01 April 2017

Leyton Orient 0 Wycombe Wanderers 2, 1/4/17

A game in which... opposition fans sung "Stand up for the Orient"; a group of home supporters broke into the gantry to unfurl a banner proclaiming "Bollocks"; and local mechanic Errol McKellar fulfilled assistant manager duties in the dugout for the second half. So far so surreal.


What next: Rowan Liburd applauded off the pitch after a man-of-the-match performance? Yes, actually, because this is the end of days at Brisbane Road thanks to that potent combination of incompetency, egomania, spite and Valpolicella that swims around in the brain of our esteemed president.

It was an emotional day: the tragic death of fan Frankie Bish – "Mr Orient" – on Thursday turning the dark clouds already hanging over the club to pitch black. As always of late, the players gave it everything – despite not being paid this month – and even started the game pretty brightly.


The early sending off meant Orient's prospect of defeat moved from "cast-iron certainty" to "inevitable" – not that it really matters when the very existence of the club is at stake.

But what was evident today from the defiant chants and the heartfelt stadium-wide ovation in memory of Frankie was that the soul of Leyton Orient is strong – and that's the one thing the anti-Midas touch of Francesco Becchetti can't destroy.

Jump off your seat moment... The moment some wag in the backroom staff put Jens Janse's name on the team sheet as an April Fool's prank, only for it to catastrophically backfire after no one remembered to take him off it again and the missing Dutchman actually turned up on the pitch.

Taxi for... Charles Breakspear for red-carding Tom Parkes for a borderline foul on Wycombe's Garry Thompson. Given Orient's perilous state it was a decision that suggests the referee's hobbies outside of the game might include the illegal hunting of near-extinct species and kicking cripples.

In the dug out... A while back I joked that the next manager of Leyton Orient would be Ada the kit man. We aren't that far off that becoming a reality since Becchetti's relentless snipering of his own gaffers has taken us down to the bare bones of the club's coaching staff.


Omer Riza – dressed like a self-conscious dinner guest who'd mistakenly believed the dress code to be smart casual rather than black-tie – was the latest to drink from the poison chalice of Leyton Orient management.

He no doubt created some sort of future Trivial Pursuit question by getting himself sent off 45 minutes into his debut, leaving it to youth coach Frederico Morais (with the help of the aforementioned Errol McKellar) to attempt the footballing equivalent of trying to extinguish a volcano with a water pistol in the second half.

And credit to these loyal professionals and the many others still trying to keep our club afloat – and support their own families – despite not being actually paid this month by the billionaire Francesco Becchetti. This latest act by the president is a true measure of the man.

17 March 2017

An open letter to Francesco Becchetti

Dear Mr Becchetti,

I last wrote to you in October 2014, just after you’d ousted Russell Slade and Matt Porter from Leyton Orient, urging you to respect the long-held values of the club you’d recently bought.

I think it’s safe to say you never read that letter, partly because I posted it on my blog which no one reads, but mostly because in the following two and a half years you’ve done pretty much the opposite: grinding those long-held club values of respect, community, inclusivity and togetherness into the ground under the elevated heel of your designer Italian shoes.

Why did you do that? Well, I can’t profess to know for certain what goes on inside your brain – and I suspect even the most talented psycho-analyst would have a tough job negotiating their way through all the vitriol, delusion and Chianti.

But here, at least, is my best attempt at explaining why you’ve almost destroyed something I’ve held dear for all my life.


You wanna be adored…

Why did you buy a football club? Well, even though you’d shown no previous interest in the sport, it’s easy to see why you’d want to throw a few of your spare millions at a little plaything to break the monotony of board meetings about waste disposal in Albania.

Why Leyton Orient though? Maybe you couldn’t quite afford a club that was actually any good. But more likely you wanted to take something that was previously unsuccessful and claim any future glory as entirely your own.

No point buying Man Utd or Chelsea – you’d be on a hiding to nothing. With Orient, I suppose you thought: well, I can’t exactly do any worse. Little did you know…

I think you wanted fans to sing your name. I think you wanted to be paraded through the litter-strewn streets of Leyton. I think you have a massive, out-of-control ego and wanted the supporters of the club to adore you, to exalt you.


