07/10 Wycombe Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 09/10/2005

BETSY again, dreaming down the right, Newey and Parkinson bouncing off his thighs, Mooney back-heeling extravagantly, McDermott cleansing this wound with a little rub of TCP. Torres surging down the left, Mooney clucking the ball along, Betsy frightening the chickens.

Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 1 07 Oct 2005, Coca Cola League 2 Newey stood back, Betsy tapped a short pass to Oakes, 25 yards out, who shivered a wobbling shot at ankle height towards the near post. Mildenhall waited, watched and clutched the ball as it swung away towards second slip. Toner passed to them, they ran off, Town defence ran away: crowd silent. After about ten minutes Wycombe attacked down the centre, flickering the ball out to their right. Parky stood off Senda, who rolled the ball further down the line whilst Betsy pushed Newey into a dead end street. Whilst Tom Tom went roaring down the street Betsy cut back infield to the corner of the penalty area, looked up and counted all the ripples on the sea. He chipped a delicate cross towards the far post. Why should we worry, we've got sixteen tons of solid flesh in defence. Height, width, we've got it. Ah, Whittle was mesmerised by the Legend of the Moonman, forgetting to move with this mythical creature. MOONEY, unmarked, six yards out, skipped and nodded sagely into the emptiest of empty nets. There's a crack up in Town's ceiling, and the kitchen sink is leaking. The goal changed nothing. Wycombe were quicker, smaller, stronger, and more intelligent. Who said you can't pass your way out of this division? Who says you can't have two wingers? Ay-up, they're at it again. The Bendaboys like to party, roasting our chestnuts on an open fire, the ball rolled perfectly into the centre of the penalty area and Whittle dozing. Mooney stepped across Mr Whittleofagus and rolled a mis-kick along the ground straight to Mildenhall. A quarter of an hour gone and we could be four down already. Now, why was Gorman chosen as Manager of the Month? What had Town done, apart from make up the numbers? A few hoofs, a few clumps, hardly any tackles. Bolland was a one-man midfield, Reddy strained to flick headers on to no-one: awful. Top of the League? We really are having a laugh. Make that were having a laugh, let's get the tense right. Scroll on another minute, repeat action. Betsy pickled Newey, the ball was returned to Senda who crossed towards Bloomfield, unmarked a dozen yards out, who was too embarrassed to score. Itsy and Bitsy had, by this time, swapped duties, with Jones the Stick marking Mooney and Whittle supposedly picking up the midfield runners. Yes, you've guessed it - Whittle dopiness again. Perhaps Gritton would have been better clobbering him around the ear? I have the vaguest of memories of Town getting inside their penalty area, some kind of scruffly scramble involving Reddy. A Town corner was headed over by Jones the Stick from somewhere near the penalty spot. The linesman in front of the Smiths/Stones/Findus Stand did his best to whip up crowd frenzy when he twice failed to flag for a throw in when Wycombites dribbled the ball way out of play. With the crowd a-baying play was halted only when the shelf-stacker's work of art, in ecstasy crashed to the floor. Or if you like: free kick to Wycombe as Torres crumpled under a McDermott challenge. The hair band was momentarily released in a failed bid for freedom. The game meandered a bit for ten minutes, with Town still awful offensively, but just about stopping Wycombe getting too close. Bolland, in particular, was throwing himself around, doing the work of two men. It's hard to think what Toner was doing, Kalalalalala-di-da lies lamented in a foreign field. The ball did miss Toner frequently. Time is as fast as the slowest thing. Ah Russ's wonderboy, Jones the Lump: why?

Grimsby Steve Mildenhall John McDermott Justin Whittle Rob Jones Tom Newey Simon Francis Paul Bolland Ciaran Toner Andy Parkinson Gary Jones Michael Reddy   Subs Simon Ramsden 65 mins Martin Gritton 71 mins Gary Cohen 71 mins Terry Barwick Tony Crane   Attendance 7,206   Referee Darren Deadman (Cheshunt)   Division Two League Table Reports/Fixtures Squad Stats Top Scorers Previews Predict-o-Meter   Man of the Match Vote for your Man of the Match Your Name (optional) Your Email Address (optional) Your Man of the Match Pick a player Bolland Cohen Crane Francis Gritton Gary Jones Rob Jones Kalala McDermott Mildenhall Newey Parkinson Ramsden Reddy Toner Whittle Nominations count towards the Player Of The Month shortlist.

