Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

24 April 2022

Grimsby Town 2 Torquay United 1

Once more unto the beach, dear friends! But strap your hat on, that Grimsby wind is blowing barnacles off the groynes.

Prisoners of love, blue skies above, you can't keep our hearts in jail, for how can we fail after Monday's walk in the park? Hey John, don't make us sad, the movement we need is in your shoulder.

Town lined up in the McAteeless 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Crocombe, Efete, Waterfall, Smith, Amos, Jones, Maguire-Drew, Holohan, Clifton, Scannell and Taylor. The substitutes were Pearson, Fox, Wright, Abrahams and Dieseruvwe. How do you fix the hole in our shoe? Rearrange your deckchairs and stick Jones the Sweep between the lines.

Is everyone in, are you having a nice time? Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, I see Johnson's peppermints stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. The game's afoot.

First half: To have and have not

Town kicked off towards the Pontoon. Did it go straight out of play immediately or were haphazard humans involved? Life is a minestrone, served up with Parmesan cheese, supply chains permitting of course.

Swirling, curling Devonian hurling. Efete dillied, Effete dallied, the Wrong Wright scruffled lowly, Crocombe snuffled, no hairs were ruffled.

Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true. Little Harry fluffed wide, which way is the tide going? Jones the Sweep made grown men weep, for tonight, Matthew, he is Luke Summerfield, passing sheepishly squarely into the flightpath of a peppermint lounger. Connor Lemonboots-Evans and that elephant Wright were dancing on the feet of our squealing mice. Anyone for head tennis? Wouldn't that be nice for them if anything happened.

Up, up and away, heading to no-one, nowhere, a riggardy-raggardy hotch-potch of scattergunnery. Town a dishevelled tortoise, the Gullymen slackly slick with a quick free kick. Lemonboots scuttled and crossed from the right, Wright dummied, Little swept back across the face of goal. Sighing and flying as Crocombe spectacularly pawed above and beyond and aside. As an aside, are Jamie Mack's arms long enough?

Tishing and phishing as a preening pepperminter dived over imaginary footwear. The referee stared at Conman Lemonboots with a withering stare and nostrils that almost flared.

Amos? Foul throw? I see no ships. Ooh, yes I do, it's busy out there today. Town underhit, Torquay overhit, Town timid, Torquay tactically limpid. Stick it in the mixer, chip, chase and harry. Is it even possible to harry Harry. Ooh, Harry-Harry, now we really want to see you. Surprise, surprise, an unexpected slapshot hit MacDonald right between the eyes.

The more the world is changing, the more it stays the same. Life is full of small surprises as Lewis stooped and near-post flicked a corner grazingly over and wide rather than under and within.

The sun on their shouldеrs and the wind in their hair, the seagulls fly just out of reach. Lemonboots chip-clipped, Crocombe finger-flipped over for a corner on their right. Flat-slapped deeply to the farthest post, the Wrong Wright crawled over Efete and headed back for Hall to volley-wallop high and hard. What a John Selwyn Gummer.

Mariner moments, not magic moments. A block from peppermint socks, a nudge, a nurdle and Scannell surprised the world as he unfurled a slapshot. McDonald pushed aside. Mild pandemonium in the Pontoon as Wright clipped and Lemonboots' boots were too small. Crocombe scooped and flat punted down the middle.  The ball skippled off a pot pourri of thighs, Taylor tickled, Clifton stepped inside and swingled a zipper straight into the bottom right corner. What a cracker.

Unless you can kick with confidence all your fancy dressing, dancing and talking won't get you a second goal.
A bit of the old in-out, in-out and Conman Lemonboots was slain by an invisible bullet from a lone gunman on the grassy knoll outside of McDonalds. The referee tutted and fluttered a yellow card for the outrageous egregiousness. Misdeeds have consequences, Mr Johnson.

