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Parky: Opener
Parky: Opener

16/04 Notts Co Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 17/04/2005

AH-HA, and I am not referring to Norwegian synth-popsters. Something's happening here. What it is exactly ain't clear. Do County really want us to win? For the gazzillionth time a striped one passed to a Town player.

Home > 2004-2005 Season > Reports > Notts Co (a)

Meadow Lane

Notts County 2 Grimsby Town 2
16 Apr 2005, Coca Cola League 2

This time Gritton was the beneficiary of the Nottingham and District charity for the unable and unwilling. Alone on the right, he ran off in a straight line towards the penalty area. Yep, much like Crowe five minutes earlier. Off he went, pursued by the remnants of the defence. Over they came towards the honeypot, Gritton waited, looked up and rolled the ball across the face of goal towards the totally, completely and utterly unmarked Parkinson. Did I say he was unmolested by locals? I know, don't get too excited, it's because he's short. The ball was slightly in front of the scouse scamperer, who caught up with it beyond the far post, about eight yards out. Cat Deeney in goal, who lives on cokey-nuts and fish from the sea, wandered over and bamboozled Parkinson. How? Maybe it was the red feathers and hooly-hooly skirt that put Parky off, for our shiny-bonced striker did a little umpa-lumpa dance and the Cat picked the ball up and licked his spoon. How very Parky.

Another minute another Parkinson moment. Gritton chested the ball off, Parkinson controlled the ball on the left, cutting infield, across the face of the penalty area and, with the goal a-gaping, squirmed his shot a few inches wide of the keeper's right hand post. How very, very Parky.

Yes, it was a bit chill, especially on the feet. Pity those poor kids in the Main Stand, all bare kneed. That's some strong school discipline - talk in class and you all go Meadow Lane and you can't wear long trousers. Or maybe they were the half time entertainment.

Hang on, what's going on here? Town passing, and moving? Ah, I see, Cardinal Macca (15-1 shot at William Hill's to be the next Pope) drifting across the Trent, exchanging glances with Jason Crowe and floobling a shot across goal. So, so close, only yards wide.

County got inside the Town half, locals stirred, guests not shaken. Ramsden nicked the ball forward to Gritton, on the left, a few yards from the halfway line. The Gritster brilliantly rolled his marker and set off on his invisible hovercraft down the wing, the wind blowing back McFaul's hair. Parkinson ran off to the far post and waved to Gritton from his rowing boat. Just outside the area Gritton looked up, saw the drowning man and threw the lifeline perfectly. The ball arced over a defender and dropped on PARKINSON'S shins, perhaps eight yards out, rolling down the yellow sock and diving underwater, as Cat Deeney went water skiing. Lovely, a goal. Nice. Now, what do we do when we score? Laugh or cry? Twenty seven minutes had eloped by the way, or elapsed, depending on your boredom threshold.

Hey, you missed it matey. What a daft time to go to the toilet.

Shush, please, can you be quiet over there. We're having a ball. County a non-presence. Snoozily, easily does it. Coldicott happily streetcleaning, brushing away the old bits of fruit and veg that hung about on the pitch, rotting and turning a nasty shade of purple at the edges. Is there a nice shade of purple? Who needs Pinault to create when the entire opposition midfield perform that task, perfect passes sending Town free, time after time. And we don't even have to pay their wages either.

Anthony Williams
John McDermott
Justin Whittle
Terrell Forbes
Rob Jones
Simon Ramsden
Terry Fleming
Jason Crowegoal
Stacy Coldicott
Martin Gritton
Andy Parkinsongoal


Michael Reddy51 mins
Thomas Pinault49 mins
Tony Crane
Ronnie Bull
Nick Heggarty


Joe Ross


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Ten minutes of life disappeared, the football just a back drop to a thousand conversations. It was all rather like having a p-picnic in the park. You are dimly aware that a division 7 Sunday league match is going on a few yards away, and you occasionally get distracted by the players shouts, but what a tasty vegetable samosa that was, pity about the sausages. It's too early for rhododendrons, but it's a riot of colour out there.

County lumped, Whittle dumped. Now ain't that a kick in the head. No collateral damage done.

Is that Gritton again? Twisting, turning, gurning and burning up the flank, frightening all with his loud shirt and long hair, all too Captain America for the local sheriff. Off he went, defenders left chasing a paper trail of clues to his whereabouts. Past one, two, a third beckoned to the spider, and a cunning little vixen of a pass to the unmarked Parkinson, inside the area on the left. Carry on eating your sandwiches: Parky did the usual Parky thing - delayed, shuffled, ruffled away by the big bad wolf.

With five minutes left to half time Town sank back and County turned the gas up to mark two: simmering rather than boiling in the bag. Those frozen peas'll take ages to cook if they carry on like this. A free kick, on the left, about 20 yards out. Williams mixed his mortar, set his bricks and hid behind the wall. Oakes feigned interest, Palmer feigned adequacy, curling softly over the angle of post and bar. Then Town crumpled down the left. Pipe was tickled free, crossing to the far post and Hurst, unmarked on the edge of the six yards box, steered a header straight into the arms of Williams, whilst two unmarked colleagues bellowed in anger below the massed ranks of meandering Mariners.

Town hanging on, half-time dragging closer; Stallard twisting on a lemon, shot deflected over the bar by Jones' foot. A goal kick was given, then it was half time.

Half time: Notts County 0 Grimsby Town 1

Town were comfortable if not particularly wonderful. County were so ropey it would have taken a monumental feat of engineering to construct a Town engine that misfired more than them. Nothing got past Coldicott who parked his S-registered Citroen upon Stefan Oakes whilst he went light shopping in this retail megopolis. Well, it's free; did you see the no parking signs anywhere? Gritton waltzed supreme, back to the player he was two months ago: strong, subtle and a striker. Crowe enjoyed a few little day trips upfield, opening the throttle and really throwing himself into the bends, for their were no speed cameras or police about. The defence was largely untroubled, unruffled and unemployed. Whenever County looked like getting close to Williams, Jones headed away and Forbes used his sonic screwdriver to guide the ball towards the nearest dead planet whilst everyone else simply stood in the way.

For a cheap wine, this was edible. Now, where's the cheese?

If you went to the pie stall at half time you missed a great game of footy between two under-10s teams. Passing, movement, hair, tantrums, great saves, last minute goals. Everything the pros weren't. And when it was over they did a mass Klinsman dive in the goal below the Town fans, forcing the Town substitutes to flee the county.

And half the crowd seemed to be on the pitch being introduced. Is that what they mean by a Community Club? It was all rather Romper Room.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"I'm sorry about Grantham."
"No-one's better than Stace without the ball."
"I see Radcliffe-on-Trent is twinned with Buffy Sainte-Marie."
"He'd better give Macca a new contract or there'll be a riot."
"What's Robin Gibb doing in the Town end?"

The report continues in the Second Half.

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