Hello!

[LeWhites]

Oh look. Someone who's named themselves after a sexist Tim Lovejoy joke. Ledge bantz m8.

He's presumably named himself after the Alan Partridge quote, which happened to be unfortunately quoted by Tim Lovejoy in a sexist joke.

 

[eric read]

Stalked me here already, darling? This place must feel nice and familiar. How was Wembley? X

Don't flatter yourself knob head. You know damn well that you quoted my name in the original post, therefore an alert came up at the top of the page when I logged in.

Wembley was a bit boring actually, as it was the third time we've been there in seven years, and second time in two years. Only 31,000 of us bothered turning up this time, about 4,000 less than last year.

How's that pissing of the tin pot League Two going? I seem to remember in August 2015 you were going to piss the League while we were going to trail in your wake. That went well didn't it.

Enjoy Guisley saddo.

 

[Look Out There Are Llamas]

What is a Guisley?

 

[GuiseleySteve]

What is a Guisley?

No such thing

 

[eric read]

What is a Guisley?

Kind of makes my point that. With apologies to Guiseley Steve, you Orient lot are about to enter a League where not only do you not know how to spell some of the teams' names, you don't even know where these places are and would never need to know if your team wasn't so shit.

Enjoy AFC Fylde.

 

[PaulHaddock]

Kind of makes my point that. With apologies to Guiseley Steve, you Orient lot are about to enter a League where not only do you not know how to spell some of the teams' names, you don't even know where these places are and would never need to know if your team wasn't so shit.

Enjoy AFC Fylde.

WUM confirmed.

 

[Look Out There Are Llamas]

Enjoy Guisley saddo.

Kind of makes my point that. With apologies to Guiseley Steve, you Orient lot are about to enter a League where not only do you not know how to spell some of the teams' names, you don't even know where these places are and would never need to know if your team wasn't so shit.

Enjoy AFC Fylde.

bama:

 

[eric read]

WUM confirmed.

Absolutely not. I'm an Oxford fan, funny enough live in Nottingham and my other half is a Grimsby fan. I've been to Wembley twice with you lot, against Wrexham and against Bristol Rovers and got a lot of time for you. You've been through what we had to go through, and will know that there comes a point two or three years in where it feels as if there is a big world of professional football out there that you're no longer a part of and that nobody else cares.

There is history between us and Orient. They were the team that put us down and our owner at the time let them have a disproportionate number of tickets for the game (out of spite I think) and their fans were absolutely classless on the day, laughing in the face of crying kids, while the OB forced Oxford fans out of the stadium. The worst day in our history. For that, they're hated. And then you have dick heads like E10Rifle who still think it's all one big joke.

That's why I post on these threads, as now it's our turn to laugh at them, and I intend to get my monies worth and rub it in as much as possible. Definitely not a WUM.

 

[Etty Abrics]

This thread is a car crash and I'm rubber necking.

 

[Etty Abrics]

they're hated...That's why I post on these threads...I intend to get my monies worth and rub it in as much as possible.

Definitely not a WUM.

Hmmm...

 

[The Terminator]

Absolutely not. I'm an Oxford fan, funny enough live in Nottingham and my other half is a Grimsby fan. I've been to Wembley twice with you lot, against Wrexham and against Bristol Rovers and got a lot of time for you. You've been through what we had to go through, and will know that there comes a point two or three years in where it feels as if there is a big world of professional football out there that you're no longer a part of and that nobody else cares.

There is history between us and Orient. They were the team that put us down and our owner at the time let them have a disproportionate number of tickets for the game (out of spite I think) and their fans were absolutely classless on the day, laughing in the face of crying kids, while the OB forced Oxford fans out of the stadium. The worst day in our history. For that, they're hated. And then you have dick heads like E10Rifle who still think it's all one big joke.

That's why I post on these threads, as now it's our turn to laugh at them, and I intend to get my monies worth and rub it in as much as possible. Definitely not a WUM.

Its also our turn to laugh at you, not because of who you support or where you live, but because of the incredibly gormless person that you are.

 

[The Terminator]

Kind of makes my point that. With apologies to Guiseley Steve, you Orient lot are about to enter a League where not only do you not know how to spell some of the teams' names, you don't even know where these places are and would never need to know if your team wasn't so shit.

Enjoy AFC Fylde.

