Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

3 March 2019

Grimsby Town 0 Cambridge United 2

On a warm and windy morning, wipe my eyes and stop me yawning. What are we living for? After fabtastic February will it be a messy, mundane and middling March?

Town lined up in the myth-busting 5:3:2 formation as follows: McKeown, Hendrie, Hall-Johnson, Davis, Collins, Ring, Embleton, Hessenthaler, Clifton, Thomas and Dennis. The substitutes were Russell, Grayson, Whitmore, Cook, Vernam, Cardwell and Rose. Well, what's there to complain about? Apart from our suspended Swede, that's the dream team.

Ah, Ibhere, that heavy Akinde-lite's back. And they've got Lennie between the mice and men on their bench. Oh, that's John and Lewis. It's all a bit soulless and drab.

The omens are bad without Ohman.

First half: In dubious battle

Town kicked off towards the 165 Camberpeople chirruping away in the Osmond with a roll back for a Maccawhacka as Ibhere wrestled Hendrie. Go on Luke, pick yourself up, dust yourself off and get back in the saddle, it's going to be lumpy ride.

It's the sidebar of lame, tame tip-tip-tip-toeing through the tulips with Embleton.

Why didn't Fozzie Bear wear shoes? Why should he, he'd still have bear feet. Waka-waka-waka!

A Clifton cross heading for home heads, headed away by Halliday's head. A Town corner, short and sour, many a glower. A glower? Yes, we're happy as fish and gorgeous as geese and we'll be wonderfully clean in the morning.

Ah, I espy a man with a new fleece jacket, velvety and smooth, unlike Town's passing. It would have cost him a packet if he hadn't used some M&S vouchers.

Hall-Johnson shimmered, Dennis glimmered and narrowly lampled at Mitov.

Why did the banana go to the doctors? He wasn't PEELING well. Waka-waka-waka.

A quick chuck and Clifton lofted. Bumbling, bundling and a quick poke from Dennis. Mitov might've, maybe, fumbled but didn't.

The U-benders shuffled and scuffled, shunting Town into cul-de-sacs of cucumber pickles. Ibhere shook off the coldfish shoals nibbling at his toes to tee up amber nonsense. Thomas and Dennis were shipwrecked and comatose in the far distant land of make believe.

A couple of dangerous crosses, a couple of hopeless swipes from them. A couple of bad crosses from Town. We're being stitched up in a stodge job.

An amber chip and Amoo was a shoo-in after Davis dived. Jamie Mack waited then pounced with his Scooby-Doo monster swipe. The ball bumpled down off his arm and spun slowly towards the bottom left corner. Collins renewed his subscription to his mojo and swiped away from the foot of the post.

Good old Jamie Mack: he's the guaranteed eternal sanctuary man.

A chip and chase, Collins losing face, legs without pace. Hall-Johnson careered over from the west to slide that door shut.

Nothing for ages and ages. Nothing.

As half time's warm embrace was trotting towards us, Embleton lamely, tamely, stupidly upended Lambe far out in the shadows of the frozen Horsebeer Stand. The free kick was coiled deeply and who's the cat that won't cop out? I'm talkin' about Taft. He's not a complicated man, he simply guided a glide down into the bottom left corner with Davis and Collins nearby but far away.

Nothing.

One minute was added. Like, duuuuuuuuuuuuuuh.

We thought we were playing all the right notes, but definitely not playing them in the right order. The tactical switching of Embleton and Clifton had simply amplified the things they don't do well. Town were a holey mess, individually and collectively incoherent.

Second half – As the season lay dying

Neither team made any changes of personnel at half time, but Town did switch Embleton and Clifton back to their usual positions.

Cambridge sat back and waited for Town to peter out.

Town barely petered in.

Fizzing and whizzing down Town's right and a momentary moment of possible maybeness. Embleton's silly shot skiffled scuffily off a collection of amber sockage.

Shall we go back to the Fozzie Bear Big Bad Joke Book? Waka-Waka, that's Town's attacka.

Ah, Deegan upended Little Harry and was booked.

That big windfarm floaty thing floated by, the Trans-Pennine Express honked a cheery honk as it passed by. Last man Hall-Johnson misjudged the flight of a long punt and flicked one. Amber bore down upon Town's goal, but RHJ got back up and disrupted. McKeown stood still by his left-hand post and blocked the scruff.

Cook replaced Clifton. Hall-Johnson salsaed through three, plunging over the final shin. Embleton coiled the free kick a foot or so over the angle of post and bar to the ooohhs and ahhhhs of the jewellery rattlers in the Dentists Stand.

Moments, now and again, of almost adequacy, inspired by the raffling ghost of Tony Rees. Dennis wall-papered and Embleton tried to chip around the defender, but passed to the keeper.

Deegan upended Hall-Johnson and the ref let play flow on and on and forgot about the scythe. Lucky lad.

They made subs, we made subs and all we got was sub-par piffling. Collins spectacularly mangled a bicycle kick under the Frozen Beer Stand, no children or animals were harmed during the making of that motion picture. Embleton dribbled rather than passed on an isolated Town counter-attack or rare promise. It was indeed rare that Town promised to do anything.

And on that damp squibshell Vernam took over the starring role of scuffly non-achiever from Embleton. Four strikers, no chances.

Down the left, in Middle Earth, Collins looked up carefully and rolled a pass straight to an amberite, who ran back towards the ailing agester. Panic in the undermanned, overstretched defence. A flick and flip around the corner and Audrey or is it Audie Hepburn-Murphy outpaced our most ancient of mariners, slammed lowly across McKeown and into the farthest corner of the right side of the goal.

The die hardest of support ebbed out for an early tea whilst Jolley was going for gold - Cardwell replaced RHJ and Town's formation was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma. There are men in defence, there a five strikers, and there is Jake Hessenthaler. Town were random splotches in a Rorschach test.

Another Town failing, another break and unsuper sub Coulson passed around the right post from the edge of the penalty area.

Four minutes were added and somewhere inside this egg boiler Cook swiped wayly over from something or other of whatever.

So we'll end with a whistle and end with a bang, and all of us fit in our places. Two lower-mid-table teams fighting over a comb and the bald one won.

Well, it cured me of any mad thoughts of a day trip to creepy Crawley; it's a long way to go to watch a pre-season friendly.