Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Denby Dale

12 February 2008

Macclesfield Town 1 Grimsby Town 2

Here we are in Match Week 39 at the Moss Rose Bowl, Macclesfield - who beat Bratislava, Bangkok and Beirut to host this highly anticipated match between the Macclesfield Marauders and the Grimsby Goliaths. Enough of that nonsense, Richard Scudamore makes Brian Mawhinney seem almost sensible. Almost.

Town lined up with the same eleven as three days earlier for the tremendously entertaining 4-2 win against Chesterfield. That made it 5-3-2 once more: Barnes, Hird, Atkinson, Fenton, Newey, Hegggggggggggarty, Clarke, Hunt, Boshell, Till and North. That meant Till partnering North up top, sort of. It reminded me of Kevin Donovan playing in the hole, whatever that means. The substitutes were Bore, Bolland, Bennett, Bontgomery and Bones.

The Silkmen were confusingly not adorning Italian cravats but a blue and white football kit. Sadly, former Grimsby Town striker Martin Gritton was not in the Macc line-up due to some leg bother. They did include Francis Lee, who always looks useful but lacking something (footballing ability, perhaps) and Michael Symes, who barely even looked like a footballer. At least Franny Lee tries.

The match report might be a bit slim. The call from Cod Almighty Towers came the day after the match and I was so cold last night my brain froze.

Barely five minutes in and the Mariners took the lead. A couple of Macclesfield defenders made an almighty hash of the terribly demanding job of calmly knocking the ball back to the big fella in goal (who, by the way, had girls' hair), allowing North to lob the frozen Brain from 20 yards. Danny, Danny North. Danny, Danny North. He's the Weird-Coloured Sports Drink Player of the Month for January don't you know.

Town looked good, for about 20 minutes. Macc couldn't deal with Till's and particularly North's pace and movement. Danny Boshell was back to his bossing best in the middle of the park. Macclesfield were woefully poor, although out of nowhere Evans smashed the ball towards the top left corner only to find Phil Barnes in top form with a cracking tip over.

North's constant running was annoying the Macc defenders no end. The only way Hessey could stop him was with a crude body-check on the halfway line. A definite yellow card that wasn't shown. The ref, yes, you Mr Haywood, missed the worst dive of the season so far when Danny Thomas pathetically ran into Clarke's shoulder and slumped to the ground. The resultant free kick was thumped Gallimore-esque into the Town wall.

Midway through the half, the ball was cleverly worked out to the Town right for Sam Hird, whose cross was met with a Keith Houchen-style diving header from Peter Till. Brain made a decent save. A fine move, made of purest Buckley.

The final 20 minutes of the first half was all Macclesfield. Lots of possession but absolutely no idea of what to do with it. Town seemed happy to watch their weedy attacking, allowing Fenton, Newey or Atkinson to block anything coming their way. There wasn't one clear-cut chance before half time. But why do we always make it so difficult? Macclesfield were rubbish but after 20 minutes we decided to sit back and watch their inept attacks. At the other end, Macc's pedestrian defence looked like it was one pass away from conceding again but either North was offside or the pass was a poor one.

The second half almost saw Town double their lead immediately. This time North timed his run perfectly. He legged it down the right hand side towards goal but rather than shoot, he inexplicably played a cute, but ugly, pass across the six-yard area painfully in front of the advancing midfield.

After that, it was all Macc with wave after wave of ineffective attacking. Green and Symes were terrible. Town's wing-back system had been found out, Hegggggarty and Hird always having to mark two wide players and the central midfield three trying their best to be in two places at once.

On the hour, Buckley replaced Boshell with Bolland. A surprising decision, as Boshell had been the pick of the three amigos in midfield. I would have thought withdrawing Clarke would have been more sensible, but that's why Buckley has managed over a million football matches and I forget my gloves on an icy evening.

Symes headed onto the top of the net and Newey hit a free kick right at Brain; it wasn't top quality but we were winning. Twenty minutes to go and willing runner Till was subbed for the colossus, the titan, the bloody massive, Lump. Straight away he was in the action, holding on to the ball like an honest chairman of a football club holding on to the dream that one way he will build a dome where football will be played every other Saturday but sometimes on Friday nights.

A combination of solid defending and woeful attacking kept the score at 0-1 until ten minutes from time. A high free kick from tiny full-back Ashton caused confusion in the Town box. Fenton struggled to head clear among a throng of players, the ball bouncing loose to Evans, who smashed it home from six yards. The drunken bloke behind me blurted out: "You won't get your bins emptied in the morning." Whether he meant Gareth Evans' bins or all bins in the borough of Macclesfield I cannot say, but it goes without typing that it was all too real a threat in these dangerous times.

Now it would be a case of holding out for a draw. Or would it?

Within two minutes Town put the ball in the box. It bounced free to the edge of the penalty area, floating invitingly in the air to Clarke, who thundered a stunning volley into the top left corner. Well bugger me with a fish fork, where did that come from?

To try and close the match out, Bennett came on for Hegarty, with Newey moving to left-back. Macc attacked to the end but all they could muster was a scramble where Barnes saved with his feet.

An excellent defensive performance, but you got the feeling that if we were playing a better side they'd have won convincingly. But we weren't, so they didn't. My man of the match was Danny North. Non-stop running. Their defenders were really rather scared of the stocky youngster. He's a local striker for a local team; we don't want journeymen round here.