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Give him one more game


08/10 Northampton Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 10/10/2004

AH, that’s better, two passes, on the ground. That’s all it took to win a corner on the right. Floated long, floated high, Whittle his little wings flapping, roared above the humanity and thumped a header back across goal.

Home > 2004-2005 Season > Reports > Northampton (a)

Northampton Town 0 Grimsby Town 1
08 Oct 2004, Coca Cola League 2

Cramb was unmarked, about a dozen yards out on their right. He took one touch, turned and thumped a smacker, which Rachubka parried away at his near post. Town striker shoots, earth stops spinning. Town striker doesn’t score, rotation resumes. Still, a shot. Could Cramb be the one to remove the stigma of being a Town striker? Could be, he’s got a bit more about him than Rosemary the telephone operator, that’s for sure. And I don’t mean round the waist either. When the ball was played up to him it stuck, and was invariably passed back to someone he’d met before. He acted as a proper focal point, the fulcrum of frenzy if you will.

What’s going on now then? Not much: tackling, cackling as passes went astray. Northampton tried to play a passing game, none of this long ball nonsense like, err, Grimsby. Yep, Town were the more basic of the two teams, with a higher propensity to aimlessly hoof. It all looked mighty pretty, but Northampton produced nothing inside the penalty area. Moments of danger by the dozen, but they couldn’t cross, they didn’t shoot. Great defending or poor attacking? Depends on the colour of your underpants. Low caused minor earth tremors with his dribbling and mazy meanders, but he kept doing a Transit Stan, roaring up cul-de-sacs and getting tickets for double parking. Oh, if you want some dry technical stuff, Town settled to be more of a 4-5-1 than 4-3-3 so that the spaces on the flanks were closed off more. Happy now?

Yes, you are, and you don’t even know it yet. Town started to get a bit more of a grip on the game, with Pinault spinning and grinning his way through the half. Coldicott and Fleming acted as his bodyguards, not letting any of the purple-people-eaters get to the star. Pingu had plenty of time for his tea and a slice. Ooooooh, Gordon fracked a shot from the A45 (westbound carriageway) which zoomma-zoomed about 10 foot wide. Still, he hit it hard and it was an excuse for those watching in black and white to get excited. Reddy roving down the right, Crowe hitting the liquid oxygen button, Northampton alarmed. One, two, three passes from PIngu, Parkinson free inside the area on the left. A cross, Cramb unmarked near the penalty spot, Cramb fluffed, linesman’s flagged raised. Embarrassment avoided.

It’s pretty dull.

Northampton...relying upon momentary lapses of reason by Town players for a chance. A ball over the top, Low chased, Williams raced out of his area and shinned the ball out for a throw in. The height of cobblers, in every sense. Williams flapped a couple of weak punches , but nothing came of these wibbles and wobbles. Oh, I can’t be bothered to keep you in suspense any longer. Here it is, Northampton Town’s effort on target. THE one, the one and only. A cross from their left, Sabin, ten yards out, held Forbes down and killed us softly with his song. Plop - into the arms of Williams. No pace, no power, no chance matey.

I’m looking forward to my sandwich.

Woah, what’s this Mr Crowe? As if awoken from a dream Jason Crowe intercepted a clearance on the touchline, just inside their half. He put on his driving gloves, adjusted the rear view mirror, winked to his ladyfriend, selected his favourite CD and put his foot on the accelerator. With his sirens screaming and fires howling he was gone, gone, gone down the wing and infield, leaving cobblers marooned. Crowe reached the edge of the penalty area, the final defender, what a goal to come. The defender lurched, Crowe jerked his body up, then plummeted to the ground. The only rational act upon seeing this slapstick was to laugh. A dreadful dive, he failed his swimming badge. What a silly billy.

Anthony Williams
Jason Crowe
Justin Whittleyellow card
Terrell Forbes
Dean Gordongoal
Terry Fleming
Stacy Coldicott
Thomas Pinault
Andy Parkinson
Colin Cramb
Michael Reddy


Ashley Sestanovich66 mins
John McDermott
Ronnie Bull
Rob Jones
Clint Marcelle


Lee Mason


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The crowd began to amuse itself with witty banter. Unimpressed by the number of travelling Mariners, they were even less impressed to be reminded of Wembley in 1998 - "1-0 to the Mariners", with a coda "and it was offside". It was nice of them to keep abreast of local matters and express such sympathy for the Bird’s Eye 600. Haven’t they got a funny accent, more tractors than Town.

Pinault flashing and flinging passes hither and thither, Reddy sneaking forward, Reddy clobbered. Yellow card, free kick to Town, 25 yards out on the right. Pinault curled the cross in, Reddy lashed the ball with his quiff, but lacking power the ball arced archly to Rachubka. On the cusp of almost interesting. Another Town free kick, Gordon glowering at Pinault, no French fancies here. About 25 yards out to the right of centre the Grand Vizard of Gordon rapped a low shot around the wall. Bobbling, bumbling, tumbling the ball seemed to brush against the outside of the post and along the side netting. Rachubka wasn’t fussed by all this bother. It probably looked more interesting to those of us watching our radios, or listening on CEEFAX.

Thank goodness for that, it’s nearly over, plenty of time to count the number of Town fans on crutches. Is this a new dance craze? Hey, pay attention at the back of the stand, Town are attacking. No sir, make that Mr Jason Crowe has got back in his favourite car and is taking the scenic route. Riding along in his automobile, the ball beside him as he wheeled past a third cobbler, then a fourth. Into the centre, 25 yards out he drew back his left boot and shivered a shot goalwards. The ball took a deflection, leaving Rachubka motionless upon his line. The ground fell silent as the ball spun towards the bottom right hand corner, then a roar of relief as it went just wide of the post. Somehow the referee managed to award a goal kick, Parkinson and Cramb expressed a contrary view upon recent events.

At last, half time.

Half time: Northampton 0 Grimsby Town 0

A right mess at times, at others a dour, stale splodge of gruel on the breakfast table. There were flashes of excellence from both sides, but always 30 yards from goal. Whenever Town managed to pass, and someone moved, Northampton trembled. And you could just about say the same thing the other way round. Town had slightly more of a threat up front, with Cramb more of a goat than a sheep. He looked interesting. Defensively Town were oddly dishevelled on the left, in other words Gordon was having a bit of a stinker. His positioning was appalling, his tackling rather fey, at the end he simply missed tackles and was unable to run back. Rather concerning don’t you think? Still, the rest of the defence was perfectly fine.

The half time entertainment was much better. Two fans were plucked from the terraces to take penalties against each other. Grimsby John, against Cobblers Kev. Yes! Big John saved the first, scored his first, scored his second and was on the threshold of greatness, his name to be plastered across the back of the GET, songs to be sung for evermore. Come on John, score and you win, the pride of Grimsby....Noooooooooo. Over the bar and into the stand. Sudden death - Kev scored, John missed, game over. Typical Town, hopes raised, victory assured and nerves fail. John, you truly are Grimsby Man.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"Now we’ve stopped Sabin running, they’re nothing."
"Do you think they’ve taken the one-size-fits-all approach to Cramb’s shirt?"
"No-one from Grimsby eats cod."
"They only let us bring it in if it was hot."
"If we win you’ll have to come to every game on crutches. For ever"

The report continues in the Second Half.

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