Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 22 January 2022

Conference Premier

Grimsby Town 1 Maguire-Drew (23)

Bromley 2 Alexander (38), Clifton (83 og)

Attendance: 5854 (78 away fans)

I'm sorry I haven't a clue

Pearson and Waterfall were perfectly fine, but not outstanding. The cheap champagne's on ice.

The Grey Man is, like the season, fading away.

"The disappointment, the frustration and lots of other words…"

What an eloquent summary indeed.

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He really hasn't got over Donovan's Wembley walk.

You can see why Gillingham think he's the perfect replacement for Evans, for he's a man with a similar fidelity to facts:

"Yes, 100 per cent. I don't like them. They have been completely disrespectful to us."

Yes, 1000 per cent we really dislike you. Bromley? Merely your vessel. What a very small man.

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Once upon a time not so long ago we thought we'd give it a shot.

Have we learned nothing from the winter wobble? Bromley just did the same thing again, and Town allowed bullying and bluster to distract.

Passivity, timidity, diffidence and dithering all seeped into our bones, on and off the pitch. They passed when they should have shot, shot when they should have passed and stuck when they should have twisted. Decisions have been made. Decisions have to be made. Do we hold on to what we've got or carry on living on a prayer that something will turn up?

Poor old Coke, Bromley realised he is just a poor old man. He may have no time for law-breakers but his legs are grey, his ears are gnarled, his eyes are old and bent. Still, at least it gets him out in the open air.

Twisty Tristram Abrahams is The Shop II: Lennie Reloaded, while against competent opponents Smith looked what he is – a centre-half playing at right-back.

And yet, for all the doom and gloom, it was two moments of self-inflicted misfortune that turned the game away from the virtuous towards the vile visitors.

It feels so very 2012 at the moment.

Well, they didn't need a half-time hurricane to help them this time.

Their admirable footballing qualities are drowned by their utter gittery, for they have adopted the old Cheltenham approach of trampling and taunting their way to heaven.

A hardworking committed collective playing with immense intensity to a simple plan, they are the shiftier Shaymen of the Southern. But, unlike Halifax they have no grace, no style, and we will join the rest of the league in schadenfreude at their inevitable implosion.

They will implode. It may be this season, it may even be after promotion, but they will. It is inevitable. All small clubs do for they cannot swim with sharks forever. We know that, we've lived that. I don't remember Paul Groves leading the team in a conga at Molineux, or Alan Buckley hand-jiving in front of the Gallowgate End.

People who talk about and demand respect have a chip on their shoulder, an inferiority complex. We pity you Bromley, for you won't have what your barrow-boy boss claims to crave.

Handily diverted from disillusion by the antics of the Ant Hill Mob.

Mr A Herczeg

Immensely indulgent of the blue ducking and diving, preferring a chat and finger wag. He was easily played by the Hooligans from Hooky Street: 4.999

There is no dark or light, no black or white, only shades of grey.

In a word: sods