Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Simon Wilson

19 November 2005

Wycombe Wanderers 3 Grimsby Town 1

A fresh day in Buckinghamshire, with temperatures approaching those that preserve vegetables in the freezer. There was a crispness to the land, the air, and the light, reminiscent of Thomas Hardy's less dark prose. John Lukic junior participated in the pre-match de-freeze, seemingly having visited the same hairdresser as a younger Danny Butterfield. Martin Gritton showed the form that has kept him on the bench, chipping just over like Wayne Rooney, shooting just over the angle like Kingsley Black. The first two rows of the away end were cordoned off. Was Peter Crouch due to score his first goal for Liverpool today at Adams Park?

The Wycombe mascot, Bodger, halfway along his saunter in front of the nattering visitors, had just about milked some attention before the unexpected entrance from stage right of our away day mascot, Chairman John. A cool saunter, an impish grin, thumbs up, a wave, and - before outstaying his welcome - an equally suave exit. Now that's showmanship. A stark contrast to their chairman Beeks: "Back off! I'll rip out your eyes and piss on your brain!" Or have I got the wrong guy?

In the centre circle, the UK's 'freestyle champ' (the Twenty20 of football) showed his full array of tricks. Time for our free-of-style champs to enter the fray: Mildenhall, McDermott, Newey, Ramsden, Whittle, Cohen, Toner, Bolland, Parkinson, G Jones, Reddy (the subs were Croft, Andrew, Gritton, Barwick and JPK). Town wore their 'first choice' colours, said to be the same as a local boys team, right down to the red socks. I have yet to check if they are called Hughenden Valley Mariners.

First half
Town were allowed to kick off, and with it to keep the brief distinction of some possession. With four touches the team lugged the ball halfway down the pitch, allowing big Stevie Mildenhall to screw the ball out down our left. A few groans started, Wycombe sprightly took the throw-in, and a couple of passes sliced through our left flank like a knife through cheesecake. The ball whipped in, and Griffin, dropping back a yard off Whittle, rose to plant the ball across the goal and narrowly wide. The Town fans groaned, this time more in number and somewhat louder. The game was not yet a minute old. Like a dentist's hint of "Now this one might sting", excruciating pain seemed inevitable.

A couple of minutes later, and Sir Macca did the honourable thing, fouling Tommy Mooney on the right. Easton cracked in a dangerous ball across the face of the goal, with the Town defence static, but luckily two Wycombe players were not quite primed and ready. Wycombe applied the tiniest degree of pressure, and Town's players submitted, losing the ball and losing sight of the ball. Town were decidedly off-colour, looking edgy, bereft of sharpness, giving Wycombe too much respect.

They won a corner. "Come on Town, win it! Get it out!" Which they did, eventually, after Whittle needed two bites of the proverbial cherry to ricochet the ball to Toner, who in turn thumped the ball up the left flank... where Mr Michael Reddy was waiting to engage the afterburners as the ball landed just in front of him, bursting forward, bearing towards the box, all the while pursued by one of their defenders. Into the box the man with the velcro boots sped, only to crumple under a challenge. A cynical dispossession or Reddy's vertebrae giving way? The ref and linesman were too far behind the action, such was the speed at which the ball went upfield, to have had that good a view. The murmur of "ooooh" from that home corner suggests it might have been closer than the Town fans' half-hearted appeals suggested.

This lightning charge upfield proved a momentary respite, as Bolland's heavy touch allowed the ball to break to Mooney, who paced forward and shot from the 'D'. Breaths were held as the inevitable loomed. The ball - like a traditional Sensible Soccer goal - curled to Mildenhall's right. The big man dived well, catching the ball. Phew.

It felt like a game of pinball, the ball being launched into play by Mildenhall, only for it to drop down the table towards the gaping hole of Town's goal, Town's defenders the flappers, I mean flippers, firing the ball back up whenever and wherever they could. Betsy in particular was benefiting from Town's benign approach to competing, being Wycombe's almost solitary initiator of attacks from the right wing.

In the tenth minute Betsy skipped past Newey, placing his cross between the keeper and the backline. Griffin nicked ahead of Macca at the far post, shot over. The signs weren't ominous, more blatant. Once Town got round to cleanly clearing the ball, Wycombe set about delivering their most composed, controlled and chilling riposte, with the defence playing the ball across the pitch, from right-back to left wing, working the ball into Town's territory all the while. The play was then switched again, with the ball arriving for Mooney to drill a shot narrowly past the post. The hopeful confidence was draining out of us. Or was it just the cold? Is this how dying feels, the warmth of life leaving our being?

