football.

Most Boxing Days, I find myself sitting in a different spot in order to sit with visiting friends, we talk about Premier League football (I never talk about Premier League football at Oxford games) and I have to work my way through our starting eleven; explaining each player's strengths and weaknesses.

I wasn't alone, against Plymouth, few around me seemed to have much of a clue as to who anyone was. There was a palpable sense of disappointment in the quality of the game, particularly in the first half. I guess if you've been educated in TV football, which most will have been, the sight of someone mis-controlling simple pass must come as a disappointment. At one point David Hunt took two touches to bring a ball under control and there was a loud groan all around me - had I been sitting in my normal seat, it wouldn't have been noted. A man in front of me was told off by his mum for calling the referee a twat. And there was a huge exodus - 9 minutes from time - when we went 2-1 down (and the game was still alive); people were more bothered by avoiding traffic than finding out who might win.

When I initially conceived this post, it was going to be one about how much these sightseers get in the way of the serious business at hand, but in fact, I'm not complaining at all; it results in a nice atmosphere. We are the damaged people who go every week so it's nice to be joined by people who have life in their eyes, who see football as an event, as entertainment, not as a routine or a compulsion. While we continuously chase, and fail to realise, the highs of our early football experiences; of walking up to the ground, the smell of the burger fan, the buzz of pre-match, and the game itself, these people are genuinely enjoying their rare indulgence of the game. A bit of it rubs off on you; it gives you a slightly refreshed perspective on what you're seeing.

From a footballing perspective it was the last thing we really needed. What we're looking for is consistency; the normality of picking up points week after week. The win over Dagenham seemed to engender some confidence at home, but on Boxing Day, the atmosphere that was created asked the players additional questions on top of the need to simply get on the pitch and perform. I don't think they froze, they generally played OK, but in a season where the line between success and failure is thinner than tissue paper, any of the elements of The Big Match could easily have tipped the game away from us.

That said, the club did a fine job in almost doubling our average attendance for the game and the flags, opera singer and fireworks made an enjoyable spectacle. It could have looked terrible - not many League 2 clubs could have pulled it off - but it came across well. Some curmudgeons weren't happy with the razzmatazz, it wasn't 'proper' for 'proper' football fans. But, this wasn't for us, we would have been at that fixture if it were held on a freezing Tuesday night in February. This was aimed at those seeking entertainment. It was competing for the money and time people would otherwise have spent on the local pantomime. When you've got the option of seeing a half forgotten soap actor in a dress, or some working class barely competent sport, there's no real competition. These people don't go to football because they feel obliged to attend by some undefined god of football, they will go if it is likely to be fun. If it isn't going to be fun, they won't go. People can complain all they like about those who left at 2-1, but it matters not. The club had to capitalise on their passing interest in the club. I doubt that many of them would ever be in the market for a season ticket, but I hope that some of them thought the general experience was good enough for them to consider a visit next time we're drawn at home at Christmas.

Time to give up?

This season has been in the doldrums pretty much from day one. Crowds are down, expectation is down. We seem trapped in a situation we can't get out of. A knight in shining armour with billions to spare seems unlikely. There is, of course, the unspoken 'other' option - to just give up.

At the end of last week I was ill, lying in bed I did what I tell other people to do when they're ill; forget everything else, just focus on getting better. You want to be well, you've got other things you should be doing, but you've just got to hand yourself over to body's immune system and let it get on with fighting the illness. Rest up, go to sleep, this might take a while.

So I tried to forget about work and family commitments and feeling guilty about not being able to fulfil either; nobody actually thanks you for fighting through illness anyway. I was ill, not skiving and it was only going to be a day, perhaps two. So as I simplified my life to the single purpose of getting better, I got thinking; wouldn't life be easier if you removed all its awkward appendages and focussed only on what you absolutely wanted to? Take away the things which you do out of habit but rarely benefit from. So, along those lines, I thought, why don't I stop supporting Oxford? Not just while I was ill, but forever.

We're, perhaps, the most calamitous club in the country; a few never-made-its like Darlington and Chester have fallen further, Portsmouth are doing their very best to take our crown but haven't, yet, fallen far enough. Luton and Wimbledon both won at Wembley in the 80s, like us, and then fell to the Conference, like us, but their failure had as much to do with football politics as it did football games. We, on the other hand have been in the top flight, produced, developed and sold players who have played in the top flight and at international level, we've invested in the infrastructure of a new stadium and have a large and committed fan base. We're one of the most affluent areas in the country. We were even owned by the 309th richest man in the whole country. And still we fail.

