Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Tuesday 26 August 2025

League Cup (2)

Grimsby Town 2 Vernam (22), Warren (30)

Manchester United 2 Mbeumo (75), Maguire (89)

Attendance: 8,647 (1,169 away fans)

Young Cam was inspired, a constant pest, causing many a mirthful moment around old Jerry Maguire's ankles. What a game to have his best performance by far.

It could have been anyone. Pym's timely slaps and claps, Warren's taming of the stray Tesco trolley, Khouri's clattering and clanging, but let's hear it for the Leighton Buzzard buzzcut boy for ultra professional unflusterability. Cunha, Sesko, Mbeumo, £194m in his pocket. If only, eh?

The current pinnacle of a career provided a platform for Big Dave to be the lead vocal in a song of praise for raising expectations:

"All four corners of the ground was magnificent. The players deserve every accolade, every plaudit, every credit that comes their way because I thought we represented the town, the community, the whole area unbelievably well."

And the world was listening.

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It won't be long I've heard them say until he's not around. Remorseful Ruby looked up from his etch-a-sketch and heard the Grimsby Reaper a-rumbling towards Offshore Jim's Theatre of the Absurd:

"I'm shocked, I'm shocked. We need to show up, something has to change. The players clearly show what they want…Something has to change and you're not going to change 22 players again."

"What matters is we need to be different and that is the job of the coach and you can see that nothing changes. If we win this game it would be so unfair to these guys. Congratulations to them."

"I don't know what to say to the fans. And that's it."

For god's sake turn around.

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When it rains or shines, it's just a state of mind, and Town's minds were focused, driven on by a raucous and rambunctious crowd. This was a nearly perfect performance, but with a suitably perfect ending.

The defence was incredible given all the disruption and especially the absence of centre-backs. The midfield did all its best work in the negative – stopping these millionaires from strutting and soon getting them tutting at each other.

They had a plan, they held their nerve. Magnificent in every way. OK, Bristol Rovers on Saturday. Let's crack on. If we can beat this shower we stand a chance against those Pirates.

It's hard to love a club that's all bent and paralysed. Our scales may be smaller but, dear followers of fashion, we know, we've been there. A fish rots from the head, not the head coach.

Yes, it's true they ain't the team they used to be. They ain't a team, just a collection of small furry animals moaning about being picked for a night out near Scunthorpe and a day trip to Meggies. Each of their employed footballers is superior to these monochrome working class heroes, athletically and technically. And none of them considered it their duty, their obligation, to perform near their full capabilities, content to waddle and quack, to pose, to peacock with showboating prissy passing and non-movement.

Too much money means not enough personal jeopardy with insufficient commitment to any cause. Every single player should be thoroughly ashamed of themselves, they didn't even play for themselves. They didn't like it up 'em.

I can't say I was disappointed with Manchester United. They were delightful day-trippers who stripped themselves of dignity.

A sound of such magnificent and prolonged volume as to appear utterly beyond human capability.

Mr T Harrington

Without artificial aides, merely using old-fashioned methods of eyes, ears and judgement, the pastel peeper got, overall, most things right. Warren first caught his fish before filleting, but then again Onana cleared out Rodgers, so it would have been a VAR penalty. They cancel each other out. And Gardner's (non)goal was the linesman's call.

We shall celebrate Mr H with ten summersets on solid ground at 8 o'clock every Wednesday: 8.999993

Seeing is believing.

In a word: history