What's the Point? Rushden Report

Grimsby Sleepwalkers 0 Rushden & Diremen 0
28 Mar 2005, Coca Cola League 2

They could see us, they couldn't hear us. How welcoming, it's just like being at home for them.

The number of matchday mascots increases in inverse proportion to Town's league position; the pitch was infested with them. How can the Mariners keep afloat with so many aboard? Given the average Grimbarian's propensity to be wilfully contrary, do you think Town'd raise more money if they'd called it "Hold the Mariners Underwater"? A little local knowledge goes a long, long way.

Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation, as shown. Crowe played at left back with Fleming being the wide right midfielder. Fleming: the very thought of you as a winger fills us with inertia.

Dish of the Day returned in typically half-cocked way as "Easter Eats". Chocolate? Breaded products? No, a thinly disguised advert for the Waltham Allotment Society, telling you to plant some onions. The enveloping ennui extends further into the programme, a re-hashed Glenn Downey interview and the players' sponsors page includes two who don't even play for Town anymore. Does anybody care about anything? Are we just waiting for the sun to come out?

Rushden played in all red and had players with names and hair, and all the normal number of limbs. Other than that they had no distinguishing features, unless Gray's beard is your bag.

1st half

The plastic people kicked off towards the Pontoon to a deafening hush, lumping the ball up their left towards a tall man. McDermott challenged, the ball, the ball, the ball...sorry I drifted off there, happily skipping through the land of chocolate.

The ball, the ball, the ball... Mmmmm, chocolate.

You missed nothing, one of their defenders was injured. Perhaps his ego had deflated when he realised how low his career had got: the Mausoleum of Mediocrity on a murky Monday in March. You can have too much alliteration, but not too much football.

Football. Ah yes, that's why we turned up. Football. Foot, yes I see feet. Ball, I see that too, occasionally descending on a point of flame. A pass! And another! Parkinson flipping free down the centre left, a defender retreating like a world-weary tyre fitter. An invitation to shoot, hand- delivered to Parky, accepted with grace. Big Ears slapped a low shot from about 20 yards out which skiffled a yard wide of the keeper's right post. We could almost be bothered to "Ooh", but not quite.

We should have gone to Ramsden's instead. They were having a "Price Crash", you know. Maybe that's where Mr Sort It Again was, searching in those big buckets for a left back and a goalie; perhaps a two for one deal. Make sure to take the plastic wrapping off next time, Mr Russ. Will I ever have the opportunity to write that typo - Bull shot - again? Fingers so thick, vowels so close together, a bit like Boston really.

Am I digressing? You'll never know without a live videolink. That's my secret.