Half an hour gone already? At last, Town doing something, turning Wycombe's defence. Putting them under the merest semblance of pressure. They looked like they didn't like it up 'em. Like Yeovil before them they seem to have a simple strategy of scoring more goals than the opposition, not stopping the opposition from scoring and seeing what happens. Macca and Reddy swirled down the right, triangulating the ball to Francis, who bullied his way past three, cut infield and, from twenty yards, fizzled a left-footed shot straight at Lonergan. There is life at the bottom of the ocean! What a 30th minute. Newey made a tackle on Betsy, giving them a corner. Town half cleared the corner, the ball went in, went out and some blue-chested footballer flaked a shot from twenty five yards out, on their centre left. Bolland threw himself towards the ball and snicked it off the outside edge of his boot. Mildenhall stood still and joined the Pontoon in watching as the ball arced, swerved, curled, curved and crawled an inch past the right hand post.

Town cleared the corner properly next time, with them even constructing a move down the right-hand side, with Macca overlapping and forcing a corner. Newey clipped it into the centre and Loanee Lonergan, being a gamblin' man, came out and tried to catch it. He failed. The ball bounded about, Reddy's red legs hooked it goalwards, and it was bumbled away from the line by several blue socks and a fair wind from the east. That, I suppose, goes down as a chance. We're a set piece team, remember.

Don't kid yourself into thinking all was now well, that the storm had passed. Wycombe still caused minor peril every time they had the ball; Town were still sitting back watching them play around in front, joining dots we didn't see. The Town centre was a bit better, not much, but just enough to stop shots going in. Blocks were made, desperate hacking at the hedge was enough to ensure Mildenhall didn't have saves to make, just some routine postal collections. Apart from when Mooney turned Whittle and the big man shinned the ball onto the top of the net. A goal kick given, to the silent amusement of seven thousand people. Wahey, there they go...Betsy rifling down the centre with three Town players backing off, scared to touch this vision in blue as he went twenty, thirty, then forty yards. Eventually Jones the Stick swiped, missed ball and Betsy fell over. The referee flounced a yellow card.

With a couple of minutes left Reddy glided down the left, ushering defenders to him, seducing with his shaking hips. Past one, past two, cutting back into the penalty area with Parkinson unmarked in the centre, Reddy ignored the imploring imperfectionist and smacked a shot against the final defender. What a waste, what a waste, and we do mind. The referee sealed his fate, booking McDermott! Doesn't he know his UN Resolution 1356: "acting under Chapter VII of the United Nations charter and recalling all previous resolutions, John McDermott shall never be in receipt of any sanctions from designated officials". Torres raced down the left with Macca in vain pursuit and eventually the ball was quaffed out for a throw in. The referee indicated McDermott had been tugging Torres, camped a yellow card out and...gave a throw in. The half ended amid rancour, with even the Wycombe players arguing with this preening poltroon.

Half time: Grimsby Town 0 Wycombe Wanderers 1

Dream alone, don't sigh, don't groan, somehow it's only 1-0. Thoroughly outplayed, Town still had hope, but only if things were changed. Life is only what you wonder and the ground was wondering why Slade had reverted to the stodgy gloop formation. Every home game where Jones the Lump had started has been the same, with Town creating nothing, playing like an away team, holding on and hoping to get something on the break. It's big and ugly. The left side was a disaster, the centre of defence played like ladies who do lunch faced with an obstreperous builder.

This was bad.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk "My mother tells me it's still popular in Nepal." "Croft's having a stinker, he should be taken off." "With three dogs and a bad back no wonder they left the window open." "Has Souness sent his moustache to scout?" "Bring your camper stove on Sunday." "It was like karaoke but with the band."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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