Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
21 October 2020
Grimsby Town 1 Harrogate Town 2
A Tuesday treat: Town on the telly against some non-League jellytots. How many chicken jelly tots do you get in a bag these days?
Did they put up a big screen in Betty's Tea Room for the big match?
Settle down with some rich tea and sympathy for the Sulphurites from the home-working hotspot of Harrogate. Town on the march and it's only October. Nothing can go wrong now. Nothing.
First half – The squatter and the ant
Harrogate kicked off towards the Pontoon with a lift and a loft, and from the off an offside not given. Martin scampered, Muldoon stammered, McKeown pampered away.
When the rain comes they run and hide their heads. Edwards slip-sliding away and on came Bennett, the human scarf.
Town feeling blue as the Guttermen scuttled around the empty spaces, around the empty Hendrie. A lowly cross, Martin back-heeled agin Jamie Mack, the ball bounced on and Thompson, a yard out, volleyed over the empty net, over the empty stand and into the empty streets, leaving empty feelings.
The unmolested Hall ducked wide from a dunkin' donut free kick after Yorkshire yelping. Yelp-yelp-yelp, yap-yap-yap. These buffalo girls went down the outside.
Town were an empty vessel bobbling around, mastless, rudderless and the engine flooded. It's merely a question of time before we're lost a sea.
Ah, now is the hour. Hibbling, bibbling aerial nonsense. Preston stretchy-headed well wide of goal and McKeown slip-slide slap-sticked to the blue man stood in front of him. Thompson tapped and Muldoon mushed into the empty net. Ah, that empty feeling.
What shall we do to fill the empty spaces?
From the kick off Tilley wandered and walloped from the left, the ball skipping off the turf and into the bottom left corner with Belsaw groping.
Free falling and free kicks, Town are just hicks against sophisticated spa towners. What a downer, and now Pollock's a flounder. A wallyball flicked on and spotty Muldoon danced away to flick against McKeown's chest. Hendrie mugged and Martin's dunking bonker kissed the near post.
What are Town? Who are Town. Is this really Town? The midfield. Is there anybody out there? Oh yes, here it is. A Town free kick spindled, spindled, and bundled away haphazardly as Spokes and Morton did a do-si-do. Miller ran away with a golden spoonful of sugar from the receding hairline that was Hendrie. A sly cross-shot, McKeown parried up, and Muldoon stepped up to tap in to the empty, empty, empty net.
Well, it's the least they deserve. Harrogutter superiority is rather humbling, veering towards humiliating.
With any luck Windows will automatically update itself during the second half.
Second half - Goodbyeee
Neither team made any changes at half time.
Nothing changed after half time.
Gibson long wallied wide. Mattie Flounder lost himself under a bouncy-bouncy bumper and Martin sliced into the side netting. In between this nothing there is nothing.
Seven minutes into the half of nothing Bennett was replaced by Gomis. Oh dear. It's hard to decide which was worse, though Bennett did, once, do something professionally adequate. Neither looked robust enough to cope with former non-League defenders.
Nothing changed. Yorkie yelps for yellow cards. A free kick dumped centrally, panic and bundles, a long shot lamped and Jamie Mack parry-flapped and plunged.
Gomis wiffled. I remember this. What he wiffled one could waffle about forever. Half way through the half Spokes was no longer on the pitch. Was he ever on it? Hanson lumbered on.
They are toying with Town, triangulating and strangulating.
Gibson wellied into the stands after a hint of football, a Hendrie cross bounced over the keeper and through the six-yard box and no one was around. They watched from afar, shrugging and tutting.
This is just a complete waste of time. Gomis scuttled away down the left and weakly crossed with Hanson awaiting alone.
Them? Breaks and balderdash. Muldoon twisted lemons and flubbled well wide. And again. Or had we fallen into a trance?
And what of this present Town? Long balls to no-one, nowhere, leading to nothing, with Holloway indulging in some displacement diatribing at the squealing from Betty's Tea Room.
Come down off that high horse of hope. It was all so petty and pretty useless. It was nothing, nothing at all.