This is the modern world

Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

10 October 2021

Woking 0 Grimsby Town 1

What a wonderful day for ramming a cucumber through the vicar's letterbox and shouting "The Martians have landed!" Well, as Jimmy Hill always said, "When in Rome..."

What a wonderful day, what a wonderful world and what a good place it will be if we're still happy at the happy hour.

Blue Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: McKeown, Sears, Waterfall, Towler, Crookes, Sousa, Fox, Hunt, Clifton, McAtee and Taylor. The substitutes were Pearson, Revan, Coke, Wright and John-Lewis. Sousa for Bapaga. What more is there to say? The bench has Maximum Wrightness and poor old Chaise-Longue has been left outside in the back yard.

Ah Woking, our comfortable pair of old slippers. You're exactly where and how we left you all those years ago. The grass is still long and tufty, and we're still strung along the shallow sideburns and quarterway up the Big End.

Ah, Woking. You're taller than you were. Have you been growing your own players on your allotment? Blimey they're big.

But hey, chicks and ducks and geese better scurry when 889 Town fans are out in Surrey.

First half – Cardinal sins

Woking kicked off with a hoof towards the slither of Townness in the Big End. Ah Cardiboys, what kind of fool do you think we are? You think we know nothing of the Bananaramaworld?

A sleek blue sneak and a peek at goal. Taylor tickled, McAtee stretched around and beyond wafting Wokingites, merely lobbing vertically, so no sobbing in Surrey.

Hey, what's that sound? Air raid sirens calling, bombs falling. Open your eyes, look up to the skies and see. Woking rocking, Woking rolling, but for whom is the bell tolling? Biffing, banging, barging and charging with moments of momentary lapses, but no blue collapses. Ooh, ah, nearly, but not, there's always a blue foot as the game is afoot.

Hah, the engine ticked over, the clutch released, feel the power of our engine as Town went for a spin in the country. Vroom, vroom, up the right as Woking's wing-backs were caught in mid-flight. Triangles from Taylor, a recce from Rico and Little Harry bedraggled ooh-ly.

Up one end, down the other, down one end, up the other. It's breathless, it's balmy and barmy, it's end to end to end to end. Will this ever end? They try to run, they try to hide, both sides break on through and clatter wide. Home roaming, Sears splashed and Towler toe-ended at the near post as danger lurked behind. A corner followed a corner and ah, le Puy de la Vache! Moussa Diarra, their Massif Central, arose alone and nodded off nicely wide.

Blimey, it's breathless. And the Fox chases their rabbits around and around.

Waves of Woking, pinging and winging their way west. Almost, but not quite. Town taps and blue blocks and not only but also Sears. Have you fears about Sears? Don't worry, he clears the table after he's eaten. Effiong hung about waiting for scraps but all the chips were consumed.

And all the while Town were tapping away, seeking adventure in the lands behind their wing-backs. McAtee skipped away on the right, Taylor lunged and missed at the far post. Clifton this, Sousa that. You know, the people round here they are so nice.

Smash and grab, Campbell clattering, the defence shattering, it's ping-pong off Effiong as rolled through and around the plunging, clasping, grasping fingers of McKeown 500. The goal a-gaping, Woking awakening, Towler and Waterfall slid together as a big block of cheese to divert and avert disaster. As Towler slid away, Waterfall was caught in the net, frantically flailing and thrashing like a sprat as a throw-in was imminent. Trapped and traumatised, there's only one man who can keep our big fish alive. Dave Moore and his trusty kit bag arrived to cut him free.

Only for the ref to insist Waterfall leave the field of play. A man down, the penalty area flooded with bigness but fear not tremulous Townites for defending without tackling is back in vogue. Hey man, we seem to have a plan, will and self-restraint, it's not hard to explain: hips don't lie, but they do nudge.

Och, cluck yer strunge, what a silly short corner. They're laughing at us, not with us now. Ticking over, ticking on, slowly, slowly, Town strangled the Cardigans as they ran out of puff. Had they had enough? McAtee, to the left, to the right, jumped up and down and his snap shot wibbled and wobbled and died in the long grass.
End to end but bouncing off defensive walls. They crossed across, they crossed a cross across, they missed, they massed, they rarely passed. Ooh nearly Taylor, ah Sousa steered over, then Sousa salsaed into the penalty area, pulled back and Clifton's swipe was blocked by bare legs.

At last a Cardinal sin espied. Waterfall stood and waited for Effiong to arrive, he duly arrived at 3:45 and into the book he went. People who jump at Waterfall make mistakes.

