As recently as three years ago Oldham came to ramshackle old Boothferry Park and beat us 3-2 in an FA Cup tie marked by the pinnacles of furore and fervour that the grand old competition demands. They stood a Division higher than us in the League hierarchy - and it showed. Cracking game, but Oldham thoroughly deserved to win it. Things change (I write portentously). Yesterday Oldham had moments in which they revealed a neat passing game which suggested they are a decent enough side for Division 3, but by the later stages of the game they were utterly quelled, bested by a margin more decisive than the scoreline would suggest. Dazed and doleful, their players spent the last few minutes reeling around the Circle as if they were Greek motorcyclists on the lookout for a crash, while the mighty Tigers, inspired by the remarkable Nicky Barmby but studded by plenty of individuals entitled to feel proud of their afternoon’s efforts, took a saunter to the three points.

O yes, we’re good: we could be very very good. This team is terrific, this club is in fantastic shape. And getting better all the time.

Hinds will not have been surprised to have felt the axe on his neck, but otherwise we lined up as normal:

Myhill
Joseph Cort Delaney Dawson
Green Junior Ashbee Elliott
Alsop Barmby

A brief moment of alarm opened the match as an Oldham gent poked a tricky low cross from the right which Myhill fubled, only to redeem himself by hurtling into position to block the consequent shot. Up t’other end, and we were offered an early glimpse of the visitors’ defensive frailties as Barmby caused panic and, gifted the ball, generated a half-decent shout for a penalty when impeded by the keeper. Perhaps we should have howled harder, for referee Millar was favourably disposed to us for most of the afternoon, even awarding us a couple of absurd free-kicks after particularly crass Elliott dives.

We proceeded to play some very fine flowing football for the majority of the first half. Barmby and Green roamed astutely all over the attacking third of the pitch, Elliott was always ready to receive the ball, while in central midfield Junior once again looked the superior of Ashbee. And the mobility and confidence in our play was never better demonstrated than when Delaney skipped nimbly down the left wing and floated a delightful cross towards Cort’s forehead. Oldham scrambled the ball to safety, but we were left wondering whether Damian has a new career in front of him as a jinkingly brilliant wide man in the Willie Henderson/ Paco Gento mould. Can he really be excluded from the Irish team by the risibly ineffective Kevin Kilbane?

We deserved a goal and we got it, though some thanks are due to Oldham’s number 2, the feckless Dean Holden. A hopeful ball was aimed towards Stuart Elliott, cutting in from our left towards the penalty spot, but Holden got to it first, and had plenty of time to hoof it clear or even try to pass it to a team-mate (if that’s the sort of thing Oldham fullbacks can do). Instead he preferred to dither, dooble and wibble, and by the time he decided he might fall over as well, Nicky Barmby had coolly stuck in a toe to divert the ball square to Alsop, and the Australian had plenty of space amid a spreadeagled defence to take his time and convert the chance with a crisp low shot into the corner of the net past the splendidly named goalkeeper Les Pogliacomi. I suspect this chap might be Australian – my programme tells me he was born in Sydney, Australia and that Oldham signed him from Parramatta Power, and, you know, that sort of thing doesn’t easily get past me unnoticed – and the clueless Holden, attempting to skulk back into position for the restart, did not go home empty-handed  yesterday because he evidently had conveyed to him lots of big Aussie sweary words.

That goal arrived after half-an-hour’s football that was very pleasing on the eye. We almost added a second straight away as a sweeping move down the left culminated in Dawson firing a cross-shot just beyond the far post. Then a firm downward header from Cort forced Pogliacomi into a diving save at his near post. Oldham were stretched at the back – but everyone in this Division is going to toil when we attack with this level of persistence and invention. Oldham’s passing was competent at times. They even hit the bar at one stage – but an offside flag was already fluttering. Then, on 45, they had a dangerous close-range shot – charmingly charged down by one of their own men. There were two added minutes at the end of the half and we scored our second goal in the second of them. It was scored by Number 2 … well no, it wasn’t. Number 14 was the man, he’s no Cruyff, he’s Stuart Green and he’s had a cracking start to the season. Popular netman Les Pogliacomi set it up by throwing the ball straight out to Stuart Elliott – an odd decision this, but perhaps he was hoping to get the chance to learn some choice Lancashire insults from an emboldened Dean Holden – and when we quickly shuffled the ball back into the box, Alsop did splendidly well to knock the ball down to Green, who lashed a swerving shot from outside the box into the far corner of the net. In the precision of its execution and the utter self-confidence of the strike, the goal had much in common with Green’s goal in the win at Torquay, and it was evidently too good for Oldham. Half-time, 2-0, glee and satisfaction all round.

