Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
18 September 2017
Grimsby Town 2 Yeovil Town 1
It must have been raining. I see big puddles and 60 Yeovilites in a small huddle.
Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: McKeown, Davies, Clarke, Collins, Dixon, Dembele, Berrett, Summerfield, Woolford, Matt and Jones. The substitutes were Killip, Osborne, Kelly, DJ Jinky, Vernon, Blooper and Snork. Sorry, Hooper and Cardwell. It would have been bananas to split Matt and Jones after a wet and windy Tuesday in Accrington.
Put two and two together. Four! If you have eyes to see, the midfield that makes pulses races right in front of me. Some people do get very het up over things, don't they? We're back to where we were this time last year with Berrett and Summerfield together again. Shall we leave that thought hanging?
The easy Glovers turned up in blended hoops, looking like a set of cheap venetian blinds. You know the problem with cheap venetian blinds? They always let the outside in, there’s no protection or privacy. We can see you've got a stick of rhubarb in goal. Calamity Krysiak was back to flip and flap and they'd left all their little scurriers on the bench.
Have you ever sat in the Dentists' Stand? There are some people who cannot bear a party of pleasure. Oh, if only this rain would stop!
First half: A trifle made of porridge
The men with the venetian blind shirts and roller blind eyes kicked off towards the Pontoon and into the driving mizzle. How miserable. Indeed they are sir, indeed they are.
Monochrome movement, hooped hopping. A Berrett corner berated, a Berrett cross elevated, Collins arose to glance and Krysiak aplucked snappily. And the egg hadn't even boiled yet.
Jones dribbled and wibbled a cross back to front for a moment of almostness. McKeown hoofed and Big Matt chested down to himself and sliced a welly from way out west to wayer outer wester. Wiggling, waggling and Woolford blocked. A corner in the covered corner and Berrett coiled longly beyond the far post. Their unspecial K flapped a slap straight onto a striped forehead. Collins ducked and steered under, over, sideways, down through keeper and defenders' legs.
Well, this is easy. They are still Easy Glovers.
There is no opposition, just washing getting wetter on the line. Siriki slinking and Woolford walloped from afar, Krysiak flew right to parry-punch spectacularly out for a throw-in. This is far, far too easy. Can Town stay awake long enough?
No, they can’t.
Was it you, was it me? Did they watch too much TV? You could hear a penny drop in St Peters Avenue. Woolford slacked a spin-off towards the startled Summerfield, who completely missed the ball in the centre circle. Off they ran towards the penalty area as some old Townites retreated. Davies stretchy-poked the ball away from Surridge, their fey flouncer. Wasn't Fay Flouncer an old music hall entertainer? Stop distracting yourself with digression, we need aggression to stop regression. The ball slithered into the 'D', into the path of Zoko, who carefully caressed a curling clip around the clutching fingers of Jamie Mack. An excellent finish from their only movement towards the Pontoon.
They're going Zoko down in Acapulco, while the Pontoon was pulling out its hair, drowning in despair at a whole lot of nothing on our way to nowhere.
Silence. Long, long periods of total silence. The ground an aural void.
Jones ploughed through a turnip and out came a yellow card when red was afeared. Summerfield bumped into a flyweight and the free kick gently dimpled into McKeown's awaiting arms. He didn't have to move a sock. This is professional football, we pay to watch this.
Ah, a moment.
Woolford’s corner drooped into the centre of the penalty area and Clarke harrumphed his marker to carefully steer a free header wide of a free and opened goal.
Go back to your golden slumbers, smiles may await you when you rise.
Ahh, you've woken! No, you didn't miss a thing. You're just in time to see Krysiak clapperboard away Woolford's spindle shot at the near post. Keep your eyes open just a second more. There, see that? Matt rolled around Smith under the Frozen Beer Stand and was hauled to the turf. A yellow card, a free kick and yet another high hoopy-droopy blancmange that even Yeovil could wash down the plughole.
Oh, if only this rain would stop! If only Town would stop being so ineffably timid against terribly tremulous tosh.
Second half: A watched budgie never boils
Neither team made any changes at half time.
Dembele delved into the Somerset psyche and wafted into the loft of the singing ringing tree corner. Let's skip a few minutes. Throw-ins and British Bulldogs standing in the rain. Hoofball, doing it again.
Wahey, it's stopped raining.
Clarke miscuddled after a surprise Somersetian saunter to Surridge, who wellied well, but McKeown scooped. Did they get a corner? Does it matter? Dembele dribbled alone down the centre, right into a cul-de-sac of cushions. We were deceived into premature flattery. What is this life we lead? Dembele dribbles, and we eventually sit down.
Now this is what you want, sort of. Five minutes of Towning and frowning, with wave upon wave of not quite this and almost that. Crossing and clearing, wishing and hoping, non-shooting balls rolling and bells tolling. Matt rolled a pin and Dembele didn't shoot. Matt flapped around slowly and didn't shoot. Big man, walking in the park, flim-flam defending, frightened of the dark spaces betwixt and between. Dembele flipped over the top. Keeper and centre-back collided, then Matt didn't jump over the loons. They all fell over each other and Vernon replaced Matt to a smattering of coos.
Jones! Yes, he's still here. A twist, a dink and Dembele glided behind the left-back. Alas, Unspecial K anticipated everything and plucked up the courage to pluck up the ball.
Them. They moved towards Mr McKeown, what impertinence! Dixon was flayed and spayed and a striped boot sliced the cross up, up and not away. By a circuitous and fortuitous route the ball arrived under the Frozen Beer Stand and Vernon ensured he had a horizontal perspective on life. Dixon or Davies crimped the free kick from near to far. Clarke staggered backwards, using his Mariners machete to cut back some annoying but harmless foliage, and noddled back towards the near post. Vernon walked in front of a Swiss cheese plant and plopped a header gently, clearly, and simply into the toppish, leftish nettage. Well, that was simple.
This is so simple, why not make things hard for ourselves, let's make it a challenge. With 10 minutes left Kelly replaced Dembele with Woolford moving to the right. Rhys Browne came on for Yeovil and received polite applause. We appreciate the legends of last season. Three games wasn't it? That was all very curious, wasn't it, much like the existence of Kelly. Can we swap them please?
Ten minutes. That's more than enough time for Town to be Town.
Yeovil were given a lift when Otis Khan puppy-dogged on and scampered past Davies to the bye-line. Clarke's big toe diverted and some other bloke of no consequence sliced into the mice scuttling in the farthest corner of the Osmond Stand. Some bloke shot from long ago and McKeown scooped again. Dixon dissolved and Zoko headed the cross nicely, ploppily to Jamie Mack. Browne clappered lowly against striped socks after Kelly was absent while being present and four minutes were added
Snorky Cardwell replaced Jones and got a bit snarky with Kelly after a turn and dribble down the left. He waited, waited and carefully tickled behind the full-back and flicked a disdainful look at Kelly for the absence of movement.
OK, what's next? A couple of Yeovil free kicks were headed away. OK, what's next? The end, that's what's next. Maybe the puddles have dried down Brereton Avenue, watch out for those drive-by splashings. I'm surprised the Grimsby Telegraph hasn't launched a campaign.
Could have been worse, should have been even better. Town did enough against really tepid, flimsy opponents who look a mid-table Conference team, like Aldershot always used to. Perhaps that's why Rhys Browne looks so at home.
Let’s keep some perspective: Town deserved to not draw more than Yeovil. That's all.
That really is all there was.