Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

6 October 2024

There's no point in asking you'll get no reply. Oh I just remembered, SKY decide the kick-off times these days.

Is today the day we slay the Donny dragon?

Town lined up the 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Smith, Cass, Rodgers, McJannet, Hume, McEachran, Svanthorsson, Khouri, Green, Barrington and Rose. The substitutes were Auton, Warren, Carson, Ainley, Pyke, Gardner and Obikwu. No change from the Miracle by the Medway then. Woah baby, there's no Wilson on the bench. We can live with that, can't we?

Can we live without Harry Clifton? We'll soon find out. Let's crack on.

1st half – Grimsby, where's your troosers?
Town kicked off towards the travelling masses in the Osmond Stand.

Stop! Stop right there. Do you want to go on? Do you really want to wander blindly into the darkness?

As the man said, in Grimsby you could get a hobby, paint a picture, drive a go-kart, swing a club, read a book, watch a film, brew exotic beers, build things out of matchsticks, build a replica of Ross Castle out of cocktail sticks and peanut butter, wash cars, mow lawns, haunt the tiling section of B&Q, jump out of planes, learn to fly planes, take up knitting, stitching, sewing, embroidery, jam making...

Not every Saturday, but I do suggest that today's the day for you to re-evaluate your life. It's a question of perspective and balance. Town are, on balance, made of Perspex today.

Let's play a parlour game! Pass the parcel, British Bulldogs and Molyneux pickled through the centre for a flying flanker suspiciously lonesome, suspiciously far beyond stripes. Smith crouched, but rounded and rolled. Rodgers slid and hooked off the line, straight back to Gibson, who stared into Smith's eyes before narrowly swinkling into the net.

I know we're at home, but their Fleming roamed where the deer and the antelope play. Seldom is heard an encouraging word when an unmarked Billy Sharp snippled into the ground, over the bar and onto the roof of the net. Four minutes: an egg boiled, a football team beaten.

Look down there. Would it really be a pity if one of those dots started moving?

A dot dashed and Barrington lashed a cross across and Rose's triple-Lutz-pirouetting-back-flick crawled over the bar, nestling and nuzzling upon the top of the net. Listen lads we can still do this!

Do what? Piffling and whiffling from will-o-the-wisps and Sterry promenaded after flicking away the fly called Barrington. Static caravans on the coast and Molyneux side-footed carefully, low and in off the bottom of the right post. The question that looms, I presume, is whither Mr Hume?

Ah, there he is, wandering and dreaming, mugged by a passing motorist, booked by a sleeping policeman. Shocking, shoddy, a right bunch of Noddies, even McJannet was turned into a Rupert Pumpkin. It's a regression from the mean streets of Kent.

Georgeousness postponed for another day, as Donnymen jissled and jostled Town's metronome. The Mariners mood music dreadfully discordant, awfully atonal. Flanking hell! Sharp tapped through the six-yard box and everyone missed. Slowly.

Passing, movement, mere micro-moments of momentary synchronicity. Mix Khouri and Cass, add in some Green Energy and what have you got? A soufflé. Dadi carefully coiling vaguely in the direction of 31 Icelanders gathered in a cave and grooving with a toothpick. A corner crooned and Cass boom-headed over from in front of goal and the keeper.

Yorkies gambolling across the soft sandy beaches, frolicking in Blunderland, amusing themselves as they pleased. No locals present, not even dog walkers or worm-diggers.

Reet on half time Hume, halfway up the stairs, chucked infield for the shimmy-shakey dummy routine. Clifton knew the score, he'd seen this all before, mugging McEachran and setting Donny on a journey with inspiration and there ain't no salvation. A holey mess, a cross from the absent left and a swing and a miss from Rocking Rodgers. The ball rolled gently to the edge of the penalty area and Gibson coolly, calmly slash-passed into the left side of the net, air-kissing the post on its way.

Hapless Harvey sprang up and pursued the turquoise peeper, seeking sanctuary in tall tales of Donny dark artage. Booked once, booked twice. Exit stage left a man who was barely there from a team that wasn't here. Sometimes things are best left unspoken, sometimes things don't need to be said. The truth is harder than the pain inside Blundell Park.

Seven minutes were added. Why? This and that, aches and strains and a minute or two of head-rubbing for McJannet and Clifton, a Celtic folk duo popular in the 1960s. Weren't they always on the White Heather Club? Today, Matthew, Town are the White Feather Club.

Four to draw!

2nd half – 49 irrelevant minutes lost to humanity
What's behind the curtain Dave? Town made a triple change at half time as Hume, Green and Svanthorsson were replaced by Carson, Warren and Gardner, with Town playing in a 4-3-2 formation.

So what.

Donny felt sorry for us, we felt sorry for ourselves. Sure, sure occasionally things almost happened. Wee Janet cut out a cross, Gardner knicked, Khouri scraped a tacklepass and the gawky galloper snickled straight at the keeper's legs.

But really, so what?

Warren cycled near heads at a corner, Pyke replaced Rose. Can so what ever be more so-whatty?

Pyke couldn't be bothered after mudwrestling by others and Smith saved the eventual apoloshot. A cheery cherry cross went across the face of goal. I'm as bored as you and as bored as the players. There really is no point, FIFA's faffing about with rules never brings in the innovation really needed – the ability to declare and go home early.

Where would football be without goblins and gremlins? The loathsome linesman struck again. After failing to see any offsides when Donny attacked, or the ball going out of play, he remembered he had a flag in his hand, waving to the ref from his sailing dinghy bobbing about in the Humber. Why? No-one knows. What happened? No-one knows. Barrington had hit the bye-line and a massive all-day breakfast with added scrambled eggs followed as Emmanuel handled, a stripe was pushed, the ball rolled off red toes and rolled over the line. The least likely outcome was the outcome chosen: offside.

Does it matter?

Obikwu replaced Barrington. Whatever.

Khouri tackled, Khouri slid and swept up skittering Clifton, Khouri blocked shots. Four minutes were added.

There we are, that's all there is to it: nothing.

Donny took it easy because it was easy. It's easy to write this off as another bump in the road and we just have to crack on and get on with it. Donny only did what Barrow and Chesterfield did – hit Town hard and early to induce a calamitously dishevelled first-half implosion.

Know it sounds funny, but we just can't stand the pain of playing Donny. It was easy as a Saturday lunchtime.