Whistle While You Work: Rushden Report

Grimsby Town 2 Rushden and Diamonds 0
29 Aug 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Around 100 or so people from the Northamptonshire netherlands hid in the Osmond Stand. Are they getting blasé about visiting the citadels of sport? Or is Aldwyncle more alluring that strutting along the prom-prom-prom in their winklepickers?

Stretched along the lower Smiths/Stones/Findus were two giant blue sheets. What lies beneath the tarpaulin? Town's win bonus? Or was it pigeon droppings again? Town really should catch that pigeon, Mutley.

Has Russ learnt? Has Russ listened? Has he finally got over his obsession with Parkinson's hole? Even the programme is sending those subliminal thoughts to Russ: an advert for Legoland is headlined 4:4:2. Have you got it yet?

Town lined up in the twinkly 4:4:1:1 formation, as shown. Newey retreated to left back with Andrew as the wide left midfielder. Once again Croft was sent into the middle to beam beatific smiles from the centre circle. Kopa-Kalala's red boots blended seamlessly with his red socks to give and all in one effect. Is he the hottest thing north of Havana? His knees were not so much bandaged as held together with heavy duty masking tape, wrapped more tightly than a porcelain e-bay sale.

Rushden were...over there in a blue ensemble with white flickerings on their polycotton periphery. They'd brought their youth team by mistake, not surprising since they have a 40-boy squad Yet another team with a Jonjo in their squad. Is this the name du jour? Shall we join the sheepish rush? Jonjo Lukic? Nah.

Dish of the Day: Gary Cohen's crispy duck provides the answer to the riddle of the hamstring. Fatty duck is low on carbohydrates you see, and the vegetables are low in energy, which doesn't help muscle recovery apparently. Shouldn't have gone to the Peking Palace after the Derby game, should he.

Are we ready? Then let's get on with it. C'mon people, time is money.

1st half

Town kicked off towards the Osmond Stand, tippy-tappying for a few seconds and trying to replicate Saturday's blundergoal. Newey eventually hoiked the ball into the Main Stand.

Five minutes of heading: horrible, ugly, distinctly dreadful. Rushden at least tried to pass the ball along the ground; now there's a novel modern theory of football. We've found a new variation of our tactics: welly it in the air towards Andrew on the wing. He does rise wonderfully, but it is, shall we say, to posit a theory which you can debate amongst yourselves before agreeing with me, one dimensional. A little obvious, perhaps?

Anyone for tennis? Wouldn't that be nice.