League Two Table
Question of the Week
Will Paul Hurst stay at Grimsby?
|Time to Retire...|
07/10 Wycombe Part 2
By: Tony Butcher
BETSY again, dreaming down the right, Newey and Parkinson bouncing off his thighs, Mooney back-heeling extravagantly, McDermott cleansing this wound with a little rub of TCP. Torres surging down the left, Mooney clucking the ball along, Betsy frightening the chickens.
Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 1
Half an hour gone already? At last, Town doing something, turning Wycombe's defence. Putting them under the merest semblance of pressure. They looked like they didn't like it up 'em. Like Yeovil before them they seem to have a simple strategy of scoring more goals than the opposition, not stopping the opposition from scoring and seeing what happens. Macca and Reddy swirled down the right, triangulating the ball to Francis, who bullied his way past three, cut infield and, from twenty yards, fizzled a left-footed shot straight at Lonergan. There is life at the bottom of the ocean! What a 30th minute. Newey made a tackle on Betsy, giving them a corner. Town half cleared the corner, the ball went in, went out and some blue-chested footballer flaked a shot from twenty five yards out, on their centre left. Bolland threw himself towards the ball and snicked it off the outside edge of his boot. Mildenhall stood still and joined the Pontoon in watching as the ball arced, swerved, curled, curved and crawled an inch past the right hand post.
Town cleared the corner properly next time, with them even constructing a move down the right-hand side, with Macca overlapping and forcing a corner. Newey clipped it into the centre and Loanee Lonergan, being a gamblin' man, came out and tried to catch it. He failed. The ball bounded about, Reddy's red legs hooked it goalwards, and it was bumbled away from the line by several blue socks and a fair wind from the east. That, I suppose, goes down as a chance. We're a set piece team, remember.
Don't kid yourself into thinking all was now well, that the storm had passed. Wycombe still caused minor peril every time they had the ball; Town were still sitting back watching them play around in front, joining dots we didn't see. The Town centre was a bit better, not much, but just enough to stop shots going in. Blocks were made, desperate hacking at the hedge was enough to ensure Mildenhall didn't have saves to make, just some routine postal collections. Apart from when Mooney turned Whittle and the big man shinned the ball onto the top of the net. A goal kick given, to the silent amusement of seven thousand people. Wahey, there they go...Betsy rifling down the centre with three Town players backing off, scared to touch this vision in blue as he went twenty, thirty, then forty yards. Eventually Jones the Stick swiped, missed ball and Betsy fell over. The referee flounced a yellow card.
With a couple of minutes left Reddy glided down the left, ushering defenders to him, seducing with his shaking hips. Past one, past two, cutting back into the penalty area with Parkinson unmarked in the centre, Reddy ignored the imploring imperfectionist and smacked a shot against the final defender. What a waste, what a waste, and we do mind. The referee sealed his fate, booking McDermott! Doesn't he know his UN Resolution 1356: "acting under Chapter VII of the United Nations charter and recalling all previous resolutions, John McDermott shall never be in receipt of any sanctions from designated officials". Torres raced down the left with Macca in vain pursuit and eventually the ball was quaffed out for a throw in. The referee indicated McDermott had been tugging Torres, camped a yellow card out and...gave a throw in. The half ended amid rancour, with even the Wycombe players arguing with this preening poltroon.
Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 1
Dream alone, don't sigh, don't groan, somehow it's only 1-0. Thoroughly outplayed, Town still had hope, but only if things were changed. Life is only what you wonder and the ground was wondering why Slade had reverted to the stodgy gloop formation. Every home game where Jones the Lump had started has been the same, with Town creating nothing, playing like an away team, holding on and hoping to get something on the break. It's big and ugly. The left side was a disaster, the centre of defence played like ladies who do lunch faced with an obstreperous builder.
This was bad.
Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk
"My mother tells me it's still popular in Nepal."
The report continues in the Second Half.
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