12/02 Shrewsbury Part 2

Grimsby Town 0 Shrewsbury Town 1
12 Feb 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Is that a shot? Could be? Pity Fleming decided to clear it, diving to divert a goalbound shot from some Town player or other. Let’s say it was Macca. The Town machine slowly grinding forward, the rust falling slowly from the wheels. Hockless, shimmering through the haze. One run pathetic; without purpose, without strength. Another better; a shot flailed a couple of yards wide. It’s a start. A minute later, two, three, four passes and flicks. Pinault rolling forward, Reddy linking, jinking, Gritton rolling left and rapping a shot across Howie. The tousle-topped stopper flew left and clutched the ball to his bosom, like a prime chunk of ham. At last, a moment.

Some verve, some team play. Passing, movement, energy, desire from the team. Don’t get excited, it’s just another Shrewsbury incursion hobbled away for a corner on their left. Rodgers pestered, crossed through the box and Macca had to scrumble the ball away from Aiston’s sphere of influence. Curled in, flicked on by Langmead at the near post, steered over by Tinson at the far post. Unmarked, a couple of yards out, a fantastic miss. Look around you, what do you see? Opponents six inches taller than their Town counterparts. We need some height.

More comedy teasers from the jokers in the Shrewsbury defence. A little nickle over the top saw Parkinson scampering away; a defender came across, the goalkeeper came out, Parkinson stopped. The Gay Meadow cavaliers collided, the ball squirmed away for a throw in. We have to have one of these every game - Reddy raiding down the right. Predictably alliterative, predictably he fell in the area as an afterthought, no thoughts of a penalty by the referee. He smiled, benignly.

A foul! A free kick! About 25 yards out on the Town centre left. Please be upstanding for our special guest tweaker, Mr Graham Hockless, who will be performing the famous Grimsby Town free kick routine without the aid of a deckchair. With his glamorous assistant, Madame Le Pinaultpidou by his side, he espied the red wall, an eyebrow raised, a cheeky smile, two steps and a swivering shot crawled an inch or two over the bar. His fellow munchkins felt vindicated, and returned to their Jaffa cakes and Tizer.

Instant replay. A couple of minutes later a Shrews’ corner was cleared by desperate defending; two manly challenges saw red men tumble, play continued and Hockless felled a third. A free kick given: minor uproar in a small town, as Hockless appeared to win the ball with a sliding lunge, 25 yards out in the centre. A small, ramshackle obstruction was placed about ten yards away, with wind and tumbleweeds billowing through the gaps in the wattle and daub. Williams hid behind this man made a blot on the landscape. Can he see the ball? Up strode some bloke, later identified as Sedgemore, who arced a shot over and around this mock-Tudor style boundary fence. Williams scurried across to his left, BULL unmarked, standing level with the post about a dozen yards out, stooped, stretched and steered the ball into the bottom left hand corner, diverting it enough to go in, and enough to go over Williams. If Bull had stood still there wouldn’t have been a goal. It was, and there is no other way of describing it so please excuse this overly technical language, an own goal. When you’ve watched the game for 72 years you kinda pick up on these things, even though you’re not in the game. The crowd reaction? Unsurprised: we’d pressed the mute button ages ago.

It started to rain.

"An arts centre in Rotherham, that’s an oxymoron."
"I never thought I’d ever demand Tony Crane be brought on."
"I’ll give it 15 minutes, then I’m off to the pub."
"I’m always stuck in the 70s before lunch."
"Their defenders are our best attackers."