Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

23 October 2010

Grimsby Town 0 Tamworth 1

A dead night in a dead town and the dead eyes rolled over. There were 50 little lambs in the cold distance: at least someone is happy to be in Blundell Park.

Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: Croudson; Wood, Atkinson, Garner, Ridley; Coulson, Cummins, Peacock, Eagle; Connell and Bore. The substitutes were Peet, Corner, Fuller, Kempson, Hudson, Leary and Samuels. Peacock played in central midfield, Bore as a centre forward. Pace, pace, pace all round! Space, space, space in the stands all around.

Tamworth were all in blue, to match the mood.

First half: New mugs in the Club Shop
They made Town kick off towards the Pontoon. We started on a downer.

Them, them, them again, them again, missed.

Us. Quick and true. Coulson headed an inch from Connell's boot.

Them, them, us again, them again, Croudson punched a save.

Beautiful dreamer out on the sea, Connell passed sweetly and Bore turned the key. The wrong way. Through on their lucky keeper Severn, SPB just dwindled.

Smith ticked, Smith tocked, flicking his switches and sending moonbeams into space. Woah! Passing, movement, Emile Heskey is in Town! Oh no, it's Selwyn Froggatt. Oh no, it's Peter Bore. An airshot from the airhead.

The bartender wobbled, Croudson plopped some ice into the martini.

Bore... wasted. Bore... wafted. Bore... you've been tangoed by your own ego.

Eagle pestled, Bore mortared, Connell slurped at Severn. We're wasting away. They crossed against the post, Cummins did good, as did Wood.

Them again, them again, corner, corner, corner...goal. Town cleared, Bore chased, Bore chaste as Rodman turned, popped a plinker and THE BARTENDER groped and groaned from feet away.

Town were a pudding: mental crumble with cold stale custard

It'd been a lovely game for half an hour.

Second half: New mugs on the pitch
No changes were made by either side at half-time.

Bore missed again. Nice movement. Lovely it was, Mr Eagle. Lovely.

Go home now, sell your house, sell your kids, go...just go. Crossing, crossing, crossing, crossing, crossing everyone, crossing the Rubicon, jumping the shark, harking and barking back to the days when we were kings. Wuff, wuff, we're all dogfood.

Smith missed a header. Barman Perry stooped and pooped. Other things happened nearly. Town at times were almost human. People came on, people came off, we changed everything and nothing. A header here, a kneed knock there, strapping blue bodies plugged the Cumberland sausage gap.

It ended. And no-one was surprised.