Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
17 August 2010
Grimsby Town 0 York City 0
I'm sorry but I am unable to do a full report, but here's a parliamentary sketch, a sort of Reduced Shakespeare version of the game.
Ah, York City, powder blue giants in the distance. They had Brodie and Foyle; would they be professionals?
A Chinese lantern drifted over the Osmond Stand, three ferries chuntered up the Humber and Town kicked off towards the Pontoon.
These are the things that happened.
Coulson wallied a free kick wide. One of York's defenders was poleaxed and Watt did the undecent thing by whacking the ball back towards the corner flag for a throw-in to York.
Connell, Eagle and Hudson all had shots blocked after nicely nice interplay splayed the Yorkists.
Hudson nicked, Coulson ticked, Hudson knocked, Eagle beautifully reverse swung to Leary, who shot micro-inches wide. York had a corner and Eagle headed a slow looper off the line.
Kempson brilliantly slid and blocked when something nearly happened once. Brodie kept standing in front of Arthur, then chased him all around the penalty area to stop drop-kicks. Eventually the referee tired of this nonsense.
York kept fouling.
Coulson and Connell stroked down the right, and we had a double dip from Peacock. Firstly missing a Coulson cross from four yards and then skimming a header from Eagle's return; Leary clipped the clearance straight at Ingham.
Peacock sighed and York cupped a long pass around Kempson. Brodie pathetically tippled wide as Arthur walked tall.
Watt header a corner at Ingham. Kempson missed the ball and nothing happened. Watt was booked for professionally legging up a blueman after Kempson missed the ball again.
In between all these moments York either kicked Town, pushed Town, ran fast at Town, or passed the ball to Town. Or passed directly out of play. At no point did a York player successfully control the ball or pass it to a team-mate. They whacked it long and diagonally to head on and fight. Town were a mixture of nice knocking and ugly chucking towards the ineffective and immobile Peacock.
King Kenny commands his domain.
No changes were made by either side at half time. Eagle weaved, Connell wove and backflipped a volley at Ingham. Rankine barundled, crossed and Watt calmly cleared.
Bore surged, Coulson bowled, Connell rolled and Coulson's smacker was tipped over. The earth moved and the river flowed. Some kind of higgledly piggledyness ended with Coulson lip-smackering low and inches wide.
Bore wafted safely wide from far, far away in a galaxy near you. Coulson wiggled and waggled after a Connell Reesian flick, with the shot ballooning up and over off Ingham's shins.
Rankine finally controlled the ball and was substituted immediately.
After 80 minutes York managed to have a shot after a series of dilatory dumblings by Townites. York managed three passes and Gash lashed high to Arthur's left. He rose, he tipped and we arose to King Kenny. Someone knock-kneed the corner over the Town bar.
Dumbling dilatoryness led to the York substitute, Henry Purcell, skipping free. Arthur forced him to the bye-line and Watt headed clear. Kempson dreamt he was Glenn Hoddle, not Glen Downey, and pinged a perfect cross-field pass onto Connell's toes. McGurk was bamboozled by the spinning volley sidestep turn and Connell fell under a waggle of blue arms. No penalty given. No booking for diving either.
Watt wellied well wide. And the game ended.
Town were better than this collection of coached athletes. York were physically draining to watch and play against, but didn't show anything like footballing intent. They played angles, they played to the percentages of their physique. In essence they tried to bully Town. They failed.
Peacock should have been substituted. Apart from his size he ended up being a hindrance. When Town matched their intensity and the ball was on the ground, York were unravelled by footballing skill. This is what this season is going to be like: helter-skelter, harum-scarum fight fests.
When you get to the bottom you have to go back to the top of the slide.