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Conceding a 99th minute equaliser is a kick in the minge. Going on to concede a 121st minute winner is a kick in the minge. Supporting Oldham Athletic Football Club is, mostly, a relentless, unremitting kick in the minge.
And yet, I left Brisbane Road last Saturday feeling incredibly proud, and, dare I say it, privileged to support this team.
Before the game, we were a little disgruntled to find that both of the pubs that we’d been in on previous trips to Orient – the Coach and Horses and the Leyton Engineer (previously the Technical) – were only letting home fans in. I assumed that we could blag it by sending me in first with my accent dialled up – “Orient or Oldham? I’m a Liverpool fan, mate” – but it turned out that they were checking people’s match tickets. So, if you were a local, and you just fancied popping out for a lunchtime pint, they wouldn’t let you in without a match ticket. Bizarre behaviour. There is zero history of trouble between the two clubs. If anything, we’re nauseatingly friendly with each other.
The one place letting away fans in was the Lion and Key up the road, a backpackers’ hostel with a little bar entirely unequipped to deal with dozens of Latics fans on the piss on a London away day. Handily, there was a garage selling cans over the road. You can’t really complain about people bringing drinks in if it’s impossible to get served at the bar.
To the actual football, then. While it was noticeable that our defence were being kept a lot busier than they have been of late, I though we were on top in the first half. Stones wasn’t available due to Wigan being awkward shitbags, and Fondop and Norwood aren’t quite the same partnership as Stones and Norwood, but we were more than holding our own against a team two divisions above us and created chances. When Fondop squared it to Norwood late on in the half, and he somehow blazed it over from a few feet out, even God’s number 9 must have been cursing.
The mood on the concourse at half time was positively festive, not least from me when I found out they were selling wine. I’m told that people were singing Walking In A Rothwell Wonderland to Frank in the toilets, which is both lovely and weird – I’m sure he appreciates the adulation but let the man piss in peace. Everyone was upbeat about how we were playing, and I was telling anyone who’d listen, “We’re the better team, we’re winning this”.
Given how confident I was, the sensible thing would have been to make sure I was back in the stand for the start of the second half, but it’s so rare that I get to enjoy a nice drop of red at the match that I couldn’t tear myself away. There isn’t going to be wine at Stockton today, is there? If you’re reading this, Darren – and I know that you are – get the mulled wine in for the Wealdstone game. It’s December.
Yes, I feel foolish for travelling all that way and missing our goal, but not as foolish at the people who’ve been saying that Reagan Ogle’s long throws are crap. He launched the ball into the six-yard box, and Monthe glanced it into the net. Get in.
The stand was bouncing at the point, and it felt like it was going to be another brilliant afternoon like the Tranmere game. Orient came back into it, as they were always going to, but it felt like we were going to hold out. Hudson made a great save from Sweeney, they hit the post from a corner, and we were under pressure for the last 10 minutes, but it still felt like we were the better team.
Everyone – the home fans included – raised their eyebrows when the 4th official signalled there would be at least 8 minutes’ stoppage time. “Where the fuck has that come from?!” The officials didn’t have the best game – or, as Mellon more succinctly put it, “the referee was crap” – and it was never a free kick at gone 5pm. “How long is this ref playing? This has to be the last move, well they obviously think it is, they’ve sent the keeper up!”
Oh. Fuck.
It was so cruel, but I was still convinced we’d win. Drummond was lively once again and could have regained the lead for us when Norwood headed on a long goal kick to put him one-on-one with the keeper, but he made a good save.
Ogle never stopped all afternoon, and it was unfortunate when he gave away the penalty, but it WAS a trip. You could forgive him for being knackered by then to be fair. Agyei did the smartarse thing of pausing, Hudson dived to the left, Agyei hit the ball to the right…..and put it wide. Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
We so hoped that would be the turning point, but, having conceded in the 99th minute, I guess it was written in the stars that they’d get a fucking corner in the 121st fucking minute and fucking score the fucking winner from it. So gutting. So heartbreaking.
And yet, our response was this. Getting knocked out of the FA Cup in the most sickening way, and listen to us. Listen to that noise. Over a thousand supporters telling their team “You were brilliant, we fucking love you, and we’re going up”. The very definition of keeping the MF faith. Imagine what we’ll sound like when we finally win something.
You could see what it meant to the players. Monthe, in particular, was visibly lifted by it. Mellon looked as emotional as he gets and sounded choked up in his post-match interview (when he wasn’t calling the referee crap and pointing out the handball he missed). He once again praised the fans – “incredible support, again, we don’t take them for granted”. Conlon was also moved by the response at full time: “to get clapped off like that, after a defeat, we must have done something right”.
We could have felt devastated leaving the game, but I just felt very proud and hopeful. Our heads never dropped, on or off the pitch, and we held our own at a League One ground. Better times are coming.
I felt something approaching devastation when we were turned away from the Coach and Horses, who were still – ludicrously – only allowing home fans in. Thankfully the Albanian café up the road was a lot more accommodating, and even asked us if we wanted them to change the music. My dude, keep your Albanian bangers and your vodka coming, it is most welcome. Although I had to resist the urge to sing the Alexei Sayle song.
It really feels like something special is building around the club at the minute. There’s a genuine sense of unity, of hope, of something great about to happen. It’s awfully unsettling, isn’t it? It’s as true off the pitch as on it. The club are hosting an open event in the Joe Royle stand this Wednesday 11th December between 11am and 1pm to get feedback from local residents about what they’d like to see from the Silver Latics initiative, which is aimed at providing a warm social space for people over 55. A football club reaching out to its local community and asking them what the club can do to help them? It’ll never catch on.
Shout out to our mate and OASIS member, James Floyd, who took part in a White Collar Fight Club last night to raise funds for the British Heart Foundation. It’s a great cause, please donate if you can. Obviously the result wasn't the main thing, but I'm delighted to say he won by KO in the 2nd. OASIS El Presidente's fight report: "a sighing, victorious Floyd carries on. Perfect orthodox stance, jabs going precisely where they should to the head and the body, a couple hooks thrown in here and there. Fuck all coming back. The ref calls it."
Kudos if you’re one of the hardcore making the journey to Stockton today. I’m afraid we’ve wussed out, and can’t even follow the game with Roy, because Stockton play on a sixth form college pitch with no media facilities. We can’t pretend the FA Trophy’s beneath us, not yet. We might still be going to Wem-ber-lee. Not for the playoffs, because we’re going to win the league. We might be out of the FA Cup, but we’re on our way. KTMFF.
Written by Arlene Finnigan. Photos © Oldham Athletic.
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