Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 5 March 2011

Conference Premier

Grimsby Town 2 Coulson (37, 53)

Wimbledon 1 Yussuff (24)

Attendance: 3182 (303 away fans)

We're gonna take a sentimental journey, it's gonna set your heart at ease. It is the law that whenever our Stevie C shall partake in begloved roaring he shall receive some slightly sparkling wine from the designated driver. Stevie C, the Kitten, the last remnant of the Old Town: it had to be Steve Croudson for being so solid, dependable, reliable and heart warmingly local. Your heart is warming just reading his name, isn't it. Lovely lad, lovely game. Lovely..

Ahh, to renew old memories... Ninety minutes of trying try-iness by everyone (Mr Fluffy excepted) was enough for the lotus petals to be cast into several post-match baths. The Atkempsons were fine with the Kempo side of the family baking some exceedingly good cakes. Bore's brain was switched on and he was unfussed by the son of Tricky Dicky. The midfield all did their best, with even Oh Leary taking the game of his life seriously, being turned on and tuned in. These were merely the excellent supporting cast. The star of the show was Michael Coulson: energy, spirit, skill, goals. Everything.

"I thought the players did extremely well. Great game for them, top of the table, things set themselves up really. I thought there were some very good performances."

"Defensively we weren't at our best today and we were punished. Grimsby had most of the game and created a number of good chances. They did more than us to win the match."

The Real Wombledoners were a pleasant surprise. There was nothing to them, like the Town munchkins had pulled the curtain aside to reveal a bunch of brickies with a megaphone. They had a basic efficiency and deployed a basic method: a lot of big balls to their big men. When they did bother to pass and move they had some wit about them, with their wingers being fast and probably causing fury with a penchant for piddling and fiddling. Yusseff was a rangy, languid and stylish pest – when he could be roused from a siesta. Their strikers had big bottoms. Defensively they were capable of dealing with straight punts, but were discombobulated by sneaky sexy football, especially in the void between their centre-backs and full-backs. They have a reputation in non-League sewing circles for being holier than thou – they were just holey today. Maybe we saw the Bootleg Bumblers and the real things stayed at home.

Alive! The monster is alive, Igor! Dutiful attendance morphed into a connection with those on the pitch. We even got a chorus of the strangulating "Ma-rin-ers", the ultimate sign of belief and connection.

Mr R Merchant (Staffs)
Had the unfortunate demeanour of someone who had been bullied a lot at school, and was therefore pliable. He looked kindly towards the Wombledoners, but was sterner upon the Townite tackles, leading to a conclusion that he was not consistent in applying the rules of the game. He also worked on the theory that two wrong decisions make a right decision. Not wholly trustworthy, always on the brink of a howler, he was just par for the boggy course. We've seen worse: 5.00001.

Town don't lose with the Kitten in goal.