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Peterborough Report Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 07/09/2003

DETAILS, you want details? Well, here goes. Let’s get the Town attacks out of the way first. After about 5 minutes Cas, eventually, received a pass (it had to be Macca didn’t it).

Home > 2003-2004 Season > Reports > Peterborough (h)

Grimsby Town 1 Peterborough United 1
06 Sep 2003, Nationwide League Division 2

About 30 yards out, in the shadow of the Smiths/Stones/Findus Stand, he spun through two tackles, burst to the bye line and dinked over a cross to the far post. As his dinked, Campbell and Rowan ducked to the near post. The moment had past peacefully, some flowers were later laid on the spot in remembrance of things, a pass! About 5 minutes later, Cas again received a pass from McDermott, a lovely curling caress through the gap between centre half and wingback. Cas was free, bounding gaily towards the floodlight. He crossed low towards the near post and Rowan ran across his marker and swept a first time shot straight to the ‘keeper. Swept with the vigour of a disgruntled school caretaker, for it was miss-timed. Still, a brief moment of excitement which was savoured long into the afternoon.

Oh, alright then, them. What they did, or should that be what did our collective and individual ineptitude allow them to do? A corner, a scramble, a shot, a deflection, a wafted boot, a stretching block. Davison, leaping left, leaping right, unsighted, a shot, a deflection, the ball safely rolling clear. That’s all one attack, not a summary of the half. No verb, in sympathy with Town, for they didn’t do. Another break, Newton twisting, turning, crossing as Edwards wallowed in his wake. Poor Ermintrude, our thoughts were with him. Legg’s long throw was soon in evidence, launched deep into the heart of the Town penalty area. Davison is no floppy haired, flapper of hands, for he sought to dominate his area, rushing out to deal with the rocket propelled mortars. His first attempt at creating a new world order saw him out beyond the penalty spot, punching Crane’s head and blocking a follow up shot with his legs a couple of yards from the edge of the penalty area. That was as bad as it got, for generally the long throws were dealt with adequately, without panic attacks.

Crane headed a Newton curler away from goal following a corner and the storm seemed weathered for ooooh, a minute. Back they came, using the power and pace of Clarke and McKenzie down the flanks. Another corner from their left, clipped low into the middle, just 8 yards out. Crane stopped, Legg didn’t and glanced the ball very wide despite being very unmarked. Groves glowered, waved his arms around and delivered some stern words. Peterborough tippy-tapped around on the Town right as Cas played piggy in the middle. The ball was rolled to Clarke on the right edge of the Town box and Bolder missed, lunged and missed again. Clarke clipped a cross to McKenzie, 6 yards out in the centre, who carefully steered the ball wide of Davison’s left hand post. Ford watched the miss with admiration, or should that be with three aspirins and a hot towel?

Shambling, rambling, fumbling, stumbling, here comes the humbling of Town. Tyler thwacked the ball upfield. No danger, routine, humdrum up and under stuff in the middle of the pitch. Oh no, this is Town, there is no such thing as routine up and under stuff. Crane headed back infield, Bolder was first to the ball but third to the tackle and the ball rolled free to Clarke, about 30 yards out in the centre. The defence backed off and Clarke passed the ball to Newton, near the left corner of the penalty area. The merest suggestion of a step over and shimmy saw Edwards shuffle backwards like he’d learnt from that video teaching aide he saw yesterday "The Gallimore Plan - 101 ways to retreat".

Casyellow card


Hockless62 mins
Soames87 mins


Paul Danson


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It wasn’t a treat for Town, as NEWTON stepped inside and curled a wonderful shot over Davison and into the very top right hand corner. The ball even did a little pinball style rinky-dink-dink between the staves of the stanchion. The Pontoon was silent, then a ripple of applause for the goal, followed by a torrent of abuse for the culmination of 17 minutes of just plain dross.

So bad things can only getter better? For the opposition normally. Whoops. Oh, dear, oh dear, oh dear. A throw to Peterborough, near the half way line, simply lobbed down the line. Edwards missed the header. The ball bounced once and Ford allowed Clarke to shield and bound off towards the bye-line. He looked up and saw McDermott racing across to the centre to cover for the absent minded professionals, and the ball was clipped to the far post. Farrell, unmarked and about 12 yards out, steered a volley across Davison towards the right hand corner. Davison rose majestically and floated on the thermals to brilliantly tip the ball aside for a corner. Most magnificent, we rose as one to acclaim his greatness. Oh Caesar the saver. And from this moment the game changed. Groves spent a lot of time coaching and eventually some solidity emerged. Not much, but enough to stem the flood of free flowing forward play from our fenland foes. The game was dull, boring, and really dreadful. But at least Town were holding on, and the crowd began to quieten from the rumbling, grumbling seething mass, to its former state of detached, silent annoyance. Hey, that’s progress!

Not much more happened in the rest of the half, save a woeful Cas shot, where a bit of ricocheting on the edge of the Peterborough area saw the ball bounce nicely to our Dutch dream. Echoes of a hopeless Hollander past came fluttering back through the years for, in Menno style, Cas leant back and thought of that video CV crammed full of spectacular goals. Free, with acres of space in which to run, Marcel flashed a terrific shot against the outside of the left hand post keeping the scoreboard up. The ball stayed inside the ground, just, which is more than can be said for the one which Peterborough’s Shields managed to launch over, yes over, the top of the Findus/Stones/Smiths Stand, probably dislodging a gherkin from a premiership clad youngster’s burger when it landed. We can hope, can’t we? Apart from a scramble inside the Peterborough area, where Boulding almost turned a few yards out, and a Rowan glancing, near post header from a Cas corner, that was it. Thank goodness it was over. Like an interview with Brian Laws it had seemed to go on and on with no purpose.

Town were booed off at half time, and it is hard to disagree with those sentiments, for they had been, generally, rotten. Rowan was playing like a 10 year old again, feeling a bit miffed at those big men who keep pushing him. Boulding ran around a lot, but hardly had the ball, for the distribution from, well, everyone, was hopeless. Campbell was not so much invisible as an abstract concept that scientists will produce cunning theses about in obscure journals. The world passed Groves by and Bolder needs no deconstruction, merely our collective sympathy. To criticise would be cruel, like shooting dead fish in a barrel full of dead fish, in a warehouse full of barrels of dead fish. Poor, poor lad. The defence existed in theory. Ford covered for the wandering minstrel Crane, but was prone to those Fordian moments of incredible space cadet glowing. Edwards. See above: too slow, out of position, did his best. Not good is it.

Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Peterborough United 1

Well, at least it was half time and we could rely upon Barry Fry to do his magic with an incoherent ramble at his players. He had been, so far, disappointingly calm, at least to those not within 20 yards of his large trousers. But it was only 1-0, when Town should, probably, have been three down. Not our problem if they miss sitters, is it.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"Are those frontages Georgian?".
"I’d rather go shopping. I think Bolder is shopping".
"Only soft southerners carry umbrellas".
"They’re a superior form of average"
"My new Town mug is hoops, not stripes. Ten Heuvel’s gone?"

The report continues in the Second Half.

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