Reversal of Fortune: Chester Report

Grimsby Town 1 Chester City 0
22 Feb 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Town lined up in a 3-5-2 formation, as shown. 3-5-2, 3-4-1-2, who knows, who cares, aren’t they the wheel arrangements on the Flying Dutchman. Oooh, don’t mention Cas. Hockless floating like a snowflake, beautiful, ephemeral, likely to melt....

Sestanovich was booed and booed; how rude. The Belle of the ball was absent, Whittle’s head safe.

Dish of the Day: Rodger’s Sunday Roast Beef, let’s hope there’s no Worcester sauce in the gravy.

They played in yellow, the ball was yellow. They clashed with the ball, we clashed with the sky.

1st half

Town kicked off towards the Osmond, or maybe they didn’t. Figures shimmered in the haze. Hoof, hoof and hoof again, three touches, three whacks. Ah the pub team, living up to the billing. We’ll show ‘em. Oh, that’s us hoofing, they’ll show us. They did.

I’m bored already.

Two minutes, Hockless free, Hockless hopeless, shooting straight, shooting 15 years wide. Put your baseball cap on, mulletboy, and suck a lollipop. Hockless free? He will be soon. Another five minutes, an egg hard-boiled. They have it, they pass it, lovely moving, this way and that way, sideways, overways, wing-backs roaming, Town gloaming. Ramsden a rock, Bull rocking. No shots from the yellow fiends. A shot by Gritton, forgotten.

Gurgling from the Pontoon, groaning from the Main Stand. Horrible, horri-Bull, Terry-ble. Whack, whack, whack, the ball lost on the blizzard.

Snow flurry, Town in a hurry, footballing slurry, I want a curry: hot and spicy, needed for feet. Toes colding, toes curling at bilge, bile rising.

I want to go home.

They have it, they keep it. Transit Stan, white boots on a white night, not our white knight any more. Familiar shaking across the pitch, beating one, two, three, four, passing back. Wasting everyone’s time. Booed again. Keeps us warm, I suppose.

Has their ‘keeper touched it? Have they got a ‘keeper? Do they need one?

Still them. "Hey, it’s our ball!" That’s the way to do it. Pass, move, pass move, look around you. Watch them and learn. Chester flutter, Chester flatter, can’t cross, miss by 20 yards. Let ‘em cross. Let it snow, referee.

Transit Stan shuffling, huffling, scuffling a shot 15.23 yards wide. Been here done that before; déjà vu, soon be Deva vu for the Cheshire cats. You’ll learn.

Another shot, wider still, awful.

I’m watching snow fall. Oh, it’s the ball. Keep it down Town, or we won’t be keeping our teas down. Hockless touched the ball again, the Iranian government remained intact.

"We only sing when we’re skiing."

Better: a Town pass. Hockless curling, Reddy reeling away down the left. Past two, to the bye-line, pulled back, blocked. Excitement, in context. Hockless probing, Reddy raving down the right. Past two, to the bye-line, pulled back, blocked. Here comes the mirror man.

"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."