Town awoke. Newey scampered towards the halfway line, and played the ball square, where it was touched on for Macca to sprint on to. His Lordship, presented with acres of space to run into, looked up and sent a cross that initially seemed overhit. Jones had other ideas and, five yards to the left of the Wycombe goal, rose to meet the ball, which ballooned up and dropped onto the crossbar. The fans awoke. Realisation shone us in the face: this was do-able. Moments later Parkinson - previously anonymous - slid the ball through for Reddy to hurtle on to and push his shot too close to Turner.

Wycombe had had enough of this playing around with us shit. They came at us, toyed with us, pulling us about like a lump of play-dough. And Newey wasn't in the mood to be played with, taking out his chief tormentor Betsy. The free kick came in. The defence was unharmonious, each note out of tune. The ball dropped to the ground and Town's ponderous, dithering, conviction-free defence allowed it to reach Griffin, who struck it down perfectly into the corner. The Town players looked down...

...but not out. From the resumption of play, the players dug in to etch out a passage of passing. Parkinson, just outside the box, dinked the ball to Reddy, who seemed to get to it just ahead of their goalie, the ball rolling towards the exposed goal. With the Town fans already on their feet, their arms were starting to lift into the air; the Wycombe fans' arms were moving towards their heads. With a sudden burst of pace a defender cleared the ball just before the goal-line. The Town fans grasped their heads. The Wycombe fans behind the opposite goal reciprocated as if they had scored.

The teams moved on to exchange free kicks in useful positions, both overhit, before Parkinson stamped his presence on the game, jinking his way through midfield from the centre circle, before flicking the ball out to Reddy on the right. His cross was met by a solid header from Jones, which Turner did well to catch to his right.

Getting into the swing of things, Town took some time out to pass the ball about. It was hardly fluid, but interchanges were made between the defence and Bolland. Shame Town didn't get beyond the halfway line, but at least they were having a go, trying to shape their own destiny rather than resorting to the 100 per cent certainty of one of the blue-shirted backline heading the ball well clear.

Another Wycombe free-kick was reluctantly cleared. Five minutes later, after Gary Cohen had cameoed with a crisp diving challenge way up the pitch, Town's defending was at fault again. Betsy skipped down the right wing and cut inside, leaving Cohen and then Newey on their arses. At the bye-line he pulled the ball back, where Bloomfield stretched ahead of his marker to steer the ball across Mildenhall. Drat, and double drat! And to top it all, Bloomfield did an annoyingly jaunty hippity-hoppity run to celebrate.

Town started all over again, gave away the ball, and the buoyant Chairboys looked to grab a third by springing Griffin through. Luckily for Town the linesman adjudged them to have sprung too early. Gary Jones received the free kick on the left edge of their box, turned, turned again, and ran with the ball to the corner, where his attempted cross was blocked. Newey ran up and put a first-time cross in, which the diving Cohen managed to win near the penalty spot with a flicked header, which looped off into the air off a Wycombe defender. As the ball fell, the Wycombe defender watched as Reddy volleyed it in.

It wasn't long after the restart that Reddy was in the thick of things again, tapping a bobbling ball wide past Turner. Despite starting like they were hungover, Town had grown over the past ten minutes. Maybe the Alka Seltzer had kicked in. Game on!

Gary Jones, who had drifted deep into midfield, took out Rob Lee from behind. After a heated discussion Jones was booked, with Mooney and Bolland also receiving a bit of advice from their friendly neighbourhood cardslinger. An intricate (or 'well worked') free kick saw the ball floated over Whittle's head, across goal, but with no-one there to take advantage of the final ball. Phew! A flurry in midfield saw a number of throw-ins before it was left to the players to repair to the dressing room.

Burnell for them was assiduous, but Town were the creators of their own early downfall: lingering on the ball; heavy second and third touches that allowed the opposition to resume their offensive possession; or simply laying the ball to the feet of a blue-shirted player. Once they awoke the players realised they could match Wycombe, even take them. It is a shame it took two goals for that fire to completely ignite.

Second half
Wycombe got the second period under way with Town now attacking towards their supporters. The home side started as they did the first half, snapping into tackles, nicking the ball away, taking the game to Town. Betsy took an early opportunity to cross for Burnell, six yards out. Mildenhall showed great reactions to grab Burnell's headed attempt.

The teams exchanged possession, and Parkinson's first touch on the right was a notable one, playing the ball in to Jones stood on the edge of the area. The ref saw something no Town fans seemed to, although the players hardly objected to this seeming injustice.

