In the middle of Oxford is a socking great cinema: once the Ritz, it’s now an Odeon multiplex. Back in 1962, in the intermission of, I think, The Longest Day, the curtain moved and on walked a group of men, young I suppose, though to my 15-year-old eyes they seemed impossibly grown-up. It was the Oxford United team, led by their manager Arthur Turner, and including such titans as Ron ‘The Tank’ Atkinson, his brother Graham, John Shuker and Maurice Kyle. They had just won promotion from the Southern League to the Fourth Division (today’s League Two). They were introduced to the audience, and I have been a fan ever since.
Supporting a lower-league team is not always fun, but I would guess it’s a damn sight more fulfilling than supporting a global brand such as Chelsea or Manchester United. There are bonds with the players: a lot of people on the terraces will be earning similar salaries to the guys on the pitch. You won’t get that at Stamford Bridge (or even at River-side: legend has it that the truculent Middlesbrough forward Mark Viduka was getting an earful from angry fans outside the players’ car park. ‘I pay your wages,’ shouted one. ‘Really?’ said Viduka, ‘Fair play to you, mate. You must be one rich fucker.’)
It wasn’t long ago that Oxford fell fast and far from the Premier League and winning the League Cup to the Conference. But they are back in League Two now and on a hell of a journey. The other day they knocked Premier League Swansea out of the FA Cup with a performance full of pride and poise, purpose and panache.
Oxford have been playing like this all season: high tempo, full of passing, guile and skill, with two or three outstanding players such as Kemar Roofe and Johnny Lundstram.
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