By the time we’d got to kick-off on Saturday, I’d heard the full range of rumours as to why we’d started the season so poorly. These included a player’s representative being seen texting ‘we’ve got to get him out of this club’, the departure of Development Director Jonathon Clarke being a sign of a cataclysmic fissure in the club hierarchy and Gary Rowett’s inclusion of Matt Phillips being a dirty protest the owner’s lack of transfer funds. We were only missing the fans’ most salacious go-to rumour: that squad unity is fractured because player X slept with player Y’s wife.

The web of theories, usually unearthed by ‘my mate’s mate’, meshes into an all-consuming narrative. New rumours are trialled, but the ones that gain traction are those which suit the prevailing world view. If you want us to be in crisis, then bad rumours will rise to the top while positive ones will evaporate without a trace. And, because we’re in a constant state of ‘fight or flight’ anxiety, scanning for things which might hurt us, it’s the bad stuff which tends to percolate.

I am a great believer of Occam’s razor; this is the philosophy that the simplest explanation is the most likely. Take the case of Lucy Connolly who claims to have been a ‘political prisoner’ of Keir Starmer after sending racist tweets in the aftermath of the Southport murders. Her claim would require multiple layers of the judiciary and police conspire with the government, within days of the incident, to create an authoritarian state. Alternatively, she was jailed because she sent an incendiary tweet urging people to burn down hotels with people still in them during a time of national disorder. She pleaded guilty when tried in court and was jailed in line with pre-existing sentencing laws. Simple.

I think the explanation for our early season malaise is straight forward; figuratively speaking, the club have a pile of money which they are about to set fire to in order to build a new stadium. Some needs to be set aside to build a squad of players. There’s a balance to be struck between these two priorities. The stadium will temper what we can achieve on the pitch.

Another thing to keep in mind is that we’ve played Portsmouth at home, Hull and Birmingham away and were about to face Coventry. There’s no comparable result against Birmingham, but in other the three equivalent fixtures last season, we didn’t pick up a point. And we still stayed up. So our problems could be a quirk of the fixture list.

But the angst prevailed as summer drifted into autumn at the Kassam. Coventry are flying with twelve goals in their last two league fixtures. We, by contrast, faced the very real prospect of going into a two-week break staring at precisely no points. 

It wouldn’t be the worst start to the season, in 1991 we managed five straight defeats and four in 2000 and 2014 (under Michael Appleton, who eventually did OK). In two of those three seasons we stayed up. None-the-less, it was hard to shake the dark illogical fear that everything is terrible and we might even go through the whole season without picking up a point.

As is frequently the case, and perhaps more so in times of crisis, Coventry looked terrifying, a hulking great mass of muscle, a manifestation of all our fears. It felt like, somehow, we’d fallen asleep and missed an evolutionary step in mankind.

From kick-off they pounded forward, pile driving through us, crushing any insurgencies and ambition, compressing the game into a third of the pitch. Moving the mass of bodies at their will. Once they’d established their occupation, they attacked. When you’re playing in such a small space, it’s almost impossible to anticipate where the ambush will come from.

The warning signs came early, Haji Wright didn’t escape the lineman’s flag when he broke through to put the ball in the net in the opening minutes. But that was a rehearsal for the real thing on nine minutes when he picked up the ball in the box from Jack Rudoni. We paused and he turned to fire in for 1-0. A few minutes later, Ephron Mason-Clarke broke free to score again but was ruled offside again. I was having Brighton flashbacks.

Buried in the rubble of Wednesday’s hammering was a half-decent attacking display, could we muster anything similar? Seven minutes after going behind, Lankshear, a fever dream of arms and legs, was bundled over allowing Cameron Brannagan to blast a free-kick at Carl Rushworth who could only parry it into the path of Lankshear to side-foot the equaliser.

The goal looked to offer scant relief as Coventry countered, punishing us, applying the crusher higher up the pitch, demanding that every Oxford pass and tackle was perfect. Goodrham was first to conceded possession cheaply, but was saved by Ter Avest clearing off the line. Lankshear then tangled with Victor Torp on the edge of the box, but this time there was no redemption as he blasted the free-kick beyond Cumming. You could call it a Torp-edo.

There was still time for Cumming to prevent Mason-Clark from making it three. As first-halfs go, they’d been near perfect. Forty-five minutes of punishing, relentless pursuit; we’d buckled and bent, but crucially weren’t broken.

And then something woke up inside us. The first sign was a spectacular cross from De Keersmaecker which swung viciously into the path of Lankshear to head in. The flag was raised, again, rightly, but the slickness and perfection ignited a belief and confidence that we could bring them to heal.

Imperceptibly, we started to wrestle control, De Keersmaeker gave us structure, winning balls cleanly and keeping things simple, it allowed Brannagan to play on the front foot and not scramble around in retreat as he had to on Wednesday. Phillips started to show what Rowett wants from him. While he lacks pace, he built on De Keermaeker’s foundations. Suddenly we were in control of midfield and could begin to unleash Lankshear and Placheta to reek their mayhem.

The introduction of Mills and Prelec consolidated the dominance, we were turning them back into human form. As we attacked they looked increasingly vulnerable. Within seconds of Prelec’s arrival Coventry defenders were bouncing off him, it’s hard to remember a player like him.

Eventually the moment came, Liam Kitching bundled Prelec to the floor for a free-kick and Brannagan placed the ball carefully as the Coventry wall assembled. With everyone prepped and primed, a bustle in the box caused the referee to untangle a couple of players. With his back turned Brannagan stepped forward and moved the ball to the right. Occam’s razor: find the simplest way to goal.

The referee stepped back, unaware that Brannagan’s micro-adjustment may have reclaimed our destiny. Like layering carbon into an unbreakable compound, Brannagan continued to edify his legend, striking the ball straight and true beyond the keeper. His venomous drive wrapped in a pure truth.

Despite a late scare, we’d claimed a golden point and established a foothold in the season. At this point, it’s all we need to build and battle and grind our way back to stability.