Now, we play on a bog of a pitch in a stadium we don't own with an open end which looks set never to be built. We can even see the twinkling lights of the cinema, restaurant and Bowlplex - leisure pursuits which all guarantee far greater levels of satisfaction. We go on losing streaks which feel like they'll never end, we point fingers and bully people who we previously considered our heroes. It's not only illogical, it's toxic.

Football is such a massive distraction. We worry about the result and the team and the club and its finances. We worry about football and the Premier League and who is getting rich and how unfair it all is and whether we need to have technology to make things more fair and we question who is taking drugs and we worry about criminal gangs in South East Asia watching over us, fixing games at will.

Imagine if that just all went away? The time it would save that could be invested in family and work and getting healthy and sorting stuff out. It's one of the great mysteries to me; what do people who don't go to football on a Saturday actually do? They must have so much time to pursue other things. Are they having amazing and enriching cultural experiences that they can regale in conversion with strangers? My conversations tend to go along the lines of:

"Right, so you support Oxford"
"I do"
"So, what division are they in now?"
"League 2"
*Blank stare*
"The old 4th division"
*blank stare*
"What became the third division when the Premier League was formed"
*blank stare*
"The one above the Conference"
"Ah, weren't you in the Conference last year?"
"Well, a few years ago"
"And how are you doing now?"
"About 15th"
*shuffles away*

And so it goes on. Supporting Oxford offers no conversational footholds; if I supported Arsenal, perhaps I could have a reasonable conversation with anyone that had a passing interest in the game about Arsene Wenger's future. If I was part of the new footballing artisan class, not so much a fan of one club, but a knowledgeable master of all, we could talk at length about Roberto Mancini, 'Sir Alex' and Zenit St Petersburg's left wing-back.

My peers at work are all older than me; there's a garrulous Watford fan who I exchange the odd anecdote with (he used to watch us in the 80s - ARGH!). The others talk about classical music and literature and going to concerts on the South Bank. Nobody asks me about watching football from the South Stand. They don't know the South Stand exists.

My friends talk about getting respite from their children by watching difficult Scandinavian subtitled murder dramas on BBC4; I should do that, but it's on a Tuesday and that's game night. I see my Facebook feed full of people triumphantly declaring it "Wine O'Clock" and that they're sitting down with a takeaway and X Factor; could I be so accepting of simple things when, y'know, Damien Batt's contract and everything? And I don't like wine.

It's a belittling and isolating experience; we convince ourselves that we're on some kind of bold quest, displaying unflinching loyalty, a suffrage of a nobel cause. But nobody cares. They don't look for your results, nobody checks to see whether you've been to every game for the last three years or that you travelled to Plymouth on a Tuesday night for a 7pm kick-off in the Johnstone's Paint Trophy. What we do as Oxford fans is of no value or significance to anyone but ourselves. I've seen Everest from space and it's tiny.

I wouldn't have to ditch football altogether, I enjoyed the theatre of the Read Madrid v Manchester United Champions League tie, the football was good, the ground was great, the pitch was lovely. It was on the telly, I could let a cup of tea rest on my paunch. I didn't need to know that the two teams and the competition have been engineered to almost guarantee success to the exclusion of all others. In the same way that I don't need to know that the beautiful actress in a film had her boobs enhanced and her stomach airbrushed and that she shot her scenes in between periods of vomiting due to bulimia borne out of being racked with insecurities. I know too much about football to actually enjoy it.

Or, I could adopt a new team. One that I could booty-call whenever I needed to go to a game. Something local, small time, cheap and non-league, perhaps. I could look out for their games, go to the bigger ones, not really know who their left back is or whether their ownership model is sustainable.

My relationship with Oxford is so complicated; sometimes I find myself wondering what Steve Biggins or Paul Hinshelwood are doing nowadays; do they tell people they played for Oxford? Do they even remember playing for Oxford? It represents my childhood and growing up; I was just becoming a teenager when we won the Milk Cup, I'd just started working when we were promoted in 1996, I became a father literally the night before we were relegated from the Football League (and I still went to the Orient game with my newborn daughter no more than 6 hours old). We were promoted back only a few weeks after my second child came along. I've avoided weekend work commitments so I could go to games which may or may not have affected my career. Friendships have been strained because I have to plan around games. I've never missed anyone's wedding because of football; I'm not a barbarian.

There are highs, I've been through three promotions and two trips to Wembley. The lows definitely enhance those highs. But for the play-off final I sat with three others, two of which were at their first Oxford game. One turned to me afterwards and said 'Never in doubt was it?' Wasn't it? I thought we were on the brink right up until Alfie Potter slotted home in injury time. He had enjoyed the whole 90 minutes, I enjoyed the 93rd to the 95th minute. It was a rush, no doubt, but was his longer, lower level pleasure better my intense couple of minutes?

