Cod Almighty | Article

by Jesse Guittard

11 March 2004

Driving through Cleethorpes on that cold and snowy day, I searched the horizon for floodlights. Five minutes earlier, my friend and I had just gotten a call on the mobile that the pitch was not frozen and that the match would be on in the afternoon. With some time to kill before the kick-off, my Grimbarian colleague thought it fit to go to the stadium early to pick our tickets up so that I could witness the sight of an empty Blundell Park, my personal Graceland. 

As I stepped out of the car I was struck by the heaviness of the air, soaked in potential energy. Though there was a low hum of activity throughout the Park as the crews prepared the stadium for the match, one could almost hear the ghostly roar of the crowd echoing in the cold wind streaming off of the sea.

After snapping out of my daze, we rushed into the shop, picked up the tickets and headed out to the Rutland Arms to meet up with our group for the match. Again, as before almost every game, the ritual ensued whereby a mass of Town fans sat together in the corner of the smoky pub drinking their pints and discussing the latest news about the match. And again, like every game before, I was wholeheartedly welcomed into the group despite a few kind-hearted jabs at my American 'knowledge' of football and Grimsby. 

To my surprise, during this discussion I discovered that Boulding had joined the Yorkshire sunbathers of Barnsley. I felt betrayed, almost like the time Neon Deion left the 49ers for our Texan rivals, the Dallas Cowboys. Now, the same skills and flashy antics I used to cheer for were going to be shoved down my throat and used to defeat my team... or were they? Nevertheless, I began to feel a bit sick.

With the time to kick-off drawing near, Paul Simon graced the jukebox and I felt the sudden desire to make my way to the Park. The idea spread and, like a flash, everyone downed the warm, bitter end of their pints, put on their coats and headed out the door.

The streets were littered with Town fans donning their black and white stripes and looking particularly vigorous despite the cold weather. I, on the other hand, had never experienced any sort of sporting match during these kind of temperatures and hunched over in the cold wind, desperately clinging to my Grimsby scarf in order to keep my neck warm. But at least I wasn't from Yorkshire.

The stadium was full up with people by the time we arrived. As is my ritual, I bought my programme and was kindly treated to a chicken and mushroom pie by a member of our group. Successfully juggling my backpack, pie and programme in hand, I was able to reach our seats in the Pontoon with everything intact. Seats! "Wow!!!" I screamed. "We actually have seats this time – and an awning!" Not only had I never experienced a Town match sitting down; luxurious Blundell Park had also supplied an awning to keep the alternating fronts of snowy rain-like freezing sleet off of my head. 

The crowd at the Pontoon was noisy but a bit more subdued than I had imagined they would be. Despite my fear of a continuation of Town's recent performances, which sat heavily in the pit of my stomach, my own excitement was enough to buck me up and give me hope.

Barnsley kicked off and briefly assaulted the young Grimsby keeper with a cross, but this offensive was rapidly halted by Town's defence. As the Mariners brought the ball upfield I thought I saw someone in a sequinned white jumpsuit and cape streaking across the field toward goal. Rubbing my eyes to get a better focus, I saw Jevons laid out on the field; tripped by one of the sunbathers who had once confused his Yorkshire self by playing in the vicinity of North East Lincolnshire with a black and white striped kit. 

Setting up for the penalty, Jevons looked a bit shaky and I began to fear for the worst. My fears were confirmed just seconds later after Jevons hit the left post and a defender cleared the ball, setting up for a corner kick... which didn't amount to anything. "My man Elv... I mean Jevvo always comes through for me," I screamed in a sarcastic manner. Boy was I gonna eat my words.

The game continued in a ho-hum fashion but the Mariners showed a good command over the ball, controlling possession for the majority of the time. Then, without warning, 23 minutes into the game, the spirit of Graceland took over and a magical transformation ensued. The snow began to fall but the clouds in the sky slightly parted over the head of Phil Jevons. Bathing in the golden rays of the sun that poured down from the sky, his jersey began to sparkle with sequins and his poppy, Busted hairstyle evolved into a dark mane of carefully brushed hair, accentuated by long sideburns. His lip began to curl and his stride gained a hip motion never before seen in the history of Blundell Park. The King had entered the building.

