The Grimsby Town FC


Question of the Week

What is more important, result or style of football?

Style of Football

Big Keith
Big Keith

28/12 Lincoln 2nd Half

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 30/12/2005

AS the teams trotted out the occasional flecks of snow turned into a shovel load, hurled over the top of the Pontoon by desperate Lincolnites. Cackle maniacally and twang your guitar. White-out!

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

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

Asamoah was allegedly replaced by the less than marvellous Marvin Robinson at half time. Mmmmm, those bells are a clanging again. Robinson, Robinson...wasn’t he one of the many failed trialists against Brigg Town last year. Oh yes, an older version of Jermaine Palmer. Praise as faint as the view from the Pontoon. Hello? Hello? Is there anybody out there? This snow really does clash with the kits, the ref should get it to change colour.

The snow drifted down, settling upon the pitch, the touchlines barely visible. A beautiful scene of tenderness and tranquillity, the snow sheets mesmerising as they wafted past the floodlights, casting scintillating auras. Hang on, enough of this codpoetry: how long must a game be played before the result stands, whatever happens? "Let it snow, let it snow, let it snooooooow" Stop singing you Impies, your fire is slowly dying.

The first ten minutes were played behind a discretely positioned sheet, perhaps to cover up Alexander’s embarrassment as he took off his dirty underwear. Noises were heard infrequently from the pensioners and pedagogues in the Main and Findus/Stones/Smiths stands; out of the gloom City strikers poked their heads, but not a lot seemed to happen. Reddy ran down the touchline a couple of time, Parkinson tried to chip the keeper from the dressing room, but it was all half-paced, half-seen stuff. Town lowered the pace and invited their guests to come closer, come closer, darlings comer closer, but Town couldn’t break away. Lincoln’s resistance was not so low this half.

Ah that’s better, it’s stopped. We can see now. Are you still here Lincolnites?

On the hour Town scored again. Reddy raced down the right and crossed into the centre; there was some kerfuffling involving Cohen and Toner walloped the ball in from 20 yards. The whistle had long since gone, as had hope for Lincoln. Do we really want to rub their noses in the snow? Yes, we flippin’ well do Russ.

We were now just passing the time, not passing the ball. The regulations state 90 minutes have to be played. Can’t we skip the next bit and just go to the post match interviews heard on Radio Humberside whilst waiting to turn left out of Brereton Avenue? Is the referee getting smaller? I suppose things contract in freezing conditions. Toner had a shot, drivelling low and slow to the keeper after some Cohen/Lumpmachine/Bolland interplay. We’re just waiting, but not for a girl like you.

Town sat back and allowed Lincoln to dictate the play: ouch, my neck hurts. Eventually they began to kick the ball into the area in places where Town were slightly uncomfortable. Robinson, fifteen yards out, unmarked but untalented: he headed safely wide and wider still. Mild-In-Tights looked on with the air of a clockwatching till girl in Woolies; if he looked suitably bored the customer would go elsewhere. And again Cyril, one of the Big Macs headed the ball towards the Pontoon from the edge of the area. They really are poor. Last year they had good players playing horrible football, this year they’ve got the players to match their tactics. Aye-aye, another long throw, nice of the stewards to dump the ball in the snow.

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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The referee started to get in the swing of things, making bizarre decisions like a goal-kick for Town when Newey scudded the ball away off the soles of his diamond-encrusted feet. Even the Pontoon claimed a corner for Lincoln. How long gone? Still only 62 minutes; it said that ten minutes ago. Is time freezing too? Or maybe Town wish it would be Christmas everyday?

Here’s another daft decision - free-kick to Lincoln just outside the box because they asked politely. And another, and another. Kerr and Mayo took turns to dimple the ball into the centre. Bodies collided, the ball followed instructions and avoided contact with red and whiteys. Moments of potential danger where the application of the laws of probability says something could turn up eventually. It didn’t; the nearest they got was when Mild-O wandered out to whisper in Whittle’s ear. The ball trumbled off a Lincoln head, over the bored keeper and some anonymous and anodyne striker way beyond the far post glanced a header even further wide.

