Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

30 May 2024

Another clear bright day in cold, cold Cleethorpes with 500 or so Portsmouth supporters huddled together in the centre of the Osmond Stand. And you may say to yourself that the rest of the ground was as full as it ever was; less than 5,000 grumbling Grimbarians. There was no collective mood, just pockets of satisfaction at the fall of the Loan King, some righteous anger at the end of Cockerill's sinecure (the GET headline certainly stirred up the teenagers) and a general shrug of indifference about Groves. Everyone assumed that we'd see a return to basic principles: 4-4-2, passing and movement, and a 1-0 defeat. There were some people in the ground who were smiling and seemed happy at the new order, but not many. This is Grimsby, where dour pessimism is de rigeur.

The new coat brigade was absent from the stands, the old order had been restored. Would it be so on the pitch too?

Town lined up exactly as against Coventry, in 5-3-2 formation, but with two small changes, as follows: Coyne, Chapman, Gallimore, Groves, Ford, Neilson, Burnett, Coldicott, Butterfield, Jevons and C Thompson. The substitutes were Croudson, D Smith, Boulding, Jeffrey and Willems. So 'The Destroyer' was restored to the midfield at the expense of Willems (the man from "Holland, Belgium or wherever") with Thompson partnering Jevons up front. None of the Town players wore gloves today – obviously Groves has no time for such namby-pamby Southern ways. Portsmouth supplied the wits in the Pontoon with a further opportunity to show off their full range of skills. The verbal dexterity, and subtly, was truly astonishing – they called Crouch "freak" every time he got the ball. Oh how he crumbled at those cruel words, ones that he never heard before. Truly that works on so many levels. And Prosinecki played, which the crowd ignored, probably because they couldn't pronounce his name.

1st half
Portsmouth kicked off towards the Pontoon and immediately kicked the ball out of play. Town had obviously changed their method of play. When I say changed, I mean they actually had a method – they eschewed the hoof for the old possession game. Unfortunately, it seems the players had forgotten what to do, for the possession just meant there were longer gaps between opposition attacks than we have become used to.

Portsmouth played a very 'continental' game, all teasing and waiting, tapping passes sideways and waiting for a gap to appear. It was apparent that Portsmouth had been watching Town closely, as they concentrated most of their attacks down the Town right, where Butterfield was, allegedly. Butterfield was awful in the first 30-odd minutes, not even raising himself to a jog. He walked away from the ball and gave Neilson no support whatsoever. With Prosinecki prowling with intent on the Town right, an accident was waiting to happen.

Within the first minute Prosinecki had rolled his foot over the ball twice, a couple of drag backs, and sent Butterfield towards Spurn Point. This allowed him space and time to pick his spot to curl in a cross to the near post, where Gallimore (I think) headed out for a corner on the Portsmouth left. Prosinecki curled it perfectly, the ball dipping over the players at the near post and onto Crouch's head, about six yards out, to the left of centre. Crouch stooped and headed firmly two inches over the bar. He did exceptionally well to head over, and for that he received the thanks of the Pontoon.

Well that was a warning, wasn't it. It wasn't heeded. The right side (especially) was very dilatory and, almost as a matter of policy, refused to close down the wing-backs when they set themselves to cross. On the left there were no difficulties – Gallimore and Chapman were rock solid, an efficient defensive unit, with sufficient support from Burnett and Coldicott. The right was a no-man's-land with often three Pompey players promenading gaily in front of the Smiths/Stones/Findus with only Neilson impeding their seaside perambulation. So there was a series of crosses from the Portsmouth left, most of which were cut out by the three centre-backs, with Ford very prominent in snuffing out the dangerous moments. The most worrisome moment saw a long, high cross swung in from below the Stones/Smiths/Findus stand to beyond the far post. Coyne and Gallimore left it, but Crouch didn't. He was alone, about six yards out, close to the bye-line. Those warning lights were flashing, the klaxon was sounding – all of which must have put him off as he allowed the ball to roll down his shins for a goal kick.

You'll have noticed I haven't described any Town attacks yet. There weren't any until after about 15 minutes when there was a little bit of passing and movement down the Town right which ended up with Butterfield trying a left-foot shot from 20 yards, just to the right of centre. He curled it straight into the goalkeeper's stomach. A minute or so later there was a bit of Town pressure with a couple of shots from outside the area, the first was half charged down, the second, from Butterfield, dribbled wide. About five minutes after that Neilson hooked a volley well wide and high. Nothing very exciting at all.

