Hello!

[The Terminator]

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.

If Lincoln and Tranmere both hopefully go up, it will be between ourselves as to who is the biggest club in this league. I'm looking forward to experiencing being a "big shot" in a league, even if its only for one season for whatever reason

 

[E10rifle]

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.

How many we bring will be entirely situation-dependent. If last year in L2 is anything to go by, we travelled in droves (averaged around 750) to hunting grounds old and new. I'd guess somewhere in the 400-450 region if it's a Saturday. The x-factor is if Becchetti is still around, in which case there will be a large-scale boycott of home games and we may well do even better.

 

[eric read]

View attachment 6284 gh

How many we bring will be entirely situation-dependent. If last year in L2 is anything to go by, we travelled in droves (averaged around 750) to hunting grounds old and new. I'd guess somewhere in the 400-450 region if it's a Saturday. The x-factor is if Becchetti is still around, in which case there will be a large-scale boycott of home games and we may well do even better.

More bullshit. You are averaging 455 away fans, nowhere near 750.

 

[eric read]

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…

If ever any proof was needed that you're a weirdo with too much time on your hands…………..

 

[E10rifle]

View attachment 6284 gh


More bullshit. You are averaging 455 away fans, nowhere near 750.

If you could live up to your name and actually read, you'd notice I was talking about last season (i.e. when we dropped into L2 and had plenty of new grounds/grounds we hadn't been to in a decade, as will be the case next season).

 

[GTFCfish]

I get the impression that eric read and E10rifle don't like each other very much.

 

[GuiseleySteve]

I get the impression that eric read and E10rifle don't like each other very much.

It's a double act surely?

 

[eric read]

If you could live up to your name and actually read, you'd notice I was talking about last season (i.e. when we dropped into L2 and had plenty of new grounds/grounds we hadn't been to in a decade, as will be the case next season).

And I'm supposed to be impressed with that, am I?

Enjoy the FA Trophy.

 

[Silver Stone]

Debating whether to block one or both of these two.

 

[E10rifle]

Debating whether to block one or both of these two.

There is a certain morbid fascination to be had watching Readie bite every single time and then flounder as he attempts a worthwhile rejoinder.

Admittedly it's a pursuit about as intellectually stimulating as Mrs Brown's Boys.

 

[Chris FGR]

I get the impression that eric read and E10rifle don't like each other very much.

You should know, what with being a fan of a League 2 side and so spending most of your time in that section.....

 

[GTFCfish]

You should know, what with being a fan of a League 2 side and so spending most of your time in that section.....

I know you'd miss me too much if I stayed away so I post in both just for your benefit.......

 

[eric read]

There is a certain morbid fascination to be had watching Readie bite every single time and then flounder as he attempts a worthwhile rejoinder.

Admittedly it's a pursuit about as intellectually stimulating as Mrs Brown's Boys.

If you really think that then you're even more up yourself than I thought.

You really are a prize bell end (which is ironic in itself as you started this thread by accusing others of being just that). I'm so sorry if that's not a stimulating enough riposte for your imagined pseudo intellectual wit, but sometimes it's just best to call a spade a spade.

Enjoy being beaten at home by a non league nonentity that brings 9 away fans and comes from a place you've never heard of. Oh, you have soooooooo much to look forward to.

 

[Chris FGR]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

 

[FGRJC]

Debating whether to block one or both of these two.

I'm going to give them both until the end of pre season to redeem themselves, but I bet as soon as August comes ill be muting them. You all thought me and Chris were bad...

 

[rudebwoyben]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

We're spared UTS, for the time being anyway.

 

[Sparrow]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

Imagine if Lincoln get promoted. Some people might cry off the forum again.

 

[eric read]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

If you're including me in that, then think again. I normally inhabit the League 1 Forum. I'm only here because E10Rifle quoted my name in the opening post of this thread and I've replied.

 

[GTFCfish]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

I can't believe that after naming so many you went and missed off Carver/mysteriouscurle.
God help you all if Carlisle ever end up back down here again.

 

[Vanni]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

Have I, like ever, done anything to you? What a sad cnut you are.

 

[Look Out There Are Llamas]

Have I, like ever, done anything to you? What a sad cnut you are.

You bastard.

 

[DarkSithLord]

And locked before things get too personal. E10 rifle and eric read can you please take to PM?

Thank you

 

[mowgli]

The league 2 forum must be a barrel of laughs.

UTS, Football Purist/Alex Loyal, the Mansfield knuckle draggers, the Fishy crew, Massive Loo'un, Vanni and the bunch of clowns in this thread. Christ.

Football Purist got a permanent ban about a week ago mate.