The Grimsby Town FC


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Sam Jones1,592
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Martyn Woolford1,185

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22/01 Lincoln Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 23/01/2005

IF you want to recreate the next five minutes then stand up, walk to the nearest window and stare at the clouds. Somewhere there is sunshine, somewhere there is day, somewhere there is Grimsby Town, many miles a-way.

Home > 2004-2005 Season > Reports > Lincoln (h)

Grimsby Town 2 Lincoln City 4
22 Jan 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Hey, Hey! Town won another corner. Reddy rockin', rollin', ridin' out along the bye-line, cross blocked easily. Nothing.

I have just one question, how high are the clouds?

No shots, no crosses of any consequence, no attacks of any note, nothing to report from either side. The ball, still inside the ground, bumping between the groovers on the dancefloor. We’ve got no room for ravers. We must grumble. Horrid stuff. Inert attackers, reactive defending; Town an empty vessel bobbing along, hoping the tide would push it home. To put it simply, Town simply hoofed the ball from back to front. Lincoln’s defenders sat relatively deep and were taller than our attackers. Simple is the word; you know sometimes words have two mea-hea-nings.

After twelve or thirteen minutes Parkinson was caught offside down the left. Parky offside, never! Up went their big men, upfield went the ball, launched to the centre right of Town’s area. Forbes was tempted out to the edge of the area and was beaten to the ball by one of the centre backs. The ball was flicked on into an unmanned area about 8 yards out. Ramsden hesitated at the hair products section and was caught briefly contemplating a choice of hair gel. YEO swerved into the empty patch, twisted and obliterated the ball into the top of the net, just above Williams’ head. Excellent finish, droopy drippy defending. So simple, so sloppy, so Town.

The Town lion roared? No, in this comic monologue we’re Albert; Town eaten by yon Lincoln lion. The game remained the same. Silent Town fans, awful football, witless lumpings, no chances, Town never inside their penalty area. The Imps were organised, committed, a pleasant afternoon by the sea. Yeo ....not quite matey boy, a lovely curled pass down the centre saw him briefly free, but Ramsden emerged from behind a bush to crash his cymbals.

That clock is till ticking way. 21, 22, 23 ....still no Town shots. Hang on, you aren’t going to claim a rubbish cross from Parkinson that went straight to Marriott, are you? You are! How desperate is that?

24, 25, 26...nope.

Lincoln, for all their reputation, weren’t exactly a route-one side. They were direct, but only in the sense of breaking quickly, using their front three to shovel the ball up and across the pitch on the ground. Down their right, at speed, Yeo twirling free, shot deflected, Ramsden smooching, blocking, corner on their right. The penalty area was swamped, the ball was curled into the centre, grazing off a Town head to just beyond the far post. An unmarked Lincoln player controlled the ball about eight yards out. HANDBALL! The Pontoon spontaneously combusted as one. The ball dropped, he shot, deflecting off some ankles across the face of goal. YEO, unmarked about ten yards out, stepped forward and fiddled the ball low through a thicket of Town legs and in to the centre left of the net. The Pontoon in momentary uproar for handball, then the self-pitying fury set in, turning against the players. Oh the irony eh? Will we ever get a handball decision in our favour? Do you think the opposition would have to catch it before we’d get one? Are the Town defenders still in the 10 items or less queue? With Town there are always more questions than answers. Are you still waiting for Town to attack? So were we.

Anthony Williams
Terrell Forbes
Simon Ramsden
Rob Jones
John McDermott
Terry Fleming
Stacy Coldicottgoal
Greg Young
Michael Reddy
Martin Gritton
Andy Parkinson


Thomas Pinault45 minsgoal
Danny North
Tony Crane
Graham Hockless
Glen Downey


Steve Woolmer


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Taylor-Fletcher received the ball in the centre circle, Coldicott hustled, Fleming joined him in the shake down. With one leap he was free from the muggers, racing goalwards down the middle. Huge panic, Town players converging, Taylor-Fletcher tripped right on the edge of the area. Town constructed a wall, then slowly, slowly, it dissolved. They’d forgotten to put any mortar between the bricks. I did say bricks, wash your ears out. Williams hid behind the wall, Westcarr stepped forward and curled the ball a foot or so over the left hand post.

Back to normal. 32...33...

Ooooh, Young almost through, but overhitting the ball as he strode down the left behind the full back.


YES! Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelelelujah. Thirty eight minutes and Town had a shot. Three passes! Movement!. On the right, switched to the left via Parkinson, Young steaming up the wing, surging in to the area and slapping a half volley straight at Marriott. The ball rebounded off his chest, Young followed through and the ‘keeper managed to fling himself on the ball, and cling himself on to it.


We’re blessed with a cornucopia of attacking football. A second shot. And it even stayed within the county of Lincolnshire. Gritton, on the right edge of their penalty area, chested the ball down and looped a volley in the vaguest of direction of the goal. No-one, least of all him, ever thought it was going in. He seemed to be going through the motions of shooting. It may have been the least worst option available. After all, it wastes a few more seconds. They can’t get a third goal if the ball isn’t in the ground.

Young did an awful fly hack where he missed the ball and fell over; Reddy was booked for a late sliding swoosh of the full back, under the noses of the Lower Smiths/Stones/Findus, where the anorak remains iconic fashion.

There, you know everything now.

Riddled with ineptitude from start to finish, this was the very opposite of last week’s performance. The Town players lacked urgency, they didn’t appear fired up for the game. The tactics were bone-headed in the extreme. A couple of stoppers in midfield and three runners up front works away from home, but not against a formidably disciplined and ferociously motivated opposition. Relying upon the ball over the top and down the sides isn’t very subtle. It isn’t very clever either. And that’s a nice way of putting it. Lincoln were not bad at all, with three very slippery strikers. They looked like they’d score every time they got within 20 yards of Williams. Yeah, I know, who doesn’t?

Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Lincoln City 2
The first half of games is all about the preparation, the long term planning of the manager. He spent a week getting it very wrong. He now had 20 minutes to put it right. There was only one phrase on the lips of every Town fan: "Sort it Slade". And, for once, there can be no argument with that.

Go into a darkened room and sob.

The half time entertainment provided more drama and footballing skill than the previous 45 minutes. A penalty shoot out during which Fraser parried one straight into David Smith. He’ll be singing a medley of Stylistics hits for at least a couple of nights. Ouch.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"In Immingham no-one can hear you scream."
"I think I’ll stay here for the second half, it’s less painful."
"With a hat like that they’ll think you’re a Lincoln fan."
"How does he manage to de-motivate them for derbies?"
"They’ll be dancing in the cloisters tonight, perhaps to some heavy dub evensong."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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