We were talking about the space between Smith and Waterfall and the opposition strikers who hide themselves behind that wall. Ah, it's far too late as they pass their way through on their right. The Duke of McKenna slinked, winked and dinked behind and over the monochrome wall. Look around there's no sign of life. Conman Lemonboots arose alone but ten yards out to nod wonderfully wide. Waterfall had words with Efete. You say he's a dreamer? Well, you're not the only one who hopes someday he'll join us on planet earth. Can you hear us now, Michee? Michee can you hear me? How can you be saved?

Scannell shuttling, scuttling, skinning rabbits and skittling against the last peppermint shin. Efete arose at the corner and freely glanced wide.

Two minutes were added. Yes, they were. Then those two minutes that were added ceased to be added. And that was the end of the beginning of the inquisition as the Torquaymada had sailed unmolested up the Humber and mostly avoided harming the locals. Amongst their weaponry are such elements as fear, surprise, surprise and fear.

How? What? Why? One of the cross beams has gone out askew on the treadle.

Second half: In our time

Neither team made any changes at half time. Or had they?

And then the fish came alive and rose high out of the water showing all its great length and width and all its power and beauty. Amos and Efete roamed the flanks, Little Harry hurried up. After some Hurstian logic, now I think they understand how to have some fun.

A chip, a chase, and MacDonald raced out to shin and shank. Passing, movement, Taylor withheld Pepperminters and tickled into the void. Efete glided across the sprinkled grasslands and, from a narrow angle, tippled against the keeper's nosegay. Waterfall stooped to graze wayly over from the resulting corner.

Stockport redux, the game played out in front of the Pontoon. Maguire-Drew dribbled into an existential crisis in his own boots, Efete arose to nod down and wide again. Gav O'Groves swung his pants, the ball zipped off a peppermint head and swingled just wide of the left post. Scannelling on the left, a pass, a tap, Taylor's penalty-spot volley kissed the crossbar.

Little Harry ran and ran and ran and ran and many ranted as Clifton ran over his own toes. Townites taking it in turns to dribble into the sands. Scannell chipped, Maguire-Drew's header softly plopped and off he clipperty-clopped, replaced by Maximum Wright.

Shall we get them out of the way? They did things now and again. The usual stuff. Wynter crossed across the face of goal. They had a shot. It went over. They had a shot. It went wide. Or it might have gone into Crocombe's hands. Who shot? Err, Lemonboots? I could be wrong, it could be Wright. Long throws and panic bumbles, but nothing to get hung about. Long shots and panic bumbles, here's something to get hung about. Crocombe sauntered out of his area to slap a tickle, but Waterfall stood in his way. The ball snuck off monochrome shins into the emptiness and Mad Max chased the attacker into Constitutional Avenue and down the alleyways beyond.

Efete stretched near a dink, a cross, a block and oh Harry, Harry what have you done? Should we shout, should we scream? Torquay disrobed and Clifton bustled down the middle. On and on and on and on to the edge of the area he wheeled. Playmates to the left and right, but Clifton shinnied over the bar. Back Town came as holes were picked and Scannell swept against the foot of the right post.

With five minutes left Abrahams replaced Jones as Town moved to a 4-4-2 formation. Two strikers, ambassador, you spoil us!

As the clock ticked past the end of time Holohan burst through the centre left. Peppermint shirts swarmed and Gav O'Groves shot lowly. MacDonald stretched and his biggest toe intercepted, the ball rolling into the void. Little decided to dribble but, unseen behind, Amos was flying without wings and flying over turquoise toes. A ponder, a point, a penalty. Distractions and infractions didn't faze Abrahams who semi-stuttered and passed low and left as the keeper sighed right.

Hang on, how long is left? How soon is now?

At the restart Pearson replaced Jones – hah, how late the Parslow Point is today. There was heading, there was treading, there was shredding of nerves as Abrahams wasted time into the corner between Pontoon and Frozen Horsebeer Stand, rocking and rolling around the corner flag. Omar comin'! Torquay's big beefy sub centre-back leapt into the crowd in pursuit of the ball.

And there we are, it's all over for you now, baby blues. They should have been out of sight, and Town out of their minds at half time, but in the end Town should have won by more. What a curious game this was as Torquay simply withered away, ground down by persistence.

We really haven't worked out how to play without McAtee have we.