Cod Almighty | Match Stats

Saturday 9 August 2025

Division 4

Harrogate Town 3 Smith (58), Taylor (71, pen), McAleny (76),

Grimsby Town 3 Vernam (68), Rodgers (84), Kabia (90+2)

Attendance: 3,562 (1,050 away fans)

Captain Marvellous maintained a level of competence that put many to shame, marauding manfully, leading by example and dragging this load of leaden-footed lumpers back from ignominy.

Back in the old days of black and white Town fans didn't used to accept players who shirk tackles and shrug a challenge.

Slim pickings from Slim Charles, who was a constant threat to Town's defence. Our Town. The eternal butterfly was crushed by the wheels of industry, a neatly folded tissue paper in the pocket of that fearsomely fantastic full back…Lewis Cass.

Remember, a panther never changes its spots.

When things go awry, in particular, there really is no point in dissecting these post-match noise content fillers, we may as well fling up an AI version, it'd come out with the same stuff:

"We should have been out of sight by half time… We were the better team throughout…as the game went on we got better, even though we were trailing."

Mind you, if we did we'd miss out on those occasional moments of clarity:

"The penalty? It was about the only thing he got right."

Indeed.

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Simon the Dream Weaver was his usual entirely reasonable, coherent and logical self, seeing the same game as all those with two eyes to see:

"We caused a good team problems…Lessons to be learned about continuing to show defensive intensity for the last 15 minutes."

So how did you bring the elite almost to their knees, Si?

"Legs, honesty and edge."

Indeed

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Had they just got off the bus?

Lethargic, unco-ordinated and disconnected; until Harrogaters tired physically and mentally, this week's Town were a photocopied version of what we've seen, especially at home, throughout the Artell reign.

Town's near fatal fallibility was the feeble flanking forwards who folded in the face of fear. The back four crumpled when faced with on-rushing yellow and the midfield was deftly corralled into a pen by chunky sheepdogs, surrounded by cattle grids and electric fences.

Docile.

But when there was a power cut, the dogs slept and the subs arrived the world righted itself. Just.

We have seen the future, it looks like the past, though we may have a little more legs, honesty and edge in our back pocket now.

Weaver's eager beavers provided the blueprint to all for how to deal with Artellball (v2.50). Hassle 'em, barge 'em, push-pull-and-bully 'em,

And they did for about 40 minutes in each half and then these Combine Harvesters simply ran out of puff, lost concentration and allowed our striped Seraphims to fly.

The centre backs took it in turns to gridiron block Kabia, Evans and Morris smothered and McCoulsky was a mobile wall for the ball to bounce back off. Hard working, hard work to watch, hard pros doing a job.

Don't get sniffy about the Sulphurites, they are admirably adequate, cutting their cloth accordingly. They do what they need to do to simply be. And what they be is a rock solid lower mid-table bunch of survivalists. A permanent fixture in this division and if Town don't buck their ideas up this will be a permanent fixture.

Goodwill and good fortune deferred derision.

Mr J Bancroft

His early stamping upon Sulphurous fumes led to an existential mid-half crisis and an irresistible urge for instant karmic balance. The wily old Yorkists recognised weakness, plunging and squealing for revenge bookings. And then there was that free kick, of course, which kick-started the improbable and insane goalfest.

Like his linesmen running the Town end this preening peepster was ultimately incompetent, irrational, inconsistent and ineffably irritating: 3.2466

Docile and drifting, the changing of the guard was ultimately uplifting.

In a word: fuming