Perhaps I could just consign this to the past, I did it with my BMX. My obsession with music is on the wane, I don't have the time and inclination to seek out new sounds and bands, to be ahead of the rest. It doesn't change much, to be honest, there's always something else to do. I've got an old water tank out the front of my house with the detritus of a loft conversion in it; that all needs to go down the dump at some point.

And then the sun shines and in Plymouth Damian Batt scuffs a cross field pass into the box and James Constable slots home from close range and we've got a win that puts us 9 points off the play-offs not 9 points adrift. Perhaps I'll stick with it, for another week. After that, though, maybe I'll jack it all in. The only thing is that I've been saying that for about 15 years.

A small glimpse of Smalley?

The Internet doesn't record the details, it doesn't do that kind of thing. As a result, history has all but forgotten the game when Matt Murphy became a genius.

Murphy was the high priest of frustration. Playing in a half decent team he was the utility man, the spare part, the player who was good, but not quite good enough. He didn't score goals like Paul Moody, he didn't lock up the midfield like Dave Smith or Martin Gray and he didn't create like Joey Beauchamp. He did all of those things, just not very well. To be fair we would probably kill for a player of his quality nowadays but at the time he was the most frustrating player in the squad.

The records tell us he's our 10th highest ever goalscorer. That was because he had the canny lack of hitting a degree of moderate form at the end of every season; this alone seems to be the deciding factor in the renewal of his contract time and again.

As for his moment of genius, the sharpness of the image has faded over the years, I can't remember the opponents or the year, but the smell, feelings, spirit, aura of the occasion remain with me. there were passes around the corner, probing runs and at least one heavy legged back heel.

As much as a former bank clerk from Corby can be, he was unplayable. the fact that performance remains etched in my memory has to put it up there amongst the greatest I have seen.

Except, after 20 minutes he pulled up with a hamstring strain and had to be substituted.

Was Dean Smalley's performance during the 2-1 win over Plymouth the repeating of history? Did we see one of the great first half performances from a player whose Oxford career has frustrated all, including himself? A glimpse into nirvana, for a moment it seemed like Smalley was the answer to the Constable dilemma - a genuine alternative up front - but with his injury and half time substitution will he ever get to recreate it, let alone sustain, it?

In the first half we looked the efficient unit that has been a characteristic of our early season form. But, the second half, having lost Smalley and Forster-Caskey last seasons frailties emerged. Constable did OK, albeit as a target rather than a goal threat. However, Heslop and Pittman are not as neat and tidy as those they replaced. As a result we lapsed into a degree of complacency and over-rewarded Plymouth for their persistence with a goal (it was a decent strike, but we'd unnecessarily given them the territory they needed to set it up). Then the panic set in it, an uncomfortable meeting of past and present, like Marty McFly being fondled by his mum in Back to the Future.

Like Murphy's 20 minutes of genius, or Smalley's near perfect first half; the moments of brilliance can be fleeting. 3 games, 3 wins, now is not the time to be complaining.

Let the process not the product decide Wilder's fate

I sometimes wonder whether I have my head in the sand when it comes to our current position. However, it is almost too easy to write a football blog when things are going wrong. It seems, like Eskimos and their hundreds of words for snow (a fallacy, btw); in blog world, there are far more words available for moaning than there are for being rational.

Being rational is a bit boring. Heroism and villainy are a simple narrative. The morass of people in the middle of that spectrum; who are trying their best to do a good job, but perhaps not precisely in the way you’d like, are too difficult to define and pigeonhole. Heroes and villains is also language of mass media; where deadlines are tight, turnaround times are fast and people are under pressure to perform. The fans speak the binary language of the media because the media speak the binary language of the fans. It’s not healthy, but rationally, it’s understandable.

Our current form threatens to blow our chances of the play-offs, and the villain in this piece is the manager. I understand the view; especially if you’re schlepping around the country following the team in expectation of success.

The chap in the photo is Bradley Wiggins, 3 times Olympic champion and one of the favourites for this year’s Tour de France. The photo was taken at 9.30 on the morning of the prologue to Paris-Nice one of France’s biggest stage races. The prologue, or first stage, is a 6 mile time trial. Wiggins was due off the ramp at 3.30pm. His preparation lasted six hours for a ride that lasted 11 minutes.

I recently heard Matthew Pinsent giving advice to those doing the Sport Relief Mile. Professional sportspeople, he said, talk of ‘process over product’. Wiggins couldn’t control the product i.e. the win, because he couldn’t control the weather or the performances of others. What he could do was meticulously follow a process to deliver his best possible personal performance. He came second in the stage, scuppered by the rain on the day, but ultimately won the overall race 8 days later.

