Moving on, just not marching on

It occurred to me watching West Ham today that Sam Allardyce no longer spends the first half of games watching from the stand. I have a few theories for this change in routine.

• He needs to talk Ilunga through the game

• Now that he is experimenting with playing football on the deck, he needs to stay at eye level

• He knows that once we are at the Olympic Stadium he will need binoculars to see the game from the stand, so he might as well start getting used to staying on the touchline

• He doesn’t want to get stuck with David Sullivan

• He doesn’t want to get stuck with David Gold

• He doesn’t trust himself not to touch Karren Brady’s knee

There are plenty of reasons to dislike Leeds. My own justification is my memory of our last game at Elland Road in spring 2005. Following a 2-1 defeat, West Ham supporters were kept back for an hour after the game. Making the best of a bad situation, the fans decided to sing a few songs. Crazy, I know. We were then drowned out by deliberately loud music over the tannoy. The stewards refused to advise us of when we could expect to leave. If you want to make 2,000 cockneys angry, this is as effective a method as any.

The Leeds fans today were as charming as ever. After Carlton Cole had the temerity to appeal for what should have been a stonewall penalty, they decided he would be the object of their abuse. ‘You’re just a crap Emile Heskey’, they sang. Then DJ Campbell. Then any black player they could think of. Stick to ‘Marching On Together’, boys. It may be deluded and sentimental but so far as I know it does not imply that all black people look the same.

A section of our fans should hold their heads in shame but for different reasons. Copying an awful, humourless Aston Villa-penned song about John Carew? Surely we’re better than that. Lacking of originality aside, the fans were in great voice and this was one of the best atmospheres at Upton Park for a long time. There was plenty to shout about.

Carlton Cole’s goal after just six minutes was created by an awesome Matt Taylor corner. I don’t tend to get too excited about corners in the same way I don’t tend to get too excited about curtains, but the whip (or ‘swaz’ as Ray Wilkins might say) that Taylor gets on a ball is remarkable. We came close to scoring from set pieces on numerous occasions thanks to his pinpoint delivery.

We were then denied two good penalty shouts (though I haven’t seen them on the TV yet) before Leeds actually did get a penalty. Max Gradel, carrying out an X-Factor style audition for a lucrative contract at West Ham, got a bad case of stage fright. Gary Barlow would not have been impressed.

For those of us in the West Stand, it was a surreal moment. From our viewpoint the ball appeared for all the world to have nestled in Greeno’s bottom right-hand corner. We all sat still waiting for the Leeds players to celebrate. It was only when the Bobby Moore Lower erupted that we cheered in confusion.

In the second half, Leeds grabbed an equaliser, and 26,000 Hammers fans muttered ‘it was coming’. Then within minutes something that definitely wasn’t coming, came. Patrick Kisnorbo smashed the ball into his own net following a wonderful Julien Fauxpas cross.

That appeared to kill the game. There were several chances for us to make the game safe, especially a close-range chance for the increasingly impressive Winston Reid. And then we got the Upton Park heebie jeebies and, well, bottled it.

The fans filed out to the sound of the Magic Numbers’ ‘Forever Lost’. Things are not nearly as bad as that, but every fan will have their own idea of one or two things that need tweaking. For me, George McCartney (or McCarthy as he was referred to in the programme) needs to get fit and in the team asap. Rita is good for 90% of the game but a huge liability for the rest.

There was no kettling of Leeds fans after the game. Both sets of supporters mixed happily in the queue for Upton Park tube station (or at least as happily as you can whilst watching the police stand idle as idiots jump the queue). Maybe it’s the shared stigma of wearing Macron sportswear that brings us together. For a moment it was almost as if the majority of football fans were normal, civilized human beings who don’t actually need to be treated like they’re about to loot Foot Locker.

Having attended our two winless Upton Park games and missed the two victorious awaydays, I travel to Nottingham next weekend, waiting to discover whether the problem is me or Upton Park.