My presence at professional sporting contests represents, to my mind, a curse upon the fortunes of whichever team or individual I would rather see victorious. My first time at White Hart Lane some years ago saw the home side defeated 1-0 to a rather freakish Steve Stone goal for Nottingham Forest and most recently I watched a pretty hopeless San Diego Padres team succumb to a visiting Cleveland Reds side on an otherwise perfect trip to southern California.The sole victory that I have witnessed in the flesh was in the first leg of the UEFA Cup qualifying round, as Spurs left Prague with a valuable 1-0 win against Sparta. I put this anomaly down to the fact that it took place some thousand or so kilometres away from home and as such my powers were greatly diminished.
But in keeping with the festive season, I made my way with my season ticket-holding uncle to Brisbane Road this afternoon to watch Leyton Orient take on fellow League One relegation fanciers Swindon Town with a spring in my step and no thought of my previous form as a sporting spectator.
Things did not start well. The game was barely 30 seconds old when the Orient defence – possibly still half-cut from the previous day’s festivities – let the ball bobble around their penalty box long enough for Peacock to latch on to it and send it net-wards. ‘Goal’, I thought to myself shortly before the away fans went into raptures, and a goal it was.
Now fully awake, the O’s looked far more lively going forward until half time yet their reluctance to fire so much as a single shot on target was baffling to say the least. The 15 minutes after the interval proceeding much the same, until around the hour mark when a Swindon player committed as clear a handball as would have been seen at any football ground around the country.
The linesman on the near side then rose his flag, without hesitation, and awarded a penalty, before the roof of the stadium actually lifted an inch or two off its supports as around 7,000 people screamed the word “WHAT?!” in perfect unison.
Penalty safely tucked away, the visiting supports were delirious and the home fans incensed and perplexed in equal measure. Over the next ten minutes the offending official was submitted to as vehement a selection of abuse as I have ever heard.
My personal favourite nugget of vitriol was “Oi, silly bollocks!!”. Much of what was said was in this vein – the occasional attempt at a fully-formed sentence or even a rhetorical question tended to trail off before the end as the individual concerned lost interest.
With around ten minutes left on the clock, Orient’s steadily-building pressure paid off and they managed to pull one back, but not before missing a hatful of chances.
In all, I had a fantastic afternoon and would happily spend many more afternoons at Brisbane Road. My curse, I feel confident, will one day be broken.
See the club’s official match report here.
But in keeping with the festive season, I made my way with my season ticket-holding uncle to Brisbane Road this afternoon to watch Leyton Orient take on fellow League One relegation fanciers Swindon Town with a spring in my step and no thought of my previous form as a sporting spectator.
Things did not start well. The game was barely 30 seconds old when the Orient defence – possibly still half-cut from the previous day’s festivities – let the ball bobble around their penalty box long enough for Peacock to latch on to it and send it net-wards. ‘Goal’, I thought to myself shortly before the away fans went into raptures, and a goal it was.
Now fully awake, the O’s looked far more lively going forward until half time yet their reluctance to fire so much as a single shot on target was baffling to say the least. The 15 minutes after the interval proceeding much the same, until around the hour mark when a Swindon player committed as clear a handball as would have been seen at any football ground around the country.
The linesman on the near side then rose his flag, without hesitation, and awarded a penalty, before the roof of the stadium actually lifted an inch or two off its supports as around 7,000 people screamed the word “WHAT?!” in perfect unison.
Penalty safely tucked away, the visiting supports were delirious and the home fans incensed and perplexed in equal measure. Over the next ten minutes the offending official was submitted to as vehement a selection of abuse as I have ever heard.
My personal favourite nugget of vitriol was “Oi, silly bollocks!!”. Much of what was said was in this vein – the occasional attempt at a fully-formed sentence or even a rhetorical question tended to trail off before the end as the individual concerned lost interest.
With around ten minutes left on the clock, Orient’s steadily-building pressure paid off and they managed to pull one back, but not before missing a hatful of chances.
In all, I had a fantastic afternoon and would happily spend many more afternoons at Brisbane Road. My curse, I feel confident, will one day be broken.
See the club’s official match report here.
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