Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 8 August 2015

Conference Premier

Kidderminster Harriers 2 Styche (60), Verma (90+2)

Grimsby Town 2 Amond (43), Monkhouse (67)

Attendance: 3459 (1689 away fans)

The New Kids in Town

Omar, Omar Bogle, that's his name
He sways to the left, he sways to the right, Omar Bogle, his shorts are too tight.

Well, joggle and murk me byes, just look at the size of his thighs. Built like a kickboxer, with a left foot like a steam hammer, he'll tickle many a screebling nut as on his way he'll go. He's a very unrefined sugar rush that'll crush the bottom-dwelling candy. More likely to score than dear old Lennie, but less likely to control the ball.

All together now: "When I was a clencher's bogle-man in a famous Lincoln town..."

Padraig Amond (pronounced "goalscorer")
A footballer the likes of which we haven't employed for many a year. He controls the ball; he has awareness and creates time. A calm, clever and calculating goalscorer. So obviously the one most likely to be dropped or substituted when the Parslow Point arrives.

Danny East
Maybe, like yeast, he'll grow on us in the dark, dank hazy shade of winter. Heavily right-footed, prone to calamitous back-passes, a useful squad player; look on him as a sort of Jobling-lite. He is not Danny Parslow. East is just East.

Andy Monkhouse
Tall. Old. Slow. Knows where he should stand. Will have his uses. Man most likely to have the goat cape wrapped around his shoulders by the impatient and ignoble among us. Don't mock the man: mock the manager if you get to that point.

Arnold was fitfully skilful, and Amond very subtly excellent, but for big hair and a big contribution to road safety, it's Josh Gowling: flawlessly efficient.

"It's a shame, in front of that fantastic following that we had, not to be celebrating a win. But we go on to the next one."

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"All in all, when you've cleared your head, you'd settle for the point and be delighted to come back the way we did and get the equaliser. So fair play to the lads."

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Whatever happened to the free-flowing juicy football of pre-season? Glimpsed for 20 minutes in the first half when Town opened up this can of peaches at will. After half time, Town reverted to their default position when leading. It's more deflating than the cull of inflatables after the game.

Town were less a sharp shark attack, more Shakatak – big-headed jazz funk noodling, a waste of everyone's time with indulgent scat and slap. Clay and Disley were rarely seen in the second half. Monkhouse's effectiveness is limited by the march of time. McKeown keeps repeating mistakes. East is a decent filler, but not the main man.

There were good things: Gowling's omnipotence, Arnold's slinkiness and Amond's exceedingly subtle general excellence. He knows who is around him, what they are doing and where the ball is likely to go. He is the key, not Bogle, who is a very raw work in progress, more of a distraction unit at the moment.

The annoying thing is that this was history repeating itself, when the ingredients for success are clearly there.

The virtues of running around and never giving up. It's far too early for definitive guesses on capabilities, but this is the most limited Kidderminster team Town've come up against in non-League. It's also the most determined. Unlikely to be above mid-table, but may have enough esprit de corps to have some comfort in the spring.

They have what looks like a decent goalkeeper; the rest are functional at best. Considering they barely existed a couple of months ago, that's not a bad starting position. Will be fodder for the top teams.

Singing and dancing for 92 minutes. Then we remembered our reality. A hundred sharks died on the railings.

Mr B Huxtable (Devon)

Bulky Brett was absolutely fine, save for an old-fashioned liberalism when it came to high feet, but at least he was consistent. Mr Teasy-Weasy Nathan's tumbling wasn't convincing from 100 yards away, so no points lost there for one-eyed hope. He didn't book Toto or Pearson, so he gets a prize for being the first referee ever to manage that. The prize? Oh, that's a score of 8.789 on the Gerhard Richter scale of abstract and delusional refereeing.

Dreary, delightful, dozy, then dumb.

In a word: airless