Looking across the upper tier of the South Stand, there were echoes of our past, present and future. In the director’s box, Karl Robinson, looking slim and tanned, climbed the steps to his seat with his latest paramour in tow. A few seats from us was Des Buckingham’s dad, who the club briefly used to show its deep family and community roots, weeks before firing his son.

At the front of the box was Dusan Bogdanovich, our mysterious new broom, he of the long messages that promise connection and success while refusing to show his face. A few seats away was his predecessor, the paternal Grant Ferguson. Nearby was Adam Benson, a man whose never laughed at a fart joke and who gives the air of a a Bond villain with his gnarled stony face. Scuttling around the box was Ed Waldron, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone around him. Given the last few weeks, that’s probably for the best.

Notably absent was Tim Williams, the man supposedly in charge of this charabanc, who has been completely silent this summer. Notably absent or permanently? It certainly seems odd that on a day when the club’s hierarchy needed a show of strength, he wasn’t amongst them.

Down on the pitch was the product of their combined efforts – a skeleton squad charged with constructing a Rorke’s Drift-like rear guard until promised reinforcements arrive in January.

There’s a banner at the front of the North Stand; MK Dons – The Club That Never Died. An odd claim given that it should never have been allowed to live. Since their Frankenstein-like creation they’ve never come close to dying and few would shed a tear if they did, yet here they are in numbers and voice, constructing a false narrative to claim legitimacy. I suppose we’re all putting on some kind of facade.

Still, the away end is full and noisy, with Oxford fans filling their allocation, it doesn’t feel that different to the Championship, although we all secretly know it is. 

Talk in the stands is about the absences of Stan Mills and Brian de Keersmaecker, or BDK for anyone in a rush. Most speculation is around Mills, who Aaron Ramsey said asked not to be selected. Fans who phone in afterwards say that in response the club should refuse to pay him. These are the same people who claim that ‘if I make a mistake in my job, I get fired’ when a manager is under pressure. No, you don’t.

Mills, apparently, wasn’t in the right headspace to play. He’s twenty-two and in a short and precarious career, he’s lost a year of that to injury already and has both the opportunity and ability to play at a higher level. He’s a victim of circumstance; his employer has fallen foul of new Football League rules which, almost uniquely, doesn’t seem to signal any wider financial concerns. We can’t and don’t want to sell. As a result, he’s expected to not only face 10,000 people, some of whom think he’s disloyal or greedy, but to perform to their satisfaction.

It’s a horrible situation, but of all the people at fault, Mills isn’t one of them. The club that celebrated the work of Will Vaulks, the Joey Beauchamp Foundation and Des Buckingham’s ‘Boys Get Sad Too’ hoody when Jack Badger committed suicide would do well to remember there’s a young man at the centre of all this.

The clearest reminder of being back in League One was the appearance of Paul Warne in the MK dugout. Warne’s admirable high energy football has frequently scuppered our promotion and play-off pushes. Robinson must have sleepless nights about conceding three first-half goals in a 3-1 home defeat in 2020, while Buckingham probably shudders at the memory of the 3-2 defeat to Derby after being 2-0 up after 13 minutes in 2023.

Warne surrounds himself with muscle, even his assistant Richie Barker looks like he’d break you in half and use your limbs as a tooth pick. On the pitch, dressed in fifteen shades of purple – coincidentally, also the name of my aborted erotic novel – there were few MK starters that were under six foot. 

Unable to compete physically, we needed to play around them, Siriki Dembele took advantage of an inch of extra space to dance through the MK midfield and look threatening. Others looked more leaden legged; Tyler Goodrham, playing his first league game for seven months, struggled for fluidity while Aidomo Emakhu only showed glimpses of what he can do.

We controlled the game amongst the Dons’ lumbering wildebeests without threatening until Demeble’s shot was charged down and everyone stopped to check whether the referee thought it was handball. Helpfully an MK Dons’ midfielder threaded the ball through his own defence to Mark Harris who couldn’t miss (he could, as we’ve seen plenty of times before, but it’s August and Harris is the country’s most potent August striker).

While not feeling wholly deserved, the goal settled the mood and all the catastrophising evaporated in the heat. But, we never looked like we’d capitalise on the advantage and the goal seemed to trigger MK into action. Nine minutes later, from a corner they pounded us like a school bully; Cumming’s punch failed to clear the danger, Long blocked the first chance and Goodrham the second. The danger seemed to have passed, but we lost possession again and a deep cross arrived on the head of Charlie Goode at the back post. His looped header evaded Cumming at an improbably angle and Long could do little but help it into the net.

Full Warne was activated; direct and physical, it wasn’t pretty, but it was effective. Minutes later, Dembele found himself on defensive duties and made the odd decision to play the ball to safety on the right of the box rather than high into the stands. Ryan Wintle’s deep a cross to the back post landed to Aaron Collins who headed in their second.

The Dons’ fans collapsed into a heap of legs and arms, as we faced the raw reality ahead of us. Ramsey may become a fine coach, but does he have the levers to turn a game around against an old warhorse like Warne? With no new players and few options on the bench, he looks too neat and tidy to engage in skullduggery; it was hard to see where a revival was coming from.

The second half became a story of the referee grappling with a raft of new anti-time wasting measures. Substitutions, injuries and throw-ins are all time-limited now. Players habitually used the natural breaks in play to reset themselves or run the clock down, but with the ref counting them down at every turn, the game fractured.

Gradually, as MK ran out of steam, we began to gain some control. It still wasn’t fluid, but it was something. O’Donkor was introduced alongside Mo Missanga for his debut. It wasn’t quite the cavalry, but their application shifted the game. 

Within a minute of coming on O’Donkor was assaulted by Charlie Goode and only saved from getting a red card by the fact it gave him cramp. Missanga enjoyed a couple of dribbles down the left which encouraged him to try some more. Slowly we bore further into the Dons’ defensive line until the two academy players combined on the left to set up Ciaron Brown to flick home the equaliser. The ultimate synergy of homegrown prospects and bought in regulars combining to save us.

The stands, notably emptier than they were minutes earlier, erupted. Brown sprinted across the East Stand leaping high into the air. It was relief rather than elation, saving something rather than unlocking it. The draw was celebrated like a win, which was a bit embarrassing. Still, it’s one game closer to the apparent safety of January and one step away from an implosion of opprobrium which could consume the club and all in it. In the current circumstances we should probably be thankful for that.