Reddy was caught offside; Johnson hit the ball forwards, only for the Town defence to deal unusually capably with the threat and work the ball to Toner - starting to show presence in midfield - whose ankles were clipped by Keogh. Reddy had a chase with Johnson along the left touchline, which Johnson cutely backheeled away from the gloved forward to another Town player. A few throw-ins, then a foul by Wycombe, Town giving possession away with a heavy touch... pretty much the repetitive pattern for the ensuing five minutes.

Rob Lee, set up after the ball broke to Betsy, fired in a 25-yarder which cannoned off Whittle; the ricochet was knocked wildly over. Whittle and Ramsden started to eschew passing through midfield for a more direct option. At the opposite end Reddy astutely controlled one of those balls, and crossed to the advancing Bolland, only for Johnson to nick the ball off the ginger ninja's head.

Sixty minutes of the game had gone, and these last fifteen had opened the game up into more of an end-to-end contest than in the less eventful first half.

Macca overlapped on the inside, only to be felled by the otherwise impressive Burnell. Toner took the free kick, but the ball came back out where the ex-Lincoln man's partner in dead ball crimes waited. Cometh the hour, cometh the man? Not if it is Tom Newey, but his volleyed pop on goal had some venom on it, albeit rising too sharply. Newey also had a dig from outside the 'D' with a curling free kick, which could have done with some of the pace in his previous effort.

Toner fouled Mooney, but the back line was again on top of things. Parkinson, down the right wing and 25 yards from the end of the pitch, had no options inside and decided to have an early dig on the half volley which flew across the face of the goal but was always off target.

Gary Jones, who had drifted away from a forward position, was withdrawn for Martin Gritton, the cue for a 'more immediately forward' approach throughout. Town simply threw away possession as Keogh and Johnson were more than equal to this, providing their midfield with more service. Griffin had another close-range headed attempt after a Betsy ball, which Mildenhall was equal to.

Guess what's next, and it's not a goal. Another set piece, this time a corner (which Senda seemed to be very adept at taking), met by Keogh dead centre. Again Mildenhall showed his worth with a reaction stop. Someone went off for them (I think Lee, who gave the ball back to us more than any other Wycombe player) and someone else came on. Rather than waiting for the ball to reach him, Reddy finally got to a ball, his flick knocked by a defender across his own six-yard area. Where was the support?

The home team continued to look to extend their advantage. Griffin shot from distance, while the contest between Betsy and Newey really started to heat up, the Town left-back getting some oomph into his challenges. Newey's temperature continued to rise, until he was booked for a reckless challenge. A minute later Newey went in strongly on Betsy again. "Off, off!" hollered the home fans. The referee had a word with Newey, and Senda stood over the ball. His ball in was perfect, and Whittle wilted as Johnson - the obvious threat from such positions, who went close earlier - firmly headed their third goal.

Off we go again. Cohen picked up the ball and ran down the left, Ramsden collecting his pass and crossing. Parkinson was the obvious target, but Gritton seemed to backtrack, possibly distracting Parkinson as he shot over. They made another change. We made two: Newey taken off before he got sent off, for the return of Crofty; Cohen, who had vainly worked down the left, replaced by Calvin Andrew. Betsy continued to torment whoever inhabited the left-back berth, drawing a foul from Croft. Luckily Johnson, who met the ball firmly enough from very close range, wasn't accurate enough to net his second as the ball flashed wide. Mildenhall then kept one of the subs (Dixon?) out from a smartly met sliding shot from the edge of the area.

Town's constant hoofing managed to coax a corner with five minutes to go when Reddy's soft shot hit a defender, but Mooney was the first man. A couple of minutes later, with the game degenerating into an increasingly desperate and ineffective assault by Grimsby, Wycombe broke and Dixon had time to place his shot from 20 yards, narrowly curling the ball high. The game petered out into a succession of throw-ins and free kicks, the penultimate going to the Mariners: Croft's, comfortably cleared from the box. When Reddy was caught offside, the scoreboard already signalled we were in the third minute of added time. Turner's punt was enough for the ref to call time.

Overall, we didn't deserve anything from this game. All three goals were from set pieces, the defending shoddy and not down to Wycombe's perceived superiority. Some warning signs are there for Slade. In previous games Wycombe have shown weaknesses. At times Town exposed those, but not consistently and, as the game wore on, decreasingly. Did Town venerate the home team too much?

An entertaining game nonetheless. Hats off to Wycombe, whose approach to games is laudable, proof that the champions of this division could again be a footballing side (and a wake-up call for those who believe you can't win this league in such a fashion: witness Yeovil and Doncaster in the previous two seasons). "We made them look ordinary," said a Wycombe fan on the way out. Au contraire: Town are ordinary, full stop. Time to put this game to one side and concentrate on being less ordinary than the rest of the teams in this division.