Tuesday 26 Sept – Leyton Orient 3-3 Gills
After caving in shockingly at Oldham on Saturday, it was important that we got back on track at Brisbane Road, and the lads’ attitude was spot-on in earning a hard-fought point against a well-organised Ori….hold on….you stupid useless brainless FECKERS! I’m sorry, but what happened here was UNFORGIVABLE.
Orient were hopeless. Absolutely hopeless. They couldn’t kick it straight, keep hold of the ball, stand up, sit down or do anything remotely constructive. We played to our strengths – or strength – and cruised into a 3-0 lead that was unassailable. So holy mothering fuck, it is still inconceivable that we collapsed so pathetically, gifting a bloody full back a hat-trick in the last twelve minutes.
At half time everything was perfect. The lamentable home side couldn’t get near Matty Jarvis, and two well-worked goals right on half time were long in coming. Our back four were spectators, the midfield passed the ball through the tattered home ranks with ease and Flynn had the vision to pick out Jarvis in full-flight from all angles. Easton and Guy were quiet but it didn’t matter. Easy easy easy….
When Jarvis skinned their centre back and lashed in a third just after the break, I seriously thought we could go on to get four or five with a clean sheet to boot. The away end was rocking in the rickety old main stand (by far and away the least ugly construction in the redeveloped ground – what a hideous carbuncle they’ve constructed down one side, while the far end remains nothing more than a wooden hoarding) with the home side looking as shambolic on the field as their organisation was off it (when will clubs realise that a “sit where you like” policy doesn’t work when a stand is full?). The O’s faithful looked on in despair, grinning inanely and dribbling, while the happy-go-lucky dwellers of the new flats that have funded the redevelopment gazed at the one-sided proceedings from their balconies, beers in hand, probably wishing they’d chosen the Leyton High Road view rather than the pitch.
The last twelve minutes would disgrace a pub side. An idiotic rush of blood from Flinders conceded a needless penalty, and hopes of a first clean sheet were dashed as Lockwood guided home a consolation from the spot. Even then I had not a care in the world, no way would a side so devoid of talent cause us any anxious moments. Corner, defence dozing scandalously, Lockwood lashes home. Moments later and the O’s support were rightly goading us for our incompetence as the left back produced a classy finish. Our performance was sufficient to claim the easy three points that were up for grabs. The sheer terror in our ranks as we attempted to close out the final few minutes meant we deserved everything we got. You can blame Jepson for not seeing the problems unfolding and strengthening the midfield with Pouton. You can blame an obvious lack of composure throughout the side when under the slightest pressure, not helped by another inexperienced goalkeeper making all the wrong decisions. But that’s all irrelevant. If we can’t organise ourselves to beat eleven dustbins like Leyton Orient when out of sight with just minutes left, then we’ve got serious, serious problems. Jepson showed admirable restraint in not shooting the bloody lot back in the dressing room. An embarrassment.
Champagne Moment: Fuck right off.
The Morty Vicker