I don’t think I’m over-exaggerating when say I probably think about Oxford United more than the average person. Apparently some people don’t think about us at all. None-the-less, despite its constant rumination in my consciousness there are times when I look at our games and think I simply can’t be arsed with them.

Anything north of Derby falls into that category. While I’ve been to Liverpool, Carlisle and York to see us play, the prospect of dragging myself all the way up to Yorkshire, Lancashire or Cumbria diminishes my enthusiasm at an increasing rate. 

Equally, I also realise that this season could be one of the last opportunities I get to see us play a League fixture against some of these teams. Leeds falls into that category, it’s been 25 years since we’ve played them as equals and as the financial inequalities widen, it could easily be more than 25 years before it happens again. So, I decided to put a little extra effort in and travel to Elland Road while I could.

I’d already satisfied myself that I’d approach it like a cup game; hope for the best, expect the worst, enjoy the spectacle. Sometimes you’ve got to compartmentalise to survive.

There’s been a lot of compartmentalisation this week; the sacking of Des Buckingham was like being hit by a freight train. A cargo of emotions were festooned across our sentient wastelands, some broken, some more savageable. We were so invested in our own story, it was impossible that someone might choose to kill off one of its main characters. 

The result has been a frenzy of mental gymnastics. In many ways, Buckingham was the central strand of this Oxford United story, losing him brings that story abruptly to an end. Equally, the story’s trajectory was going in the wrong direction at an alarming rate. 

In one compartment there’s Buckingham himself, a good man, a local man and one of our own. An icon of an iconic time. Alongside that, there’s how he’s been treated; the lack of respect and dignity, the club-footed handling of the announcement and the vacuum it left. 

And then there’s another box, the grim realities; there was little indication that we could turn our form around. My god, we wanted him to reverse our fortunes, but would he? There was a real possibility that this is just the beginning of a slump. Accepting relegation as a possible outcome this season is not the same as being relegated. Relegation is a long, hard and increasingly grim task. As Grant Ferguson pointed out, it doesn’t just mean returning to League One, it has implications on peoples’ jobs and the club’s long-term prospects, including the new stadium. Simply accepting it would be a dereliction of duty.

These things don’t sit well together, pragmatism and romance. Was the need to succeed a declaration that Buckingham failed? Has the club’s decision tarnished his story which seemed so whole and perfect, something we all wanted to be part of? 

I doubt it, Buckingham’s story will always be about him getting us up and will not now be about him taking us down. This is probably better for his long-term prospects as well as how we’ll remember him.

Elland Road marked the dawning of the new era, or at least the interregnum between the end of Buckingham and the Dawning of Gary. As a fixture, it had been marked as a one-off; a meaningless prologue before two big relegation battles over Christmas. As I say, it was a cup game.

What we probably hadn’t banked on was that even if we wanted to treat it like a cup game, Leeds really didn’t. Had this been the FA Cup, they might have sleepwalked into the game. But, they were hungry for points, so in a near hurricane wind, they set off at full gas. We defended resolutely being pushed back onto our six-yard line getting bodies behind the ball. We blocked their shots fearlessly and with unbridled commitment. Ao Tanaka fired narrowly wide, pinging the stanchion, fooling half the crowd into thinking they’d scored. I looked up at the clock to see how long we had to survive to get to half time only to find out we’d only just navigated the opening minute of the game. 

It set the tone, Oxford fans landed an early zinger with a full-throated chorus of ‘Jimmy Saville is one of your own’, but it was as close as we got to victory. On nine minutes we broke momentarily down the right with Płacheta, but he was easily intercepted allowing a lightening counterattack down the left from Solomon who crossed into Dan James to slide in for 1-0. It was a metaphor for the dilemma the board have faced in recent weeks; we could plough on and pursue the dream, but would that just leave us increasingly vulnerable?

Płacheta is so quick, you wonder if he’s done some hypnotic regression therapy and now believes he’s returned to his previous life as a hummingbird. His movement did, at least, cause some consternation in the Leeds defence. Three minutes after their opener, he raced clear but ballooned his best chance well wide.

The goal acted as confirmation to Leeds that full-gas would not be necessary and that a comfortable win could be secured with much less gas. Joe Rothwell is more proof, after Barry Bannon last week, that Cameron Brannagan’s biggest career mistake has been not adopting the bearded Pirlo look that is more becoming of a Championship playmaker. Rothwell sat in front of the Leeds back-four making sure everything they did was progressive, but they seemed much less keen to put us to the sword.

The easing off allowed Jamie Cumming to launch a series of goal-kicks high over the head of Greg Leigh and into touch. It resulted in a joyous rendition of ‘What the fucking hell was that?’ from the home fans. When a Leeds player also succumbed to the wind, putting a long ball into touch, Oxford fans reciprocated their own version. When Cumming inexplicably launched his fourth goal-kick into touch, both sets of fans launched into a joint chorus and ‘What the fucking hell was that?’ rang around the stadium in unison. It was all good Christmassy fun, I’d suggest giving it a go at midnight mass on Tuesday.

Despite Cumming’s kicking woes, he had one of his better games pulling off a series of good saves. It meant we held on until half-time and even looked more solid in the opening minutes of the second half until Bogle, bogled his way through the defence for number two.

From there it got truly painful. Will Vaulks launched a suicidal cross-field ball into a swirling wind that landed at the feet of Solomon who played in Aaronson for number three before an increasingly crestfallen Mark Harris was bundled off the ball allowing Solomon to make it four. Thankfully, a storm arrived which seemed to dampen Leeds’ enthusiasm to make it more.

The loss of Buckingham perhaps reveals more clearly the inadequacies of the squad, not so much ability – in truth there were moments where we looked OK – but in commitment and organisation. Are the squad still buzzing from Wembley? Are they riding the same wave of emotion as the fans? Are they withering under the pressure? Perhaps laying this out will prove to be a good thing.

The trip to Leeds was billed as a free hit, although no one said who’d be doing the hitting. Of course, the Championship is divisions within divisions and near-unbridgeable gaps from bottom to top, but while nobody expected us to get anything from the game, these poundings leave a mark. Perhaps it was my imagination, but the away support was not as vocal as it has been, goodness knows what impact it’s having on the players. It’s not just this season, but a demoralised squad going into League One next season isn’t going to bounce straight back. If Gary Rowett is able to bring a semblance of stability, even if it’s not awash with the romance of the Buckingham-era, we may eventually thank the Board for the decision they’ve taken.