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Morecambe Report Part 3
By: Tony Butcher
LETâ€™S skip over this tedious intrusion and just listen to the selection of popular music cascading down the walls of indifference. The players certainly seemed more interested in the music, playing name that tune.
"Playing football in the park, kicking pushbikes after dark... back of the â€˜ead with a plastic cup." "Reddy, Reddy theyâ€™ve got a crush on you." Ah, great days mate, not â€˜arf.
Cohen nearly, Palmer almost, twice: thatâ€™s the condensed soup version. Just after the restart Cohen got around to bursting through, past two markers, with just the keeper to beat. They slid together, the ball bounded away, but both stayed down injured. Another long delay: will this ever end? Palmer twice took the ball across their defence, 25 yards out and cracked right-footed pingers. The first went straight to the keeper, the second forced an excellent plunging parry away from the bottom left corner. So now we see what he does, itâ€™s that. Chest, turn, shoot. Everything else was a bit Mansaram on stilts though
Perhaps Morecambe had shots. Perhaps they didnâ€™t. Perhaps youâ€™ll see when you watch the video of this game. Perhaps you are mad?
Do you really want to put yourself through this? Oh alright. Erm, Barwick had a shot that was quite close, but quite close is as much a goal as being on the last train to Clarksville or a bottle of beetroot beer. Câ€™mon, the chip shopâ€˜ll be shut soon. Palmer was fouled, Crane quacked upfield to put his full backside behind a whacking great free kick, but Barwick sent him back and toothpicked the ball into the Osmond. My brain rusted up completely as the next thing anyone can remember is that we had even more footballing adventures: a penalty shoot-out. What value for money eh!
Now hereâ€™s a chance to blow your mind, to build up the tension, to rack up the drama. The language shall flower, your heartstring shall be tugged. No it was boring and predictable, why waste you time any further. Hereâ€™s the facts, just the facts.
They scored, with the Mildster going the right way. Ramsden scored. Lloyd walked up like he was expecting a giant snake to eat him and Mildenhall flew to his left and saved easily. Gritton only just scored, then Mildenhall went the wrong way. Toner hit it to his left, then they scored off the post with Mildew going the right way.
And now comes the comedy. Trembling Terry advanced to the sound of one thousand guffaws and a not-so-whispered "heâ€™s going to miss". He apologised in advance and tapped it to the keeperâ€™s right, at thigh level. Save duly made. Mildew went the right way again for their next penalty, only just missing and the scorer thumped the air wildly taunting his invisible tormentors in the Pontoon. He may seek help form a counsellor tomorrow. Mr Tony Crane manfully strode forward, placed the ball carefully, took four steps and crumpled the ball towards the top left-hand corner of the Humber Bridge. Mission accomplished?
The end. Our community service completed, we could return to our families and begin to rebuild our lives. I understand that this match will be erased from computer records in three years time. Hardly anyone tried much, with just the occasional burst of interest if the ball was exactly where they wanted it, not an inch either side would do. Letâ€™s hope they were deliberately underachieving or else weâ€™ve got problems; it wonâ€™t be a winter wonderland with this lot as back-up, especially the central midfield. They were frequently outmanoeuvred, outpaced and outskilled by a slightly under strength Conference team.
Whereâ€™s the shredder?
Nickoâ€™s Man of the Match
Oddly, given the drossicity, there is one. Mildenhall is absolved of everything by the way. For just surviving two hours of football at the middle-earth age of 96, itâ€™s Justin Whittle. He canâ€™t pass, but he can stop. And he tried.
Markieâ€™s Unman of the Match
Tony Crane, for being Tony Crane par excellence. His good interceptions (all three of them) were due to him being too slow and mentally lazy to mark anybody: he was there by accident. Ah well, only a few more months left and then he can join Armthorpe Welfare. We are their feeder club, arenâ€™t we?
Mr D Drysdale. Despite his best efforts, Town still managed to avoid victory. He tried so hard for us too, perhaps intimidated by the crowd, that wall of yawning. He loses points for failing to turn off the tap, the water torture stretching into the wee small hours and beyond. So: md.Q-39. Sorry, I was just thinking of the game there, and dropped off for a second. Oh, er, why not, 6.0001.
Can I have my brain back now?
Vote for your Man of the Match
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