Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 8 September 2012

Conference Premier

Grimsby Town 1 Pond (63)

Forest Green Rovers 0

Attendance: 3270

What so attracted the glass box Grimbarians to James McKeown? It must have been the tight trousers..

A team display of staunchness, based on defensive solidity where the individual displays fluctuated wildly in competence and effectiveness. Niven and Disley sauntered and strutted like the old pros they are, snuffling out any candles near Town's curtains. The centre-backs had rocks in their socks, but Aswad Thomas was quietly everything, forward and back. Hatton owes him a bunch of roses.

"It was a tight affair -€“ lots of firm challenges and a bit of cat and mouse but obviously I'm gonna say that I felt we deserved the win over the course of the game."

"Their keeper's made a number of great saves. I felt that whatever football was played was by us... I felt that if we'd scored we could have gone on and won it. Their keeper I'd probably give man of the match to -€“ some great saves."

Yet another example of the defensive discipline and organisation that have increasingly become apparent as the motif of this season. The back six (excepting the woeful Hatton) were excellent, with Niven and Disley a pleasing pivot in the centre. Probably best not talk about the attacking four. There just wasn't much going on.

It depends on your expectations. Newly enriched pre-season favourites, unbeaten and top of the league suggests something akin to creepy Crawley or flash Fleetwood. The reality was much more mundane. A solid bunch of professionals with an unseemly niggle beneath the surface, nothing more than that. Distinctly unscary. They tried to pass it around, but didn't have the wit to penetrate an organised opposition. They passed pleasingly sideways and only threatened at set pieces. They could say the same about Town, which will tell you what they are. Curiously underwhelming, they'll be near the top, but they ain't special.

Slumbering in the sun, awoken by annoying officials, the Mariners mojo was risin'.

Mr S Stockbridge (Tyne & Wear)
When you're tired of Seb Stockbridge, you're human. The man was a wilful fool -€“ wilfool if you will, sir. Every lime lunge and marmalade mug was unseen and completely one-eyed after the fifth minute. The examples are small, but legion. The man will be some kind of legend if he carries on like this. A series of small wilfool perversions of reality lead to a conclusion that he is not worthy of a positive number: 0.0000.

A capacity for light-heartedness and play has been inhibited by the cult of efficiency.

Our capacity for winning matches had been inhibited by the cult of deficiency.