Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
18 August 2019
Forest Green Rovers 1 Grimsby Town 0
It's warm up in Brigadoon. The mists cleared as kick-off neared and three hundred travelling Townites chuntered up the hill to another land where the grass grew high and feathers floated by. Then I awoke, is this some kind of joke?
Or did I awake? Was it all a dream?
Town lined up in blue in a wheezing, sneezing 4-3-3 formation as follows: McKeown, Hendrie, Davis, Waterfall, Hewitt, Clifton, Hessenthaler, Whitehouse, Green, Hanson, Ogbu. The substitutes were Russell, Gibson, Ring, Pollock, Vernam, Cook and Wright. With Ludvig still scratching his head, Town had a new Luke for a new look in defence. Waterfall: chunky, solid, bearded and vocal.
The locals bedecked in a shocking jazz shirt, all snazzy slashes across that garish green garment. It doth offend the eyes of all people of good disposition and hearty heart. What else of little note is there to observe? Mills and Mills, bun boy and a big boy, a keeper in shocking pink and a big-toothed, big-horned mascot of indeterminate provenance.
And as the subs ceased their slumbers, Pollock collected up all the balls in a big bag, slung it over his shoulder and trudged back to the dressing room. The boy gets bigger every time you look at him. He definitely eats cow pie. But obviously not here.
And as I gaze into the home stands I realise that I haven't seen hairstyles like this since 1987.
First half: Ordeal by indolence
Someone kicked off. Back, back, sideways left, sideways right, Mills to Mills to the keeper, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills… Please, don't wake me, no, don't shake me, leave me where I am, I'm only sleeping.
And then I awoke, is this some kind of joke? Back, back, sideways left, sideways right, sideways, sideways, sideways, back, back, back to Mills to Mills to the keeper, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills.
Don’t go jumping in Waterfall. Big Luke stayed frosty.
Good Mills, bad Mills, sad Mills, mad Mills, where's Mick Mills? It's the Mills and the dross. Town simply stood in front of them, shuffling and scuffling, huffling and puffling and no-one blew down the yurt.
'Ave it! Higgle and jiggle at a Town set piece. Waterfall poked across goal and green legs with a beard cleared.
Town welly, Town corner, Hanson head tennis and homesters blocked, knocked, and Adams claimed to be crocked. Get up you tart. No, don't be so rude to them just because they're eco-sensitive. Get up you quiche. It's a niche market in insults here.
Boring, boring, boring, boring. BORING. Tediousness and tediosity unbound as Forest Greeners spun the wheel around and around and around and around and back to old Pinkie.
At some point they, that is them, Forest Green, did have an attack. Well done crab-boys. Whitehouse failed to leg up a rotten bounder and eventually... well, eventually we'll all die.
Town's method? Lump and dump, hit someone on the rump. It's the brand new craze that's going around – do the bump
Moments of almostness occasionally as now and again Town had the ball. Big boom. Fall. Free kick. Big men up. High ball. Bundling and trundling as the keeper flapped.
And we're back to the Green Tractor display team, weaving intricate patterns on their way back to old Pinkie. I’m sure it wows them at the Gloucestershire Show between some junior showtime show jumping and Wessex's top pig.
Town's method? Lump and dump, hit someone on the rump. It's the brand new craze that's going around – do the bump.
An infiltration on the right, Clifton stretched at the near post and the ball more or less hit the keeper. An arbitrary home defender kicked an advertising skirting board and fell head first in front of the locals. Now that's what we call entertainment.
Two minutes were added. And praise the lord, Forest Green had a shot, swept way-way-way-way-way wide, towards Numptyfield, down Cow Lane.
Town had merely yarn-bombed Cooper's weedy chrysanthemums.
A bit more oomph and this game could almost be dull.
Second half: The mystery of the blue drain
They replaced static Stevens with a local fireman, Grubb.
Green slithering, a green corner pulled back and the boy with the blond bob sliced nicely wide.
Somnambulations, and jubilations, it's so good to have the first half back. Back, back, sideways left, sideways right, Mills to Mills to the keeper, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills, to Mills…
Mills and boom! Big balling Town, Waterfall weedily wafted from the centre of the penalty area after Hanson headed on.
A little va-va-voom around the mundane Moses and the ailing Hendrie. Berrrr-nard blimpled a crossy-shot through blue legs straight to McKeown.
Balls. Big and long. Corners from Town and pressure of sorts as the barrage boomed down on the turnip fields. Hanson prod-poked and Pinkie smartly nibbled aside from the near post. A free kick, ballingly bigly, Davis nodded down and Hanson, behind the bikesheds, stretchy scraped wide and high.
McKeown sat down, then got up after a little light rub from Dave Moore. Or perhaps the threat of a little light rub from Dave Moore. You know there is a possibility one of them had a long shot that stayed on top of the hill.
We're harmlessly passing the time in the grasslands, only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air as Cooper hauled off Dawson and brought on Mondal.
Ah, a bit of zip.
At this dwindling Ogbu was replaced by Cook. Moses was mesmerisingly mundane as he muddled his way into befuddlement, for truly today he was Tombola 2.
Zipping and zapping, Berrrrrr-nard swept past the ailing, trailing Hendrie. A flash-cross to the near post, Boots swiped, Waterfall blocked and poked a flick away, straight into the path of Mondel, who carefully stroked a sweep inside the near post.
Right, this is new Town. When the going gets tough the tough get going. Vernam and Ring replaced Green and Clifton, with Hewitt moving into centre midfield and Hendrie to right-back. And?
Big balls up, that's what.
Big balls up to Big Jim.
Vernam dinked, Hanson headed safely wide from nearby.
There is no point in anything: this drudge was trudging to the end. I haven't mentioned Adams and his unusual allergy – when he sees blue polycotton his central nervous system collapses. Shame on you, you really should not laugh at this rare medical condition.
Four minutes were added. An egg boiled. We all went off to form a traffic jam. What a waste of time.
Town came with a simple plan which worked perfectly… for 99 per cent of this game. It wasn't pretty and in the end it was pretty ineffective. Town lost a 0-0 draw they should have won. Miserable. A non-event which wasted our time. Of course, if Town had won we could have glossed over the inconvenient truth.