The Overseer Column returns. Warning: The following may contain traces of nuts.

Our opposition’s shirt sponsor evoked memories of the TV advertising campaign many moons ago; “You’ve gotta admire a Mira”. To say that Swindon were a shower in their League Two outing against CTFC would be overly harsh. Nevertheless you could argue that somebody somewhere must’ve dropped the soap as STFC crashed back down to Earth with a fairly resounding thud by means of their 1-0 reverse against Cheltenham. Whilst last week’s Crewe crushing cruise to cloud nine likely resulted in most Swindonian Robins belting out a spot of Pavarotti in the shower, those with slightly more eccentric musical tastes were possibly left wailing Venom’s ‘Welcome To Hell’ after a chastening choker in Cheltenham.

It was a grim lesson in League Two reality for the Town as any premature predictions of the Red Army marching unstoppably on to conquer the division were nipped in the bud and then some. If nowt else, the significant chink in our armour seems to have already been diagnosed, namely the lack of a tank or a battering-ram in the front line. Irons are in the fire for ongoing trials to deliver us an Onan The Barbarian (anyone remember Carsten Jancker?) figure to spearhead the attack. The local press relays that Austria may be about to send us a Schwarzenegger in the form of Michael Wotz-his-face-wicz, so hope springs eternal, whilst we should in no way assume that all prayers and shortcomings will be answered just like that.

Whilst it far from resembled midgets trying their hand at basketball, Swindon were painfully in need of a big chap up top who could give us a chance of holding our own when inevitably suckered into the long-ball barrage of this league. Both Billy Bodmin and Danny De Vita beavered busily in trying to – ahem – penetrate the back four, but you were struck by the futility of it all when high balls were continually lumped to them for Cheltenham’s double ’ard rearguard to simply repel like taking shandy from a baby.

For the most part, only Aden (Fred) Flint and Alan McCormack provided much in the way of steel. In fairness, ‘Alan Attack’ (“like The Cook Report, only with a more slapstick approach“), I.e. Connell also looked prepared to put himself about when he came on as sub, though again it wasn‘t to any particularly great effect. Whatever did happen to that bloke who came second in The Adver’s player of the season poll for 2010/11? Perhaps there was some truth in the rumour that Juventus wanted him back!

Continuing in the same vein as against Crewe, Swindon had started the match positively,  endeavouring to keep the ball on the ground and pass their way to success. All too often though, not capitalising on a spell of dominance by translating it into a goal, will inevitably come back to bite you in the chuddies. I only recall us fashioning one clear-cut chance and that was squandered. Otherwise our only first half efforts at goal tended to come from a greedy handful of John-Arne Risser long range rockets, most of which ended up somewhere in orbit. “Oliver, Oliver, never before has a boy wanted more”; The Risstaker must’ve been understandably buoyed after his electrifying strike against Crewe, but lightening didn’t seem overly interested in striking for the second time in a week (British Leyland could‘ve taught it a trick or two).

For that first 15-20 minutes, we were the only team in it, with the Cheltenham faithful sulking in subdued silence whereas PDC’s rampant Red & White Army were loud and proud to the extent that you really were left questioning who was the home side. Any doubts on that front were obviously quelled by the fact that today saw our boys clad as the Red & Black Attack; and very snazzy our new second strip looks too. Alas, as the match wore on, somewhat in keeping with the colour scheme of the kit, the passion and fire of the red would increasingly fade to black as our prospects in the contest appeared to become ever more sombre.

Cheltenham’s goal was simplicity itself in the form of a far post header straight from a corner and really served to highlight that Flint can’t mop everything up by himself and that he aside, we really do have a considerable proportion of relative weaners in the side. Nathan Thompson on the right wing was this week’s surprise inclusion and in fairness he certainly appears to have bulked up rather, but fair play to Paolo for hauling NT off pretty early in the second half when realising the gamble wasn’t paying off. You could argue the case for bringing Kevin Awankmaah in at right back and advancing Caddis to right wing on account of Kev bringing extra height to help defend at set plays, meanwhile Caddis is far from averse to making decent forays forward down the flank.

The moment that was probably the true epitome of League Two’s rough and tumble came when C’ham forward Spencer had something of a Jackass & The Beanstalk moment, succeeding in flattening Flint by landing an elbow in the mush that would’ve had even the late, great Randy Savage proudly crowing “Ooo yeah!”. Several parties saw red instantly at this flashpoint including the perpetrator, the generally patchy ref rightly brandishing the card that signalled the walk of shame followed by an early bath (presuming Cheltenham‘s shirt sponsor allow such a thing!).

Alas that was pretty much the death knell for our aspirations, as seasoned Town supporters know only too well that playing against ten men rarely brings much in the way of spoils. Our opposition firmly shut up shop in a fashion that many of the poor sods caught up in the past week’s riots must’ve been able to empathise with. The final outcome was far more positive for Cheltenham than the nation’s beleaguered shopkeepers; three points plundered, rich pickings from an establishment that most will perceive as prestigious within League Two circles.

Can any positives be reaped from having witnessed one set of Robins clip the wings of another? It has been noted that Charlie Chesterfield managed to ‘play’ their way out of this league last season, thus we don’t necessarily have to resign ourselves to utterly eschewing all football aesthetics to stand any chance of achieving an erection back up to League One. That said, without the luxury of a Craig Davies to hit the back of the net prolifically, seeking to vindicate such principles might ultimately prove somewhat akin to pissing in the wind. I feel cautiously optimistic that playing the role of a ‘sniffer’ alongside a bigger target-man, Connell could come good. Hopefully he was no one-season-wonder last year when regularly causing the net to bulge in a manner that must’ve had Grimsby’s unfortunate fishermen looking on enviously.

Comparatively meaningless perhaps, but to some degree we spanked a monkey off our backs in that Mr. Di Canio has already had his first defeat as a manager inflicted upon him, so at least all and sundry can stop prattling on about the scale of ‘the scalp‘. Irrespective of Paolo’s bald spot, it’s happened so let’s move on. Imagine the levels of bullshit that would’ve been flying around if The Oxf### had been the first team to beat PDC’s posse! We’re talking ‘David Icke and Geoffrey Archer’s lovechild then multiply it by umpteen’ levels of festering turd!

All in all, this particular shooting of a wad on Whaddon Road represented a wake-up call and a reality check probably much needed. That was something da manio Di Canio appeared to philosophically acknowledge afterwards when stating that much hard work lay ahead. Here’s hoping he strikes gold in recruiting the personnel required so that the picture can come together and we might consider the jigsaw somewhat more complete.

In the short term, it feels difficult to muster much enthusiasm for a Tuesday night assignment at Shagenham & Redbridge, the setting for one of our more infamous ego bashings last season. It will at least provide a fairly immediate chance for our boys to clench their fists and try their hand once more at re-immersing themselves in League Two’s insalubrious saloon. Let’s hope the team are indeed taking it one game at a time. On the other agitated hand, the fans will be forgiven for expectantly peering around the U-bend ahead of Sunday’s set-to now notoriously nicknamed the “A420 El Classico”.

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