08/10 Northampton Part 2

Northampton Town 0 Grimsby Town 1
08 Oct 2004, Coca Cola League 2

Cramb was unmarked, about a dozen yards out on their right. He took one touch, turned and thumped a smacker, which Rachubka parried away at his near post. Town striker shoots, earth stops spinning. Town striker doesn’t score, rotation resumes. Still, a shot. Could Cramb be the one to remove the stigma of being a Town striker? Could be, he’s got a bit more about him than Rosemary the telephone operator, that’s for sure. And I don’t mean round the waist either. When the ball was played up to him it stuck, and was invariably passed back to someone he’d met before. He acted as a proper focal point, the fulcrum of frenzy if you will.

What’s going on now then? Not much: tackling, cackling as passes went astray. Northampton tried to play a passing game, none of this long ball nonsense like, err, Grimsby. Yep, Town were the more basic of the two teams, with a higher propensity to aimlessly hoof. It all looked mighty pretty, but Northampton produced nothing inside the penalty area. Moments of danger by the dozen, but they couldn’t cross, they didn’t shoot. Great defending or poor attacking? Depends on the colour of your underpants. Low caused minor earth tremors with his dribbling and mazy meanders, but he kept doing a Transit Stan, roaring up cul-de-sacs and getting tickets for double parking. Oh, if you want some dry technical stuff, Town settled to be more of a 4-5-1 than 4-3-3 so that the spaces on the flanks were closed off more. Happy now?

Yes, you are, and you don’t even know it yet. Town started to get a bit more of a grip on the game, with Pinault spinning and grinning his way through the half. Coldicott and Fleming acted as his bodyguards, not letting any of the purple-people-eaters get to the star. Pingu had plenty of time for his tea and a slice. Ooooooh, Gordon fracked a shot from the A45 (westbound carriageway) which zoomma-zoomed about 10 foot wide. Still, he hit it hard and it was an excuse for those watching in black and white to get excited. Reddy roving down the right, Crowe hitting the liquid oxygen button, Northampton alarmed. One, two, three passes from PIngu, Parkinson free inside the area on the left. A cross, Cramb unmarked near the penalty spot, Cramb fluffed, linesman’s flagged raised. Embarrassment avoided.

It’s pretty dull.

Northampton...relying upon momentary lapses of reason by Town players for a chance. A ball over the top, Low chased, Williams raced out of his area and shinned the ball out for a throw in. The height of cobblers, in every sense. Williams flapped a couple of weak punches , but nothing came of these wibbles and wobbles. Oh, I can’t be bothered to keep you in suspense any longer. Here it is, Northampton Town’s effort on target. THE one, the one and only. A cross from their left, Sabin, ten yards out, held Forbes down and killed us softly with his song. Plop - into the arms of Williams. No pace, no power, no chance matey.

I’m looking forward to my sandwich.

Woah, what’s this Mr Crowe? As if awoken from a dream Jason Crowe intercepted a clearance on the touchline, just inside their half. He put on his driving gloves, adjusted the rear view mirror, winked to his ladyfriend, selected his favourite CD and put his foot on the accelerator. With his sirens screaming and fires howling he was gone, gone, gone down the wing and infield, leaving cobblers marooned. Crowe reached the edge of the penalty area, the final defender, what a goal to come. The defender lurched, Crowe jerked his body up, then plummeted to the ground. The only rational act upon seeing this slapstick was to laugh. A dreadful dive, he failed his swimming badge. What a silly billy.

"Now we’ve stopped Sabin running, they’re nothing."
"Do you think they’ve taken the one-size-fits-all approach to Cramb’s shirt?"
"No-one from Grimsby eats cod."
"They only let us bring it in if it was hot."
"If we win you’ll have to come to every game on crutches. For ever"