Cod Almighty | Article

by Jesse Guittard

15 December 2003

London Road's covered standing area was rendered useless last Saturday, as there was no rain and no sun to be protected from. All the little awning did was to block the view of any hoofed balls sailing through the air. But though it was comfortably dry, it was plenty cold. Thankfully I had my black and white Grimsby scarf to keep me warm - when I wasn't waving it above my head and yelling.

The news from back home was just as depressing. My San Francisco 49ers were 5 and 7 going into the weekend and stood third in their division of four teams. The list was appalling: half of the starters on the offensive and defensive sides are suffering from injuries; our superhero quarterback has been reduced to a nervous, indecisive wreck; and our new coach is at a loss for what to do. I was hoping another day of Mariners football would pick me up from the pain I suffered when dwelling upon 49ers football. But sadly this did not happen - and another load of misery was heaped on my back.

The day started off quite poorly. I arrived over 20 minutes late in meeting my mates before we piled in the car and began the road trip out to Peterborough. Ironic pain began to set in when I learned that Cas, Boulding and Iffy were all injured and questionable to play. I couldn't escape the string of bad news coming my way.

The Grimsby contingent was out in strength at London Road. I saw inflatable fish, beach balls flying through the crowd, scarves waving, and a sea of black and white stripes highlighted with names like Crane, Boulding and Anderson. The sea was stirring up a storm of songs littered with hearty profanity, which covered everything from mockery of the opposing team and their fans in the glorious rendition of "Who the fucking hell are you?" to stating their own place of origin in the ever-popular "We are Town" chant. It was a world away from the cold, solitary section in Griffin Park where only a few dozen were able to carry the tune. Now I was in good spirits. I had almost forgotten about my melancholy mood when doubt and fear grew inside of me once again as soon as the officiating crew took to the field. They looked like a screwy bunch as soon as I saw them. 

As soon as the whistle blew for the kick off, Peterborough took to the offensive. It was almost a repeat of the Brentford game, with Town coming down to play at the level of their opponents. Peterborough kept control of the ball for the most part but did not show mastery of position. Then there were the officials. Watching them bumble all over the field got me feeling low again. I didn't trust them from the beginning. This drop in my mood rekindled the thoughts of injury. I frantically searched the field for some of the players who were injured and sick, hoping to see them sprinting across the pitch. Iffy was out there at striker, and Cas was on the bench, but Boulding was nowhere to be seen. I was far from stoked to see Jevons in place of my man Micky, the hero of the Brentford game. I retained my faith in the team - if not the situation.

The first goal proved to be a lovely demonstration of the well-honed skills of the bumbling officials as a cross was brought down by a Peterborough hand and placed into the corner of the goal. London Road erupted in cheers but the Grimsby fans remained strong and, after a few groans and shouts at the officiating, yelled against the great surge of the home stadium. Despite the Peterborough offensives, Crane was a standout in the first half by clearing various threatening balls from the box. The tide of the half did not change but Jevons was able to equalise the score just before half time after putting a deflected free kick past the keeper.

After the worrisome half, Town came to life. Staying true to the 'Brentford formula', they came back stronger after half time and were able to dictate the pace of the game rather than playing the match according to the style of their opponents. However, though plays in the field were executed well, various sloppy errors and poor officiating kept the Mariners from scoring. Jevons headed a cross over the crossbar instead of heading it down, and shanked a shot above and left of the goal, and though a few other players were guilty of errors, it seems that Jevons was the focus of most. I began to miss Boulding.

The officials, meanwhile, were a bit confused about the meaning of offsides. Bumbling around on the pitch, they never could seem to get the right angle to judge whether or not a player was offside and just decided that any Town offensive could be deemed an infringement of official FA Cup rules. At one point I think I actually saw the line judge scratch himself and look down at the grass before calling the Mariners offside. It was a great testament to their skills.

Town's good efforts in the face of such odds were put down after Hamilton lost a ball in midfield, allowing Peterborough to score on a breakaway. My heart sank but I kept the energy alive and wildly waved my scarf above my head and joined the cheers of the other fans. Anyone could come back after being down one. Especially if the momentum was in their favour and they were controlling play.

Town came back into the match with the same control and effort as in the beginning of the half, but a second breakaway by Peterborough led to another score which left Town down 3-1. I began to fear the worst but remained loud and positive with the Grimsby contingent.

With 15 minutes remaining in regulation, Cas entered the game. As a result, five minutes later, Town had another score after a scramble in the box. With ten minutes remaining and the momentum in their favour, Town seemed able to equalise the match before the final whistle. My heart was in my throat and after a few good tries near the goal the momentum died and Peterborough took control of the final minutes of the match to draw it to a close. The whistle blew, London Road cheered, the officials cheered, and the Grimsby fans filed out of the stadium. 

I left the 'historic city of Peterborough' with an enormous chip on my shoulder. I felt robbed. I knew we had beaten ourselves and that the officials had helped. That is the worst feeling any fan or player can have. So, in the end, a day of Mariner football could not save me from my woes as a 49er fan.