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Jones: Opener
Jones: Opener

17/09 Torquay Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 18/09/2005

A shot! Sort of. Kalalala briefly awoke from his golden slumbers for a less than golden shot that scruffled along the ground wider and wider still. A minute later Cohen received a throw in on the left, chested the ball on and eventually caught up with it near the edge of the penalty area.

Home > 2005-2006 Season > Reports > Torquay (h)

Grimsby Town 3 Torquay United 0
17 Sep 2005, Coca Cola League 2

He tickled the ball infield to Bolland who slathered a shot across goal, across the floodlights, across the universe. But hey, two shots in two minutes, that's more than Winston Churchill ever did.

It's still a bit quiet.

Minutes passed by. We'll never get them back, so make the most of them. Look around you: Sir John brave and fearless, peerless and imperious, smothering Kuffour, shepherding him away from goal. Kuffour? Ah yes, every team has to have a Town reject these days. It's that or a Jermaine. This lad was bright, tricky and zoomtastically quick, but getting to the ball is one thing, getting past Macca is another. Did they have a shot? Nothing that went to Mildenhall. He flickered around and flavoured their milk shake, but they couldn't find a straw. They worried with their potential, not their actual.

Jones the Lump spun and slimed a cracker goalwards, the 'keeper leaping to his left and magnificently tipping the ball aside for a corner. Quite brilliant. Ho follows ho, got you there, didn't I. No such fortune for the paying public. Lumpy custard pie Jones creaked and croaked, the ball bumbled through to Marriott who had enough time to check his internet banking account to see whether his credit card payment had cleared. It had. Sipping a latte on the veranda he held out his hand and the few, the happy few Torbayites behind him were content. Torquay, Torbay, it's the same place.

A pigeon flew down the pitch, gliding gracefully into the Pontoon. Such poise, such elegance, such a danger to the man in seat F72. So that's why he wears a large hat.

Oooh, did I miss something? Sure did. Town starting to attack, pressing the yellow army back into the sea. What do you mean you can't see the sea - it's there between the land and the sky. Cohen flibbling, fumbling and felled, a free kick about thirty yards out on the centre left. The wall just an illusion, a figment of Rosenior's imagination. Russ's favourite Frenchman (2005) curdled the ball through the wall and round the post. Marriott dived to his right to justify his wages. Another minute, another free kick in exactly the same spot after Reddy had done some brass rubbings down the centre. Barwick! Hello, you are on the pitch, not just occupying space sensibly in front of captain sensible. Let's talk about things you'd like to do. Score a goal? You got to have a dream, if you don't have a dream...two steps, a clipped shot and an "OOOOO" as Mr Squarepeg delightfully sculptured the ball over the wall. Marriott flew to his right and clutched the ball as it floated towards the side of the goal.

See, starting to get interesting now, isn't it. And I forgot to tell you about a trademark Reddy run down their right: the centre backs quivering in their backbone, the left back shaking in the kneebone. Reddy drove his big Winnebago into the area and slid a sneaky little shot low across the keeper, who clung on one-handed. Torquay on the edge, the ledge crumbling.

Slowly, slowly Town emerged from their nuclear bunker. The full backs were supporting the attacks, crosses were made and defenders flayed. Reddy rippling on the right towards the corner flag, McDermott scooting along the touchline in support, a cross flicked over to the centre of the area.

Steve Mildenhall
John McDermott
Justin Whittle
Rob Jonesgoal
Gary Croft
Terry Barwick
Jean-Paul Kamudimba
Paul Bolland
Gary Cohen
Gary Jones
Michael Reddygoalgoal


Tom Newey88 mins
Martin Gritton67 mins
Ciaran Toner67 mins
Tony Crane
Simon Ramsden


Jonathan Moss
(West Yorkshire)


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Jones the Lump leant back and noodled the ball high across Marriott, who sailed into the sun, the ball dropping into the top right corner? Hand or crossbar diverted the ball, Bolland scrounged, a yellow leg swiped, bodies plunged to earth and a was corner given. A minute later came another cross from the right following more passes from Town players to Town players. This is getting surreal, expect the scoreboard to keep proper time next. Cohen rose at the far post and steered a header straight into Marriott's midriff. "Oof" and "Ooh".

Let's snooze for a while, we've had a bit to much neo-excitement. The referee kept booking them for tripping us. They weren't happy, we were. There you are: the swing is a roundabout on chains. I suggest you go to the toilet now. Come back in ten minutes, I may have something to tell you.

There, feel better now. I do hope you washed you hands. With a couple of minutes to go to half time Town were given a free kick deep inside their own half. Jones the Stick was persuaded upfield by a cabal of leading players. Croft belted the ball upfield, straight down the pitch, high, hanging and hopeful. The two Joneses waited underneath and missed with their attempted flick on; it bounced once and Cohen was equally unsuccessful with his attempt at pub football. A defender nodded the ball out towards the penalty spot. One stride, one man, one vision of marvellosity. JONES THE STICK swung his left boot and the ball incinerated the net, high to Marriott's right. Two appliances were called out to douse the flames. There's unstoppable and there's a half volley from Rob Jones; everyone ducked, people like to keep their heads attached to their shoulders. From nothing a goal, just a thump and a thwack and there we were, leading. We just needed to lean on the lean-to.

The rest of the half isn't worth thinking about; we were all still thinking about the thwacking great goal and the renaissance of Rob Jones: the metamorphosis from slug to butterfly. What a difference a year makes: from losing beautifully to winning ugly. Hold on cowboy, that's a chicken counting moment. Remember-member-member-member-member what Wombles Town are at times. Think once, think twice, think Stockport wasn't nice.

Half time: Grimsby Town 1 Torquay United 0

The first half wasn't great. Town were unable for long periods to get the ball off opponents who appeared to be quite nifty in between the penalty areas, but looked decidedly ropey in defence and barn-door-tastically inept at shooting. Bolland, Rob Jones and Macca: the rest you can forget about. Most stood in the right places, but that's about it. Kalalalalalala, in particular, was ensuring he wouldn't be injured for Tuesday.

Still, better than losing 1-0 at half time.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"I can only think of dungarees and puffa skirts."
"Torquay are alright until they have to do anything."
"Sometimes I can't tell whether I'm in the Pontoon or the National Theatre."
"Rob Jones is like Worzel Gummidge: he just had the wrong head last year."
"I've always thought of Miles as a man who'd wear a purple suit."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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