That’s why you quickly drove out pretty much everyone previously associated with the club: Russell Slade, Matt Porter, Juliet the cook… That’s why of the nine managers you’ve appointed, not a single one of them had any previous track record of success. Should any of them had achieved anything with Orient, you wanted to be able to say that you found them, you nurtured them.

That’s why you created a ludicrous reality TV show about the club and got them to film you gazing purposefully across the hallowed turf of Brisbane Road, hoping no doubt that none-the-wiser Italian audiences would think you ruled over something far grander than you actually did.

Christ, you even threw £7,500 a week at Andrea Dossena specifically to reinforce this ruse and persisted with the demonstrably insane Fabio Liverani as manager on the basis that at least he was a “name” Italian audiences could associate themselves with.


You also paid Nicole Kidman presumably millions of Euros to sit next to you at the launch of your TV channel and use every ounce of her acting skills to try not to look like rancid shame was oozing from every pore of her body.

And remember your behaviour after an inconsequential win against Portsmouth on Boxing Day 2015? Lumbering drunkenly on to the pitch, kicking Andy Hessenthaler up the arse, gesticulating wildly in front of the fans with your grotesque belly hanging out over your belt.

This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? A bit of adulation. A bit of adoration.

Sticky fingers

Thing is, you’re so vain, so deluded, that you thought that you knew how to run a football club – or even manage the first XI – better than those who’ve done it all their working lives.

You couldn’t help interfering in everything, right down to team selection, substitutions, club communications…

Which is bad in itself, of course, but you were really, really terrible at it. You employed Alessandro Angelieri as CEO of the club, a man whose stratospheric levels of incompetence would be comical if they weren’t so damaging.


You employed an Italian TV journalist first as Technical Director, then one month later made him Head of Communications; and Rob Gagliardi as Head of Looking A Bit Handsome and Sometimes Scouting Slovenian Players From FM17.

You insisted that Gianvito Plasmati set foot on a football pitch for an actual football match. You hired Alberto Cavasin. You turned up at the training ground to generously offer your “charisma”.

None of this really worked, though, did it? Because as a direct consequence of your leadership we got relegated and then found ourselves in a battle to avoid ending our 112-year stay in the Football League.

Cruel summer (and winter)

But you’re not just a grossly incompetent egomaniac, are you Mr Becchetti? You’re also a spiteful, vengeful, grossly incompetent egomaniac.

We got some early glimpses of how you behave when you believe you’ve been crossed. Your insistence that players attend double training sessions for two weeks after the end of the 2014/15 season, preventing some from being reunited from their families. Imprisoning the squad in a hotel for a week after another loss in 2015/16.


Your bizarre half-time announcement humiliating Darius Henderson for getting caught in a traffic jam. Your inexplicably brutal sacking of goalkeeping coach Lee Harrison. The freezing out of Jobi McAnuff when your plans to oust him from the club didn’t come off. Ditto Jay Simpson and Alex Cisak. And God only knows what you had against Scott Kashket

But worst of all was the despicable way you treated club legend Dean Cox, which really showed just how spiteful you could be. 

It really grated that Deano was more popular than you, didn’t it? I mean, the Norovirus was more popular than you at the time, but anyway, when your plans to move him on from the club backfired, you ensured that not only would Coxy never turn out for Orient again, but that he’d be unable to play for any other club until the next transfer window. 

Vengeance is yours

But what really upset you was that by the time your catastrophic ownership of the club had cast us to the depths of League Two, the fans had the gall to complain a bit.

You airily wafted away the mild-mannered chants of displeasure from your gallery vantage point like you were brushing a splattering of your rampant dandruff from your shoulder. You clearly regarded us fans with utter contempt.

But what really sent you over the edge was our peaceful protest about the way the club was being run, didn’t it? This was the point that you realised that the game was up: that there was no chance you were ever going to get the adoration you craved.


You could have planned a dignified exit from there. But you wanted to stick the boot in first, didn’t you?

You instructed the spam-brained Alessandro Angelieri to post a jaw-dropping statement on the website blaming the lack of effort from players such as Jordan Bowery and the aforementioned Henderson and McAnuff as the reason behind the club’s demise.

I think you actually believe that, don’t you? That you breezed in, threw a bit of money around, but were ultimately let down by the players.

So you transfer-listed half the squad, pulled the plug on any further recruitment and stopping paying everyone from the taxman to the printers of the matchday programme.

