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Reddy: Super Brace
Reddy: Super Brace

17/09 Torquay 2nd Half

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 18/09/2005

NEITHER team made any changes at half time and the PA man resisted the temptation to tempt fate by telling us where we would be in the league if the scores remained the same. A bit of self- preservation there.

Home > 2005-2006 Season > Reports > Torquay (h)

Grimsby Town 3 Torquay United 0
17 Sep 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Town ran out to "Top of the League, we're having a laugh". Indeed we were.

Torquay kicked off and ten minutes later they still had the ball. This was Stockport all over again; Town a disorganised rabble, Torquay constantly pressing. Corner after corner, Town heads and feet nicking in the nick of time. The crowd were murmuring annoyance, players wilting, hiding - saving themselves? Croft was exposed by a one-two, a low cross scrabbled away using the letter J and a double letter score by Jones the Stick. Jones the Lump was getting slower, which is a feat in itself; he's a like an inverse perpetual motion machine at times. Awful, getting worse, everyone waiting for him to be substituted. He can hardly stand up, he can't see the ball, he can't control. He just ... can't.

At last, a Town move. Cohen dibbled about under the Smiths/Stones/Findus stand, mesmerising with his top hat at cane, Croft sprinting up in support. Cohen rolled the ball through to the unmarked Croft on the edge of the area, who strode on and clipped a cross into the near post. Jones the Lump was just beaten to the ball by a defender. The Pontoon's alive with the sound of music. We just needed one spark to get us going.... and then a big bucket of water was chucked back over us, as Town indulged in some minor panic. Torquay broke, Town were all over the place. From left to right, right to left, a cross, a block, a corner. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Connell was free ten yards out and heading softly toward goal. The defence froze, Mildenhall leapt forward and scoop-punched the ball away from a yellow boot. The fire alarm is ringing; this is not a test, repeat this is not a test. Ah, a chance for a breakaway: three Town against two Torquay, Jones the Mastodon lumbered around the jungle, with hordes of wildebeest flowing across the Savannah and back towards Marriott. The moment was lost in space. What did you expect from a Torquay hotel window?

Back again they came, Torquay circling around the dungheap. Bring on Gritton! To the right, to the left, Town akimbo, and a cross into the centre. A free header down towards the left hand post, Mildenhall still admiring the sandcastles near the sea wall. Croft stepped across and chested the bouncing ball away, hiding his hands behind his back and saving the day. Still Torquay kept their little booties on the Town neck. Crosses bundled off stage right, corners flicked away. Get Jones the Lump off! Gritton and Toner were waiting, time was ticking. The ball was tapped up to Jones the Lump just inside their half on the left. He chested the ball aside, turned infield and daintily stroked the ball over the last defender. Reddy raced on, the ball bounced once, twice and Marriott sprinted from his goal. REDDY, just outside the area, waltzed past the keeper to the strains of a Viennese string quartet, pirouetting into the six yards box, walking the dog into the empty net and promenading along the front of the Pontoon to receive the plaudits of his adoring teenage fan club.

Sixty-six minutes gone, two nil to Town. Two substitutes immediately came on: Gritton for G Jones and Toner for Barwick. Toner had a huge white bandage on his hand and played in the centre of midfield, Bolland being sent to the right wing. Barwick had been inconspicuous in open play, which means he didn't do anything wrong, nor memorable. Did we miss Toner? How could we tell: he was gone in sixty seconds. We'll soon find out.

Steve Mildenhall
John McDermott
Justin Whittle
Rob Jonesgoal
Gary Croft
Terry Barwick
Jean-Paul Kamudimba
Paul Bolland
Gary Cohen
Gary Jones
Michael Reddygoalgoal


Tom Newey88 mins
Martin Gritton67 mins
Ciaran Toner67 mins
Tony Crane
Simon Ramsden


Jonathan Moss
(West Yorkshire)


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Finally freed from the shackles of fear, Town were rampant, expansive, exquisite at times. With Torquay beaten it was time to put on the style, that's what all the young folks are doing all the while. Kalalalalabamba, notching wiggles on his woggle, flipped the ball to Gritton, who spun and tingled a fashionable reverse swing pass through the defence, oh so nearly to Reddy. Ah the old one-two with me old bamboo, let's razzle-dazzle them. Cohen surging, Toner urging on. The cleaner, sweeping up and brushing aside, Toner did simple things simply, keeping play moving with first time passes to his team mates, keeping the tic tocking, with a touch of the Dobbin about him.

Torquay had a free kick, it curled wide.

Shall we ooh? Why not, let's relax we're on top of the world looking down on creation. A Croft loft flickered on by Jones, looping, drooping over the bar. Torquay? The flickering flame dying, the oxygen depleted. A Kuffour cross through the six yards area causing minor peril. Croft ducked, allowing the ball to travel harmlessly through the grasslands. That's it gullibles, fly away home.

