Reading photographs: Release

Hope has been a recurrent theme on these pages. But hope so easily melds into expectation. It's hard to think back to August, when we realised that the hope inspired by a strong finish and the building of a convincing squad had somehow coagulated into expectation.

We realised this over the course of about an hour after Richard Brodie had scored at Minchery on a sunny day in August, and the mood on the terrace gradually turned from disappointment, to frustration, to despair. We started to realise: we had thought this was our season.

It took three minutes for the world to change.

Several times this season we've experienced that moment when you exhale so hard that it's a struggle to breathe. We did it that afternoon, and this image shows Matt Green mirroring this. Pain and pleasure in one image, as something is released from within. It's a startling image, but in fact this isn't an image of Matt Green after scoring the first of two goals - the goal scorer is behind him. Mark Creighton, 'The Beast', is locked in fierce embrace with his centre half colleague at the time. It's the sort of embrace you recognise that again shows that dual pleasure and pain: the pleasure is heightened because you realise what you only just avoided.

An unlikely goal scorer, and an unlikely reaction.

And Luke Foster: we're coming for you. What we'd written before and never published seems somehow apt at the point we find ourselves now.

There'll be some other retrospective pieces on this season over the coming weeks. Thanks for reading.

[Image credit: Steve Daniels/Rage Online, and reproduced here with kind permission]

Reading Photographs: Permissible transgressions

Television pictures of pitch invasions often give the lie to any claims of spontaneity. Members of the crowd toe the hoarding area impatiently, waiting for their moment. The last day of last season: Quod est demonstrandum.

The invasion at the end of the Rushden game was similarly impatient: we knew it would happen. Yet; this time... smiles on the faces. In this picture, the London Road forms a backdrop to the scene assembling in front of it. A Rushden player strides away, looking back: this is not his act. Still, you have to scrutinise for a moment to pick player from fan. The two intermingle, and any initial hesitation the players may have had is swept away in the delirium of the moment. The gestures of celebration imitate... well, which was first? We are there. We are on the pitch. We are Oxford United.

[Image credit: Steve Daniels/Rage Online, and reproduced here with kind permission]

Reading photographs: Moments in time

A photograph is a moment in time. From the second it is taken it is history. When we look at these images, we read them with the wisdom that comes with the knowledge of what was to come next.

This moment is in the seconds before kick off for the final game of Oxford's 2008-09 season, against Northwich Victoria. Billy Turley hugs his two daughters closer to him as the noise in the ground builds to its crescendo. One tucks her head into his shoulder to hide, the other looks tentatively towards the London Road in full voice. A moment of privacy as Turley kisses the head of one, but his gaze is already turned towards the site of the very public moments to come. He eyes the goal in which he is soon to concede the first goal of the afternoon, puncturing the pressure that has built over the last six months.

Turley's body attempts to trace a sphere of protection, of reassurance, or of privacy around his daughters as he brings them into this very public arena. One of them looks with trepidation around her: it contrasts with Turley's look of grim determination to ensure there is only one result that afternoon. But our knowledge of what is to come is the knowledge of two goals he conceded, that what was always only ever at our fingertips finally slipped from our grasp, and that his opposite number would oust him from his position in the team.

We dwell on moments such as these as tendrils seem to flow from them; they seem somehow more pregnant than other moments. That sense in your stomach as you watched Turley take his daughters out onto the Minchery Farm pitch was the knowledge that the narrative of a season was more obviously in the balance than perhaps it had been all season. On one side lay everything you wanted: everything Billy Turley wanted too, probably.

On another lay a fourth season in the Conference, and an FA trophy first round game for which 1,663 people would turn up to see Billy Turley finally be allowed to return to the Oxford side: a sole remnant of the days when we were a League club.

[The above picture is courtesy of Steve Daniels/Rage Online, and reproduced here with kind permission.]

Reading photographs: The geometry of a photo

The emotion of this photo is immediate: Green runs arms outstretched, Creighton bellows defiance, and Oxford's supporters rise as one to acclaim the unlikely. But the photographer's decision to keep the players and the pitch to the bottom third of his photo leaves a geometry to this photo: a plane provides the meeting point for three vectors.

Scattered over the pitch, York defenders have collapsed, defeated, sunk into the background. Mark Creighton has just scored the winning goal late in the game, and leads a line of Oxford players. Danny Bulman and Matt Green follow their own lines to this point. There seems an implicit knowledge of where they are heading, they meet at a point on the plane in front of them. That plane rises in front of them, dwarfing them: the supporters rising from their seats, arms aloft, mouths open mirroring the roar of Creighton.

A plane can be unlimited in its extension: this picture doesn't show whether or where it stops. Vectors, however, meet at a point. The players are individual representatives on the pitch of this bank of supporters, a plane which might continue indefinitely: the discrete part and the whole. In this picture we see the size of the players dwarfed by the supporters, but emotionally there is a mirroring; and geometrically, a union.

[The above photo is © Lewis Outing LRPS CPAGB, and reproduced here with his kind permission. See more of his photography here: http://www.mainlyfax.fotopic.net]

Reading photographs/Away at York

Posts have been a bit sporadic of late, for which we're sorry; it's not been for want of things to think about at Oxford, more a lack of time. We hope to be back up and running again shortly, but in the meantime, we've been mulling over a new idea.

We were interested to read OUFC's chairman write at some length in the Stevenage programme about a particular photo from the season's opening game. It was, of course, a game that was potent in symbolism, narrative, and ultimately drama, and Kelvin Thomas' words related that photo to what he saw as the club's aims. We were interested that he spent some time talking about an image, which of course has been a core focus of this site, but we also see a burgeoning interest in images and imagery around the club as banners and standards spring up with increasing frequency and imagination, and away games seem to prompt new visual celebrations of our club.

We Are Oxford United has always been interested in these images and symbols, and tried to steer away from photos of what takes place on the pitch. However, we thought we might start publishing a series of occasional posts that look at images of this Oxford side, but try to understand them as symbols rather than simple records of a moment in time. We thought we might as well start with that fantastic image that Kelvin Thomas wrote about - it'll follow next week.

p.s. if you're interested in what we thought of York: it feels strange that our scheduled league games with this club are out of the way already, particularly given how hard and closely fought they've been. Perhaps it's just that, but something tells us that that York side will yet have an important role to play in the eventual outcome of our season.

[Portrait of Man Ray and Salvador Dali, Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division, Carl Van Vechten Collection, LC-USZ62-42535 DLC (b&w film copy neg.), courtesy of the Wikimedia Commons. The image's integrity has been retained.]