Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 26 November 2022

FA Cup (R2)

Cambridge United 1 Smith (81)

Grimsby Town 2 Khan (61, 90)

Attendance: 3,044 (726 away fans)

Everyone did their bit, for Town were a wolf pack hunting down their weak human prey wherever they lay their hat. But we have to doff our cap to someone…

Passing, kicking, shooting, dribbling, tackling, heading and ball control. Yes, our soccer superstar today, we know who you are: Otis of the Khan

Rocking to the rhythm of a passing ice cream van, the man with a plan justified his ancient regime of only turning up the strobes when the last slow dance came on the dancefloor:

"We stuck with what we started with until late in the game because I thought we were coping well and I didn't have quite what I wanted in certain positions on the bench to make the changes."

But hey, you know what, remember where we were last time we were here. Things have only got better.

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C'mon tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me the answer, laddie.

Just like his team Bonnie Mark gabbled with superficial coherence but ultimately without substance. Sentences spiraled like wheels within a wheel never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel, a helter skelter of artless gibbering.

"There's no point in kicking that dog at the minute"

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Didn't we have a lovely time the day we went to bang them in at Cambridge.

The cardinal virtues of football were all in place as Town astutely, cutely carved Cambridge apart. A triumph of planning and execution. All hail the chief for the proud fulfilment of the great, noble call!

Apart from Maxie Crocramp's surprising slackness for Sam Smith's slinky header, we're stretching for minor gripes, where the imperfections are amplified for a false narrative balance. Efete sunk Dunk, Waterfall wrapped their man called Ironside in a blanket and wheeled him away from goal, Green cleaned up any detritus dropped by the hovering gulls, whilst the front three shimmered and shook the tottering timbers with precision pressing.

Delightful, delicious, delectable and sent us delirious, now let's get serious and do it in the league occasionally. Can you do it? Yes you Khan.

Like a toothless Rochdale, like a feckless Crawley, like a bird on a wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir these Amberites are destined for disappointment.

Like the hand-dryers in their toilets, they are a gentle warm breeze that caused no harm to passing strangers.

Whatsisface, thingy, 'im over there, he ran around in circles. Blokeyman, the scuttler, he scuttled. That big bloke, he's big. Anonymous, forgettable, forlorn and failing. They had no heart, they just tried too hard to look the part and were easily taken apart.

With a fortunate loan signing in January they may, just may, avoid relegation to the Bananarama. A weak training ground team, all satisfying triangles of sadness and badness, busy going nowhere but down, down, down. They'll be gone, gone, gone, woah-oah gone as their fans aren't loving that losing feeling.

We're sorry for your loss, you have our sympathies. You'll be back where you belong soon enough. Gravity is merciless.

Living those dreams and scheming those schemes.

Mr C Brooks

He mostly blew his whistle at appropriate times for appropriate reasons, though a little too willing to flash yellow at pinkmen for Amber squeals. Yeah, Green was diddled by Wisdom-like pratfalling by Tracey. But why quibble at the occasional wibble, the Brooksmeister kept things moving and kept things tight: 7.777.

Total football.

In a word: magic