Worse still, despite the fact you have explicitly stated you want to sell the club, you are apparently not responding to any expressions of interest from potential buyers.

Such is your spite, you would rather drive us into the ground – or even put us out of existence – than try to recoup a few of the millions you’ve spunked so far.

That’s your ultimate revenge on the fans who wouldn’t adore you, isn’t it? What a pathetic, small-minded man you are.

Rise again

The thing is, Mr Becchetti, it won’t work. Because a football club isn’t just a collection of assets that can be liquidated. A football club is a community; a collective spirit; the sum of all the memories of all the people that have shouted for joy or cried tears of anguish in the stands in over a century of existence.

And whether you leave us in administration, in the National League or building a phoenix club from the ashes of Brisbane Road, you can’t take any of that away from us.

One way or the other, we’ll all still have Leyton Orient. And it’ll be a Leyton Orient that’s no longer infected by your poison. And whatever shape that may take, it’ll still be a better, happier place to be than the Leyton Orient of your tenure.

So hopefully we’ll be saying ciao for good pretty soon, Mr Becchetti. Who knows, perhaps one day someone will give you the adoration you desire. As to us Leyton Orient fans? I doubt we’ll give you a second thought once you’re gone.

Sincerely,

Matt Simpson

Francesco shows just how bothered he is
about the current plight of Leyton Orient


04 February 2017

Leyton Orient 1 Carlisle United 2, 4/2/17

A game which... was preceded by a major selection headache for Orient latest's puppet manager Danny Webb. Namely: could he find 11 players whose registration papers were in order and weren't being frozen out Francesco Becchetti? Thankfully he managed to rustle up a few kids from the local park, a couple of guys who Rob Gagliardi had identified on FM17 and some bloke who'd once almost made it into the five-a-side team of the Stevenage branch of Specsavers.

Incredibly this bunch put up more fight than we've probably seen all season at Brisbane Road. They were still pretty much useless, mind, but God knows it's a big ask for this lot to get us out of the total mess Mr Becchetti has left us in. Still, respect to them for giving it a go and perhaps an infinitesimal glimmer of hope that we won't be relegated.

Today's team 

Jump off your seat moment... The moment Gavin Massey scored a goal that wasn't at the time required to be preceded by the word "consolation". To clarify for more recent fans of Leyton Orient: a "goal" – as opposed to a "consolation goal" – is something that was occasionally witnessed at Brisbane Road mostly during the 1970s and in 2013/14. Of course, by the second half Massey's goal had actually become a "consolation goal" and the order of the universe was thus restored. 

Give that man a medal... Actually Gavin Massey again for running his socks off and being a constant menace to the ball boys on the side of the pitch and sometimes the Carlisle defence. If we are going to have any chance of staying up we're going to need wily old pros like Massey (24), Tom Parkes (25), Nigel Atangana (27) and Nicky Hunt (58) to stand up and be counted.  

Taxi for... Now, it's easy to mock Rowan Liburd's performance today, but let's get some perspective here guys: he's severely lacking match practice. That's because he's evidently never played a football match in his life. Give him time to learn the basics and we could have a 20-goal a man in our 2026/27  season in the Essex Olympian Senior League Premier Division. (Yeah, I did the math.) 

In the dug out... It was a curious decision for Danny Webb to turn up to his first match dressed as a Romford estate agent, but fair play to him for trying to patch up the footballing equivalent of a crumbling tenement block that the owner has deliberately set fire to. I mean, Webb has essentially been tasked with saving Orient from relegation not with one hand tied behind his back, but with both hands figuratively chopped off and buried in an Albanian waste dump. If he can pull it off it will count as the greatest Orient managerial feat of all time. 

Danny Webb

Meanwhile on Twitter... "The manager explained his decision to me and I respect that" tweeted Alex Cisak in explanation of being dropped not just from the team, but the whole squad. Webb himself claimed that "it's not that Alex has done anything particularly wrong" but that "we have Alex, Charlie Grainger and Sam all going for the number one jersey." Or to put it another way, "We have an international goalkeeper with nearly 200 senior appearances who's pretty much solely responsible for Orient not already being down, and a 20-year-old and 19-year-old with three appearances between them all going for the number one jersey." 

