The Grimsby Town FC


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7Accrington Stanley13119

9Crawley Town13-119
12Notts County13018
21Cambridge Utd13-613
22Leyton Orient13-412

24Newport County11-67

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Question of the Week

What should happen to the EFL Trophy next season?

As per this season
Just for L1/L2 sides
Invite Conference sides

Parky: Cracker
Parky: Cracker

28/12 Lincoln Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 30/12/2005

ALL this sounds like they had pressure, chances, cohesion. Don’t fool yourself: just two moments when their lumpings nearly caused some discomfort. Oh, there they go again, one of their lanky centre-backs thwacking a shot to Mild-in-tight’s near post.

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

Grimsby Town 3 Lincoln City 0
28 Dec 2005, Coca Cola League 2

How many times do we have to tell the opposition: Williams was last year. The Big M scoffed this festive tart without the need for cream.

Town had a shot: Toner scuffed it straight to their keeper. Not worth expanding upon, just a sighter really. With about nine minutes gone the Mild One drop-kicked the ball straight to Toner, on the centre left, who controlled the ball in an instant, spinning and tapping the ball to the ever-willing Reddyrunner near the touchline. Reddy riverdanced, shuffling his marker along the line, bumping him aside and snowboarding down the slope, all to a fashionably eco-friendly contemporary soundtrack. Defenders poured back as Reddy skipped into the penalty area, near the bye-line. He looked up and awaited friends as foes stood back in awe. Parkinson ran to the far post, Reddy waited. Jones the Lump was by now past the centre circle, Reddy waited. Toner ballroom-blitzed down the centre as Reddy waited and rolled the ball gently towards the infiltrating Irishman. Like an old man in a large hat, the ball refused to be hurried. The referee made a great run from deep and dummied, leaping over the ball and, a dozen yards out on the right of their penalty area, a Town player awaited his destiny. TONER opened up his body and stab-steered the ball high across the face of goal and into the net off the top of the left hand post. All hail... Bolland ...according to the tannoy. Bolland turned to the Findus/Stones/Smiths Stand and accepted the love that flowed.

Actually that long throw Croft thing might have happened now. Who cares.

Town stepped up the pace, confidence clearly oozing from every bootlace. Lincoln decided to be that team the Harlem Globetrotters always play, whose sole function is to provide a tablecloth upon which the real stars can dine. They were great in their rubbishness, even throwing in some physical comedy. Had they put on clown football boots? Whoops! Wahey! Their back four took it in turns to miss the ball and kick it with their standing foot. Big Keef should have put on a red coat and top hat, rather than a rapper’s wrappage around his head.

Ah, some banana splits from Town with one-touch passing down the left. Parky to Reddy, the ball fizzing sideways to the Lumpmeister, 25 yards out. He rose, high-stepping like a Tiller girl to fleagle a ministry-of-silly-walks volley which soared, seared, swerved and sank into the snow two inches from the corner flag for a throw in.

Ho-ho-ho, they’re at it again with their Mr Grimsdale shenanigans. Parkinson and Reddy flambéd down the centre left, the ball squirming across the face of the penalty are towards Mayo, who swung his left foot and did a lovely triple Salkow, landing perfectly with a fixed grin. Cohen ran around Jayne Torvill and flashed a cross towards the near post, six yards out. One of their Big Mac’s (without the Mayo, of course) sliced the ball a yard or so over the crossbar. Town pressure was incessant: Lincoln wobbling like an ill-set jelly in the shape of a rabbit.

Reddyrunner, Reddyrunner, going faster miles an hour. Lumpy loved the ball down the right wing, near the Police Box. Reddy shivered McAuley’s timbers, spliced his mainsail and off he sailed, tacking left, then right, fending off an Impish brigand with a whip and a quip and heading for Treasure Island.

Steve Mildenhall
Gary Croft
Justin Whittle
Rob Jones
Tom Newey
Andy Parkinsongoal
Paul Bolland
Ciaran Tonergoal
Gary Cohenyellow card
Michael Reddygoal
Gary Jones

Simon Ramsden85 mins
Nick Heggarty88 mins
Jean-Paul Kalala
Glen Downey
Paul Ashton

Ray Olivier
(Sutton Coldfield)

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A quick glance at the tatty map and, with a rusty shovel in his back pocket, our hero dispatched two more pirates with a yo-ho-ho. Inside the area, eight yards out, REDDY levered a left-foot shot goal wards, the ball lolloping into the top left-hand corner off Marriott’s forearm. He flits from box to box just like a butterfly, eagerly pursuing all the latest fads and trends - like scoring.

Lincoln did not improve. Asamoah twinkled his toes but never threatened to expose. He must be the anodyne one. The other striker was...was... who was he Ethel? A name came up on the scoreboard - Brown. Big Keef should have known - a gentleman never wears brown in Town. Was he playing? I thought he was a defender? Did they have eleven players? Oh look, another shot. Anodyne cut in from the left and softly curdled the ball into Mild-In-Tights arms.

On the half hour Cohen was subject to some push-me, pull-me, with the ref seeing no evil, but hearing some evil words from the multitude. Cohen rose from the turf, chased after his assailant and subtly legged him up in full flight. A booking followed, and not at the Theatre Royal, Lincoln for his one man show - Travels with my Pants.

Did they have another shot? Yes, typically scruffled and lacking in devilment. Stifle that yawn at the back, it’s only another long throw. Open the podbay doors HAL, Jones the Lean can snaffle those truffles all day, and all of the night. For you completists and towel-straighteners Matthew Bloomer replaced hobbling Lee Beevers after 33 minutes of the association football challenge match. Hobbling Lee Beevers: is he a noisy swamp bluesman?

Ooh, it were pleasantly lovelyful, the dark days of derby misery flung like a snow ball into the Osmond. Town players blossomed into masters of flickery: one-touch back-heels and step-overs a-go-go. Reddy chased the ball into the corner twixt Findus/Smiths/Stones and Pontoon, espied Marriott off his line and, from the touchline, tried a lob volley. The ball brushed against a Big Mac and canoodled into Marriott’s chest. Still, nice try. Corners, crosses, Lincoln still dossers in the underpass: last year’s kings reduced to grovelling in the rubbish bins. No time for gloating, it’s Town time again.

With a couple of minutes left a dozen policemen went to the toilet, and Town won yet another corner. Newey floated the ball in to the centre of the area and Jones the Lean roared a header goalwards. Marriott, on the goal-line, saw the ball late and instinctively flung his right arm up, diverting the ball onto the face of the crossbar, it rolling slowly on the woodwork and out for another corner. Newey again flung it high towards the centre and a defender nodded it out to the edge of the area. Parky challenged, then stood back as the ball bumbled towards the left of the area. A Town player challenged the clearance and the ball rolled back out towards Parky about twenty five yards out, just right of centre. PARKINSON watched and waited for the ball, fine-tuned his radio telescope and thwanged a right-footed curler around the giant red-striped trees in front of him towards the top left-hand corner. Marriott set off early to avoid the rush hour traffic, but still failed as the ball smooched in off the inside of the post.

Half time: Grimsby Town 3 Lincoln City 0

What a perfect pitch, what a perfectly pitched performance. What a hoot.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"No matter how many times you look it won’t turn into a chicken."
"They’ve got four Mark Levers at the back. And three French hens in midfield?"
"To me almond nougat is a Swiss full back, not a Christmas present."
"Yeo will be resigning before he signs if he sees this."
"When I drove up the hill there were lights flashing I never knew existed."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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