As Lincoln started to press forward Town started to catch them on the break. Cohen performed some juggling with a large baked potato, a banana fritter and a bobble hat. Two defenders applauded as the Gretna ghost za-zoomed away from the touchline towards goal. They backed off, he looked up, saw Reddy racing to his left and played a perfectly weighted pass to the Kilkenny flyer. Reddy pushed the ball to his left, dribbled in to the area and chimpled the ball way over the bar, hitting the underside of the scoreboard. How long gone? 62 minutes.

Robinson started to kick Croft, leaving his foot hanging in the air for an "accidental" collision, but Town rarely got a free kick. The crowd were roused and railing when Cohen was penalised for winning the ball; the crowd wailing when Cohen was clobbered full on in the cobblers area, but no free kick awarded. At long, long last, a free kick to Town: Robinson booked and Newey launching the ball deep into the Lincoln area. Jones the Lean got on his space-hopper and loop-glanced a header goalwards, Marriot arcing back and comfortably plucking. How long gone? 62 minutes? Still?

That’s not a clock it’s a thermometer. But on which scale? The Fentyscale, where it’s the temperature you’d like it to be? Where did the last 20 minutes go? On 82 minutes Croft was walloped again. In the 80th minute Ramsden replaced him. Now that’s management, thinking two minutes ahead, no wonder we concede so few goals. Lincoln still pressed on with their jumping-a-Town-player-to-get-a-free-kick tactic. The Impies indulged in some binge dinking into the Town penalty area, resulting in men rolling around on the floor and forgetting where they were and what they were doing. Mild-Still-In-Tights rabbit-punched one away and there was the very minorest of hints at a shot from them when a dink arrived at Robinson’s feet four yards out. With his back to goal he was simply ushered into the nearest cubicle and told to wash his hands before he leaves.

Town’s infrequent raids were characterised by flickery and trickery, the Lumpmachine acting as some kind of bloated Tony Rees, holding the ball and rolling it aside for Cohen to mis-kick straight to the keeper. Parkinson shot straight at a defender’s ankles after Bollandian hussling and Reddyian rolling had set him free. It’s party time.

With a couple of minutes left Heggggggggarty replaced Reddy, who got a huge ovation. Reddy wasn’t paying attention and had to be tapped on the shoulder by his marker and told to leave the pitch. And that was just about that. Hegggggarty touched the ball twice and was introduced to the harsh world of man-football as Town launched the ball in the air towards him. Town just wasted time in the corners for the last few minutes, much to the annoyance of the crowd. Does it matter now? No. Game over, three points in that big bumper bag of goodies. Lincoln just got the plastic kazoo.

How satisfying: a stroll in the snow with the job done in half the time available. How wonderfully efficient. See, Town, that’s the way to do it: rock and roll from the start. Most pleasing, locals content; let’s open another box of chocolates.

Nicko’s Man of the Match

Everyone will pick Reddy for his typically Reddyian performance of shugging and chugging, and he was an immense pest to them, creating the first two goals. But hey, Nicko’s from Grimsby, it’s in the DNA code to be contrary. Toner had his best game for Town by several eons and, really, everyone played well; even Lumpy was effective for the whole match. However, for being a human dynamo from first to beyond the last minute, it’s Paul Bolland; he even controlled it twice. What further proof do you need to convict?

Official Warning

Mr R Olivier. He gets a seasonal bonus of an extra five clubcard points for letting the game start, and finish. But the bits in between were a problem. Every little thing he did was not magic, managing to infuriate the home fans by imagining slurs upon the good shirts of Lincoln but ignoring some rather obvious man-not-ball challenges, particularly by their forwards. He kept giving free kicks when Town players looked at Lincolnites, but then ignored the Reddy shuffle, where he yanks the centre back’s underpants down and runs off sniggering and pulling faces. Far too many words used already, you just want the last line "....for a while". A rather kind 4.671 for the Anti-Crouch.

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