The crowd were getting restless and about 20 teenagers decided to sing anti-board songs, which just riled some older, more world weary souls to rise up and berate them in words of more than two syllables (which confused the children). They were, effectively, told to shut up, sit down and support the team. This little ritual continued every few minutes or so – there was nothing happening on the pitch, so the Pontoon started to argue amongst itself.

And then things went really wrong. Portsmouth started to dominate Town and camped out in the Town half, about 30 yards from goal. They moved the ball across the pitch from right to left to right to left, waiting for a Town player to jog out of position. Danny B obliged several times. On the half hour their left wing-back was allowed to clip in a low hard cross from 25 yards out and level with the edge of the penalty area. The ball whizzed through the area towards Crouch, about eight yards out, just to the right of centre. Groves, running behind Crouch, managed to divert the ball a couple of inches wide of Coyne's right-hand post.

A couple of minutes later Town, yet again, were under-populated on the right. With Butterfield disgracefully absent, Pitt was allowed time to control the ball, adjust his feet, then clip in a flat, head high cross into the centre of the penalty area. Crouch, about eight yards out, just to the right of centre, leant in front of Groves and headed down firmly, nutmegging Coyne, with the ball flying into the net off Coyne's left heel. A few seconds of silence, then the teenagers started singing "Sack the board", "Furneaux out", "There's only one Lennie Lawrence" and "Oh Johnnie Cockerill". Perhaps 50 at most sang, whilst an equal number jumped up and harangued them for their 'support'. The atmosphere was heated and fractious, with the stewards 'having words' with a few people.

The goal galvanised Town. Weird. Instead of the slumped shoulders and air of resigned apathy, all the players (yes, even the hitherto dreadful Danny B) zipped around the pitch, flew into tackles and started to pass the ball. And move. For the next 10 minutes, although no direct chances were created, the signs were good. The front two started to hold the ball up, with players running up in support – there were even a couple of old-style winger-to-forward-winger-runs-on-and-receives-return-pass moves. Jevons started to turn his centre-backs, especially down in the corners of the penalty area, near the bye-line. Silky, tricky turns leading to promising positions where his cross was intercepted, desperately, by the defenders stretching and swiping the ball out for corners.

With five or so minutes left, after Burnett had broken into the area following a flowing four-man move and his cross was cut out at the near post, Town got a corner on the right. Butterfield clipped it high towards the far post. Their goalkeeper jumped with Groves (I think) and missed it. The ball dropped behind the keeper and there was a bit of a scramble in front of the right-hand post. After a couple of swipes, Jevons poked the bouncing ball in from somewhere close to the line. A moment of silence, then a roar. A roar of disbelief.

Town continued to sweep forward with waves of fast attacks, with Burnett prominent in support of the tricky twosome up front. Thompson (after a very Ashcroftianly lazy start) began to make very intelligent flicks and reverse passes and Jevons began to react to them. Portsmouth were overwhelmed by the Town reaction to conceding; perhaps the Portsmouth players were a little complacent in their arrogant continentalisms, with too many showboating step-overs, drag backs and flicks? Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn; that's their problem.

With about a minute left, Town won another corner on the right (after a Groves shot had ballooned off a defender and into the scoreboard). Again Butterfield clipped it high, but flat-ish, to the far post. Again the goalkeeper came out and missed the ball, with the unmarked Ford rising, rising, rising above the Pompey flapper to powerfully head into the top of the net. Another brief moment in time where the Town support collected their thoughts before leaping as high as Ford and roaring in roof-raising intensity. We were pleased, we were excited, we were shocked and stunned. Town just don't do this sort of thing, do they?

The half ended, though the reception at half time was a little grudging, given the verve and character shown by the whole Town team in the last 10 minutes of the half. Perhaps we thought it couldn't last, so why raise our hopes? Perhaps we hadn't forgiven them for 30 minutes of dross?

Taken in isolation, the last 10 minutes or so (certainly after Portsmouth scored) were most exhilarating and showed that the players still have it in them to play football, as opposed to the hoofball of the last few weeks. I suppose that's down to tactics. They were told to pass it and they did. The concession of a goal didn't deflate them either. But oh those first 30 minutes were exactly what we've become accustomed to. There was one thing noticeable about the formation – the drowning plughole was abandoned, with no rotation. Players stayed in their positions (except Butterfield, who induced Coldicott into playing both in the centre and the right - sometimes at the same time!). Oh yes, we always score from a corner.

