The guy with the tattoos and Union Jack shades is clearly an optimist. "Drumcree 7 - Orange Heaven," says his T-shirt. But on a gloomy, grey morning with the number of protesters well down on previous years, it seems a far from divine occasion.
Rows of barbed wire run across the fields surrounding the pretty, hilltop church. Hundreds of police and British soldiers wait behind the steel barricade blocking the lane leading to the Garvaghy Road.
It's the fourth year in a row the march has been banned. "Will I ever get down that road again?" wonders an elderly Orangeman. In previous years loyalists have planted Union flags in the trenches or tried to cut through the wire.
This year they seem to have accepted it's a hopeless cause. "It's a token protest now. The spirit has gone out of Drumcree," says another Orangeman. Women in red-white-and-blue baseball caps sit on the edge of the trenches staring despondently at the security forces.
A man shouts abuse at a British soldier: "Your wife is probably with a Paki in Bradford now." Further racist remarks follow. Apart from such insults, the atmosphere is freer from tension than in past years. Nobody expects serious trouble.
The barricade is decorated with posters. "Oppose your pervert priests, not our parade," one says. Another shows the Pope felled by a rock at Drumcree. Many posters feature SDLP Agriculture Minister Brid Rodgers.
One shows her and a BSE-infected cow. "Spot the difference," it says. In another, the SDLP woman waves a brush in the air. "Wicked witch of the Garvaghy Road prepares to fly off on her broomstick," it proclaims.
A picture of the UDA's jailed Shankill Road commander looks down on the crowd. "Free Johnny Adair. His only crime was loyalty," it reads. A cameraman has his steps taken from him when he refuses a loyalist's demand to move.
Jordan Matchett (7) fiddles with his red-white-and-blue band-stick as he poses for the cameras in front of the barricade. "Don't say cheese, say Drumcree," somebody shouts.
"He'll join the big lads when he is old enough and he will walk down the Garvaghy Road," pledges his mother, Julie. "What lodge are you in?" a journalist asks. Jordan doesn't know. He looks at his collarette to check.
When their hour-long church service ends, the Orangemen march to the barricade to lodge their protest with the RUC. Then there are speeches, but it is all very lacklustre. Even the applause is perfunctory.
"The future is bright. The future is Orange," says a placard at the barricade. But it certainly doesn't look that way at Drumcree.