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What is more important, result or style of football?

Result
Style of Football


 

25/09 Cambridge 2nd Half

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 26/09/2004

TWO bi-planes drifted across the sky, but there were no wing-walkers to liven things up. There was a pitch invasion by 1,000 children in blue tracksuits, which made some of us think we were about to have a display of rhythmic gymnastics. There were more on the pitch than in the stands at one point.

Home > 2004-2005 Season > Reports > Cambridge (a)


The Abbey

Cambridge United 0 Grimsby Town 2
25 Sep 2004, Coca Cola League 2

Allegedly this was a mass prize giving, though it hardly ranks with crazed warblers and mini-football as the acme of half time entertainment. Without anyone noticing, Cambridge came back onto the pitch. Did anyone care? Not their own silent supporters. Town came out a minute or so later to a rousing clap or two.

Cambridge replaced Chillingworth with Turner. Had Chillingworth had been on the pitch? He’s got to be good looking ‘cos he was so hard to see. Town didn’t make any perceptible changes.

Within a couple of minutes Parkinson had messed up a break with his head-down weak dribbling. Sestanovich zoomed forward down the centre right, drew the shaking centre back towards him and purred a pass to Parky, who ran into Tann. Cue much stamping of Lincolnshire boots on the ancient concrete steps. The game was still in a curiously putrid state. Town were stale, diffident observers, whilst Cambridge seemed unsure of what style to play. Neither long ball, nor pure passing, they tried to play up and off strikers with midfield runners. They just weren’t good enough. Town’s defence was notches up the stick, with Forbes and Gordon only worried by their own superiority. Forbes amused himself by guiding inaccurate punts out for goal-kicks by diving over the ball and crawling after it on all fours. Danger averted doggy style.

Huh! What’s that? Did I miss something whilst I was deciding whether to eat a Twix or Kit-Kat with my coffee? No, you’re not interested in random crosses and random flappings from their goalkeeper, are you? You are? Well, their ‘keeper randomly flapped the ball away when Fleming crossed from a free kick. I did warn you that there wasn’t much to that. Settle down and relax a bit. We want this elusive away win so bad it’s been driving us mad. Please don’t do that primal scream again. Listen to some light jazz or eat a pizza.

And finally Cyril, some action worthy of a description. Reddy ran after an over-hit pass. Wasting his time, using up kilojoules of energy for no reason, what’s the point? Jowsey trembled off his line towards the edge of the penalty area, way out on the right. Reddy stretched, a defender stretched, the ball ricocheted off the ‘keeper’s body and out to Sestanovich on the corner of the penalty box. He looked up, selected which millimetre of the goal was unguarded, and carefully caressed the ball over defender and goalkeeper. The ball curled towards the top left hand corner, going, going, gone, Aberdeen Angus appeared from behind a parked car to head the ball off the line for a corner. Ooooooooooooooo,

Town were in the ascendancy, with a little more purpose going forward. Sestanovich had dropped back away from the front two and was beginning to pick up the apples and pears that were falling from the fruit tree. Several nearlys, many almosts, but no reallys. Just after the hour Cambridge not only reached the Town half but had a shot! The Towns fans cheered ironically. Turner had drifted through a couple of challenges on the centre left of the Town defence before dribbling a shot straight at Williams from 20 yards. A minute later Gordon tried to show off once too often before being dispossessed on the touchline. Two passes later an Abbeyboy crossed from the bye-line to Turner, a dozen yards out at the near post, who steered a volley a couple of feet over. Don’t worry about them, they wouldn’t score if we’d put the Mighty Mariner in goal, Austin Mitchell at centre back and you, yes, you reader, playing the part of Jason Crowe, perhaps in the style of Brian Blessed.

Grimsby
Anthony Williams
Justin Whittle
Terrell Forbes
Dean Gordon
John McDermottgoal
Terry Flemingyellow card
Stacy Coldicott
Jason Crowe
Ashley Sestanovich
Michael Reddy
Andy Parkinsongoal

 

Subs
Chris Williams78 mins
Paul Robinson84 mins
Thomas Pinault
Graham Hockless
Greg Young
 
Attendance
3,824

 

Referee
Russell Booth
(Nottingham)

 

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With about 25 minutes Town exerted some pressure on Cambridge, with the ball bouncing across the pitch from right to left. Fleming, in the centre, lofted the ball across and then forward, barging his way goalwards. The ball reached the right edge of their area and Crowe leapt to challenge. PARKINSON allowed it to drop, took one look, one step and steered a superb shot across the ‘keeper into the top left hand corner of the goal. Steered baby, steered, with the outside of his right boot. You could say it was attractively built.