Energized by the magic of the moment, Thorpe blew down the field and passed it into the box. After a brief confusion, the ball drew itself to the transformed Jevons, who carefully placed it in the top corner of the goal. The wild celebration that ensued brought Blundell Park to life. The players celebrated, the crowd sang and Jevons curled his lip.

But the magic did not end there. A few minutes later, the flailing Barnsley keeper deflected a strong header by Thorpe and Town set up for a corner. Jevons slowly made his way to the corner, his sequins flashing in the beam of sunlight darting from the clouds above, and with a quick shake of his hips, carefully arched the ball towards Armstrong at the far post, who headed it in for another goal. There was more lip curling, hip shaking and posing.

Completely dazzled by the fine footballing occurring around them, the Yorkshire vacationers never seemed to bring the ball under control. Some even began chasing the flashing sequins on Jevons' cape and kit in hopes that a bit of a tan might make their trip to the seaside worthwhile after all. As the ball bounced around their penalty box after a free kick by Barnard, the stupefied Barnsleyites just stood staring, drool oozing from their lips. As Jevons stepped up to the ball, many Barnsley players began wildly screaming. After the ball hit the net, many of them fainted, while the survivors of the group ran towards Jevons in the hopes that he would drip a few drop of sweat on them. To see grown men acting this way made me want to cry.

Somewhere in the next few minutes, Barnsley had a try at goal but it was half-hearted and sad; kind of like watching the Washington Generals play the Harlem Globetrotters. After more threatening crosses and fancy antics, Town scored again after Rankin broke Handyside's ankles and nailed the ball into the right corner of the goal. The half drew to a close after more sad displays of idol worship among the Yorkshire contingent. Town were sitting pretty as the teams made their way to the locker rooms.

After a snowy halftime my nose had frozen and the players made their way back onto the field. If you've ever been to a Globetrotters game (you guys probably have no idea what I'm talking about... look up Harlem Globetrotters on the web), you know that the Generals have to score every once in a while for the element of suspense to stay alive; even if it is feeble and weak. Thus, Nardiello put one past Pettinger after only a few minutes of play.

Barnsley were allowed to dance around with the ball for a few more minutes but this did not last very long as the power of the hips proved too strong. After hoofing the ball far upfield, Rankin received it and threatened the goal once again. Before he could score he was tripped by Kay who, distracted by the glow around Jevons, decided he needed to make up for the lost steps after being broken. The new Phil Jevons made himself known at that moment after carefully removing his eagle cape and placing the ball in the net with another quick shake of the hips. He had scored an easy goal! Yes... he also curled his lip.

After a few more minutes, Crane backhanded Nardiello for some reason and was sent off. Yeah, it was dumb and unnecessary, but we all know the harsh reality of the game, which holds that small-time pimps have to get rough every now and then in order to keep their bitches in line. Crane will come around once he realises that stone-cold love is all he needs in order to manipulate his stable of strikers. Amateur.

Mickey came in for a while and... yeah... well... Town continued their domination of possession as the Barnsley fans made their ways to the exits in increasing numbers. Roughly 90 per cent of them were not there to hear the roar of the crowd after Jevvo gave a hip thrust to shake a defender and whizzed the ball past the diving keeper into the centre of the goal.

After a few more threatening tries at goal the final whistle blew and Blundell Park erupted in cheers. A sea of black and white stripes engulfed the sequinned man in the cape while the Barnsley players screamed with joy like schoolgirls. The two remaining Barnsley fans (both old, both deaf, both blind) stood up, slowly made their way to the exits and were ushered out by the police. The Pontoon crew cheered, danced and sang the lovely songs of victory. I still can't sing the songs so I just hollered and waved my scarf in the air. When I go home, I'll have to tell people that there is a small piece of Graceland in Grimsby, North East Lincolnshire. The King lives.