Some of us are looking forward to Non League though

 

[eric read]

Some of us are looking forward to Non League though

You'll soon change your minds.

 

[eric read]

Its also our turn to laugh at you, not because of who you support or where you live, but because of the incredibly gormless person that you are.

Is that the best you can come up with.

Enjoy Boreham Wood.

 

[The Terminator]

Is that the best you can come up with.

Enjoy Boreham Wood.

Yes it is.

Is the best you can come up with "Enjoy [Insert National League Team here]?"

 

[GTFCfish]

Absolutely not. I'm an Oxford fan, funny enough live in Nottingham and my other half is a Grimsby fan. I've been to Wembley twice with you lot, against Wrexham and against Bristol Rovers and got a lot of time for you. You've been through what we had to go through, and will know that there comes a point two or three years in where it feels as if there is a big world of professional football out there that you're no longer a part of and that nobody else cares.

There is history between us and Orient. They were the team that put us down and our owner at the time let them have a disproportionate number of tickets for the game (out of spite I think) and their fans were absolutely classless on the day, laughing in the face of crying kids, while the OB forced Oxford fans out of the stadium. The worst day in our history. For that, they're hated. And then you have dick heads like E10Rifle who still think it's all one big joke.

That's why I post on these threads, as now it's our turn to laugh at them, and I intend to get my monies worth and rub it in as much as possible. Definitely not a WUM.

E10rifle is well known for his love of Lincolnshire folk (Lincoln and Grimsby fans especially) so I guess you being with a Grimsby fan must have pushed him over the edge.

 

[eric read]

Yes it is.

Is the best you can come up with "Enjoy [Insert National League Team here]?"

No, but if you're fed up of it already, wait until you're actually having to go to these places. But it clearly annoys you, so I'm going to keep on doing it anyway.

 

[The Terminator]

No, but if you're fed up of it already, wait until you're actually having to go to these places. But it clearly annoys you, so I'm going to keep on doing it anyway.

But I've already been to over half of the current National Leagues grounds, including Boreham Wood! I know exactly what to expect!

 

[LeWhites]

But I've already been to over half of the current National Leagues grounds, including Boreham Wood! I know exactly what to expect!

Enjoy Wrexham

 

[The Terminator]

Enjoy Wrexham

Already been there mate, not for 11 years mind! But I have been there!

Been to your place as well, Like the look of the new wooden stand! Amazing how the away fans get the only decent toilets at the Crabble

 

[LeWhites]

Already been there mate, not for 11 years mind! But I have been there!

Been to your place as well, Like the look of the new wooden stand! Amazing how the away fans get the only decent toilets at the Crabble

We have the bonus of being able to use the nice toilets in the Centre Spot though

Love the look of the new stand myself, although it's taken a hammering from most away fans haha

 

[Back in the DHSS]

Welcome to none league, if you follow Orient away there are some great away days to be had. The hard part is having teams like Welling, Braintree and Boreham turn up and beat you at home, in Wellings case showboating to victory.

 

[GTFCfish]

Welcome to none league, if you follow Orient away there are some great away days to be had. The hard part is having teams like Welling, Braintree and Boreham turn up and beat you at home, in Wellings case showboating to victory.

As typo's go this one was very apt.

 

[E10rifle]

There is history between us and Orient. They were the team that put us down and our owner at the time let them have a disproportionate number of tickets for the game (out of spite I think) and their fans were absolutely classless on the day, laughing in the face of crying kids, while the OB forced Oxford fans out of the stadium. The worst day in our history. For that, they're hated. And then you have dick heads like E10Rifle who still think it's all one big joke.

That's not how I remember it. Nothing funny about it. Here's my recollection:


It wasn't a sunny morning as one might have expected at the beginning of May, but it was still too bright for the dull ache of my brandy-induced hangover. There was a cool westerly breeze and it blew gently through the un-brushed fronds of my lank, greasy hair. Flashes of lucidity about the night before etched themselves fleetingly in my mind's eye before dissipating like the evaporating tendrils of autumn mist. Had I really been seated around a seasoned oak table playing poker with some acquaintances, or had that just been another wistful daydream whilst I mindlessly played online Call Of Duty and cried myself to sleep about being a virgin like all those other lonely, empty nights...? I couldn't be sure. I would have to ask my best friend Eric later that afternoon. He once doned the sex with a lady who was almost awake, so I looked up to him… or at least as high as one so lowly as me could look before the boots of my myriad betters block out the light and force me back into the gutter where I belong.

