Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 11 August 2018

Division 4

Macclesfield Town 0

Grimsby Town 2 Cook (29), Vernam (90)

Attendance: 2589 (852 away fans)

Collins and Welsh were oldly omnipresent with aged perspective, while hassling Hess was a useful barrel organ grinding down the crumblers and grumblers of old Macc Town. Today was a big block of cheese day and Big Alex was our biggest block of maturity in Cheshire.

The Jolly Japester was in effusive mood, for he was not only occasionally pleased, but sometimes happy at some things, especially the due diligence undertaken by his audit team.

"What we look for is performance, and I think last week everybody was quick to point out our performance wasn't good, and we understood that and weren't happy about it. Today, we wanted to perform better, and I think we did that, so that was pleasing."

He's a real quote machine, isn't he? That's the next trending T-shirt sorted.

More on this

Back to the Future (part III). How very Hurstian, it's déjà vu all over again. A deadpan, downbeat, dry Tyke managing Town abandons his favoured formation and returns to a tried and tested four at the back and four across the middle, with an instant impact.

At least St Michael did it immediately, and didn't stubbornly grind through to October before not admitting the experiment was not succeeding.

Cook looked fitter and funkier than last week, while the sheer energy of hassling Hess brought forth dynamic substance to the midfield. Shame he can’t kick with his left foot. Rose was much less ineffective, but Hooper was back to his fey and flunky funk of flimsiness.

This was all about keeping us shape and collective desire to not lose. Yep, it's all about the bass line, the driving rhythm of Welsh and the solid backing from the whole back four, Dixon included. Body parts were sacrificed for the soul of Mariners Man, open goals were shut with swooping savagery.

It was just like April again, and Town weren't a shower as a result.

Very nice, very pleasant. A really OK non-League team. They could be sniffing around the Bananarama play-offs by the end of the season.

A chubbying chap in goal, a holey defence and strikers who work on points for style. Macclesfield were a training ground team. Whitaker faffed around, Smith forgot to shoot and the wingers were wonderfully inept at crossing. Arthur, in particular, was a post-hairdo Dembele-lite, all showbiz shuffles and not enough fizz.

These Silkers don't look built for the bump 'n' grind of this blind alley of a division, far too physically willowy. Even their tallest trees blew over in the breeze. It's a long and winding road that leads them to the back door. They will disappear, we've seen that road before. They have the unenviable whiff of Chesterfield about them.
Still, it's only August; who knows what tomorrow brings. And tomorrow. And tomorrow.

Dry heads, dry feet and dry humour on the day Macc's music died.

Mr O Langford (W Mids)

The Rose red for violence on blue was one of those decisions they wouldn't have made in the last century, you know. Do we have to live in the now all the time?

The bonny bouncing Mr Langford was, from the start, on the edge of reason. This ball of mild confusion was unseeing of the hands of Maccs, generally dispensing kindness to the strangers in blue, but seeing red when red kits hovered. What am I saying? He was just a little homer: 5.991.

Chugging, mugging and rug-pulling the slightly slick Silkmen.

In a word: stout