Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

29 March 2011

Grimsby several throw-ins Darlington a goal

Another day, another way, another suitcase in another hall. Seventy Quackers in the Osmond, a raggle-taggle strip of fading believers slumped like scatter cushions among the sand dunes.

Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: Arthur, Samuels, Garner, Atkinson, Wood, Coulson, Hudson, Cummins, Eagle, Connell, Duffy. The subs were Makofo, Thanoj, Gray, Peacock and slim chance Charles Ademeno. Two forgotten sons and junior Psycho in defence: have they met before?

Darlington had tall players.

First half: Plan A
Town kicked off high, high, high towards the Osmond. Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Atkinson dozing, Coulson with Toblerone shinpads and Connell with toblerone thighs. Moments just lost in the haze. Darlington had a header. Darlington had a header. Darlington had a header. Arthur magnificent, Darlington had a header, Hatch flicked, Arthur flipped, the ball went in off the post. Here's how we would have won.

Samuels wiped manfully, Garner slid like an angel. Town had some throw-ins, Town had some more throw-ins. Town had three egg and bacon scrambles and there's nothing else to say.

Long and direct, long and tedious, longing for football. It's been a long, long, long time.

Second half: Plan A
Nothing changed.

A Connell header off the line, Duffy and Cummins air kissed a Delightful Dwayne smooch and Town threw throws longly and longily nowhere.

Plan A wasn't working. Charlie Farley and Twiggy on his own resorted to Plan A. Off came Connell, on came Charles. Town got worse. Eagle disappeared officially and on came Makofo, Did anyone notice? Peacock stripped, Cummins plunged to earth at the sight of so much ink, and Thanoj came on.

Kenny Fingers dropped a punt, Hatch screwed wide.

That was all, that was everything and that was the end of Honeymoon Road: a cul-de-sac.

The defence was fine, except Atkinson. Forget the rest, there was nothing, for they followed orders without conviction. Guilty as charged, your honour.

Dead men don't wear plaid. Small men don't win headers. Town don't win games.