The ashen faces of my fellow minibus travellers told an identical story. Last night's convivial festivities were forgotten in a collective haze of anxiety and angst; seemingly unending years of shattered dreams, expired hopes and Tommy fucking Taylor weighing heavily on our minds. An air of gloomy inevitability hung over the passengers as we wound our way along the M40's sinuous curves and rolling Buckinghamshire countryside. Conversations were muted and stilted; celebratory tins of Fosters imbibed silently before their intended purpose as if matters were already resolved and they were fated to not be needed for any other purpose than to dull the impending heartache.

We were the first of our tribe to arrive, the first to enter the den of our foe and - very rapidly - the first to the bar. The stand's undercroft was unremarkable; all breeze block beauty and bare concourse ordinariness. It felt an ill-suited stage for the last hours of our growing torment, considering the enormity of the occasion and the depths of our combined nervousness. Nevertheless, it was soon swelling with a seething sea of 4,000 red-and-white clad citizens of our nation's capital; many standing silent and sallow-eyed, accepting of the inevitability of our upcoming failure. Still more raised their voices defiantly, telling lies to the very air. We were not the greatest team the world had ever seen. East London did not belong to us, and us alone. We did not want to be scuba divers, even if the part about hating Scunthorpe is true. We may all have been Orient until we died, but in those interminable, eternal-seeming moments it was if we had done so already and passed into a dystopian netherworld where only fucking Tetley's Smoothflow was left in the barrels. One lone demagogue espoused the certainty of our victory to all who would listen, but most of his would-be acolytes turned away, smiling sadly and lamenting his evident loss of sanity.

As I emerged, blinking owlishly behind my plastic NHS spectacles, into the cauldron-like pre-match atmosphere, I found myself catching my breath with wonder. From my vantage point high in the stand I took in the breathtaking panorama laid out in front of me; a sea of red and gold and green that would have been fitting for Vespasian's Amphitheatrum Flavium at the height of the Roman empire (that is, until I looked to my right and saw the fucking great hole where the fourth stand should be). Indeed, it was to be something of a gladiatorial contest, with our heroic London Overlords playing the role of the mighty Empire, and the local itinerant peasants providing the charmingly oikish hoi polloi upstarts. Both sides were in desperate need of a triumvirate of points to secure their differing objectives: Oxford knowing that a win would guarantee them safety, and Orient needing the victory to secure their hated rival's demotion to the sarlacc's pit of the Conference. (Though both sides had everything to play for, it was noticeable that both ends didn't, as there is only one end at that ground because they are missing a stand. I don't think I mentioned that. But I digress.)

We grabbed a goal apiece in an open first half. 1FF poster Eric Sabin scored the opener, much to the palpable relief of the provincial swivel-eyed loons who pranced a merry jig to the refrains of The Hillbilly Jug Band and began to imagine a world where trips to Macclesfield would still be a possibility. Alas, their celebrations were swiftly curtailed by Craig Easton's wonder-strike from three yards, which Billy Turley spilled over the line even more clumsily than Eric would spill the contents of his rampant tumescence over his sister's unconscious body later that evening.

On and on these desperate foes fought, pausing only to watch agape as a morbidly obese thundercunt of a home fan waddled across the pitch, offering out the 8,000 away fans in a solo, slow-motion act of defiance after Gary Alexander had stroked the away side ahead. He must have felt like something of a silly Stanley mere minutes later when the game was again brought to an entirely unsatisfactory parity. With a draw of no tangible use to either side, both managers employed a revolutionary 2-3-5 formation in an attempt to take the spoils. Jabo Ibehre (now famously plying his trade as the most prolific striker in Scotchland) weaved his way into the area but shot weakly into the grateful arms of a stranded Turley.

168.4 miles away in beautiful Cleethorpes, black balloons were released into the sky like a flock of funereal sperm, signifying Grimsby's torment that they had achieved elevation ahead of the sainted, but hapless, O's. Their fans spilled onto the pitch with anguished lamentations, demanding that their team forfeit the game, until they realised that the ref had only blown for a corner and that the day was about to be saved by Ryan Gilligan scoring a 94th minute equaliser and making sure that Russell Slade kept his 100% record of never having been promoted as a manager intact.

