Question of the Week
How long before new manager arrives?
03/01 Cambridge 2nd Half
By: Tony Butcher
NO changes were made by either team at half time. Cambridge kicked off. Itâ€™s 20 years to the day since Dick Emery died. I donâ€™t recall Don McLean writing a song about that! He was awful, did anyone like him? Life was so much simpler then, none of this widescreen digital pixie plus television stuff.
Grimsby Town 3 Cambridge United 0
On the ninth day of Christmas Russell Slade gave to thee, Darren Mansaram in the 87th minute, replacing Parkinson. Immediate results. Town fans happy, in a certain fashion. Ruddy flopped a goal kick towards a stumbling full back. Mansaram, just inside their half, pounced like a panda. A defender slipped, Mansaram raced free towards goal down the centre right. A final defender came flying across the turf, possibly still sliding eastwards now. Dazzler stepped inside. Free, free, just the goalie left. Ruddy staggered forward, Flash contorted his body and steered a tremendously awful shot high and wide whilst a plethora of pleading team-mates waggled their heads. One fell, two fell, the crowd fell over laughing. At last some entertainment.
Shall we ignore Pinaultâ€™s flashing volley which almost dislodged the chimney on number 67 Blundell Avenue. Yes, we shall.
There were three minutes of added time, and as the crowd seeped away, Cambridge had a corner which was cleared. Pinault was free just outside the Town area, onwards, shimmy-shammy, free again. Racing down the centre, pursued by an angry mob, he drew the little Cammy-boys towards his polished toenails and stroked a perfect pass to Gritton on his left. A shuffle, the ball scraped forward, Gritto was a determined fellow. One thing on his mind, oozing confidence, at no time did he look like missing; such coolness, such clarity of vision. Ruddy advanced, GRITTON waited and lofted a dink safely over the flailing limbs and into the centre of the goal from about a dozen yards out, just wide of goal. He stood in front of the Pontoon and demanded some adoration. The Pontoon adored back. Nice finish indeed. So this is what goalscoring is: it isnâ€™t just a theory promulgated by Boffins in the Football Associationâ€™s laboratory deep on the bowels of Shropshire. Alchemy!
There you are, three points in a tatty old bag. Nothing to write home about, especially in the second half where Town only woke up in the last 10 minutes. Bull spent the first five minutes giving the ball away and most of the rest of the half falling over. He was ok going forward though. Pinault was lost in space, Parkinson lost in another universe. Gritton won some headers but looked to tire, and tire of the unimaginative route one thumpings. Fleming ran around, being a more effective roadblock than Crowe. The rest were varying degrees of adequate as individuals, but there wasnâ€™t much of a whole here. More a hole.
What a conundrum. Town are rubbish when they win, but not always the case that they win when theyâ€™re rubbish. Slade has that to sort. Win good, goals good, rest not. Forget everything, go to sleep, wake up, get out of bed, drag a comb across your head. It looks good on paper, if not grass. I feel good, I feel bad, I feel happy, I feel sad. Town eh, typical Town.
Nickoâ€™s Man of the Match
Mr Rob Jones was again quite solid, thoroughly enjoying the rhubarb and custard on offer. However, for the calmness and tranquillity flickering from his inner light itâ€™s Simon Ramsden. The farther one travels, the less one knows. He arrives without travelling, sees all without looking.
Mr M Warren. A right fusspot, never allowing advantage, never allowing physical contact. He ruined a rubbish game. If he gets a score above four youâ€™d be shocked and stunned. 4.934, for he didnâ€™t abandon the game due to perfect visibility, or a lack of standing water, nor did he see any invisible handballs. Youâ€™re shocked. And stunned.
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