Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Friday 2 April 2010

Division 4

Grimsby Town 1 Coulson (42)

Northampton Town 2 Davis (18), Akinfenwa (68)

Attendance: 6482

For his new hairdo and for dancing with tears in his eyes.

He scared them so much that Northampton took it in turns to massage his statistics. From first to last Monsieur Ak de Ak was a demon, battling cobbling limbs and official prejudice. C'est magnifique, mais Akpra-Akpo n'est pas un buteur.

"We were really on top come half time. Michael's goal was superb. We didn't start the second half as well as I would have liked, but the sending-off turned the game on its head."

"I do feel for Grimsby a little bit because they did not deserve to have a man sent off. It was probably one of the hardest games we have had all season. Grimsby really went for it and their tempo of play from start to finish was excellent and they should be proud of themselves."

Cobblers. With an awfully wobbly defence who didn't like it up 'em, and a home-made flap-jack in goal, they were strangely mundane for the 'form team of the division'. They were Buckleyian in attack, with a beefy Reesian wall-flicker in Akinfenwa and a couple of tricksy-dicksy wingers, rocking and rolling on the counter attack. Northampton Town are decent but no better than half a dozen mid-table organised scufflers -€“ they look like play-off fringers at best. They were offensively organised and Davis is slumming it in the fourth, devastating when he could be bothered to use his power and pace to lace Bore's curtains. A half-time text summed it up: "Town's only worries are their number 14 and the ref."

For those whose hopes are about to die, we salute you. The ire was turned on the dire referee.

Mr A Taylor (Greater Manchester)
It's a fool's game, standing in the cold rain, refereeing like a clown. This dangerous fool changed the course of history, for he saw what didn't happen, but failed to see what occurred. Ak-Ak was tormented by a gang of muggers all night, yet the local constable sat in his panda car sucking ice pops and listening to musicals. The elbow on Bore brought forth a mere yellow, yet he couldn't wait to get the red card out for an imagined assault. Something only he, and he alone, saw from far, far away. Was he merely Francophobe, or did a deeper-rooted jaundice lurk within his tiny mind? He's a special one alright: -23.78 (MINUS TWENTY-THREE POINT SEVEN EIGHT). He hammered several nails into the coffin as it slid slowly into the grave.

We can't lie to you about our chances of survival. Do we who watch have your sympathy?