Before
this match even started it was clear that Oxford would need to battle
to get anything from it. On a dreary and freezing Tuesday night in
February, on a ploughed field of a pitch, in front of a tiny crowd
and against a side who battered us off the pitch the last time we
played them this was always going to be the case. The players should
have known this ahead of kick-off as well, but if they did they
certainly seemed surprised when the match turned into a pitched
battle with the referee acting as little more than a spectator as the
visitors quickly set about gaining the upper hand through means both
fair and foul.
And,
quite simply, our players didn't fancy squaring up to them. When
Fleetwood came forward our defence backed off, repeatedly opening up to
just allow them to stroll through; they were afraid to put a foot in
and make a challenge, instead simply hoping that they would hit it
straight at us. Going forward, there was no impetus to really attack
them, no one took responsibility themselves and seemed content to
play a simple unhelpful pass to another team-mate in the hope that
they might have more an idea of what to do with it. The players
looked scared to play the game which, given the poisonous atmosphere
surrounding the club right now, is hardly surprising.
Fleetwood,
on the other hand, were certainly not afraid, charging around the
field as if they had every right to shove and kick our players every
time the ball came within hoofing distance – which, according to a
particularly spineless referee, they did. They didn't look a
particularly good side and their sole tactic was to launch the ball
in the air, rough up our defenders, win a flick on and then take
pot-shots at the Oxford goal. It was a simple tactic that should have
been relatively easy to deal with but instead ended up causing us
countless number of problems and the visitors seemed eager to
capitalise on the gaping holes that opened up in our defence.
Even
despite this, the visitors somehow contrived to create very little of
any note, even though our defence was practically inviting them to
shoot at goal – their single real opportunity for all their
endeavour in the early stages coming from Ryan Crowther, whose shot
blazed well over the bar.
James
Constable tried his best to make something happen up front, turning
his marker and making a driving run towards goal but he was pulled
too far wide and ended up shooting into the side-netting. And
Montrose showed that there were rewards to be gained from being
ambitious when he managed to get a shot off which was saved by
Fleetwood keeper Scott Davies at full stretch.
And
absurdly, despite having played awfully from the first whistle, we
should have taken the lead when someone (Deane Smalley?) headed in
from a corner. But the referee spotted a foul on the keeper somewhere
and disallowed it, a laughable decision given that until this point
he had ignored Fleetwood's constant pushing, pulling, tripping and
clambering at every opportunity.
If
the last two paragraphs give the impression that we were anything
like competitive in this match, however, then they are very
misleading. It was with a sense of inevitability that Fleetwood took
the lead midway through the half and again it was totally avoidable.
A simple move on our left-hand side dragged our defence completely
out of position and with the Fleetwood strikers lined up in acres of
space on the right we were undone by the simplest of square balls.
Crowther was on hand to blast past McCormick, who should feel very
let down by his defence for leaving him completely unguarded.
Potter
had the perfect opportunity to level things late in the half when he
was set clean through on goal, but instead of charging through and
slotting past the keeper like a confident player would have done he
bizarrely attempted to pass it to a player who wasn't there and the
ball drifted harmlessly out of play. The United crowd found their
voices as the half-time whistle went, as possibly the worst 45
minutes of football I have seen all season ended with a chorus of
boos.
In
fairness, we started the second half much better, immediately getting
on the front foot and showing more attacking intent than we had in
the entire first half. But after creating some decent pressure in the
opening minutes any realistic hopes of somehow turning this game
around were ended when Fleetwood got their second. It was a typical
freak goal that we have conceded so many times this season as a long
ball from out wide found its way to the back post and Junior Brown
strolled through completely unchallenged to nod in. Arguably
McCormick should have claimed the cross, but the defence still need
to do their jobs and mark up.
United
limped through the rest of the game and rarely looked like getting
into the match, as Fleetwood seemed to suffer an unusual bout of
injuries which kept their physio incredibly busy running back and
forth to treat 'injured' players. They would then miraculously make a
full recovery after rolling around for five minutes and hobbling off
to the far side of the pitch.
Again
Constable did his best to liven things up in front of goal and was
unlucky to see an excellent left-footed shot cannon off the post. But
there's only so much one man can do and the support from the rest of
the team was negligible. Both Potter and Rigg had off days, but Rigg
could have pulled a goal back when he made a great run to get the
wrong side of the defence only to shoot straight at the goalkeeper.
Our
goal finally came in the 89th minute and it was an
absolute peach. The ball pinged around the Fleetwood area and several
players had a go at it before it found its way out to Liam Davis, who
took aim and struck a beautiful shot from 25 yards past the melee of
players and into the net. That one will surely get a nomination in
our end-of-season TBFUTH Awards, but it's just a shame this rare
moment of quality came in such a stinker of a game and will
presumably be forgotten as a result.
United
threw men forward in the five minutes of injury time but of course by
then it was too little, too late. A couple of players had shots from
promising positions which sailed harmlessly over but it showed that
the chances would have come if we had been braver earlier in the
match and hadn't been so afraid to just have a go. We never deserved
a point from this match, but Fleetwood – a kind of detestable cross
between Stevenage and Crawley – were a dirty and cynical side who
seemed more than happy to cheat their way through the match
(exemplified when they chose first not to put the ball out of play so
one of our players could receive treatment and then not to return it
to us after we had kicked it out ourselves – and this coming just
minutes after we had returned the ball after they needlessly hoofed
it out of play so one of their 'injured' players could instantly get
back to his feet). They were never worth three points.
And
that's the most frustrating thing right now: Fleetwood are not a
particularly good side despite their league position. No one in this
league is. But we're even worse and that really hurts.
