Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

13 January 2019

Grimsby Town 0 Macclesfield Town 2

It's déjà vu all over again.

A grey day of bluster and Town all in a fluster with their incredibly shrinking defence. Around 130 Cheshire cats slunk into the Osmond as the wind swirled swirlily. Macclesfield in January? After the legend of our fall at the Siege of Selhurst, you fill me with inertia.

Town lined up in a more or less 4-4-1-1 formation as follows: McKeown, Hendrie, Hall-Johnson, Famewo, Ring, Vernam, Clifton, Hessenthaler, Pringle, Embleton and Thomas. The substitutes were Russell, Öhman, Welsh, M Rose, Woolford, Cook and A Rose. Oh dear, a shortage of tall players against a team with tall players. It'll be a tall order to survive 'til quarter to five, our chances of winning are slim. Seb Ring is stout, and if Öhman breathes out you'd say he’s incredibly thin.

Two Swedish defenders? A flat pack four. Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all spotted that one within eight microseconds. What a smorgasbord of Swedish synonyms and similes we have to look forward to.

"Vergoofin der flicke støøbin mit der børk-børk yubetcha"

First half: It's all too much

Town kicked off towards the Osmond.

Scruffy, scrappy, no-one happy. Rusty Ring having to cling to blue. Long balls, high balls, what a load of balls to no-one nowhere.

Macclesfield passed the ball to each other, on the floor. Then kicked it long to the tall, tall man, who flicked on to the quick, quick man.

Blue corner. No, nothing.

Blue corner. Yes, something to say. Hendrie scootled away and Arthur hoiked him back. A yellow card. Hendrie intercepted some crosstown traffic and zim-zimmered away. Alas, dithered. No, nothing.

Famewo and Hall-Johnson, rocked and rolled by Little and Large. Town's left bereft of heft and the ball simply sailed on out of play downwind and out of sight. Ring fouled blue, Ring slapstick sliced the low cross and Jamie Mack plucked.

Aimless swipes and triple tripe from Town. Incoherently static, strangers wandering along the beach in search of jellyfish.

Macc tips and taps, triangulating up their right, springing past Ring. The pass crinkled lowly into the centre and McKeown sprawled lowly to clutch and hold as Big Harry Smith slid nearby.

Another thing from them that led nowhere and Pringle dangled, but Thomas had not eaten the magic beans and did not grow.

Another thing from them that led nowhere and Pringle dangled, but Thomas had not eaten the magic beans and did not grow

Ah.

After 20 minutes of stale beer, Little Harry walked off in distress. On came Mitch Rose.

Triple Harry, Town happy. No Harrys, no hope.

They fall, they get free kicks. They get free kicks because they fall.

Well he was here, and now he's gone. Hey, did Ring do something wrong? A free kick near the left corner of the penalty area. A two man wall, the ball rolled lowly slowly. Ring-a-Ring missed their Rose's roll; Marsh toe-poked in from in front of McKeown, a few yards out.

He's down and feeling blue, he didn't know what to do. Ring? Yes, Ring.

Nothing of nothing of nothing going on anywhere. Blues sat back, stripes slapped back to them. Hopeless, hapless, shapeless.

Town tipping around, tapping to Mitch, alone in the centre. Mitch's mind meandered, Mitch's legs lumbered, Wilson dispossessed the mixed-up muddled-up twirler and calmly sauntered forward to prod past McKeown.

What else? Their keeper caught a cross. And that's the entirety of everything. Ever.

It's time to go, better run and get your bags, it's goodbye to this game.

Second half: Point me at the sky

Does anybody feel the need to point out that Tommy Widdrington appeared at half time? Whatever was the point of Tommy Widdrington?

Neither side made any changes at half time.

Let us look on the positive side of life: Town were less worse, Ring got better, and Town did have a shot.
The Hess prominent, pressure and passing, passing and pressure and Ring mis-sliced woefully wide.

Just past the hour Pringle was hauled off and Ahkeeeeeem Rose ran on. Five minutes later Famewo fell and never arose again. On came the composed Ludwig van Öhman and Town immediately had a presence in defence; like a smooth Lever, all head pummels and no-nonsense muggings.

A bit of a blue flutter and Ring pushed over Arthur by the corner flag, the free kick was belted lowly, someone ducked and Jamie Mack punched the ball off his own nose. A bit of ducking and diving and Wilson sneaked in freely to tipple goalwards. Hall-Johnson swayed back and botttomed the ball off the line, Öhman swept away.

Do you want to know the dribbling dregs? An underhit Embleton corner skipped off the turf and skidded off Marsh's chesty biceps at the near post. Ahkeeeem belted down the side and his cross flipped off a defender's thighs and lollipopped nicely into the keeper's hands. Embleton drimbled down the right and tantalisingly teased a trimmer across the face of goal with Thomas half a step from happiness. And finally, Cyril. Mitch marvellously mizzled a pass through the centre of their defence. Thomas took an unfortunately strong touch and O’Hare raced out to block.

And in the end Ring ran out of steam and was booked for steaming in.

Three minutes were added and they probably had another shooting thing. Frankly, my dear, it makes no difference where you are or where you'd like to be, this game was just too much for Town.

This was a non-game. Nothing of any use came of it. Forget it. Now.