I was heartened by a flag amid the meagre away support which appeared to claim, “We are the Fall!”. I had always assumed Mark E. Smith to be a Man Cit-eh man (and, as for other former and current members of the band, well, frankly, who cares, although I suspect Una Baines was an Irlam Town habituée), and surely it was Turf Moor rather than Boundary Park that hosted the photo shoot for the sleeve of Kicker Conspiracy. Still, if the World’s Most Important Band were in attendance, I wouldn’t be complaining. Sadly a gust of wind adjusted the flag, and I saw that the lettering in fact declared the wearyingly banal, “Keep the Faith!”. I think that, like Mark E. Smith, Noel Coward may not be a Latics man.

Ah, poor old Oldham. Defensively insecure, they were no less unconvincing elsewhere on the pitch. Latics fielded a familiar nemesis up front, but on this occasion nippy Caribbean international Rodney Jack caused us no beginning of problems. David Eyres, another player with real ability, occupied left-side of midfield, but he too offered little more than a pleasingly generous readiness to concede possession to us on a regular basis. How warming it is to see players once an obvious cut above our own resources now looking far short of the standard required to wear the amber-and-black. How far we have progressed as a club. Also up front for the visitors was Mr Muck-and-Nettles himself, John Eyre. Never one to shirk a tough challenge, he led by example, even occasionally breaking into a trot, and at one stage threatening to attempt a tackle. Guts! Commitment! Aggression! Three things he’s still a stranger to.

Skill is not enough. John Eyre’s got bags of that. So did Lawrie Dudfield, David Beresford, Gary Alexander and lots of others whose names it would cause me pain to recall and whose refusal to connect resplendent footballing ability with a bloody-minded work ethic contributed to condemning our club to flirtation with oblivion. Jan Molby could be forgiven his shock at the rabble he inherited but this man Taylor has been ruthless in rooting out the chancers and replacing them with genuine quality and honesty. All power to our manager!

John Eyre didn’t deserve to be boo-ed by a mindless minority yesterday, but, skilful Hull lad though he is, he wouldn’t get in our third team now. Even if we had a third team.

Second half, and Oldham see a great deal more of the ball, and even create the occasional moment of alarm up in our penalty area. But there’s nothing sustained to cause us anxiety. And we’re sharp on the break. Joseph charges up the right wing like an eager American sprinter told there’s a full syringe available up the other end of the pitch, only to spoil the surge with a wild shot wide. Soon after Cort turns sharply to shoot, drawing a save from Pogliacomi. All four of our defenders were prominent in the opposition box at one time or another – another tribute to our excellent fluency and attacking ambition.

But Barmby was now offering a masterclass. Superb first-time ball control …. Accurate passing, imaginative passing …. Running off the ball … What a player! How has he been so mis-handled in recent years? And some of the others are tuning in too. A magnificent piece of interplay involving Elliott and Barmby took Oldham disdainfully apart down our left and though the move stalled when Elliott, near the edge of the penalty box, trod clumsily on the ball and tripped, there are some wonderful goals to be expected when this pairing in particular reaches maturity of understanding.

Alsop had by now been replaced by Walters, and Elliott came off for Facey. The third and final substitution was more alarming. Myhill stretched for a cross and tumbled to the turf after an accidental collision with an Oldham attacker. The ref gave a foul – which it certainly was not – but Myhill lay on the ground in obvious pain. After some attention he played on but three or so minutes later he sat down and was plainly unable to continue. Duke took over, and kicked his first ball high and long, which I like in a goalkeeper, and, on brief inspection, our reserve looks an entirely competent performer. He’s big too, which I like in a goalkeeper. But I hope Boaz is back for next Saturday.