Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

18 April 2021

Grimsby Town 2 Bolton Wanderers 1

At one time you've got it and then you lose it, it's gone forever. It's certainly a phenomenon in all walks of life.

Hello Bolton our old friends, you've come to walk with us again through the garden of unearthly delights in this flashback to the days when the nights were young, when we could do no wrong.

Trotters in white and is it my imagination that they've got Leeeee John in their team?

It's sunny, sunny, sunny and a funny old world out there in Zombieland.

First half – Music and lights

Bolton kicked off towards the Pontoon with some fancypants passing.

You see they're the slickest, they're the quickest and if you give them a chance they'll just dance, dance, dance through the defence. Look at them groove, look at them move, they're magic!

Do you shee the beasht? Have you got it in your shights?

Blimey, that's us making them look like ordinary men. Hanson hassled, Harry hustled, Lennie reverse swept and Matete steered straight and true across the slipping, slumping fluorescent flinger and into the bottom right corner. Holy mackerel, Batman, 30 seconds!

Could it be that... It's just an illusion putting me back in all this confusion?

Here they come: Khouri blocked Isgrove, Khouri tackled Trotters, Khouri was fouled and Williams was booked. Evan's above the usual Town teenager.

Hendrie chucked, Lennie leant on a lamppost, Clifton crossed and Hanson steered wildly, wayly over. Afolayan rumbled down their right, zigged and zagged and Isgrove passed by Habergham and passed lowly from their left. Thomason glided into the near post and McKeown spread a little happiness and didn't let the ball go by. Here they come again, and up went a flag as the ball rolled in behind Jamie Macc.

OK, take a little breather after ten minutes of whirlygigging.

Ready? We go again.

Town tapped their tambourines, Harry retrieved a bumbler but cleared for them and off they ran. Isgrove tickled and Doyle snickled and Afolayan, alone again naturally, steered a sweep over the bar and far, far away. Flicks and tricks. Town loveliness. A corner hooped high, headed back by Hanson and bumble stumbled by cucumbers. Matete swept in from another time, another place, slapped lowly through a thicket of legs. Gilks stretched and shinned aside for a corner that was looped long and far and falling for Khouri, and the keeper swamped our debutante.

Back and forth, forth and back, back of the fourth to the back of beyond. Jimmy Macc scooped up a scuttle as danger lurked, Lennie almost charged down Gilks, Menayese went for a drive and some Trotting caused minor fluffery as McKeown parried out a dink.

It's big, it's booming, Town are blooming. It's a barking game.

Here we go, va-va-vroom! Matate took out his mashie niblick and Gilks plunged low and right to grasp the nettle. Town triangulated, Matete was sold a pup of a pass and Doyle was flipped free on the left. This division's Dead-Eyed Dick slapped high to the near post and Jamie Macc parried aside. Big booming balls! From them. Crossfield wallops to their waltzing wingers. Well done Harry.

A brilliant Coke tackle, another offside goal, Lennie almost charged down a fly hack: it's just another day in a way out café.

Hewitt humped a free kick highly, Lennie let it bounce, turned and swivelled overly. A Trotterman free kick was coiled nicely over. Meyanese marauded and Clifton volleyed over after the corner was cleared.

You know a good stretch today is hard to find, but we've found Meyanese, who found the time to stretch aside a moment of almostness from the laddies in white.

Much muddling in the corners and a Trotterman plunged under the Police Box. McKeown used his hands in a most per-peculiar way and two minutes were added during which the referee made some most excellent decisions indeed.

What larks, Jeeves.

Second half – Flashback

Neither team made any changes at half time.

Get out your violins and play, just like yesterday. We'll start in D minor, such a sad key. A classical Town strung out quartet of non-scoring. A dink into the nether regions and Hanson harried, hurried and hassled a passing stranger, shrugging off the chugger. Big Jim strolled and rolled and Gilks booted aside into the centre of the penalty area. That's the sonata. Lennie lumbered and lashed lowly, Gilks kicked away with his slow melancholy cello. Khouri clobbered, Gilks patter-cake parried down, Clifton swept and Gilks swiped.