Woking have very long legs, are they tripods?

Three minutes were added. Just enough time for Woking to marvellously mess up a free kick.

Crikey! Somehow this bagatelle of bashing was still 0-0. Town: bullied, bruised and bashed up, but still intact.
Blimey oh Ryley, we speak of you highly, you're doing quite well.

Second half – Woking back to happiness

Neither team made any changes at half time.

Together we stand, divided we fall, come on now people, let's get on the ball and work together. We got the blues, those slow hand blues. Taylor teased, Taylor rolled but large men in large shorts squashed his grapes.

All day long they work so hard 'til the sun's comin' down. Working, working, working their way back to you, Ross. Clifton perpetuated his motion, McAtee clipped a cross shot narrowly, the keeper kick-flapped into the centre towards Taylor. Alas a home shirt was alive and the moment passed away.

Slowly, slowly Town squeezed their pips, passing left, passing right, passing left, passing right, passing, passing, passing and no one pushes Alex Hunt around. Well, Woking did, but not for long.

The Cards were reduced to counter-attacking. Ah, but that's the way, u-huh, u-huh they like it. Sears and his ears were booked for an extremely subtle de-bagging of the flying Allarakhia. Needs must.

Them. Flicks and falls and calls for free kicks. Waterfall! Oh Woking, there's gotta be more to this old life than scrimping and scraping and crossing listlessly. Effiong fell so comically in the Town area even he didn't bother to claim a foul.

Tap, tap, tapping away Town wore down Woking's resistance with persistence. It's Fox in the box! One hand arose and Ross spectacularly parried aside as the shot flashed in from the narrow left.

Tap, tap, tapping away and Town lost possession with Sousa slackness. One, two, buckle their shoes someone. Off they za-zoomed, and in two shakes of a lamb's tail Campbell slithered down their left, slathering inchlets wide of McKeown's left post.

Anything you can't do we can't do too. Little Harry dragged a shot across face of goal, then dragged a cross across the face of goal.

Woking shuffled their cards as they replaced someone with someone with an even longer name.

Well, if that's the bag your into, we can do that too. Taylor trudged off and Lennie enthusiastically trotted on. Lennie. What is the point? Is he a triple bluff, his mere existence sufficiently confusing that opponents lose their minds?

Woking plunging freely, desperately in search of the lost city of El Dorado. It's their only hope of salvation. Free kicks launched, Town remained staunch. Champion the blunder workhorse headed wide, or was it that nit McNerneny? Crookes headed a googly back to Mack, Sears chest-balled.

Ah, the relief of Mafeking! A Town free kick on the outskirts of Hunt's range. No welly, just a wally. He dinked flatly, big red heads wellied and Effiong bundled through several small blue poppies to plongle across the face of goal and wide of the left post.

The early warning radar station near Hersham has just sent a message – a fleet of bombers is coming our way. Pumping, dumping, lumping and bumping. No nodding of boys. McKeown groped and finally grasped a corner, then clasped a general boomer. Woking abandoned all pretence of sophistication and went full on Route Zero. Incoming!

With five minutes left Maximum Wright replaced Hunt, with Clifton moving in to centre midfield. Ah yes, we're made of the Wright stuff these days. Incoming! Outgoing! Town break down the left with McAtee motoring, Lennie just got in everyone's way and Sears stopped in his tracks. Possession retained and Crookes rolled to Wright in front of the penalty area. He turned infield, stroked precisely across into a supermassive blackhole 25 yards out. Perfectly intersecting with the precision-tooled pass, Clifton didn't break stride and crackled lowly through the folding Cards into the bottom right corner.

OK, you team, just keep a-creepin' at a slow clip-clop. Don't you hurry, we're in Surrey and we're still on the top!

The Cardigans threw on another big chap, so on came Pearson for McAtee as three minutes were added. Ah, but life is very short, and there's no time for fussing and fighting, my friend. Heads were headed, hoofs were hoofed, shapes were kept and our frilly nylon panties were pulled right up tight as we mocked in the shadows.

What a bitter pill for them to swallow.

Ah, we can walk tall through Woking, walk straight to the station and look the world right in the eye.

Mustn't grumble, this Town don't crumble. Woking were tremendously difficult and literally walked all over us for half an hour, but the blue wall remained in place. Whenever a hole appeared someone popped up to stick a thumb in it. They must feel invincible at the moment.

What a crazy Saturday afternoon, we've got no mind to worry. Let's close our eyes and drift away.