Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
8 April 2019
Grimsby Town 0 Stevenage 2
Town really are missing a trick. With a wind like this you'd have thought they'd be selling Blundell Parkas in the club shop.
Here we all are, back again in the land of the living dread, just six more contractual obligations until the tortoises get put in the shoe box. Cleethorpes in April: 100 non-League fans stuck a corner of this foreign field and the fish are frying tonight.
Town lined up in a more or less 4-1-2-2-1 formation as follows: McKeown, Hendrie, Whitmore, Collins, Hall-Johnson, Davis, Clifton, Hessenthaler, Cardwell, Vernam and Dennis. The substitutes were Russell, Ring, Pollock, Grayson, Buckley, Woolford and Burrell. Davis was plonked into the Parslow Pivot Point, Cardwell and Vernam fluttered around on the flanks halfway up the hill, though they were neither up nor down. Poor diminutive dumpy Dennis, waddling alone, menaced by two bouncers, Beardy-baldyman and the Moustachioed Perm.
A dozen Oompa-loompas congaed along the Pontoon and congaed off home at half time. Dear reader, they are wise creatures. So that's about the orange.
Triple Harry! Nothing can go wrong now.
First half: Revolution #9
The two-tone blues kicked off towards the Pontoon with a trick question about musical chairs. The grass is too long, the shorts are too long and before too long this game has begun to pong.
Withering Whitmore wellied agin blue and Guthrie dithered a draggle. Slackness and slapsticks, Chair whistled Yakkety Sax and sneakily bedraggled widely wide with Jamie Mack hidden behind blue eyes.
Long balls, short balls, balls, balls, balls. A punt, a shove, a shake and Hall-Johnson fantasmagorically reverse back-scraped as Guthrie began to fly.
Another break and what a drag.
Moments, memories and Mariner misses. Little Harry hassled, the Hess hustled, a corner drooped and pooped and Hendrie whacked from the centre of the penalty area. Farman flew and parried. A corner flicked at the near post, scraped off the far post, The Hess slapped and Farman parry-punched away.
Won't someone please sit on that Chair!
A welly, a whack, and Cardwell missed his graze as RHJ sneaked beyond. Bluesmen chipped, Chair wasn't chopped by Davis and hopped, skipped and jumped away. The tiny tot tickled and Guthrie flicked over the stuttering McKeown with the ailing Collins failing and trailing.
One can only sigh and wait for something to turn up.
Stevenage: always falling, always stalling. So non-League.
Dennis coiled a free kick way over. Vernam's young heart ran free and Dennis flicked at the near post, the ball ruffling no feathers in the side netting. Farman volleyed an errant back pass.
Three minutes were added. Their full-back was booked for provocative prevarication and Little Harry ran and ran and ran and ran and looked up… everyone's gone to the moon.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What a fug.
Second half: long, long, long
Iontton replaced Byrom. Pfft.
Town kicked off, they went down, down, deeper and down. And down and stayed down forever and ever and ever. Again and again.
Little Harry tricked and treated down by the boondocks, before being flattened by the bye-line. The free kick? Bye-bye.
The wind began to switch, the players were on the pitch, and suddenly the hinges started to unhitch.
Mesmerised by meanderings Town allowed the fancy Chair to cross deeply from the right. Guthrie arose above Collins and noodled into the bottom left corner.
We have 40 more minutes to mutter and chunter.
Infiltrations on Town's left, the cross rolled gently across the face of goal and Guthrie poked wide as Hendrie dithered. What's the point of all this?
Around the hour the blameless RHJ was replaced by the graceful Grayson. Dennis flicked at the near post corner, Farman sank and shinned away from the foot of the post.
And finally their Chair was cut up for firewood as Woolford replaced the ineffective, irrelevant Cardwell.
Stodging, bodging, who's dodging the ball, who's dodging the blame in this game?
Jamie Mack clung on to a slow slap-shot after slackness, Guthrie headed highly over from nearly near. They had breakaways, nothing ever happened anymore.
Farman flapped a corner, panicked groping in the dark and a monochrome boot swung. The ball rolled gently through the void, rolling towards the emptied net and rolling gently past the right post.
There's no flash and Town are in the pan.
Woolford reversed, Vernam was touched and carefully steered across and over the shrinking Farman, over and around the top right corner.
With six minutes left Burrell replaced Davis, six minutes were added and six years passed by and Town lost a goalless draw by being soulless, shoeless and clueless.