Leyton Orient 2 Cambridge United 1, 7/3/20

A game in which... Orient did the footballing equivalent of a reformed 90s indie band who get a festival crowd going by playing all their early hits, then shoot themselves in the foot by announcing mid-set "Here's a new one we wrote..." thereby extinguishing all goodwill, before just about pulling it back again by finishing with one of the same early hits played for the second time.



Look, what I'm saying here in this tortuous analogy – obviously – is that the Os were so dominant in the first 63 minutes that to then concede and find themselves hanging on at the death was rather pointlessly self-destructive. That said, what an impressive 63 minutes it was, where it almost appeared that Orient were a coherent football team. Well done.

Moment of magic... Orient's out-of-character first goal, in which James Brophy – a left back who's never knowingly made a tackle – executed a crunching interception, then Craig Clay – a box-to-box midfielder who's never knowingly run box to box – took the ball the length of the pitch to lay it off to Jordan Maguire-Drew – a man who's never knowingly passed a mirror without stopping to conduct a three-hour personal grooming regime – who then actually scored.

Praise be... So many candidates for praise today but let's start with Jobi McAnuff for an explosive return to the pitch, where in the space of 15 minutes he covered more distance, completed more passes and took more shots than he did during the entirety of his Becchetti-era spell at the club.

Next: Craig Clay. Incredibly, he's raised his level from last season. His level is now mid-to-lower table League Two midfielder. Respect.

Next: Danny Johnson. Now, it may be true that the striker has had absolutely no discernible impact on any game of football he's ever played in, other than scoring tap ins, but by God if you need someone to not miss too many open goals from six inches out then he's your man.

Next Laurence Vigouroux, whose personal motto appears to be: "Why do something the easy way, if instead you can do it with a load of shithousery thrown in." Remember, this is a man who once paid a £50 fine with 5,000 1p pieces, a philosophy he brings admirably onto the football pitch.



In the dug out... Say what you like about Ross Embleton's formations, selection or tactics, but his philosophy of playing half the team out of position finally paid dividends today and for that I salute him. And moreover, he did that without Dean Brill – off sick – by his side with a clipboard which meant no one knew who they supposed to be marking at corners.

Meanwhile in the treatment room... 

Ross Embleton: Sorry to hear you're injured Wrighty – shame you'll have to sit this one out
Josh Wright: No, no gaffer – I can play, it's only my quad that's gone
RE: Do you know what your quad is Wrighty?
JW: Yep, it's the muscle that allows me to execute four varieties of sideways pass
RE: What are the four varieties?
JW: Short, quite short, very short and really short
RE: So if you can't do that, what else do you think you'll contribute to the game?
JW: 
RE: You're back in next week

Leyton Orient 1 Grimsby Town 1, 11/1/20

A game which... heralded the start of a bold new era for Leyton Orient, albeit one that differs from the previous era only by the fact Ross Embleton has blacked out the word "interim" on his business cards with a felt-tip pen.

So, same old, same old, with the new Orient paying homage to every single Orient team of the past by being mostly shit, then getting a bit of a head of steam up and nearly scoring, only to concede catastrophically before somehow rescuing a point.

But let's not be too harsh, hey, because even though the board have clearly given up on this season, the team haven't and put in a fair degree of effort for at least 20 minutes of the second half.

Converting pressure into goals might help, but Rome wasn't built in a day – indeed, if the Leyton Orient squad had been tasked with constructing the eternal city it would probably now resemble Stevenage.



Moment of magic... An outrageous bit of showboating by Conor Wilkinson in the second half when he weaved Lionel Messi-style in and out of probably at least 40 Grimsby players before collapsing to the ground in the penalty area dazzled by his own brilliance.

Jordan Maguire-Drew, of course, was hugely affronted by this blatant land grab for his title of Official Resident Showboater and immediately pulled off a defiant –if entirely pointless – succession of stepovers. Not to be outdone, James Brophy then attempted to dribble the width of the pitch – and I do mean width, not length – only to lose the ball, allowing Grimsby to score. Great work lads.

Taxi for... Josh Wright. Not because he was particularly bad – he never particularly is – but because he's in danger of joining the ranks of players such as Tom Newey, David Hunt, Tom Parkes and Andrew Cave-Brown who made numerous appearances for Orient with no discernible impact, good or bad. Let's call them The Forgettables. The type of players about whom, towards the end of a match, you wonder aloud as to their injury status, only to find they've been on the pitch for the entire 90 minutes.

In the dug out... A chance for head coach Ross Embleton to prove he was his own man and set himself apart from his predecessor interim head coach Ross Embleton. That meant leaving Lee Angol on his own up front trying to deliver flick ons to himself; Josh Coulson inexplicably returned to the side; and recent goal-scorer Ruel Soteriou without a part to play. As you were...

