Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Michael Shelton

17 January 2006

Darlington 0 Grimsby Town 0

What a lovely, lovely ground. Acres of purpose-built car parking space all around the stadium, if build is indeed what you do to car parks. A nice bar where our ticket office is, but we can't stop for a pint; they've made the kick-off 7:30, you know. Darlington logos on the soap dispensers in the toilet. That's what you want to see. Those looking forward to the big screen were not disappointed: it was huge. Highlights of recent Darlington matches as you enter the ground. Not a single post obscured the vision of any member of the crowd. And their sound system actually works. If you hadn't got in so cheaply, you'd never know this wasn't a Premiership ground. Oh, wait, they're playing Sugababes. It must be Division Four.

Each team warmed up in front of their own fans, Town in front of an expectant few hundred travellers, Darlington in front of three chavs, four OAPs and a woman with a baby on her knee. Don't rock in time to the beat, love; his head will fall off. Is that Darlington's youth team or are they really that small?

Town's starting eleven went back to the changing room so Russ could tell them that they had to score more goals than Darlington. The subs, except for Saint Macca, who is far too mature for silly games, stayed out on the pitch trying (and failing) to hit the bar from about 40 yards out, while two ball boys threw the balls back to them. The pitch looked in bad condition, flat but very muddy and with big brown stains that looked like they'd been caused by the undersoil heating that doesn't exist. I wonder what time the rest of the fans will turn up. They can't all be in the bar where our ticket office is.

The shot on the big screen zoomed to the tunnel, and then the players ran out in a line across the pitch, turning to clap the fans as they did. Someone's forgotten to tell the home fans that kick-off is 7:30. There's still no-one here. A thousand bunched up away to our left, a thousand behind the goal, and a few hundred bunched up on our right. And 22,000 empty red seats. It's so quiet.

Town lined up in a ready steady 4-4-2 comprising Mildenhall (my Lord), Newey, Rob Jones, Futcher (no, the young one), Croft, Parkinson, Bolland, Toner, Gary Jones and Reddy. Or is Gary Jones playing the holding role just in front of the back four? It's difficult to say. Wherever the ball was 45 seconds earlier, that's where you'll find him.

First half
Who won the toss? Who did win the toss? Someone must have won the toss. Who gives a... stuff. The teams stayed in the halves they'd warmed up in, and Town kicked off, if that helps. Town gave the ball away immediately, and Darlington advanced. Newey knocked the ball out for a corner. Oh look - they've left the pitch covers just to the right of the touchline in an ironic "if we'd have bothered to move these, we could have all played when we were meant to!" kind of way. The corner came to nothing. Why wouldn't it?

The ball fell to Jones (of the G variety) in the area, who turned and hit the ball over the bar. Not very entertaining. But wait! They're going to show an action replay on the big screen! Now that's entertaining. It was a pretty good effort on second viewing: turn and shot in one movement which went perhaps a foot over the top right corner. Look behind the goal: there's someone with a mirror trying to blind us all by reflecting the floodlights in our direction. Is he trying to communicate with us? Dot dot dash dash dot. Only the linesman seems to understand what's happening. He's replying in semaphore. No he isn't. He's giving offside right on the halfway line with a Darlington player looking to get away down the right wing.

Darlington free-kick knocked in by Phil Stamp, a man of truly Pressman proportions. Mildenhall comes out to claim, but comes too far, and gets clattered by Shelton Martis up from defence. The ball goes out of play; Mildenhall lands awkwardly and stays down holding his back. Oh dear. A minute of treatment and he's back on his feet but in some discomfort, holding and rubbing his back as he hobbles up and whacks the goal kick upfield. He'll be all right. He's hard.

The ball boys have got a multi-ball system going on like on the telly. I suppose if Parkinson shoots it would take them weeks to fetch the ball back from the top corner of a deserted stand. Parkinson won the ball 30 yards out and played the ball to Reddy's feet on the edge of the area. Reddy, back to goal, rolled his man and advanced into the left side of the area. Out came the keeper; Reddy beat him and tucked the ball into the far corner of the net. But wait, the referee's given a free kick for a foul on Parkinson as a more viable option. Newey stepped up and curled the ball into the wall and out for a corner, which posed no threat. Can we have the goal instead?

Look how big the technical area is! With the stands set well back from the pitch, the technical area extended fully 20 yards to the edge of the turf. Slade and Rodger stood right on the edge, discussing the game while the subs passed some nasty rumours between themselves way out of earshot. The Darlington manager cut a very lonely figure on the edge of his own technical area. Without an assistant manager or any fans to keep him company he went over to the fourth official, more for something to do than because he had any great complaint to make.

A Darlington striker advanced down the right wing, with support arriving in the middle. That is to say Darlington players arriving in the middle, not Darlington supporters; there weren't any of those. Rob Jones walked slowly over towards the man, pretended he was going to hoof the ball into touch, then stepped over it for a laugh and let it trickle off for a goal kick.

"She says the pies are warm on top but not in the middle, so I have to wait 'til half-time, but then I'll need to queue." The ball ran to Tom Newey right out on the touchline, level with the edge of the area. Instead of clearing it he waited for Valentine to come over and clatter him. Valentine was booked. Newey said he was going to tell his mum, but instead he kicked the ball up the field, which is what he could have done anyway and saved his shin a bit.

Gary Cohen cut in from the right wing, went past two, and hit a shot along the floor a yard to the right of the goal from 20 yards. I don't think he really wanted to shoot, but equally he didn't fancy running any further. Anyway, he was never going to score. Clarke walked off the pitch with the physio, turned to come back onto the pitch when the referee said he could, then changed his mind and walked down the tunnel. David McGurk came on instead. The fourth official indicated three minutes of injury time, and then it was half-time.