So you don't have to be tin-hatted conspiracy nut to infer that transfer-listed Cisak was dropped for something other than footballing reasons, not least because on what planet would you throw an untested teenager into a relegation dogfight in League Two? Or rather, there's not exactly a shortage of evidence of Francesco Becchetti freezing out players and interfering in team affairs. 

Not blaming Webb personally - seems like a decent guy and I'd probably buy a property off him - but it's yet another example of the psychopathic mismanagement that stems directly from Francesco Becchetti. It's almost as if the Italian is upset that Donald Trump is getting so much publicity of late so has decided to take his own narcissistic megalomania off the fucking scale in response. 

As Donald himself would tweet: "Sad". 

Not a patch on Francesco Becchetti 

19 November 2016

Leyton Orient 1 Blackpool 2, 19/11/16

A game in which... Leyton Orient's players showed solidarity with the fan protests by standing still from the 18th minute onwards. All except Alan Dunne, that is, who took things one step further and actually tried to sabotage not only the match, but the very concept of football itself.

Happy clappies may point to the tiniest glimmer of briskness in Orient's first-half performance, albeit with the total absence of any end product. But defensive calamities and the post-team talk catastrophe of a second half meant defeat – a club record of seven in a row at home – was inevitable. 

Or to put it another way: we are monumentally shit. 


Jump off your seat moment #1... WE SCORED A GOAL WE SCORED A GOAL WE SCORED A GOAL WE SCORED A MEANINGLESS GOAL! I'll say one thing about Paul McCallum: if you plop the ball on his head in the penalty area he'll pretty likely score, almost like he was created to restore the balance to a universe in which Ollie Palmer exists. 

Give that man a medal... Nigel Atangana again. Why? Because of his reaction when Blackpool scored their first. The goal was a result of a howler by Yves Erichot, who was clearly mortified and appeared to be crying actual tears. Everyone bar Atangana looked to the floor, shoulders sunken, and muttered "You fucking idiot" at Erichot under their breaths. Not brave Nigel. He was the only one who went to console the fucking idiot. The only one who was talking at the rest of the team, trying to gee them up, the only one showing any passion, any commitment. There is zero team spirit in this squad. Zero. 

Taxi for... Robbie Weir, who apparently misinterpreted today's protest as We Want Our Club Foot Back. In September the Orient captain – yes, he really is the captain – wrote this on Twitter: "Since I've joined the club I have been awful. And when you think it can't get any worst [sic] – it does! I would like to apologise to everyone associated with the club. I will turn this around." I actually quite respected him for that. If only more players gave honest appraisals of their performances via Twitter. ("Since I joined the club my performances have massively increased the likelihood of an imminent apocalypse" - Connor Essam.) Still waiting for Robbie to turn this around, mind. In your own time, pal... 

In the dug out... On the touchline Alberto Cavasin gives the impression of a man who until this moment has spent the entire 60 years of his life isolated from all human contact and left to fend for himself in an Amazonian rainforest. He is frozen in bemused wonderment at what lies before him and has not an inkling of how to react to this strange world, let alone communicate with it. Why are people kicking a ball around? Why are people watching them kick a ball around? Why is Alan Dunne repeatedly kicking the ball into the people watching? Either that or – as fan Laurie Hann suggested – he was doing a solo mannequin challenge for the entire 90 minutes. 


Jump off your seat moment #2... The moment fan Marc Shaffer literally did jump off his seat to abuse Alberto Cavasin in Italian via Google Translate. His message: Stai diventando licenziato al mattino. You're getting sacked in the morning... 

30 October 2016

Leyton Orient 0 Crewe Alexandra 2, 29/10/16

A game in which... it became apparent that there must be something more than Francesco Becchetti's rank incompetence, belligerence, arrogance, megalomania and psychopathy that's driven Orient from the brink of the Championship to the brink of the Conference. I think on top of that he must also have a personal vendetta against Os supporters and is deliberately taking us down just to spite each and every one of us.

Far-fetched? Maybe, but not as goggle-eyed mental as the idea that it's somehow the fans' fault for not getting behind the team enough. Anyways, anyways, the game... Well, Orient actually looked vaguely League Two competent – if 100 per cent unthreatening – for the first 25 minutes or so before the ever-predictable defensive cock-ups and consequent two-goal deficit led to drop in footballing ability of such magnitude that I was slightly concerned it might cause the universe to collapse in on itself.


