Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
16 January 2022
Grimsby Town 2 Altrincham 0
It's drab and dreary, we're feeling small and the tears are in some eyes after the Shay mugging but over the hills from far away Altrincham come to play. One. Two. Three. Four. Yellow Tellytubbies!
So, what's new pussycat? We've been demisted by the sea but there's a podgy patch in the shadow of the Frozen Horsebeer Stand. Will we be thrilling?
Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: Crocombe, Smith, Waterfall, Pearson, Amos, Maguire-Drew, Fox, Coke, Sousa, McAtee and Taylor. The substitutes were Longe-King, Khouri, Burgess, Wright, and Grant.
Yes, two shiny full-backs hanging on the wall. There was a time when every club had a youth teamer called Andy Smith. Once ubiquitous, now a rarity, will we get sensible football from a sensible name with sensible hair? Oh, Daniel Amos, will you be a star even though we've fallen off Sky?
Questions, questions, but there is at least one answer to our prayers. Everybody be cool, it's the return of the McAtee and he's letting all the people know that he's back to run the show.
Let's talk pork: we know who ate all the pies over Christmas, for Altrincham waddle and wobble like a pub team. Maybe it was the stripes that made 'em look slimmer. Is it an illusion or a delusion?
Open up your eyes and look around
First half: Full-backs to the future
The Pork Pieman kicked off towards the Pontoon with gusto and lashings of HP Sauce. Harem, scarem, dodging and dealing, suddenly they were free as knees knocked and shins shinned. Colclough tickled a wink, hulky-bulky Hulme rumbled and the orange comfort blanket smothered by the bye, by the bye-line, by the bye-line on the left.
Discomfortable shambling, striped strangers passed in the street and, by chance, a glance skittled as Pearson whittled in the centre. Fear not you sensitive stripers, for Sensible Smith sensibly whisked away as Hancock's eyes bulged bigger than his belly.
Have we met? It seems not. Getting to know you, getting know one another. Ah, haven't you noticed? Suddenly we’re bright and breezy. McAtee freely roaming in the gloaming in the covered corner where dentists moan. A low cross and Taylor's near-post tickle trickled across the face of goal. A corner, a corner and they all fell down. Gesundheit!
They can't stand up for falling down. Do they have an inner ear problem?
Sousa salsa, Fox trotted into the void to noodle overly from the dead centre of the penalty area. Sousa spun around in circles within circles, spiraling and spannering highly, widely. Moments of connectivity amid much buffering.
A Town corner and Thompson hit the canvas in round two. Is it a betting scam? Altymen: spoilers, toilers and foilers.
Between the Tellytubbing timewasting and the refereeing obstruction of justice there be some Sousa slickery and Fox trickery into an absence of Alty. Taylor turned but Thompson burned down the house to sweep the ball off his feet.
Have Alty tasted the bitterness of their own tears yet? Get up you tarts. Fox was blocked by the ref, yellow peril approaching! Colclough shimmied his feathers and toe-poked through the monochrome haze. The unsighted Crocombe sprang into action, sprawled low and right to claw aside from the near post.
Their corner? We have no need to ponder the wonder of their blunders.
One minute was added. One! Heave-ho, off we go. Maguire-Drew dripped a corner from the right, Waterfall arose and Dipsy, the green Tellytubby, accidentally spectacularly collided with the goalbound thwonk. Maguire-Drew dripped longer and further, Pearson arose and amid much bundling and rumbling on the line this was the end of the line for a half full of hot air.
The Altymen have been feigning and fainting forever and ever all day long. They are nothing but lumps of lard who try hard. Let's get ready to crumble these bumblers.
Second half: Temptation
Neither team made any changes at half time.
A swish, a sway, and Sousa knocked on past Morgan and his rum hairdo. Arms aloft, legs akimbo, appealing for the salvation, hapless Morgan grumbled as the ball bumbled out for a corner. Lofted longly from the left, bonked back out highly, McAtee awaited 20 yards out, leant back and cracker-jacked a volley straight down the middle over tubby Thommo's waft into the roof of the net.
Ooooh yes. I'm not taking this coat off now!
Slipping, slicing it's all so enticing with stripes swarming over yellows. Over-indulgent nonsense! A duck, a dive, a yummy-dummy and Maguire-Drew miscurdled after much merriment in the middle. Who's that we see waving goodbye to his marker and fizz-crossing to a surprised Maguire-Drew. Oh, it looks like Danny Amos, who could be a star.
Mooney munched on his lunch and launched a satellite into space, perhaps with a message for alien life etched onto the casing. Or perhaps not. It was just a humdrum moment of nothingness as they spiralled further into their black hole.
Ooh McAtee, you're a teaser, you turn 'em on, leave 'em burning and then you're gone. Big John danced and jived, scraped the ball back from errant yellows and bedrumbled wide. McAtee, having the time of his life, then in strife as he was cynically tripped by the ball and no penalty was awarded.
Higgle piggle, constant scruffy pressure as Dipsy, Po and La-La took it in turns to faint. Flicks, tricks and dummies, Pearson swayed and surged. In, out and back again. A corner, a dink, a scrimp, a scrape and Thompson clawed a thwonkle-bounced McAtee volley away from the top left corner.
They rubbed their lamp and subbed off their chubbiest charmer. Who cares? It's one way traffic in this part of Town. A corner drooped, Pearson arose as tubby Thommo was surrounded by trees and Morgan nodded off the line, as the keeper dropped his handkercheif and fainted.
Halfway through the half flutterby Sousa was replaced by Maximum Wright. Vroom-vroom-vroom! Fizzing, whizzing, crossing and McAtee befuddling widely. The Wright stuff is the right stuff, a cross shivered across the face of goal as Maguire-Drew didn't glide or slide, prioritising personal safety.
Are they trolling us? On came Pringle and the flying Fox flew to the rescue. Let's get back to business. Yellows pressed impressively, striped feet forcing errors and with terror. Hacking and hoping, Alty in a tizz.
Here we go again. Fox crisply hustled Pringle, Wright hassled Morgan, McAtee chased the back pass and swooped upon Thompson like a voracious vampire. The fly hack flew straight to Maguire-Drew, who took a moment, swung his pants and coiled delightfully, delicately and deliciously into the top right corner as Thompson stood and stared in awe and admiration.
We're going to party. Fiesta, forever, come on and sing along. Yeah, once you get started you can't sit down.
Burgess replaced McAtee.
Come join the fun, it's a merry-go-round.
Khouri replaced Maguire-Drew.
Come join our party, see how we play!
Four minutes were added, enough for some premature adulation by a hooded oik, mistaking an offside for the final whistle. It is time for a party.
Well that was harder than it should have been, but easier than it seemed. Altrincham couldn't cope with Town's intensity and they were worn down by persistence. It's soothing to have a dynamic, alert defensive unit, as the two new full-backs were a significantly excellent. Fox was negatively superb and Coke did what was required today. He was sufficient. We won't get away with central stodge every week though.
Some drive tankers, some are bankers, some are workers, some are not. Alty were simply crushed by the wheels of Town's industry.