Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 20 October 2012

FA Cup (Q4)

Grimsby Town 2 Niven (20), Neilson (45)

Kidderminster Harriers 4 Malbon (9), Dunkley (15), Vaughan (18), Johnson (90)

Attendance: 2092 (84 away fans)

Town snoozed, a short corner, a yellowman lollopped from afar and scraped across the area. Miller poked and missed. Hatton lay down as Malbon plucked his chicken, stuffed his chicken and cooked his chicken as Townites counted their chickens.

Wood woed, allowing Malbon to edit the first draft of his autobiography. A phalanx of monochrome feet was merely a semicolon in the misery memoirs. Hung high to the far post, Dunkley arose alone as Elding kissed his own badge.

Town indulged in a Mexican stand-off with their own id. Pond lunged, Malbon plunged and the referee's fingers did the talking. Vaughan stroked the penalty left and low of the mowing McKeown. There was a yellow glow in the Osmond.

Town triangled tremendously as Neilson surged and tickled. Hatton continued the pattern and Niven swivelled and swiped in one balletic movement through the yellow.

A Town corner yellowed to Neilson on the penalty spot. The leg moved, the ball grooved off strange parts of the custard tarts and bagatelled off a post.

Beyond time. Niven nearly-glanced across the wide Sargasso sea. Another Town corner with Jamie Mack barundling into the melee. Cook noodled, the keeper flapped, McKeown stretched and slapped on the line. Hoiked away, two diddy Kiddymen ran off with the spoon, waltzing into the empty Town half and empty Town net as the ground emptied. Some bloke no-one can be bothered to remember walked the ball in. Johnson, they claim.

The end.

If they hadn't chosen Scott Neilson the day-snackers would have died of shame. Unlike Town's sweet FA dream, they are still alive, and still snacking..

The evidence before the court is incontrovertible; there's no need for the jury to retire. No-one else was in the same footballing universe.

Oh dear, oh dear. A perambulating peacock in reserve, Sam the Pram was a consistently constant source of casual calamity. What a day for a daydream, for Hatton was blowing the day to take a walk in the sun and fell on his face on Town's new mowed lawn. He passed the ball accurately a couple of times. Well done you. Mad Frankie Artus gets half a crown of thorns for an hour of utter, utter tosh.

We can't find anything yet. You can sort of imagine though.

"I'm pleased that the lads managed to get the win today... some of our football and movement, they just couldn't cope with us."

Full-back failure led to financial loss and a loss of nerve. Town started as they had against Dartford, like it was simply a social obligation to inhabit the same time zone and air as their uninvited guests. The back four, collectively, was extremely shoddy, with Pond a conspicuous iceberg in the Humber, unwilling or unable to deal with the source of Worcester joy: Blissett the beanstalk. For half an hour Town drenched the Kiddymen without taking advantage of an extremely wonky goalkeeper and wobbly defence. Disley's 20 minutes reshaped the sponge into something resembling a cake, but the icing eventually melted in the heat. Town lost the big mo in the second half when they moved to a 4-3-3 formation which had Artus on the right and Thanoj the left. They ran out of steam, they ran out of ideas and they ran out of luck in front of McKeown. In the end, Town successfully managed to avoid victory.

Nothing to write home about, they were just a bog-standard Conference team. If you give them time, they can control the ball and hit it towards their mates. If you give them even more time and enough opportunities, they'll have a shot on target. They weren't as sleek in attack as Telford, and were equally bad at the back with a worse goalkeeper. The Kiddymen had a method and Town let them hone it to perfidious adequacy. Malbon and Rowe were scuttling pests, while Blissett was allowed to knock-knee his way around the slot machines for a lovely day out by the sea. The Kidders collapsed at even a hint of being pressured. Kidderminster were average, but that was enough.

As heckless as Town were feckless. The duvet of disinterest had descended way before the end of this affair.

Mr D Handley (Lancs)

Was inconsistent in applying the advantage rule, but beyond that there are no memories of this chunky chugger. He did look a bit like Elton John though. So, unlike Town, he's still standing with a mighty 6.000.

Oldham is just a fantasy.

There was a whole lotta assonance going on.