Now, what would the second half bring? Was there magic deep within Groves' dour midland drone?

Stu's Half-Time Toilet Talk
"I don't understand what's going off out there". "Yeah, but what did Cockers actually do?" "Is there garlic in that sauce?" "Chapman comes up to Crouch's knee" "It's going to be just like before." "That Thompson's a bit tasty, well more so than this pie."

2nd half
No changes were made by either side at half time.

What an opening 10 minutes. Town, Town, Town, Town, Town. All the action was down in front of the Pontoon, with the Portsmouth defence being ripped apart by the marauding Mariners hordes. Within a minute or so of the restart a four-man quick break down the Town left resulted in Jevons rolling past his marker and firing a low cross from about 10 yards wide of the goal. Thompson sneaked between two defenders and, from about 10 yards out in the centre, shinned a first-time left-foot shot a yard or two wide of the keeper's right-hand post.

After another couple of Town counterattacks, involving the tricky Thompson and rejuvenated Jevons, Town should have had a penalty. Jevons (I think) was released down the right-hand touchline, he rolled past two defenders on the bye-line and clipped a head high cross towards Coldicott. The Portsmouth right wing-back, Harper, got in front of Coldicott and seemed to control the ball with his chest, then his knee. The ball bounced up and Harper diverted it from its path towards Coldicott by doing a little rabbit punch to send the ball away from goal. The referee had a clear unimpeded view from 15 yards away, everyone saw it. No penalty. Angry crowd, angry players.

Portsmouth managed an attack during this onslaught, with Tiler heading well wide at the far post following a corner on the Pompey left. Crouch almost broke through a couple of times, but there were always five Town players there to hustle and bustle him away. So far so good, and the afternoon was almost crowned by an audacious brilliant goal.

Burnett had clearly taken the view that Prosinecki needed to be shown what skill was. A Town break down the left half stalled near the edge of the penalty area. Burnett received the ball about 25 yards out and rolled his foot over the ball, like he was stroking his cat, Mr Bond. He shimmied right, left, then right again, sending the defender towards Ramsdens. Burnett swished inside and curled a right-foot chip over the goalkeeper towards the top left-hand corner of the goal. The ball pinged against the bar, bounced a yard from the line and a defender headed it out for a corner as Butterfield followed up. Burnett got a little standing ovation for that effort, just a little one, after all it didn't go in and the average Town fan is notoriously parsimonious with praise.

The first 15-20 minutes of the second half were a raging torrent of Town attacks, bringing the smiles back to some of the crowd, even the teenagers forgot to sing anti-boards songs and led the appreciation of the team's efforts. Jevons was no longer the lumpen, sullen ephemeral character, but a lively, effervescent pest to Pompey. The final part of this segment of the game saw Jevons released behind the Portsmouth defence, in a centre leftish position. The final pass was exquisitely timed and placed by Thompson, I think, but I am not sure. As the ball bounced, and the keeper rushed out, Jevons looked up and tried to loft the ball over the goalkeeper with the outside of his right boot. He didn't quite get enough elevation and the keeper managed to reach up and catch the ball as it arced gently over him. Thompson was very interesting, always looking up and he kept dropping off his marker and playing weighted passes between defenders for onrushing midfielders. This is how it is meant to be.

But the third goal hadn't arrived and Portsmouth managed to keep some possession and never let the ball go for minutes on end. Fascinating though it was to see the opposition play laterally, drawing Town players out of position then releasing the wing-backs into the spaces, it was quite worrying given Town's propensity for calamity. But don't worry, Stacy is back: here, there and everywhere. Though rarely having the ball he had a stormer – Prosenicki's tameness was entirely due to Coldicott snapping, snarling and mugging him whenever the ball went near the lupine loafer, forcing the croaking Croat further and further back.

But chances kept popping up for Pompey, and mostly from corners. There was a minor scare when a cross from the right was allowed to wander through to the far post and Lovell wafted his right foot airily and indeed fairily at the ball. He was alone, just beyond the far post a few yards out and his attempt looked, from 120 yards away, to be quite pathetic, which pleased the majority of the crowd.

Coyne was forced to make a couple of superb saves. His first came from a corner on the Portsmouth right which was floated to the far post. Tiler, who seemed to be about six yards out and unmarked, headed down firmly towards the bottom left-hand corner. Coyne sailed across and punched the ball off the line (just in front of Neilson), the ball plopped back into the six-yard box and was wellied away. A few minutes later Crouch headed a cross from the Portsmouth right straight at Coyne from what seemed to be five or six yards out. He was unmarked and right in the centre of goal. Coyne made a reaction save to strong arm the ball away from his left. Now that was fortunate.

