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|Cohen: Great Goal|
11/11 Macclesfield 2nd Half
By: Tony Butcher
Neither team made any changes at half time. Thank goodness for Mildenhall. If only weâ€™d had him last year, eh?
Grimsby Town 3 Macclesfield Town 1
Macclesfield continued to contain minor peril that may upset young children with Parkin and Wijnhard rocking and rolling around the Town defence. The ball dropped, Parkin bazookaed a first time shot a yard wide from 25 yards out. You didnâ€™t see it? You must have blinked. Can we have him please Mr Fenty? A Macc corner crumbled through the area with no-one touching it. A free kick curled into Mildenhallâ€™s waiting arms, which were attached to his waiting body. The pressure was tightening on Town: Macc fizzing, the pace upped, Parkin scary. Parkin turned Whittle into a novelty pin cushion, the sort you can buy in tea shops in the Wolds for Â£1.50, but fell over as he was free inside the area.
The snow flurry over, Town returned to the Pontoon with some one-touch passing mixed in with some lobs into the corner for Reddy to chase. He is Michael Reddy and that is what he does. Swooshing past Morley on the right, Reddy rolled into the area, along the bye line, and crossed into the near post, near Jones, who nearly touched it. We were nearly happy. Repeat formula, substitute Parkinson for Jones, add some egg white, beat with a whisk and watch Parky swing the ball over the bar from the edge of the six yard box. Worth an "ooh" in anyoneâ€™s language; except Welsh.
You blinked again didnâ€™t you. Gary Jones daintily turned, surged forward and almost played a perfect pass through the centre of the defence. Reddy almost through but wasnâ€™t, sit down again. Get back up again - you may wish to catch the ball as it sails by. Parky perkying past three, curling the ball into the upper echelons of society, or the back of the Pontoon, whichever is poshest.
You do see some amazing things these days. Lumpy the bush kangaroo bounced through two challenges, leapt over the eucalyptus tree at left back and clipped a tantalising cross over Fettis and just over Cohenâ€™s head. Whatever will they think of next?
Macclesfield brought on John Miles for his fifteen minutes of fame. With all their troubles Iâ€™m sure his music will pull them through. Or they could just make sure Parkin remains fit. Around this time the game slipped into a bit of a torpid patch, not helped by a tubby linesman and Reddyâ€™s continuing quest to build a tunnel under the Humber. Are you worried at Wijnhard slipping into the Town area and lobbing the ball just past Mildenhallâ€™s right hand post? You are? Then you werenâ€™t very observant: the linesmanâ€™s flag had been up for ages. The Town defence continued its four man tug of war with the mighty Parkin, just about winning. Just.
With ten minutes left Town walloped the ball high down the pitch way into the Macclesfield area on their left. Jones challenged and a defender half-hooked the ball out of the area. Cohen, about 20 yards out near the corner of the box, chested the ball forward with the full-back careering off towards Spurn Point. These ships passed in the night, observing maritime law by switching their lights on and sounding their horns. Along came another defender, with Cohen stepping down on the bouncing ball, sending this one towards Chapmanâ€™s Pond with a warning about the bottomless pit that awaits him if heâ€™s naughty. Fettis advanced to the edge of the six yards box and COHEN, as he stumbled, steered the ball, left-footed, towards the bottom right-hand corner, perfectly bisecting the plunging keeper and Whitakerâ€™s dying swan on the goal-line. Think of John Barnes against a troupe of Brazilian circus clownâ€™s. Honk! 3-1, game over, yes!
Andrew immediately replaced Parkinson and we were re-introduced to that old tactic of whacking the ball towards the big bloke on the wing, which rather took the gloss paint off the rather fine new fitted wardrobes. The last ten minutes had a couple more tugâ€™oâ€™war sessions with Big Jon and two lustrous Cohen dribbles that ended with nothing much, but they looked good for a few seconds.
Is that it? Well. Oâ€™Reddy has to riverdance once per game and he shivered down the right one more time for his old gran. Lung-bursting past two defenders, he shuffled into the area and, from a narrow angle, flickered the ball across the face of goal, missing post and Jones by an equidistance. The long dayâ€™s journey into night had ended. Smile! We won. Smile! We won eventually playing some fluid passing football. Isnâ€™t that what we want?
It wasnâ€™t an orgy of wonderfulness: Town were OK, doing what the sullen silent shrinking support want adequately, and winning. Letâ€™s not get too carried away just because we didnâ€™t lose. However it was totally clear that the players were thinking before they kicked it and were making an effort.
Base camp rebuilt: we can start climbing again.
Nickoâ€™s Man of the Match
As usual Bolland ran around a lot, what some would call the heart of team. Toner had by far his best game for Town, playing simple passes quickly and standing in the right places. Town won because they didnâ€™t concede more than they scored and for that they have one man-mountain to thank: Steve Mildenhall, for thwarting the evil schemes of the silkymen. His very existence is enough to cause a rip in the space/time continuum of your average fourth division striker, and even very good ones.
Mr E Ilderton. He wasnâ€™t that bad, playing advantage intelligently and correctly. A few little mistakes, and could have given Town a penalty when Reddy fell over a body. From 100 yards away it was clear Reddy was already falling before the Maccman arrived, so letâ€™s not be too one-eyed. It didnâ€™t matter anyway, we won. Everybody be cool, this wasnâ€™t a robbery, his wining lottery numbers are 6.81723
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