Trapped inside the Elephant: Tranmere Report

Tranmere Rovers 2 Grimsby Town 1
08 May 2004, Nationwide League Division 2

A raucous rousing reception was given to every player as they strolled out to warm up. Were we all still believers, not a trace of doubt in our minds? When we needed sunshine we got rain.

Around half an hour before the game Messrs Fenty and Furneaux uncomfortably sidled out onto the pitch and whipped the crowd up with self conscious waving. The giant flag fumbled around the stand, ruffling many a carefully constructed fringe and comb-over combination, not to mention those bushy-bushy blond hairdos. Harry Haddocks, giant guppies, and a fan dressed as a fish (which is only slightly less disconcerting than a fish dressed as a fan) were dotted about the standing, cheering, shouting massed Mariners.

Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation, as shown. Now there’s a shock, Young Young, our giant panda, had been yanked out of the bottom of a large community chest and plonked next to Edwards. Everyone else was who you’d expect and where you’d expect under present management.

Prior to kick off we had some free entertainment. A local lass roughing up our ears and the pitch, apparently singing. Through the wall of sound created by the Town fans and the tinny tannoy, she sounded like a panicking parrot with piles. Poor lass, no-one was interested, apart from her mum and dad. And we had a pitch-side presenter, wishing Town luck and pronouncing Mansaram as if he had a frog in his throat. What ever happened to Antoine-Curier? Did he get an ice pick, that made his ears burn?

Hume has stupid hair, even by second division standards. An off-centre strip of bleached hair, looking like some badly applied glue on a broken marble. Or maybe the cord from his dressing gown had got stuck following a footballer’s bedtime prank gone wrong.

As the kick off approached the Town players got in the fashionable huggle and the Town fans rose as one and bayed the roof down. What more could they want from us? They asked, we gave, now give us what we ask.

1st half

Town kicked off towards the home end. No, let me be more precise. Darren Barnard wellied the ball straight into the home end for a goalkick. So he fancies a contract in division three does he? Achterberg kicked it back, Tranmere piddled about for a few seconds and eventually realised that Campbell and Crowe were not bothering with some little blond haired bloke on their left wing. So they passed it to him, he took on Crowe, crossed it low into the middle of the area and Young Levered the ball against the bar from five yards out. Just the start we demanded.

The corner was flipped in, flicked on and over the bar by Jones the steam.

Football? What’s that? Town lumped it and legged it; Mansaram and Rankin barging and belting about. A corner, cleared; Stacy chasing, Stacy hoovering up Beresford, who slip-slided away into some advertising boards, head first. Was he winded, or something worse?. After a minute or two of treatment off the pitch Beresford returned with cotton wool up his nose. Eurgh, a mighty wind indeed. The Town fans remained on their feet; singing, some dancing, bouncing along, trying, trying, not yet crying. Jevons: offside. Jevons: not quite. A cross, a block. Is that Campbell? No, it’s just an illusion. Jevons again, advancing down the middle, 30 yards out. A snapshot from the centre lightly smacking a defender’s backside like a distracted headmaster; pinging, zinging, singing across the mud and a couple of feet past Acterberg’s right hand post. Ooooh.