Meanwhile, in the director of football's office... "I'm 100% convinced Ross Embleton is the right man for the job," said director of football Martin Ling this week, which is why it only took him until January to appoint Ross even though he's been at the club for years. "Football is a results business," he went on, neatly explaining why he's backing a man whose record in League Two is played 23, lost 9, drew 8, won 6.

I jest, of course, and I'm hardly going to question Martin Ling's judgment just because in Steve Davis and Carl Fletcher he made the two worst appointments in managerial history, so to speak. Truth is, I'd also have given it to Ross who is the most decent bloke you're likely to come across in football and deserves a shot at this, even if the process by which we arrived there appeared to have the hidden hand of Alessandro Angelieri guiding it...

Leyton Orient 0 Braintree Town 0, 27/4/19

A game in which... Orient won the league. Read that again and weep actual tears, for this is only the third time that's happened in our 138-year history and comes just two years after an Italian psychopath nearly poisoned the club out of existence through a deadly mix of megalomania, spite and Valpolicella.

Sink down to your knees and praise the Lord, then, for this gutsy, determined and talented group of players, who have taken us back to the holy land of League Two and the sunny uplands of Morecombe, Crawley and Stevenage (pictured below).

Greater glories would surely await a team of this calibre were it to stay together, though other better-resourced clubs are already coveting our jewels. For now then let's just enjoy the heady glow of success in a season with so many magical moments.

That said, failing to beat an already-relegated bunch of part-timers from Essex at Brisbane Road in the final game – absolute disgrace.

Moment of magic... The moment, of course, that the referee's final whistle signalled that the title was ours – although the South Stand had recklessly thrown caution to the wind 15 minutes earlier by singing "campeones" even though it was still possible for Salford to come from behind to win and Orient to concede five goals.

That didn't happen, despite many of the most weathered fans believing that it would be "typical Orient" to somehow blow our chance of taking the honours right at the death. What utter nonsense from these doomsayers. It would actually be far more "typical Orient" to get relegated again the next season then spend the next 15 years in the National League.

Praise be... It looked very much like Joe Widdowson might score the first goal of his entire career in this match – or at least it would have looked like that to anyone who hasn't previously seen Joe Widdowson play. (Which, given the 8,000+ attendance was presumably quite a lot of fucking part-time glory hunters who weren't even there when we won the Third Division South in 1956.)

Anyway, when Macauley Bonne ill-advisedly slipped Widdowson clean through on goal the left back ran and ran and ran like a frizzy-haired Forrest Gump before hitting an immovable object many, many hours before he presumably intended to finally get a shot off. Joe will never, ever score a goal, but boy what a great season he's had.



Taxi for... The Orient fans, who according to Josh Koroma have been "a joke all season". Today even the euphoria of winning a league title wasn't enough to prevent supporters dividing into two warring factions. On one side were those who remained on the pitch for the trophy presentation, on the other those who were furious at the turf-dwellers for blocking their view, starting up a chant of "OFF THE PITCH" to the tune of Napalm Death's From Enslavement to Obliteration.

The warring factions were then divided into further sub-warring factions: those who believed Bonne should've been dropped in February and those who didn't; those who have meltdowns and those who complain about people having meltdowns; those who embrace the idea of part-time fans coming to Wembley, and those who think they should be summarily executed; those who'd like Dean Cox back, and those who wouldn't; and finally, those who actually quite rated Dean Morgan and those who didn't, which to be fair was just me versus everyone else. God I love you guys.

In the dug out... But not this week the actual dugout, but the "third dugout", a madcap innovation from the commercial team that allows select fans to watch the game from a bus shelter on the corner of the pitch and to take over responsibility for the tactics for a 15-minute period of their choosing in the second half.

This Saturday that presumably coincided with the time during which James Brophy was unshackled from any notional responsibility he previously had to maintaining team shape and buzzed about spraying the ball around randomly as if he'd set off a fire hose in his own brain. Still, the lucky fans got a pizza delivered to their bus shelter at half-time for their troubles, something that Kevin Dearden tried and failed to do on many occasions during his stint at the club.



And finally... Big up to CEO Danny Macklin who, by 11pm on Saturday, was so intoxicated on success and serotonin that he launched into a lengthly, loved up exaltation to Orient on Twitter that had all the hallmarks of an 18-year-old at their first warehouse rave when suddenly everyone is their new best friend for life. Fair play to Danny, he had a hard act to follow in Alessandro Angelieri but his passion, commitment and good sense shine through. So thanks Danny, thanks Kent, thanks Nigel, thanks Martin, thanks Matt, thanks Justin, thanks Ross and thanks everyone connected with the club. I'm still in the queue for fucking Solihull tickets though, guys...