The orbits of Oxford and Swansea are elliptical, at times our relationship could only be viewed through a powerful telescope. Occasionally there’d be a much closer fly-by. We’re like two characters from the same cinematic universe doing cameos in each other’s films, or Big Bird appearing in Fraggle Rock.

During the 1980s, despite Swansea playing in all top four divisions and Oxford in the top three, we still managed to avoid each other, we spent two seasons together the 1990s and then five in the 2000s. There have been dalliances, not least our FA Cup win in 2016, but up until yesterday, we hadn’t played each other in the league in nearly 20 years.

Apart from the odd one-night stand, there’s little shared narrative between the sides. On Saturday their fans mustered a degree of antipathy towards ex-Cardiff, Swansea-born Mark Harris while we gave a few hearty boos towards ex-Swindon keeper and early bath obsessive Lawrence Vigouroux. This was a bit disappointing, he might be scum, but he’s the funniest of all the scum.

Despite the historical vacuum, the run up to the game was rich with narrative. We’re threadbare and teetering, they hadn’t scored for over nine hours but Des Buckingham had spoken admiringly about their DNA and identity. Everyone seemed to look longingly at their possession stats like they were a coquettish chanteuse; my guess is that football statistics are why the birth rate is falling in Western Europe. 

Maybe it was this, or perhaps it was thinking about playing three games in six days, but Des Buckingham chose to McEachran and Sibley in place of Vaulks and El Mizouni and preferred Mark Harris to Dean Scarlett. There’s a reasonable case for each of those decisions, but all three seemed heavy-handed.

The decision to play Harris seemed to be so that he could replicate his role against Bolton in the play-off final. If he could cut off their supply line, perhaps the Swans would simply pass their way into a coma.

The problem was he was easily by-passed, McEachran sat deep as he does, Rodrigues pushed forward leaving Sibley to man the phones on his own in midfield. It probably felt like working on Saturday Superstore that time when so many people called in to talk to Five Star, the operators allowed one boy through to ask them why they were so ‘fucking crap’.

Swansea, playing in the colours of a relaxing spa break, took charge. It became an occupation, there were so many of their players in midfield, they created the illusion of having twice as many men.

The warnings were plenty, one off the crossbar, a couple of near misses. Any possession we could muster was poor quality; fast, inaccurate, constantly stretching. It was like trying to dribble through a shopping centre with a rugby ball, there were so many obstacles and distractions we never looked in any kind of control.

The goal was almost a by-product; Goodrham burst through the midfield, with only Josh Key as cover, he looked to be clear in on goal. But, because we’d spent the half playing to their tune, Goodrham’s starting position was a fraction further back than he needed to be. It allowed Key to come across and mop up before recycling the ball down the right channel. Ciaron Brown’s usually trusted sliding block wasn’t quite enough and Ronald rolled the ball across the goal to Vipotnik to tap in. Goodrham gave himself a telling off, but it was the accumulation of lots of fractions that led to the goal.

Sibley, having been booked for a wildly mistimed challenge, made way for El Mizouni at half-time and we started to look a bit better. But, having conceded so much in the first half, clawing our way back was always going to take time. 

Goodrham and El Mizouni combined to give Harris an open goal, it was a harder chance than the one he missed against Bristol City or the (forgotten) open goal he spooned against Norwich, but open it was. If you look at his starting position as El Mizouni collects the ball, there’s clear space between him and the defender. The cross bounces up, but he’s stretching. Another step forward and it would have been a tap-in from a standing position, everything felt like we were following the play rather than dictating it; playing to a narrative rather than creating one.

On the hour, Scarlett was introduced in place of Harris and Ebiowei replaced Dale. We started to look, at least, a bit more mobile. Fifteen minutes later, Scarlett freed Ebiowei who suddenly seemed to have acres of space. But, with every nanosecond of thinking time that passed Ebiowei’s confidence seemed to drain from him. His legs no longer seemed to be part of him, his boots morphed into clown shoes; he lashed the ball over and stood with his head in his hands.

Moments later someone bellowed ‘Send him back to Palace’ from the South Stand. Ebiowei heard the shout and instinctively turned to see who’d said it. Frankly, it was horrible. Will we never learn? Instinctive groans when a player misplaces a pass is one thing, wanton abuse is cruel and pointless. Both Josh Murphy and Dane Scarlett have had to navigate this kind of barracking before they could find their form, plenty simply wilt or give up. Who benefits then?

Moments later Ebiowei, whose louche running style can create the illusion of lacking effort, set up Scarlett who nearly got a shot away. Such was the flow of the game, nobody noticed. I hope he took heart from it.

Perhaps inevitably, they added a second, a templated goal to concede when you’re running out of belief. At this point the game changed tune, perhaps Swansea were giddy with their avalanche of goals, perhaps we were cutting loose knowing the game was dead. Scarlett pulled one back, taking another step towards being the player he can be.

The closing moments were fun and chaotic, the game plan was torn up, the narrative that we’d been dictated to throughout was thrown aside. Nobody was playing possession based, stats-driven football, there was no DNA to admire, it was tapeworms trying to procreate before their inevitable death. It was like watching kids playing with a tennis ball in a school playground. It nearly worked, with Gregg Leigh glanced one agonisingly wide.

Frankly, a point wouldn’t have been deserved. Perhaps the frustration is that even though this was our first defeat at home, it felt very routine. It’s like this was the kind of performance and result we’d expected from our first season back in the Championship. The success we’ve had this season has come from choosing our own narrative and not playing to others’. Naturally, you need the players to do that, Brannagan and Dembele in particular. But, just because we can’t easily stamp our authority onto a game, doesn’t mean we should overthink things or play to another tune. Sadly, without taking some control, the tune that will be played for us is that we’re a small side who got lucky and that we’re there for the taking. We want to get back to being the weird little upstarts who fear nobody.