I recall sometime during the early/middle part of the second half Crouch headed firmly into Coyne's midriff following a deep cross from the Portsmouth right. They'd clearly decided to concentrate on the Town left in the second half – daft, as that was by far the strongest side of the defence. They may remember Gallimore from Fratton Park, where his torments were so public, but this is the new, improved Gallimore. Captain Gallimore: indestructible.

As the game entered the last quarter of an hour the balance of play swung back to Town. Jevons was released down the left, in the penalty area. He twisted along the bye-line past a defender, and as another one neared he cut inside and theatrically flew up, then down, claiming a penalty. The referee booked him for diving as the crowed bayed for 'justice'. The dive was so poor he was never going to get a penalty; he should really have looked up and crossed to the two unmarked players at the far post. There seemed to be only one thing in his mind when he got the ball – to go for a penalty. The crowd continued to seethe as Pompey players, for about the fifth time in the game, handled the ball and nothing was given. Their number 7, Harper, appeared to have carte blanche to handle with impunity.

The pressure on the referee was building – that was two penalty appeals turned down – they always give the third, don't they? YES!

With just over 10 minutes to go Town broke away down the right, with Butterfield receiving the ball in a sort of wing-half position, 10 or so yards inside the Portsmouth half. Chapman sprinted down the left a-hollering and a-hooting for the ball. Butterfield looked up and chipped a perfect pass onto Chapman's chest. Gentle Ben took it in his stride and was, by now, inside the penalty area a few yards to the left of goal. Prosenicki tracked back with Chapman, ran across him, made contact of the briefest kind and the diminutive wing-back eventually fell over, all the time trying to remain on his feet. Play continued for a second or two, then the linesman flagged and the referee reluctantly awarded a penalty. Prosenicki went wild, as did Tiler, and the penalty was delayed for a minute or so. Jevons waltzed up to the ball, placed it on the spot and calmly rolled the ball low to the keeper's right as the he went left. That's the way to do it. Game over.

Not quite. Portsmouth didn't give up and created three or four moments of danger, principally on their right, as their wing-backs became fully operative wingers. Apart from one long-range Quashie effort which wobbled high and wide, nothing scared the Town support. That there was, ultimately, no end product is down to the vigilance and fortitude of the team, right to the end. All contributed manfully, with Burnett making a couple of vital, crunching tackles, and even Butterfield running around at the end. Right after the third goal Thompson was replaced by Boulding in a straight swap. A couple of minutes from the end Jevons was replaced by Jeffrey, with Willems replacing Neilson a minute after that. In the end Town ended up in a 4-5-1 formation, holding on easily to the three points.

After a couple of minutes of added time the game ended, to mute applause. Strange, given the fact that Town had won, had played some decent football in the second half and had been very committed. What more did the crowd want?

Individually all received some plaudits, even Butterfield who visibly improved and was involved in all goals scored. The central three defenders looked solid and organised, with Ford again making a couple of well-timed interceptions and tackles deep within the Town penalty area. Improvements to ability to pass will, no doubt, follow. The strikers, after an invisible opening, sparkled and showed signs of being a partnership, especially if Jevons can get his brain working at the same speed as Thompson. Rodger was a very animated, hands-on assistant manager, constantly gesticulating, encouraging and organising. It was pleasing to see the bench being a proactive participant in the proceedings.

The two things that came out of this game were passing and passion. It's the only way to survive. What a pity that a large minority of the crowd seemed disappointed that we'd won. They had nothing to moan about.

Meet the new boss, same as the old boss. But which old boss?

Man of the match
So many candidates, as they all did something to justify their wages: Coyne's two saves in the second half, Chapman's chunky-thighed leaps and surges, Gallimore's calmness(!) Groves' quiet efficiciency, Coldicott's omnipotent destructive powers, Thompson's brain, Burnett's chip and chasing. All worthy contenders but, overall, for scoring and being an all round good egg, it's young Simon Ford, googoogajoob. Who needs Marlon Broomes?

Official Warning
Mr Pearson
Unaware that handling is not allowed in professional association football, and made lots of little mistakes too. He was rubbish, and gave the Town penalty simply because it was the third appeal. He gets 4.37.