Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 18 January 2014

Conference Premier

Grimsby Town 2 McDonald (8), Bignot (82)

Gateshead 2 Larkin (14 pen), Maddison (55)

Attendance: 3243 (61 away fans)

Inspired by the presence of the King of the Stepovers, the matchday munchers mulled and opted for the default position, the man without fault: Shaun Pearson.

I don't want you to get into an erroneous funk over your post-match jazz piano. McDonald and Pearson were particularly comfortable, but selecting them would suggest that Gateshead were more strikingly frightening and slickly tricky than they were. They were all perfectly OK, apart from Hannah and the unhappy Shopper. And the wildly inconsistent and incandescent Thomas. And Joltin' Joe. And Captain Dizzerpointing. It was obviously Alan Pouton.

"We had little bits which we need to be better at – we were offside too many times, our ball retention at times wasn't great, but at the same time I thought there was some good football played. That's a sign of our team and the confidence that they have."

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"We had to defend a lot late on and then they got the equaliser, but, make no mistake, going to Grimsby and getting a point is a massive result for us."

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Disley was anonymous, Kerr's knees clearly clanked and creaked before he conked out, while the toothless two up front were a comfort blanket for the functionally adequate centre-backs. Apart from that, Town were perfectly fine; it was one of their better league performances. There was cohesion and a deliberate attempt to keep the football on the ground with many chances created. And fluffed.

It was a strange mixture of frustration and elation in a game of constant consternation. The players were distracted and energised by the whistling madness, rising and rousing to the last. For all the moments created, they never looked like scoring. For all the defensive solidity, it always looked like the Heeders would pick an accidental pocket or two.

Just one of those days.

'Looked good, did nothing' would be a curmudgeonly summary. Look deeper into their eyes, what do you see? A house being built, so look at the floor plan. Have they got enough toilets and sockets though?

Rapid fire one-liners between wisecracking old stagers and young pretenders is all superficially impressive, but where's the beef? They had ballet dancers and mime artists in attack, which may go down well in regional rep but doesn't get you on to the West End stage, Mrs Worthington. How many shots did they have? Three.

They are back to where they were four years ago under Colonel Bogie, and are clearly a York in progress, so heed the warning of the future of the Heed.

In a ferment and fug, blinded by the light entertainment fripperies of the mad man in charge.

Mr R Joyce (N Yorks)

Ah, Mr Joyce, actions of men are the best discovery of their thoughts, and mistakes are the portals of discovery.

Clattenburgian in his arrogant incompetence and wilfully antagonising, and that's the positive interpretation. He missed at least seven handballs by Townites, two of which were inside the penalty area. He couldn't wait to award free kicks, especially against Town's full-backs, and revelled in the loathing. He forgot who made some fouls, and failed to see who didn't make others.

His Village People semaphores for 'yes/no', 'is he/isn't he' decisions just added to the sense of a man with a mangled metaphysical mojo and for whom a score of any sort would be an insult to the wider refereeing brotherhood. 0.00.

Why? What! Eh? Urr! Yes! Noooooooooooooooooo! Cheeses! Grrrrrumble, tumble, fumble, rumble. Greeeeeeeeeeat! Where's my pitchfork?

In a word: hoarsemeat