Town visibly relaxed, Cambridge shrank even further into their turtle shell. That sweet, sweet soul music that is Town showing off got played for a few bars, but only a few. Reddy started to move a little quicker, Sestanovich’s chest puffed out, Crowe started to win tackles and his passes went even closer to Town players. Sestanovich nearly charged down a fly kick from Jowsey and then, a few seconds later, well, here comes the sun king. Sestanovich (I think) on the half way line intercepted a dreadful pass/clearance/waft forward. He licked the ball up to Reddy, who rolled past his marker, cut infield and up to the edge of the area. Striped shirts poured forward and Reddy shuffled, teased and taunted the defenders with some Latin American cha-cha-cha. He fair glided into the box and awaited support. Reddy played a perfectly weight short pass to McDERMOTT, near the penalty spot, who steadied himself and carefully placed the ball around the goalkeeper and into the bottom left hand corner. The Town fans erupted, oh that magic feeling, nowhere to go but higher. A real connection between player and supporters as Macca sprinted to the clump of marinerdom and roared his little head off, punching the air. If the ref had allowed him to he’d have hugged every one of us. Twice. The goal was special not just because it was clearly the points sealer, but because it was Macca, the man that is Town. It wasn’t just a goal, it was our goal, like we had scored it. Everybody was laughing, everybody was happy. Except the locals, who started to drift away, one by one.

The last quarter of an hour or so was a doddle, a doodle, a sketch pad for Sestanovich, an open field through which Fleming could gaily skip amongst the buttercups and daisies, singing songs and doing cartwheels. Oh Sestan, he’s a pretty nice player but his mood changes from game to game. Enervated for an hour he suddenly started to displays his wares in the market place. With just over ten minutes left C Williams replaced Reddy and his first contribution was to totally confuse the occasional away supporter. They just didn’t know who to blame for a poor pass or failed tackle. Parkinson, Williams and Coldicott ran around in a pack. Which baldyman to blame? They settled for Stace, for old time sake. He’s a man, he can take it. We loved that back-heel in the first half though. Whenever Macca ran past he was hailed, finally, with songs of appreciation. We know we don’t have to say it, but it’s still good to verbalise our appreciation now and again. There is only one John McDermott, and he’s ours.

You can tell not much football was going on, can’t you. The Cambridge players had long since resigned themselves to defeat, with only the occasional breakaway which was of potential danger only if Turner got the ball. Quite a nifty lad, the only yelllowboy who stood out, pinging a flat leaning volley from 20 yards just a foot or two wide of the left hand post. It even made Williams move, the first time for half an hour. Yes, Town were under that much of a liquorice cosh. Dip it in sherbet next time, Abbeyboys. Oh what joy for every Town girl and boy knowing the game is safe

With about five minutes left Sestanovich was replaced by Robinson, who immediately set up C Williams with an excellent reverse pass inside the full back, rounding off a little flickery and trickery down the right touchline. Williams advanced but was frozen in fear, deciding to curl a cross to Parkinson at the far post rather than shooting. His pass was pathetically weak, rolling gently to Jowsey. A couple of minutes later Town ripped them apart again, one-two-three quick passes and Robinson free a dozen yards out, to the left of the penalty spot. Fleming got in the way, then prodded a pass sidewards, but Robinson had stopped, allowing a defender to hip his way across and clear. Anything else? Oli messed up a clear chance when Town were caught on a breakaway. Forbes and Whittle blocked without too much fuss just inside the penalty area. Err, Parkinson dribbled past two defenders, hit the bye-line and didn’t cross to the unmarked Robinson? Not very interesting, not something that changed the course of world history, not worth thinking about too long.

After a couple of minutes of added time the referee allowed us to wallow in the glory of victory. Ah, Town is old, Town is new, boring the way to victory, like we used to. How did Slade finally do it? It has been quizzical how Town have managed to avoid victory at times so perhaps those late nights all alone with his test tubes produced that midfield gruesome twosome; leaving Dr Jekyll on the subs bench and two Mr Hyde’s snapping away. It wasn’t pretty, but it was pretty effective. The plaudits go to the backboys, for offensively Town offended with lacklustre trundlings. A bigger win was on offer if they’d bothered. Cambridge weren’t bad, just not quite good enough in every single department. They were far more aesthetically pleasing than some of the rugby teams on offer in the fourth. They could do with a couple of old fashioned bruisers. But that’s not our problem, is it.

Three points, two goals and one happy bunch of Town fans jiving down the Newmarket Road.

The End.

Nicko’s Man of the Match

Gordon and Forbes were barely out of neutral, such was the ease with which they dealt with opponents. However, and not just for the gaol, it’s Mr John McDermott for his perennial blooming, his never ending running and intelligent movement. Macca is back.

Official Warning

Mr R Booth. Nothing much to say about him, for he was mostly unobtrusive. He didn’t get much wrong, except perhaps the booking of Fleming, but as that was in the dullest of the duller dull periods of dire dullness we can forgive him for seeking to spice up his life with a little madness. The earth shakes and the god of nebulous statistics belches out 7.532.

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