Waking the Dud: Rochdale Report

Grimsby Town 0 Rochdale 1
04 Sep 2004, Coca Cola League 2

Social events were organised, holiday photos swapped, tales of the first day at school, what a pleasant social occasion. Where’s the Pimms? Oh yeah, I nearly forgot, there’s a professional football game going on.

Oh look there’s the team of ‘71’s coach, parking up between the Main Stand and Police Box. Sorry, my mistake, it’s the grand return of the ambulance. The Mighty Mariner was continually nutmegged by the cheeky little mascot, who celebrated each penalty with a big flipping handspring. Are you watching Michael Reddy? That’s how to take a penalty. Make sure the goalie is wearing a big foam suit next time: you might score.

Sorry, I got distracted. Town lined up in the 3-4-3 formation, as shown. No need to comment on the first XI. The two new players were difficult to find, for one of them was a replica, if not a replicant, of Parkinson: a hairless, big-eared, tiny scurrier. The other was a blander looking lad of medium size, medium hairstyle and probably wears Marks and Spencer’s medium-sized underpants too. Life doesn’t seem the same without Mansaram. In many ways we are diminished by his absence. Well, he’s taller than the new two.

Ten minutes before kick off the remnants of a Town team from another time came out, one by one. They’ve ditched the sideburns and cut their hair. Who needs cars and cash, when you’ve got a big moustache? Uh-huh: Dave Worthington. Perma-tanned, wearing a lounge-lizard beige suit with black T shirt, he milked his moment like an old trouper, nearly upstaging the man who once lived in the Town a long time ago, a restaurateur called McMenemy. On he came and on and on and on he waved. Blowing kisses, hailing each stand, huggin’ and a kissin’ anyone in sight, even the Mighty Mariner. There were even people in the ground who were alive when he was Town manager. Everything was so black and white in those days, eh? Eventually he reached the Smiths/Stones/ Findus Stand. And he collected three pints of gold top from them too. We Pontoonites were using up far too much energy clapping politely. In this scientific age of sport we know we have to keep our fluid intake up, eat the right food. Where’s that balti pie and weak tea?

Get off old man, it’s five past three, there’s a football match to watch.

Rochdale? They were over there somewhere, wearing blue, with Gallimore incognito in an action man hairstyle. Booed for the heck of it; like shooting fish in a barrel, heckling Galli. But shooting fish in a barrel has been a wonderful spectator sport this season. Bring on the Spotland sprats!

Dish of the day was quite tasty sounding. Parky’s grilled salmon and jacket potato: the secret is in the sauce, though I suggest you use mango chutney rather than get off the boat and search for mangoes in the jungle. You never know what’s going to jump out from behind a tree.

1st half

Town kicked off and kept the ball, slowly building down the right. What? Uh, sorry, I drifted off there. Town still had it a minute or so later, some players had moved a few yards to their left. Ah, Pinault. Fantastique, a continental threaded pass releasing the marauding Macca. Galli lost, Macca offside. Shame. The shape of things to come?

My it is a hot day, I might have to take off my jacket. Is that a seagull or a pigeon? No, no, no: it’s their centre forward. A big-chested barrel organ playing amusing tunes as the wind blew back his hair. Who are you? Grant Holt, apparently. Ooooh another sumptuous Pinault reverse pass almost releasing someone. Nice.