A break, a block, as Matete squirtled and Little Harry hoiked high. Habergham down, Habergham up, up and away and way-way over-hitting a free kick after Clifton tumbled.

Another minute, another matter of fact. Khouri slept as Whites flannelled and Jamie Macc battered a low cross away. Town tip-toed through the turnips. Khouri dinked Hanson headed back, flumbles and scrumbles and the excitement of fumbles.

There's no ebbs, only flows. One way then the other, we're gonna trick ya. A slip of the hip and Clifton clattered through many socks of many colours. Gilks plunged and pawed straight out to Big Jim, who leant back and carefully clobbered against the underside of the bar. Scrambles but no eggs of white toast as a throw-in became a corner became nothing as Lennie ducked and plopped.

Ooh, them, skipping through the right. McKeown scooped a daisy chain and laughed. White wingers winging, by-passing Hendrie and passing a shot across the bows. Doyle alone at the farthest post and Jamie Macc swooped like a bird of prey upon the little field mouse as he popped up from his little home on the range

Matete with a mattock, Khouri and Coke poking around with a hoe, scraping and scrapping in the shadow of the Frozen Horsebeer Stand. Hanson hooked, Lennie turned and burned straight to Gilks. Little Harry hassled, Lennie lamped and Gilks spectacularly clawed aside.

We swoon, they swoop. McKeown wrapped his duvet around Isgrove as a cross was passed, or a pass was crossed somewhere near, but far enough away. Thomason scruffled a scuffle through, between and wide as no white socks twitched. Doyle ducked at a corner and loopy grazed onto the roof of the net.

A needless nudge on Lennie but the ref didn't budge as only the most blind of one-eyed fantasists pleaded for a penalty. Well, all of us beggars choose to be one-eyed when it suits. Crikey! Shot on, chance on! Is Lennie growing a moustache and claiming to be Welsh? I tell you what, Roly, I'm not taking this coat off now.

Double subbing from the Boltonites. Habergham and Coke fiddled, Hanson headed back and Clifton's slap was saved with fuss. Hendrie poked away a swinging free kick from under McKeown's nose with some fuss. Stick or bust? The Trottermen twisted again with a another double dose of subs.

Khouri flagging, Matete booked, Hendrie down, signal lost! The screen suddenly black – what, another Royal’s been clog-popping? What's going on in the void? We're going back to our roots, it's like the CEEFAX years. Shall I call up Grimsby Town club call?

Ah-ha, contact with the human race restored. What's new pussycat? Spokes had replaced Khouri and Action Jackson was replacing Hendrie. Clifton moved to right-back with Jackson hanging around on a piece of ground in the shadows on the left.

Hubbling and bubbling on the right. In and out and Little Harry barged through several static caravans, driving on to the beach and pitching his windbreak. Clifton hit the bye-line and rolled the ball into the near post. Luckily Lennie was there to completely miss the ball. On it rolled into the gaping gap, Jackson Jnr stumbled over it, dummying the desperate defenders slip-sliding away, and poked in from a yard.

So are we digging Tom, Dick or Harry this week?

Come, come, a third goal would be greedy. Big Jim headed on and Spokes dippy-volleyed onto the roof of the net from way out.

Six minutes were added. Six? Where did they come from? And Coke lost his fizz. Balls were flung, heads were hung as Bolton banged upon a firmly locked door.

With 30 seconds left Meyanese blocked away some arbitrary riverdancing for a corner on their right. Coiled up, down and flying around into the crowd Jamie Macc semi-flapped a punch to the edge of the penalty area. Headed back, headed sidewards and slapped into the far corner by Miller.

And after 30 or more seconds of unnecessary movement by mammals there was peace in our time.

Well, we've dug the tunnel, but it may still be a few yards short of the trees.

What a game, what a performance. How, who, what, where? Everything, everybody was as perfect as you'll ever get in division four. Town were simply superior, collectively and individually, to an excellent team in form.

The chips are down and nearly all our bridges have tumbled down. It's too much, too little, too late, but at least we'll end it being friends with the club again. But what a superb game.