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Style of Football


10/08 Boston Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 11/08/2004

THE ball boobied about, squirted out to their centre left and someone, possibly Carruthers, stuck out a foot and simply lifted the ball into the centre of the penalty area, into an empty space. Should I stay or should I go thought Williams. Go, go go! Too late.

Home > 2004-2005 Season > Reports > Boston (h)

Grimsby Town 1 Boston United 1
10 Aug 2004, Coca Cola League 2

The ball bounced once, MELTON strode through the centre and headed across Williams and into the right hand side of the goal from somewhere beyond the penalty spot. A pathetic goal to concede, and one soaked in fury, for the throw was foul and there was a push on Ramsden. They certainly took advantage of our reduced circumstances.

After a couple of minutes of hopping and hoping Jones was eventually replaced by Young. The rest of the half was dire stuff for diehard Mariners. Town were dreadful, simply incapable as a collective unit. Some individuals were simply incapable. As usual Mansaram was the focal point of all frustrations, though a couple of the newer players were worse. Fleming, in particular, was a spectral presence in the first half, a cross between Hamilton and Campbell, let’s call him Hamble. But through all this there was something to chew upon, for Pinault was magnificent. Unlike the rest of the team Thomas the Town engine did not go off the rails, providing a succession of magic moments, even that exaggerated nonchalant pass whilst looking the other way.

Look, nothing happened in terms of goalmouth action down in front of the Pontoon. Boston had the ball a lot, but just didn’t shoot, nor get in any remotely dangerous crosses. A couple of times they infiltrated the Town box when their midfield runners weren’t tracked by Fleming and Whittle, but all they got was a corner. Ah, a corner. That corner. Nothing dangerous, why worry? Shudder at Williams’ weakness. From their left, floated into the near post and no Boston player anywhere near the ball. Safe, blood pressure lowering? No siree, Williams’s legs started to quiver and quake, his left arm sneaked up in the air and he flapped the ball down to the ground, just a couple of yards out. Fortunately, very, very fortunately, the ball just plopped on the turf into a big space where there were no humans or Boston footballers.

Anyway, that’s Boston out of the way. You think I’m joking? You think I’m doing them down? They didn’t shoot. Having the ball and running around in circles is all very fine and dandy up to a point, as experienced Buckleyites will tell you. Like their Mascara-ed Manager, Boston were impressively organised but with a dark underbelly, a nasty pong to go with the pocketful of posies. Yes, Jason Lee, one of Kenny Swain’s one month blunders from the dross of ’97, was a constant thorn in the Town side. Barging, banging and blundering into Town defenders he caused physical mayhem. Jones was forced off after a Lee tackle and Whittle was ordered off the pitch by the referee for having blood gushing out of his nose following a bundle by Lee. Whittle was off for at least a couple of minutes, having been ordered to take off his shirt and get a replacement; then he wasn’t allowed on in his replacement shirt. Eventually he was allowed back, with a numberless and nameless shirt, but without rivers of blood flowing down the front.

Hah, the referee. Infuriatingly petty, but at the same time inconsistently lenient. Flying hacks were allowed but winning the ball wasn’t. Oh, and play was stopped whilst a free kick was taken from the right spot. No the right spot. No the right spot. Wherever it was, it was never where the ball was. And finally, when he was satisfied the ball was where he wanted it, he spotted a Boston player who had one of his socks rolled down. How can you possibly allow professional footballers to play in such sartorially inelegant fashion. What example would that set to the little children of little Britain. Why, anarchy will follow in 20 years time, when they grow up to be a man. We all hailed his stand against loutish behaviour and the modern world of modern things and modern attitudes. We would never have had an Empire if someone hadn’t pulled their socks up.

Anthony Williams
Justin Whittle
Simon Ramsdenyellow card
Rob Jones
John McDermott
Thomas Pinault
Terry Fleming
Jason Crowe
Ashley Sestanovich
Andy Parkinson
Darren Mansaram


Greg Young11 mins
Michael Reddygoal69 mins
Clint Marcelle86 mins


Brian Curson


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Oh, you want to know what happened in the game do you? Mansaram this, Mansaram that. The walking, talking scapegoat wasn’t that bad, either by his standards or those of his colleagues. He was constantly moving, constantly trying and the infinitely more gifted Sestan the Man should take note of that. Sometime during the barren cultural desert that was the first half Mansaram received a clearance on the halfway line, under the Main Stand. He flipped himself around, zoomed up the wing, cut infield and flibbled a rising wobbling shot from about 20 yards which went a foot or so over the bar. Thirty per cent of the Pontoon actually stood up, against their better judgement. That’s football for you, no rhyme or reason to anything. At another indeterminate time Mansaram was the final piece in a five man jigsaw which saw the ball moved beautifully up the left. I can’t remember who was involved in getting it to the Human Octopus but as there was beauty involved Pinault must have touched the ball. Mansaram, the strange curly bit with a kink at the top, spun away from his marker on the right corner of the Boston area and flashed (ah-ha, sorry for that) a shot high across the face of goal. The ball went out of play somewhere inside the penalty area and did get some Main Standers excited, so it can’t have been too far away. Or is that too much of an assumption to make?

You want your Sestan moment now? Mansaram and Pinault exchanged first time passes and flipped the ball to Ashley, who had drifted in from the right touchline. He bundled forward up to the edge of the area and, from a position just right of centre, slapped a low shot a couple of feet wide of the ‘keeper’s left hand post. Get used to it, he’s going do that every game, like a permanent tape loop. Ooh did you notice? Mansaram was involved in that too. I have the dimmest of dim memory of Parkinson fighting his way forward on a breakaway, but his resulting shot is lost in the swirling mists of time, or perhaps the swirling mists that were starting to envelop Blundell Park. The boats had long vanished from view, the trains were becoming hazy, the dry ice was creeping around the ankles. The 15 minute guitar solo couldn’t be far away. Yes, it was half time already, and thank goodness for that. It was rotten.

Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Boston United 1

A word to sum up the first half? "Bweurgh", that noise you make when you have a bunged up nose. Now go away and stick you head under a towel with some Vicks Vapour Rub. You’ll feel better for it when you emerge.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"I can’t hold this pose forever."
"I was doing an impression of a wood pigeon and she thought I was dancing"
"The fourth division - it’s all come flooding back."
"What more could you give someone for their birthday than an inflatable fish?"
"I’ll be doing mathematics and beer all year."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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