The problem with replacing Wilder for failing to deliver the product of promotion is that you have to start over the process of continuous improvement. The other problem with product focus is that there are too many uncontrollables from one season to the next. In League 2 there are 1,104 performances (24 teams playing 46 times). You can control only 46 of them, your own. The manager, therefore, has 4% control over his league position.

League positions themselves are an irrelevance. We will view 7th place as a definition of success. In every other national league in the country, 7th is a failure as it falls outside the play-off places. The line between success and failure in any division, although important, is ultimately arbitrary. 

Firoz Kassam focussed on product all the time; each season brought more promises of promotion and with it a new manager and philosophy. Each season he fell short and, in response, he started the process again. From Mark Wright’s chaotic pub team, to Ian Atkins’ regimented long ball, to Graham Rix’s hopeless Barca fantasy, to Ramon Diaz’s bogsnorkling tippy tappy, to Brian Talbot’s hapless brawlers. One plan after another, written, failed, torn up and started again.

What we can control is our own performances against our previous performances. With two games to go, we have scored 1 goal more and conceded 17 goals less than last year, we have 5 more points. Last year it would have got us a play-off spot. So this year’s ‘failed’ performance (which, to some, should cost Chris Wilder his job) would have been viewed as a success last year.

But last year didn’t have the likes of Crawley and Swindon skewing the competitive arena with their big spending. You could, therefore, argue that those two clubs are forcing Wilder’s removal. Is that what we really want?

This year we have had to be better to stand still, which is massively frustrating. Whether the improvement is fast enough, is open for debate. However, as we get better, we have to develop the infrastructure to help these players perform. People talk about a striking coach and a more effective medical team that can keep the likes of Peter Leven performing at a level that allows him to be that extra bit special.

But in reality what we’re talking about takes a lot of time and money to find the right people. For all the frustrations about potentially missing the play-offs, money being generated from increased season ticket sales (another objective definition of customer satisfaction) needs to be invested wisely. But that can only be done by people who know precisely where that investment is needed. Take any of the current decision making team out of the equation and you introduce a whole world of uncertainty and, with it, far greater risk of failure.

If we were in a failing situation, the risk of further failure from changing things is less important. As a club we have options; we can continue to steadily build as we have done for the last three years. Or we can hope that we can find a manager who can help us progress more quickly. Hope is not quite a stab in the dark, but it’s not far off. 

As fans we look for the product; a win on a Saturday, a promotion, a spot at Wembley. Our frustrations when we don’t achieve those targets are evident. However, if you want a guaranteed happy ending, then go to the cinema. If you want to support a football team; scream, shout and holler in frustration; but if you’re not getting the product you’re after, beware of throwing out the process that is most likely to give you success in the first place.

Oxford United 5 Plymouth Argyle 1

Not being melodramatic, but I think I suffer from depression. Many people suffer in some way, some without ever realising it. A vast majority of sufferers have it much worse than me. For me, I just get a bit melancholic and struggle to find the capacity to process all the things that life throws at me. It’s really no big deal, but having just gone through it with someone at work, I now realise it’s there.

Going to the football offers a degree of solace. To steal an analogy I heard recently, if life is like nailing jelly to a wall, then football is like putting in a box before you do it. It provides just enough structure and certainty to give my brain a rest, but just enough uncertainty and fluidity for it not to be a complete fabrication. I don’t need to escape that much.

I managed to book a meeting in Belfast on Tuesday thereby missing our 5-1 demolition of Plymouth. Even arriving at Belfast airport at 6pm, there was part of me trying to working out whether I could make it to the Kassam, just for a little bit. My flight eventually left at 9.35pm.

Watching the goals online, some of our finishing was breathtaking. When I saw Rob Hall's volley, I let out an involutary yelp of exclamation.

I find Plymouth’s plight quite depressing. Other clubs who have hit troubles are either led there by evil or incompetent owners or were never capable of sustaining the success they craved. I still harbour frustration at Lincoln negligent relegation last year. I don’t know much about The Pilgrim's ownership woes (apart from reports a terrifying Kassam/Ridsdale hook up) but they are a club that should be able to sustain Championship level football. OK, their large travelling contingent is a bit misleading. Many are Devonian migrants who are more likely to attend away games than home. But there's no reason why Devon shouldn't sustain a decent standard football club. Plymouth appear to have innocently followed the dream amidst promises of Premier League riches and more latterly the World Cup. Now they face relegation and, perhaps, complete obliteration.

Presumably there are Plymouth fans like me, who enjoy their club because it offers them a safe haven and home base. Now they’re faced with unstructured chaos.To see Plymouth chasing shadows is particularly depressing.