Inversion therapy

Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

23 March 2022

Grimsby Town 1 Solihull Moors 2

Ah, the old buzz is back, that of a thousand separate small-talks prior to a piano recital. Nothing changes, yet everything changes in the land of make believe.

Are you fretting as the sea fret creeps over the streets and houses? Town have no goal fret after all.

Town lined up in the usual 4-4-1-1 formation as follows: Crocombe, Efete, Smith, Waterfall, Amos, Maguire-Drew, Burgess, Holohan, Clifton, McAtee and Taylor. The substitutes were Pearson, Sousa, Coke, Abrahams and Dieseruvwe. Holohan has the gait and gallop of an old warhorse. Was it really 20 years ago today that Captain Groves got the band to play?

Ah yes, memories of our days in the sun, fading, fading, fading away.

That was then, this is now: Solihull were sprightly in shading pastels, with a basketball player on the bench, all 8 foot 11 inches of purest twig.

OK, let's play, it's misty and they are in blue.

First half: Trying trigonometry

The game was afoot with boot, but not from Boot, as the shady bluesmen attacked the Pontoon. Soft-shoe shuffling and a little bit of scuffling, Maynard headed over from a corner.

Get out the slide rule, here they come, with their opposite over our hypotenuse. It's a sign! Let's take a tangent as Rooney rugby tackled Efete. Yellow card up high in a Bananarama tree.

Flickering flicks and Clifton mis-swiped, flickering switches as Taylor snuck in and Boot booted out. Town a smattering of flattering flicks in a sea of blue. Crocombe dummied and slapped against Rooney, the ball squirtling to a Moorsman with the goal agape, but the ref stopped play for bad light.

Blues breaking, stripes shaking, Sbarra nutted a meg and Boyes slapped straight at Crocombe's furious fists. A tricycle of Solihull corners high, low and all places and spaced in between. Minor peril, mild pandemonium and all their flair will keep them 39 Moors smiling.

They're slick, they're quick but laying it on a bit thick with their wondrous walks and tiki taka stylings.

There's a dark side to these loons. Efete mugged, Clifton chugged, Clarke and Storer booked for clodhopping clottery halting the homesters with mid-track mauling and the crowd calling for more.

A zip, a zap, some slapping at pace. Burgess nicked on the left and Little Harry knocked out rightly. Maguire-Drew tinkled, Holahan winkled and Clifton poked at the near post.

That's the way to do it, we're pleased as punch, is it time for lunch?

Three minutes were added. I don't know why. I do know that nothing else happened.

Alan Buckley would be purring at the exhibition of passing and movement from the boys in blue.

Second half: Going ballistic

The Moorsmen replaced Osborne with Dallas at half time.

Dallas whacked, Crocombe slapped. Balls in, balls out and their time had passed.

A full court press and a little more zest, Town ascendent and surfing. Stripes swinging through the right, McAtee infiltrating and crossing through the thickery. The ball rolled on and on and Amos welly wobbled wide.

Stripes swing through the left, teasing, pleasing easing through the gears. Holohan wobbly wellied over. Gavan O’Grovesohan pranced through the haze, lancing boils, pouring oil on untroubled waters, tickling to Little Harry. Clifton cut and bedraggled through the legless, Boot plunged, finger flipped against the near post and watched the ball boing back across goal. As Maguire-Drew awoke, Boyes bellyflopped onto the ball and the referee chickened out of life.

Near the hour Efete plunged in a lunge and on came Pearson, with Smith moving to right-back. So, what difference does it make? It makes none.

He-he, they've given up playing football, here comes the beanstalk! Hudlin replaced Rooney. Hudlin just got taller and taller with every step he took. Has Pearson brought his catapult or an axe?

Swinging and swaying, pinging and playing football. McAtee's magic feet danced though the Moorsmen and Boot saved narrowly with his boots. Swaying and swinging, winging and not finding a way in as McAtee headed against some blue flesh.

That's nice, they had a trip to see their fan. Dozy, lazy idling, Boyes crossed and the unmarked Dallas glanced wide.

That's nice, Town tripping the light fantastic. McAtee McAteeing up to Maguire-Drew who feigned to coil to the keeper's top right but curled across the face of the left post. That was a moment.

It's sausage time! Sousa replaced the tiring Maguire-Drew with quarter of an hour left. And nothing was ever the same again.

Mariner messing about unclearing twicely. Sousa underhit a chip and clip, Maycock dredged and turned Smith, Dallas crinkled, Crocombe flipped aside and the huge Hudlin lumbered and lamped in from half a dozen yards.
Seats flapped as blue backs were slapped, Town were clapped out.

A Clifton cross was plucked and Boot rolled out to the waiting Barnett. Off he raced into the emptiness of the Town right. Discombulation in the striped ranks, all hither and thither and scattered across the greenery. Solihull whizzed across to their right, Burgess and Clifton stood off and let a cross be crossed. Hudlin arose at the far post to be-dunk back across Mr Orange into the left corner.

Well, there we are.

The question is: what have we, what have we, what have we done to Dieseruvwe? Good question, for Abrahams immediately replaced Burgess as four minutes were added.

Four minutes of aimless, artless, pointless punting ended with Amos shinning over the Pontoon.

Well, there we are.

They were dominant, Town scored. Town were dominant, they scored twice. Town got weaker with the changes, they didn't. Another day, another game not won, another game where Town mugged themselves.

So sad, so sad, sometimes it feels so sad.