I was looking forward to the visit of Cambridge in a way that I haven’t in a while. For two years in the Championship, each game was a grind, a point-by-point scramble for survival. I still enjoyed the routine, the atmosphere and sometimes the result but nothing proved anything until it resulted in either our survival or relegation at the end of the season. We can spend our lives looking deep into the future with hope or fear, but we’re probably better trying to enjoy today. League One life means games have more hope and expectation, I’m just getting used to the idea that each one can deliver its own joy.

It helped that we were in a pocket of clean air which had seen us win two games, score seven goals and concede none. Those highs felt like we’d never lose again whilst leaving the lingering feeling that it couldn’t go on like this. I kind of liked the tension.

The feel-good feeling was soured slightly on Friday when the club managed to gain international headlines with the announcement of its new Atrocity Range. We know our owners have grand ideas about the future of the club and it’s not easy achieving global reach from such obscure origins but it’s probably not what they were hoping for.

That moment is destined to part of future laundry lists of ‘marketing’s greatest screw-ups’ a benchmark against which all future clusterfucks can be measured. Merchandisers around the world will forever say ‘yes, what we’ve done is bad, but is it as bad as that time Oxford United combined elements of their identity to accidentally celebrate a terrorist attack on the literal anniversary of the attack?’ Frankly, it’s got to be worth a Netflix documentary to find out exactly how they managed to do it.

PR and reputation are, however, a parallel universe; for all the outrage, the markets will be largely un-phased by the misstep, it’s unlikely to have the slightest baring on our future. Certainly, by Saturday the story was largely consigned to history.

Perhaps some bad vibes were still wafting through the corridors of the stadium because things began ominously. Cameron Brannagan lost the toss, and we were forced to kick towards the East Stand. The team’s new pre-match huddle is orchestrated this season to be in front of the home support to generate unity and atmosphere. Starting at the fence end meant positioning it in front of the most sparsely populated part of the ground. It looked like they’d moved out of ear shot to hatch a plot to steal someone’s dinner money.

Cambridge, playing in the colour of liquidated ‘GRWM’ Instagram fashion influencers, came straight from League One central casting. If you tell a neutral that Oxford are playing Cambridge, you often get an expectant ‘oh’ as if the game carries some special weight, but the ground isn’t full of fans singing loudly about who has more cited research references or which end you should punt from (you punt from the back, you punt from the baaackk, you don’t get the leverage, when you punt from the back’). Mind you, when they sang ‘is this a library’ I sensed a frisson of collective appreciation that is a couple of cities that really know a thing or two about libraries.

In truth, they’re a template we’ll face time and again this season; organised to avoid risk and to hit us when they can. This is the prevailing culture of League One, the larger clubs like Sheffield Wednesday, Luton and Reading have been stung badly by wanton ambition, smaller teams recognise the benefits of not over-stretching and building over time. Unbridled aspiration is rare, enjoying your gains, whatever they are, is much more common.

Our job, therefore, was to prevent them from settling into their shape. Pace and pressing would be essential, raiding the wings, winning balls in midfield, keeping them occupied by keeping things moving.

For the opening few minutes we seemed to have engaged wholly with the task, buoyed by a strong fortnight and general goodwill. Then, after eight minutes, Jamie McDonnell went down ominously. McDonnell enjoys chaos so much he probably stirs his tea with a fork and puts dead batteries in the regular bin. Louis Sibley came on, he’s tidier and less of a whirlwind, an entirely serviceable replacement which allowed the sides to tessellate and settle into a routine which helped them more than us.

While Mo Missanga threatened briefly, it was Siriki Dembele who enjoyed the most progress, repeatedly attacking right-back Sam Curtis. Curtis’ day was so torrid, he could at least take some solace knowing he wasn’t having the worst day at work in Oxford this week.

Dembele has been unshackled from Gary Rowett’s inelastic thinking which sacrificed flare for shape and discipline. Underpinning that was a philosophy that clubs like us couldn’t survive in the Championship by playing on the front foot. Dembele’s role was to dribble into traffic and win free-kicks, a cog in a system rather than a player in himself.

That contrasts sharply with Aaron Ramsey’s belief that there is no ceiling. For sure, the quality of the opposition is a factor here and the transfer embargo has been an influence in Dembele’s revival, but he’s freer to enjoy his football, and we’re all benefitting because of it.

After fifteen minutes, he attacked down the right, cutting inside until the ball squirmed loose. Sibley recycled possession allowing Mark Harris to tee up Dembele who was alive enough to curl the ball beyond keeper Eastwood, not that Eastwood, for 1-0.

The goal presented a different challenge; Cambridge had to come out and squeeze us. The game compressed into small spaces, it was like Hungry Hippos with both teams frantically snatching possession from each other with little shape or plan.

Helik went down after a clash of heads causing a lengthy delay which involved a new ‘blood shirt’, the cut was so deep he also needed a blood sock, and spent a few minutes wrestling to get it over his boot with Ramsey bellowing in his ear like a mum telling his 6ft 3inch Year 3 son to hurry up or they’ll be late for school. A couple of minutes after Helik returned he was forced to head clear a fierce shot, wincing in obvious pain.

On the hour, just as Aaron Ramsey was preparing to introduce Gatlin O’Donkor and Tyler Goodrham to press home our advantage, they scored. Peter Kioso battled valiantly to block a series of shots until the ball finally dropped to Ben Knight to equalise past Eastwood, yes that Eastwood.

Cambridge introduced Shayne Lavery a stout Irish striker with a build for the Conference and an eye for mischief. His movement preoccupied our back line limiting our ability to get the ball forward. As the game progressed, he settled in to block passages from Helik and Brown to Brannagan meaning the ball slowed as we sought routes into the midfield. With nobody to disrupt the patterns, the game slipped into a stupor.

Goodrham nearly snatched a winner, a man of 5ft 2 leaping like someone at least two inches taller to head the ball towards goal like he was channelling the spirit of Paul Moody. The ball looked like it was in until Eastwood, not that Eastwood, clawed it to safety.

Despite the point, the mood after the game was sanguine, we could easily have gone into this extended international break deep in crisis; a rookie manager floundering for a solution, a jaded squad trapped in their contracts and disgruntled fans questioning how it had all gone wrong. Instead, we head to the break in good shape and enjoying the challenge, the opportunity to rest and reflect will do us good.