Half-time toilet talk
"Go and buy something and ask them for cashback, then you'll be a student."
"And how can a monkey defend himself in court without a lawyer?"
"If you had your stomach stapled would they let you through customs?"
"And then someone made twelve and eighteen take off an item of clothing!"

Second half
Having not taken a centre in the whole of the first half, Darlington took one in the first second of the second half. The teams took it in turn to advance a bit, then give the ball away without creating a chance. Gary Croft chased the ball out of play down the right, then watched with more than a hint of distain as a ball boy threw a new ball on. Croft picked up the old ball, and made the ball boy go onto the pitch and retrieve the new one. Quite right. One ball is quite enough, thank you.

Newey still taking every corner, and every free kick, regardless of where on the pitch it needed to be taken from. Long ball from Croft into the area. Reddy bringing it down, back to goal, no space to shoot. A defender gets a foot on the ball before either Reddy or the advancing Bolland could get a clean shot. Darlington smuggle the ball away down the right wing. Futcher walks over and takes man and ball over the touchline in a clumsy manner. Throw-in. Nothing.

Throw-in to Town down the right, level with the edge of the Darlington area, Rob Jones forward from the back. Croft glaring at the insolent ball boy from earlier. Get out of the way, linesman; can't you see we're trying to take a long throw here? Croft winds up and lands the ball on the head of Rob Jones in the area, who tries to nod down for one of the strikers, but gets too much on it. Ball out for a goal kick. I wish that bloke with the mirror in the opposite stand would stop sending us sudoku by morse code. It really is too confusing without a pen.

On 60 minutes Slade decided a change was necessary. By way of two messenger boys and a long-distance phone call instruction was sent all the way from the edge of the technical area to the bench, where Junior Mendes caught the first available flight and an express train to the touchline. Gary Cohen off, Parkinson left wing, Mendes on the right. As Cohen walked off Mendes asked him who was playing at right-back. His name's Croft, he used to play in the Premiership, wait until after the game to get his autograph will you please? Thanks awfully.

Mendes was something different down the right, looking to take on the left-back whenever possible. He looked like he expected to skin everybody for pace, but never quite managed it. Still, he posed more of a threat than Parkinson or Cohen had been. One of his runs resulted in a corner to Town. Newey drove it in and Gary Jones headed over. Schmeichel's nose doesn't seem as red as his dad's.

Darlington away down the left, a player cutting inside 30 yards out and slipping a ball down the left of the area. Futcher rushing out and taking the man, maybe some of the ball, difficult to say from so far away. Referee calls him over and somehow decides not to book him. Darlington fans boo. So there are a few here after all, but it's taken 70 minutes to hear them.

Mendes down the right again. Stopping, starting, stopping again, and drawing a foul right on the touchline. Two Joneses, a Futcher and a Reddy wait at the far post. Newey hits a weak low shot to the front post. Schmeichel strolls across, bends over and scoops it up like a dollop of your finest pistachio ice-cream.

Enough of this tomfoolery! Gary Jones off, Gritton on. Jones moves the 50 yards to the halfway line in under a minute: something he hadn't managed up to that point. Gritton jogs on and stands next to Reddy like the poorer brother who can't afford a nice haircut. Another long ball from Town into the area, someone heading the ball down in the general direction of Futcher, who chases a totally lost cause and catches Schmeichel with a high foot in the six-yard box. The referee booked him for persistent foul play. He didn't really have much choice.

Another Mendes run down the right. At least he's trying hard, but then it is his debut. Runs right into the corner, and plays it off a defender for a corner. Tom Newey hits a good ball beyond the far post, where Rob Jones rises and heads back towards goal. Schmeichel back-peddling, not going to get there in time. The ball came down and bounced off the top of the bar and out for a goal kick. Schmeichel ended up in a heap, entangled in the back of his own net like a fisherman receiving a taste of his own medicine. It was a good header and Schmeichel was beaten, but the ball was always too high.

Into injury time. Ball crossed in from the Darlington left, a Darlington player winning a header in the Grimsby box for the first time in the match. The ball went low and to Mildenhall's right. Stevie fell slowly across, flicked his legs to the left, and hugged the ball to the chest. Oooh! No, you misunderstand - a real OOOH! Second time we heard the Darlington fans.

And that was it: a turgid, stinking, compost heap of a game with little good football and even less entertainment. It must have been very difficult for the players playing in such a strange, hollow atmosphere. A stadium with a capacity of 25,000 but fewer than 4,000 people in it. The match desperately needed a goal, if only to get the fans going - and maybe, in turn, the players. After half an hour you knew it was going to be 0-0, and neither team deserved to win it. An awfully disappointing match, an anticlimax of an evening with the opportunity to go top passed up. And yet, another point nearer promotion against a team in form who have been good at home. Life's what you make it, and so is football.

Man of the match
Mildenhall was typical Mildenhall. He made no mistakes, made an important save at the end, but couldn't really influence the game from the position of goalkeeper. Croft was solid at right-back, and caused a threat with his long throws. Mendes had a bit of an impact when he came on. Reddy put his one sniff of goal in the back of the net. But as the players came over to applaud the travelling fans, Rob Jones and Ben Futcher had a celebratory high five as if to say: "Hey, clean sheet, we did our bit," and I agree with them. So for the clean sheet, the header against the bar, and just because no-one was outstanding... step up Mr Rob Jones.

Official warning
A fair performance from Mr Swarbrick, who annoyed the Darlington fans much more than he did us. But after a heavy deduction for not playing advantage when Reddy 'scored' it's a meagre 5.158.