Jump off your seat moment... The substitution of Nigel Atangana, a decision that will go down in human history as the worst since the captain of the Titanic said to his first mate, "Yeah, I hardly think we need to worry about some little iceberg – full speed ahead!" In the swirling ineptitude that engulfs Brisbane Road every fortnight the French midfielder at least seems to have some basic grasp of the minimum requirements of a professional footballer.

Give that man a medal... Ada the kit man, on the basis that as far as I know no Orient player has yet taken to the pitch in odd socks or the wrong-coloured shorts or naked under the Becchetti regime – pretty much the only thing on or off the pitch that hasn't gone cataclysmically wrong. Hats off to Ada for sticking it out – I suspect that [METAPHOR ALERT!] in the event of a nuclear winter he and the cockroaches would be the lone survivors on our scorched planet.


Taxi for... Jens Janse. Who even is this guy? *Looks up Wikipedia* Ah right, well, it was always going to take something special to actually stand out as worse than the rest of the Orient team today, but by God the Dutch right back gave it his best shot by literally passing to a Crewe player every time he got the ball. Thing is though, even he seems to have some sort of pedigree, as does pretty much every other player in the team – including a number of promotion winners. So why are they playing with such lack of confidence, spirit and ability? Could they all coincidentally have lost their talents at exactly the same time? Or could perhaps the deep malaise at the heart of the club be affecting on-field performances? Just a thought.

In the dug out... When you're 2-0 down at home at half-time, taking off a striker and reverting to 4-5-1 is certainly a novel approach. And I'm using the word "novel" here in the sense of Katie Price's 2015 tome Make My Wish Come True, in which a young showbiz reporter goes undercover to expose a cheating TV chef, but risks losing her best friend in doing so. With a record of four losses in five games Alberto Cavasin is clearly going to get the chop soon enough so I can hardly be bothered to expend the energy slagging him off. Also, I could not hope to get close to the comic heights he hits in his own post-match interview. (Choice quote from an incredulous Dave Victor: "So you thought about taking off the substitute??!) Probably a nice enough bloke – hasn't offered any fans out yet so he's one up on Ian Hendon in my book. Not a hope in hell of turning this round, mind. Next.


Meanwhile on Twitter... "Great training today, we are ready for tomorrow's match against Crewe Alexandra" declared the Mr Alberto Cavasin almost as if someone was writing his tweets for him in English and almost as if Orient were actually ready for the match against Crewe, rather than being physically and emotionally exhausted by the double training sessions Francesco Becchetti had insisted upon all week, almost as if he were a qualified sports scientist. It's almost as if no one knows what the fuck they're doing, hey? Almost...

17 September 2016

Leyton Orient 0 Yeovil Town 1, 17/9/16

A game which... was so soul-destroyingly predictable that Francesco Becchetti might as well have given the squad a day off and instead broadcast a big-screen replay of one of the countless other insipid home defeats of his tenure. In fact, that is the sort of mental thing he might actually do.

Thing is, despite today's evidence to the contrary, the current squad does consist of decent players, but the lack of any discernible team spirit, determination, morale or collective responsibility is surely symptomatic of the toxic culture that now prevails at our once beloved club. Still, on the bright side, we're still five points clear of the relegation zone.

Jump off your seat moment... Didn't we get a corner at some point? In the context of the rest of the game we really should have celebrated that with champagne, a conga down the aisles, a victory bus tour through the streets of Leyton and a Roman orgy. What actually happened was that whoever took it - seriously, you expect me to remember who it was? - smashed it straight into the first defender. Probably. Whatever.

We won a corner! Celebrate! 
Give that man a medal... Poor Jay Simpson. Surely the only thing worse than being frozen out of this team is actually having to play in this team, and so it was that the striker came on with 25 minutes to go. Lively he was too, albeit only in the sense that a three-toed sloth might be described as lively in comparison to 10 blocks of concrete.

Taxi for... Francesco Becchetti for airily wafting away the complaints of fans from his gallery standpoint as if he was a Roman emperor dismissively ordering the lions be set upon the bunch of fucking peasants he no doubt believes us to be. Come to think of it, don't discount the possibility that he might actually bring lions to Brisbane Road, for that would make about as much logical sense as sacking Dean Cox. Or signing Gianvito Plasmati. Or buying the club in the first place.


