Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

11 August 2022

Grimsby Town 4 Crewe Alexandra 0

Evenin' all. Why live life from dream to dream when you can watch our present team. One day we'll fly away.

What a lovely sky.

Town lined up in a 4-5-1 formation as follows: Crocombe, Efete, Waterfall, Smith, Amos, Wearne, Morris, Green, Holohan, Glennon and Pepple. The substitutes were Battersby, Cropper, Pearson, Khouri, Braithwaite, Clifton, Keirnan, Maguire-Drew and Taylor. A team full of full-backs, there be Glennon a-roaming wingily and Pepple paragliding solo. Well, we needed Pepple, but will we be the luckiest people in the world? Will people like Pepple. There's only one way to find out.

Crewe just looked bored. And why were they allowed to play in black shorts?

Big Scanz! The boys in the hoods swarmed for selfies with the occasional footballer.

OK, we've been patient, we've been good, tried to keep our eyes off the league table. Right, let's get physical.

First half: Summer nights

Town kicked off towards the Pontoon. Biffing, barging and a momentary moment where reds in flight smelled of danger. Amos sniffed the air and snuffed out the lightweight. The Random Decision Generator blew a fuse while teeth wailed and whales gnashed. A free kick and Danny Boy booked for outstanding achievement in the field of excellence.

Dishevelling and shovelling with Green serene. A free kick far out coiled and curled, Green flicked, Okonkwo snicked aside as the whistling wally saw things you people couldn't even dream of. Has he got any decision right yet? Will he ever get a decision right?

A Town free kick, possibly because someone wore a loud shirt in a built-up area. Efete arose, Efete headed over. Crewe? No, don't bother, they didn't.

Town clamping, damping and stamping down on trippers digging for worms. The central core without a flaw. Holohan ticking Green then running and running, running, running all night long, all night, all night long.

Well, my friends, the time has come to raise the roof and have some fun. A mysterious free kick for a mysterious reason, betwixt and between on the right. Stick it in the mixer! Waterfall. That's all.

Them. An arbitrary accidental attack and accidentally arbitrary corner. An arbitrary loopy header. The ball accidentally hit the post. Don't worry about a thing, everything's going to be all right. Don't be concerned, Crewe will not harm you. They are simply a contractual obligation. They're terrible, Muriel.

Some call him the space cowboy, most people call him Mo-rris. Well, don't you worry, baby, don't worry, 'cause he's right there, right here, right there, right here at home. Bryn Morris, glove puppeteer: footy and sweep.

One-way traffic and not a beach ball in sight. Wearne stood and fell over the nearest elusive butterfly, Efete was shoved into the Pontoon. Grizzling adults and teenagers guzzling ice-pops in the singing ring tree corner. Ha, the Wearne has turned, and old MacDonald caused alarm, ee-i-ee-i-oh. The keeper caught the slivering slice as the Pontoon sang songs of innocence with rhymes of darker daring.

Isn't it about time we scored again?

Efete glided through some static caravans and collided with a camper van. Morris dinked down the centre, Okowonko with his joyless orange oven gloves and piccalilli shin pads stuttered out into open land. You better watch out Arthur, there's dogs about. Arthur the Gooner rabbit punched out to the 'D', cartwheeling over a stray railwayman and Green hard-manned a volley straight down the middle.

Ho-ho-ho, Green giant, he runs and he runs to catch up with the sun but it's sinking.

Oh so nice and easy does it. Swarming stripes, warming to the task, basking in the glory of the holes in the Crewe crew. Finney didn't hear a shout as he fiddled about. Wearne nicked, Holohan knocked, Green ran on and carefully passed past the right post as poor young Arthur souffléd sadly, badly left.

Hey, baby, what's your hurry? Relax and don't you worry, 'cause nice and easy does it every time.

One minute was added. Whatever.

Second half: Physical

Double subbing happened so fast you'd hardly notice it as William and Sambou replaced Tabiner and a Finney. Does it really matter which one?

Hey you, the unsteady Crewe, put your feet up, look around, look at the sky, look at the river, isn't it good. Sambou winding, finding places to go between the lines. Go on, read between the lines. Colkett sat down and off he went to read a book.

Ah, summer days drifting away, oh these summer nights. I'll tell you more, tell you more: Town showed off, splashing around.

Sambou headed very wide, Crocombe stomached Sambou's offside slap. Ai caramba, Sambou, Sambou, swishing and swaying, Town slightly fraying.

Isn't it about time we scored again?

Pepple successfully fell over red socks between and betwixt in the shadow of the Frozen Horsebeer Stand. The malfunctioning abacus peeped for Pepple, for he's a Pepple pleaser. Glennon droopily coiled into the nether zone. Okowonko's knees bent, Arthur's arm stretched, he did the hokey cokey and turned around to flap and floodle as Smith toe-drooped a piddler achingly slowly into the bottom left corner.

They changed again. Pfft, mere details of history.

Roaming in the gloaming and still there's someone, somewhere moaning. A corner rightly given on the right. Glennon dripped and Arthur dropped. Legs akimbo and arms a-flip-flopping as the ball was can-canned off the line by a Tiller Girl.

Sambou, oh yeah, he seems to have an invisible touch, as he takes control and slowly tears you apart. And then widdles woefully, wonderfully wide. All fur and no kickers tonight, Josephine.

Sambou wide, Agyei wider. What a waste, what a waste, but I don't mind.

Khouri and Clifton replaced Green and Holohan and look! Up in the sky! Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is there anybody out there? The Random Decision Generator though he caught a fleeting glimpse out of the corner of his eye. We turned to look, but it was gone. We cannot put our finger on what this five-minute stoppage was all about, Alfie, but that won't stop some droning on about it.

Blah, blah, yabber-dabber do. Keirnan and Cropper replaced Pepple and Amos. Ah-ha, the three full-back switcheroo as the double delight moved from left to right. Swishing, swashing buckles, a move of magnificence. Khouri, oh dear. A high stepping volley looping the loop and defying the ground.

The ghost of old Luke came back to haunt the last 10 minutes, but Crocombe and Smith saved Waterfall's failing bacon. And then he was down and out, as Shaun of Pearson re-arrived in our lives.

A Crewe corner, a Town attack as the end was nigh. The ball fell in the penalty area and Khouri calmly, cleverly clobbered way out left to Keirnan. Nah, he's got no left foot muttered the sages in the stands. As a surge of stripes followed him upfield Big Bren dribbled, drabbled, wibbled and wobbled deeply beyond the farthest post. Wearne hared on, slid on and steered above and beyond poor Arthur cutely from an acute angle. Sumptuous sweeping as the Alex were sleeping, leaving Arthur weeping. Marvellous, less fat too.

Ooh-la-la! Little Harry did the dosey-doe between several legs, Big Bren walloped and Okowonko smartly, deftly, flickered the cracker over the angle of the near post. Redmen playing draughts and Big Bren sneaked onto a stray back pass, flapdoodling against the tentative slidings of Okwonko with a bit of a pig of a poke. Who cares?

Ah, one last moment of nuttiness from the numpty with the whistle. An Agyei shot wobbled off passing moths and an unwanted corner was awarded. Let's laugh, let's sway under the moonlight, this serious moonlight.

Oohh that was fun.

You know, in this summer sun something's begun.