Showing posts with label Luton Town. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luton Town. Show all posts

06 March 2016

Leyton Orient 0 Luton Town 1, 5/3/16

A game in which... It was proved scientifically, philosophically and legally that Orient are still just a bit shit. Not chronic-dysentry-call-999-NOW! shit as we were under Ian Hendon. More like the type of shit that clings defiantly to the toilet bowl despite repeated flushes. Will.i.am, were it in human form.

Now, credit to Kevin Nolan for mostly shoring up the defence – Luton only had the one big chance really – but he still has a big job to do to eke out some sort of guile, some creativity, some surprise from this largely uninspiring squad.

Jump off your seat moment... Is it Neymar? Is it Ronaldo? Is it the final of the World Dressage Championships? No, it's Jerome Binnom-Williams doing step-overs in ultra slow-motion in an ill-fated attempt bamboozle the Luton defence. That said, the left-back actually looks half-decent at times and could well be the difference between Orient finishing 11th or 12th come the end of the season. 

Give that man a medal... Scott Cuthbert. He had Ollie Palmer so deeply in his pocket that it's likely he'll not notice he's there again until he eventually sticks his kit in the washing machine and finds a bearded bloke in a red shirt clambering out of it then theatrically throwing himself to the ground claiming a head injury.  

Taxi for... Sean Clohessy. I'm presuming that his selection at right midfield is based on the infinite monkey theorem which states that if you sit a primate in front of a typewriter for an infinite amount of time at some point it will inadvertently produce the complete works of Shakespeare. Similarly, were he given until the end of the universe, it is conceivable that Sean Clohessy might at some point put a decent ball into the box. Didn't happen today, mind, so instead the former Southend man offered a fan out a half-time. As you were. 

Nolan-watch... Imagine this scenario: Kevin Nolan, on a day off and craving some peace and quiet, goes to an east London park with the intention of calmly completing a jigsaw puzzle. But when he begins the task, he finds that not only are most of the pieces either damaged or missing, but that there is also a group of drunk and obnoxious Italian tourists in the vicinity who keep coming over and smashing up the little progress he has made for the sheer hell of it. What I'm saying here is the manager is actually doing a pretty good job, all things considered. 

Meanwhile on the opposition bench... We need to talk about Kevin. Firstly: Nugent, who was a loyal servant to Orient despite the fact he was demoted further and further down the hierarchy every time Sr Becchetti pulled the trigger on another manager, to the point where his final role profile at the club simply read "Hold a clipboard." Then of course there was also Kevin Dearden, who was a loyal servant to the club's restaurants and cafes. Given the current state of Orient, mind, I'm pretty sure where both of them would rather be sitting...

02 September 2015

Johnstone's Paint Trophy: Luton Town 2 Leyton Orient 1, 1/9/15

These two were on the bench for Orient
A game which... Ian Hendon did everything in his power to lose. He wore a tracksuit; he selected a bench made of up three 11-year-olds and two unfortunate holidaymakers who'd got lost on the way to Luton Airport; he played Bradley Pritchard at left midfield for part of the game; he deliberately substituted off all his reliable penalty-takers when the game was level at 85 minutes... And yet still Luton wouldn't take the bait until they guaranteed themselves victory by going down to 10 men.

So, Operation Concentrate On The League ended perfectly for Orient. And while for obvious reasons it wasn't our most fluid performance of the season, there were also some encouraging moments from this makeshift, youthful team.

Jump off your seat moment... The moment in the first half when Luton's creaking behemoth of a centre back Stephen McNulty tried to shepherd the ball back to his keeper only for Scott Kashket to dart in front of him and nearly steal a goal. Indeed, the battle between the pair throughout the game was reminiscent of an ageing rhinoceros trying to lazily swat an irritatingly persistent dung beetle with his tail. What I'm saying here – the dung beetle comparison notwithstanding – is that Kashket was pretty good.

Give that man a medal... Since Joe Maguire only signed on loan from Liverpool yesterday, he obviously didn't get the secret memo from Ian Hendon that spelled out in morse code: "WE MUST LOSE THIS GAME BUT MAKE IT LOOK A BIT LIKE WE AT LEAST TRIED TO WIN BECAUSE I THINK IT'S ILLEGAL TO THROW GAMES." What else could explain the fact he actually looked pretty assured in central defence?

Jack Marriott: princess
Quiz question... If you're a professional footballer who's just missed a point blank header in front of the opposition fans, who then mildly goad you, do you: a) ignore them, being that you're a professional footballer b) ignore them, being that you're a professional footballer, then score your next chance to shut them up or c) sarcastically applaud them, stick your middle finger up then get sent off? If you answered c) then you're Jack Marriott, in which case what the hell are you doing reading this blog? You should be out doing things more consistent with your apparent level of maturity, such as playing peek-a-boo or dressing up as a princess from Frozen.

In the dugout... According to Ian Hendon, a number of players were taken ill before and during this game, including Sean Clohessy who came off at half-time. Did someone spike Orient's traditional pre-match meal of a massive fry up at a greasy spoon cafe? Did someone (other than Ian Hendon and every single Orient fan) want the Os to lose at any cost? I do not know the answers to these questions, but I did see Andy Hessenthaler buying 37 packets of laxatives at a chemist on Leyton High Road earlier in the day. You do the math.

A "club source" pens news of Jack Payne's
impending signing back in 1843
Meanwhile on Twitter... "Football. Bloody hell," said Sir Alex Ferguson once of the unpredictability of our beloved sport. And given that we never quite know what's around the corner it probably makes sense not to promise to tattoo your own face if a certain player signs for your club. Or similarly, best not pledge to "shit in your own hands and clap" as Dan Slawinski did when the Jack Payne to Orient rumours began back in the year 1843. Jack: welcome to Orient. Dan: hope you've got some strong detergent.

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