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09/04 Wycombe Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 10/04/2005

I prefer hard cheese myself but, there you are, everyone is different. A bit of Wensleydale, Gromit, with a soupçon of pickle. Is this an allegory or an elegy? What's it to do with football? About as much as this match was.

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

Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 0
09 Apr 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Ah, something to get hung up about. A strawberry cheesecake clattered Gritton and was booked. Foul, howl, growl, the crowd awoke. After 18 minutes another thing happened, and it was another chance to grimble-grumble. Wycombe tickled the ball through the Town defence on their left. Tyson, perhaps 12 miles offside, flickered a way in to the area. Williams advanced, jumped up, crouched and flung himself to his left. Tyson, from a narrowish angle about a dozen yards out, smacked the ball a foot or so wide of the far post. Slade sneaked up behind the linesman and muttered from behind a closed fist. Wild? He was livid.

A couple of minutes later Wycombe had a corner, it was cleared but squinted back for a goal kick with a dreadful mis-hit shot from one of their tall centre backs. Bill? Ben? Does it matter which of these flowerpot men it was? Ah, now here's another clue for you all: the walrus was Paul. Oh sorry, that's some other reference from some other game. Ah, here we are, it was tucked down the back of the mental sofa. Does that make Parky little weed?

Here we go Looby-Loo. A tipple over the top, Town fans panic. Williams hurtled out of his area as Forbes held off Tyson. Williams continued to hurtle as Forbes indicated via semaphore that he should remain on land. Forbes hoiked the ball out for a throw in as Williams swung his boots, his pants and his barn doors open. Another minute, another dink and drop. The ball was sent to exactly the same position, with Tyson aboard the Gatwick Express. Williams was stuck in a queue, not quite working out how to use those new ticket machines. Out the Welsh wanderer came, Tyson nicked the ball away and left Williams digging for worms near Wonderland. Jones pursued and blocked the resulting shot. Williams did not act upon the advice proffered by the Pontoon.

Some more Wycombe pressure. Ping-pong, won't be long before they score will it? They look slightly more interested that Town, but only slightly. Crowe was booked as Uhlenbeek was spectacularly felled by the breeze; a Gus of wind perhaps? A large boat drifted by. A pigeon struggled against the wind towards the Upper Smiths/Stones/Findus, narrowly avoiding a Whittle clearance. Talia drop-kicked directly to Ramsden, the only human on the left hand side of the pitch. Minor moments of mundanity in a miserable game. Did I see a Town pass? That sound you hear is laughter. We're laughing at Town, not with them.

Half an hour gone, not a Town shot to be sung. A Wycombe corner, from the right. Clipped by Lee to the far post, about 15 yards out willowy Williamson thumped a header goalwards. Williams fell left and Claridge, six yards out in the centre, stuck out a leg and passed straight to Tyson, who swiped the ball into the back of the Pontoon from about eight yards out. Take a few second to ponder that moment. Pondered? Rubbish all round, wasn't it .

Gradually the Pontoon emptied as the lure of the pie stall proved too much. We few, we snappy few who remained, amused ourselves with punnery and flights of fancy so wayward they met Town's passes on the M180. Wycombe fans finally got around to singing about fish. Yes, and you only sing when you're whittling wood too, Chairboys. At least we haven't got a manager who was in the Scaffold. Ah, but we do have a player who is notably bony, who would never eat his meals, and now we move him round on wheels.

Anthony Williams
John McDermott
Justin Whittle
Terrell Forbes
Rob Jones
Simon Ramsden
Terry Fleming
Jason Croweyellow card
Stacy Coldicott
Martin Gritton
Andy Parkinson


Ronnie Bull73 mins
Thomas Pinault72 mins
Tony Crane
Nick Heggarty
Glen Downey


Eddie Evans


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Ooh, what's that? No, nothing, a crisp packet blew across the goal. Are crisp packets the modern version of tumbleweeds? Especially flaming steak flavour.

A tray of sandwiches walked along the front of the Pontoon. Not literally, that may have made page 9 of the Evening Standard. Is this Fenty's way of saying thank you to the few: free egg and cress sarnies for the masses? Nooooo, they're off to the dentists in the main stand; the gliterati munching and crunching as Town burns.

For the fourth time Tyson fell to earth clutching his head. Contact lens displaced? Ear fallen off again? Hair out of place?

And then the moment came. Forty minutes and Town had a shot. A bona fide effort, one where a player deliberately attempted to place the ball within the posts guarded by Talia. Gritton, on the left edge of their area, chested down to Parkinson who pirouetted and hooked the ball twelve or thirteen years wide of goal. Hey, we're gonna have to claim that as a shot. There are just a few crumbs left on this table, beggers can't be choosers.

Kevin Drinkell walked by; traditional shout for old boots to be found. I suppose these ex-players would be offended if someone didn't say it.

On half time Parkinson was released behind the Wycombe defence on the centre right. Williamson took a shine to Parky's shirt, admiring the texture and smelling the quality hand stitching. Parkinson eventually fell over, the referee eventually gave Town a free kick twenty yards out to the right. Williamson was booked, could have been sent off, but wasn't. No-one is that bothered these days, let's save our righteous anger for April 23rd. Town tried a trick but failed miserably. Ramsden hung about looking like he was going to wallop it but Parkinson touched it to Coldicott, who rolled it back for the shiny scalped Scouser to trundle the ball slowly along the ground to Talia, who briefly broke off from his yoga session to scoop the ball up. Yeah, that worked. Great.

I nearly forgot: three Town passes, Macca free, Macca shoots, Macca demoted in the peerage. From twenty yards he wafted the ball against the row F steps, 10 yards wide of goal.

Two minutes of added time. Wycombe attack, the Town clearance ballooned off one of them back into the area. Claridge shambled free and from a narrow angle about five yards out tried to swish the ball goalwards. Williams came out and saved superly. Look on your Dulux colour chart, you'll find superly just below superb, and above good. A sort of mint green, if you will.

Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 0
There you are, satisfied with that? No, we weren't either. A defensive Town created nothing, with Wycombe getting just three chances, from a poor bit of linesmanship, a corner and a lucky rebound. Rotten is the word. Ramsden didn't know where to stand, resulting in Senda getting acres of room into which to run, with Town having no attacking options down the left. Gritton and Parkinson spent most of their time doing "link play" in midfield, so there was no-one up front on the few occasions Town got within thirty yards of the Wycombe penalty area. You know the score, you know the team, you know it all.

You know the very worst thing is that nobody expects the Grimsby inquisition anymore.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk

"So the Vatican has animatronic Popes-in-a-box?"
"What's Williams drinking? Anti-freeze?"
"It's like a game of chess with no pieces on the board."
"I saw better football in your veterans' five-a- side game yesterday."
"You promised me we'd never see Bull again."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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