The last Torquay twitch served up a Town cherry. Town were defending with Torquay pressing, the ball fell to Kalala on the edge of the Town box, who prodded it clear. Reddy, 35 yards from Town's goal, stretched out and toe-poked the ball past a defender, it rolling out towards the Smiths/Stone/ Findus stand. The young man in his hot rod slipped into overdrive and caught up with the ball on the half-way line. Alone again, naturally, he hit the nitro button and fazoomed down the left, the yellow lorry slow defenders behind him. On, on, on and on again. Reddy, Reddy, Reddy, Reddy, chips and Reddy; magnificent, in full flow, hair flopping, shirt flapping, unstoppable. Into the area, the crowd rising, two defenders reaching, Garner missing with his trip. Two more touches, to the edge of the six yards box, with Marriott digging a hole, REDDY fizzled the ball with the outside of his right boot into the bottom right-hand corner. Cue a procession with floats and marching bands as Reddy accepted the warm Readybrek glow of love. What the Town needs now is love sweet love, and Reddy gave it to us.

Another Town break, Kalalalalalala driving along the Santa Monica Boulevard, some easy listening on the radio, shades at half mast, Reddy to his left, Gritton to his right. Kalala passed to the Gritster, who swivelled and curled a shot straight into Marriott's stomach from twenty yards. Cohen was causing havoc with his mazy dribbles and quick feet, Toner a rock, the game flowed towards the Pontoon.

Five guys named Moe walked from the Stones/Smiths/Findus to the Main Stand, all having that men-who-wear-suits-once-a-year look, normally as seen on the steps of a Crown Court. "Guilty!" Oh, they're the sponsors; or is this their community service?

With five minutes left Cohen dazzled all with some amazing tales of globetrotting travel to the furthest flung corners of Blundell Park, no less. One, two, three stepovers, shimmies, milkshakes with hundreds and thousands on, four defenders calling for strawberry sauce as he slurped the last drop. Into the area, he looked up and rolled the ball towards Reddy, but slightly behind. Great move: like old-fashioned wingers winging. A minute later Cohen was felled out near the Smiths/Findus/Stones stand. Croft lobbed the ball forward and Jones, at the far post, nodded high back across goal. The ball bumbled past Gritton's chest and meandered towards the unmarked Reddy about four yards out. Reddy turned and slabbered a volley for his hat-trick...but as if by magic the Marriott appeared, brilliantly blocking with his knees on the goal-line. This is all too much, I think I need to rest on the chaise longue.

With a couple of minutes left Croft was replaced by Newey. We had faith in him, despite there being just two minutes to get his statutory yellow. If he really tried he could get his two bookings for madcap tackling. He didn't, but he didn't fail to fling over decent corner in the last minute. Torquay quavered, quivered and shivered, the ball fell to Whittle at the back of the penalty area. A shot beckoned, but Sergeant Bilko stumbled around in a circle and lobbed the ball out of play.

There were three minutes of added time during which Gritton collided with a defender and Jones managed to hoik a clearance woefully when under no pressure. I do hope the magic potion isn't wearing off or we will be in trouble.

Ah, nice isn't it. We could indulge in poultry enumeration after all. Were Torquay a rat? No, no they were a hamster. Fluffy, cuddly and very squashable. They look like this year's Cambridge, not that bad, but just a bit small and weak. Town finally squished them with a flourish, with the emphasis on finally. The first half was very mundane and the start of the second was most worrying. But we got away with our wobble and a win is a win. Are we this year's Scunthorpe? We win and everyone says "is that it?"

Bring on Queen Edgar and Prince Michael of Carrick. No "Sort it Slades" today; shall we bask before the sharks arrive?

Nicko's Man of the Match

Most will go for Michael Reddy because of his second half showstoppers, but the victory had its roots in some sound defending by Rob Jones, Mildenhall and his honour the Lord Sir John of McDermott. A masterclass in defending: no thrills, no death-defying lunges, just brain. Remember, everything he does he does for you. He'd even cut your lawn if you asked.

Rob's Rubbish Rant

Forget all those second hand chants, the sheep-like tendency to do what others do. Deep inside the Pontoon there are nourishing nuggets of individuality. As the Torquay centre-half sliced another clearance "Woods - you're an enigma!" chimed along the rusting corrugated sheets at the back, echoed off the posts and boomed in to his right ear.

Official Warning

Mr J Moss. He turned up, he didn't embarrass himself or his family. The crowd never had a go at him, he seemed reasonably in control. He has to be given a decent score for not getting in the way of our day. So 7.231

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