Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 8 December 2007

Division 4

Brentford 0

Grimsby Town 1 Jones (57)

Attendance: 3999

There was no stand-out performance of immense immenseness, where eulogies shall be written by the great poets to echo through the Pontoon for evermore, or until The Fentydoom finds it's Steve Austin. Barnes mostly dealt with things, mostly, though his belief in catching as a two-stage process involving at least one bounce of the ball is disconcerting. Ciaran Tobleroner ran around a lot, getting in the way sufficiently well for us to overlook his triangular boots. Bolland hassled effectively and Hegggggggggarty was unstinting in his persistence, while Sir Lumpalot rode out of London Town with his head held high and another notch on his tickling stick; Old Lumpy rose to the occasion with his dainty dancing feet and 20Gb brain. Despite the occasional dawdle Ryan Bennett gets the nod from the Pontoon Popular People's Front, for a series of last-ditch, leg-wiggling blocks and tackles.

"For once I didn't have to change the system because they kept their discipline very well."

"We feel very disappointed because we feel we should have won it."

In the mould of their manager, the Brentford Pylons were big, brainless and butch, except for the little scampy ones. "Biff it long, bang 'em hard" should be their motto, with Frank Goliath, the Middlesex baby-crusher, and Boris Mineburg trundling around their arena of apathy. Without any doubt the most unremittingly dreary team Town have played this year, they had no redeeming features. Terry built his city on rock 'n' roll, but if you tap it, you unwrap it. They are simply 20 years out of date in their tactics and style, even if they haven't yet adopted perms and short shorts. Maybe they will next year when they are sat around the Four Square Conference table, for that is where they are heading under present management. Butcher in!

Mr P Melin (Surrey)
This big drip was absolutely awful. He had no grasp of the basic concepts of physics, for he consistently interpreted falling Townites as failed foulers. His insistence on throw-ins being taken from exactly the wrong spot further back was his only idea of firm control. He was like Tuesday's ref, but worse. You, you, you know his name, now look up his number: 3.013.

We won and the Town fans didn't get wet.