The shroud of hushed, resigned silence hanging over home and away supporter alike at the three-sided monument to Oxford’s most celebrated son, Firoz Kassam, was shattered as the news of Northampton’s goal trickled through to the away fans. I couldn’t believe it. Sure, so the goal was only pertinent at the top of the table, but I had travelled many hungover miles to see Oxford get relegated and that goal seemed to spark a delirium in me and all the rest of the 16,000 around me who had made the pilgrimage for that same reason alone.

“GET BACK AND FUCKING DEFEND!” came the cry from Martin Ling and his 32,000 now-ecstatic followers, desperate to stop the home side from scoring and allow an escape from their fate. But it was to no avail. Nothing seemed able to compel Matt Lockwood with his girly perm to stop his frenzied foray down the left wing, where he proceeded to cross towards the three unmarked forwards. The inevitable happened. Lee Steele scored a third and had sealed our promotion after 11 turgid years in the basement. But there was to be no celebration. This was not what we were here for.

Slowly, inexorably, all 64,000 away fans unzipped their flies and proceeded on to the pitch. As one whole, entirely single-minded entity we silently marched forward with military precision, stopping only to each pull up a single blade of grass with which to tauntingly tickle Jim Smith’s ear. As we surveyed the sea of grim, yet beguilingly dim-witted faces of our hosts, we each picked out the youngest child we could spot and proceeded to laugh. It was a scornful cackle; a snort of derision carefully calibrated to literally rip the moisture from their juvenile lacrimal glands.

It was fitting that, shortly afterwards whilst we lined up in an orderly fashion to piss on Eric’s nan, the leaden skies began to gently weep tears of their own. It was a sobering reminder that, despite our success, it had been a somewhat Pyrrhic victory because the cost to us would be that we would not be able to visit this unfinished, windswept, bumpkin-filled hellhole for many years to come. We left; the grey skies failing to mirror the blue feeling we felt in our hearts.


As time has passed, I do look back at the experience more fondly. The tears of those children are a constant source of comfort to me in those days I fervently wish I had moved out of my parents’ house before I hit 40. The anguished wails of our vanquished enemies are the soundtrack to my fanciful daydreams about getting the third star on my badge at work. The way everyone’s urine pooled so beautifully in the cavernous wrinkles of Eric’s nan’s geriatric skin helps me greatly when I’m in desperate need of wank bank inspiration because dad has Eastenders on rather than Babestation. And, perhaps most importantly, my new World Of Warcraft userhandle, ‘Poxford8er’, was voted 83rd Most Badass by WOW players in 2009. Sadly, the trophy Mick McCarthy gave me for that accolade still resides unseen in mother’s scullery. The horror, the horror…

 

[EnglishRed]

Enjoy Wrexham

Who wouldn't enjoy visiting the World's oldest international football stadium?

 

[E10rifle]

Who wouldn't enjoy visiting the World's oldest international football stadium?

My favourite bit is where your firm of teenage hard lads congregate at the end of the alley by the away end after the game, and give the oppo supporters a damn good frowning as they leave. Croeso I Cymru!

 

[Look Out There Are Llamas]

My favourite bit is where your firm of teenage hard lads congregate at the end of the alley by the away end after the game, and give the oppo supporters a damn good frowning as they leave. Croeso I Cymru!

That's Barrow tbf

(After Livesey's red and Guthrie's goal for 2-0)

 

[EnglishRed]

My favourite bit is where your firm of teenage hard lads congregate at the end of the alley by the away end after the game, and give the oppo supporters a damn good frowning as they leave. Croeso I Cymru!

That's not the away end any more. Because most Away fans in this league come piled in the back of a single Ford Cortina there is no point giving them many seats.

 

[E10rifle]

That's not the away end any more. Because most Away fans in this league come piled in the back of a single Ford Cortina there is no point giving them many seats.

Ahh, okay. That's a shame - the view and acoustics were decent. Where will we be tucked away this coming term?

 

[EnglishRed]

Ahh, okay. That's a shame - the view and acoustics were decent. Where will we be tucked away this coming term?

Top corner of the Yale Stand which is on the left of where you would have been before. Holds a few hundred.

Obviously if you come in your droves things change. Chester and Tranmere get the old stand. Luton got it for the play offs a few years back that was part of a 9k attendance though!

Sorry to see the plight of Orient. Always nice to see a team we haven't played for a while though. We are part of the furniture in this league nowadays unfortunately.