In the dug out... What, you may ask yourself, is Andy Hessenthaler – probably a decent enough bloke – doing here in the current circumstances? Well, one thing he's not doing is instructing his team to do anything other than lump the ball towards Jordan Bowery / Paul McCallum / Ollie Palmer and hope for the best. Anyway, it's a moot point for I suspect one or two more defeats will spell the end of his short tenure and Francesco Becchetti will finally cut out the middle man and simply appoint himself as manager.

Meanwhile in the press...  Ben Chorley this week waded into the Orient controversy with the same type of reckless abandon with which he'd regularly decimate lower league strikers. "I think Orient could be in League Two for a few years yet," he said with so much optimism that we'll somehow avoid relegation to the conference that I can only assume he'd just drunk two pints of MDMA. He continued: "It's a great club. Everything around it is good, but the problem is the owner." Oh really, Ben? We thought it was all Leon McSweeney's fault...

16 August 2016

Leyton Orient 3 Stevenage 0, 16/8/16

A game in which... Orient proved that they're not necessarily as shit as every single performance of the last two seasons might suggest. In fact I'd go as far as to say that this was the most enjoyable 90 minutes at Brisbane Road since the play-off semi-final of 2013/14.

Stevenage were rubbish, obviously, but you can only beat what's put in front of you, unless that's Newport and you lose. But Orient were in swashbuckling form, penetrating the opposition defence time and again with the near-forgotten tactic of actually passing the ball along the ground. Throw in some highly promising individual performances – Kelly, Massey and Erichot for starters – and it starts to look like things aren't quite as dire as they seemed on Saturday. Let the good times roll.

Jump off your seat moment... The moment Dean Cox – God knows it's good to have him back – scored with a header from the edge of the box, a feat that until tonight every single expert from the world of science and Professor Brian Cox had deemed physically impossible. From a Stevenage point of view this is beyond embarrassing: like Sir Bradley Wiggins being overtaken by a kid on a tricycle; or Lionel Messi being nutmegged by Bradley Pritchard.


Give that man a medal... Well done to Harry Cornick Jr for repeatedly getting dangerous balls into the box like an inverse Sean Clohessy. This was the type of blistering loanee winger performance that Ryan Hedges could have put in had he not had Fabio Liverani screaming insanely into his brain for 90 relentless minutes every time he played. But if this is the shape of things to come from Cornick, and Simpson stays and shakes off the rust, we may actually score more goals.

Taxi for... What a joy it was to see Jamie Jones kicking the ball with the same reckless regard for consequence with which he manages his Twitter account. How pleasurable it was to see him fumbling crosses almost like he was playing for Orient during the 2013/14 play-off final. And it would be an utter dereliction of duty of me not to end this paragraph with the words: Enjoy your relegation battle, Jamie.

Jamie Jones reaches for a cross
In the dug out... Positioning Dean Cox in a more central role is usually the last roll of the dice of an under-pressure Orient manager and it never works. Tonight, by total accident, this ruse actually paid off for Andy Hessenthaler and the 4-2-3-1 formation presumably dictated to him by the president looked to have promise. The thing is: Orient do have a good team on paper. Of course, that doesn't help you get promoted: after all, Ian Hendon should have been a good manager on paper, until it turned out that paper just bore a picture of a sunburnt holidaymaker furiously berating Ryan Air ground staff for the fact he's left his own passport in the hotel room. Where was I? Yes, Orient have a good team on paper and if Hessenthaler – let's just call him Yessenthaler and be done with it – can negotiate around the lunatics running the club then we may have a chance of achieving something.

Meanwhile on Twitter... "Just got told the biggest load of nonsense in my life" tweeted Paul McCallum, minutes before kick off, almost as if an Ian Hendon tactical team talk from last season had finally registered in his brain. Make of that what you will, but in the meantime let's turn to our former manager himself. Yes, his fiery-fingered wife Linda Hendon has been at it again, with this: "Ian Hendon and I have been informed by Becchetti that we are not welcome at Brisbane Road to support Orient or Hess. #completeclownofachairman." Which suggests that Linda and Ian were trying to score free seats rather than just paying like the rest of us mugs. Unless of course Mr Becchetti scrutinises the sale of every ticket to ensure no one inappropriate turns up. Wouldn't put it past him. Though in which case how did Connor Essam slip through the net so many times? The plot thickens...




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