02/04 Mansfield Part 2

Mansfield 2 Grimsby Town 0
02 Apr 2005, Coca Cola League 2

A momentary gasp from the massed Mariners; no danger, no Mansfielders awake.

Five minutes of throw ins. Sir John and Buxton taking it in turns to lob gently. Yellow lorry slow, nowhere to go. Larkin trotting, Barker barging, no danger, no chances, nothing. It's easy, easy as a Sunday morning. Easy but boring. Let's have action, let's see people, let's see who cares. Crowe zooming, danger looming. Onwards, upwards, a Gritton flick on the edge of the area, and Coldicott rolling free on the right. The ace of Stace tried to poke-lob the ball over Pilkington from a dozen yards, but only looped it straight at the decorative glassware in goal.

Just one look and Pilkington went "Boom", as he launched the ball upfield, forcing Forbes to flibble away for a corner. The Staggies tried to take it quickly, and short, but Pinault and Crowe stopped that with a little turkey trot. When they went back to their temperature-controlled hut Mansfield took the corner... short. To the same player. Crowe wandered, wondered and watched as the yellowboy hit the bye-line and curled in a dinky little cross to the near post. Larkin stretched a bit, but not much, and Williams scooped the ball up after, and only after, he'd finished chapter 23 of that book he bought at the service station on the way. A small moment that summed it all up. A sleepy spring snoozeathon, punctuated by sneakiness. Don't they know the name of the game?

You can go and mow the lawn now, but only if it's a small lawn. Ten minutes will do. And when you come back you'll find that Carlton le Palmer had had enough of Larkin's larking and off he came, replaced by a teenager, Diet Coke. Brown now accompanied Barker in the centre. Is this relevant? Why do you need to know this? 'Cos this changed everything. Mansfield began to pass the ball along the ground, behind the Town full backs, stretching and retching Town. But not creating anything, just slowly pulling those stitches, the jumper unravelling imperceptibly.

And what a fine ten minutes Town had as the hems frayed. Parkinson racing and rippling past two on the left, a cross to the far post nodded back, a bit of scrambled egg and toast inside the area. Mansfield brows furrowing, no chance, no shot. Crowe taking the bullet train to the edge of the Mansfield area, flipping to Gritton, flicking to Coldicott, unmarked,15 yards out, the ball at his feet, his feet over the ball. The Stacemeister stumbled, the moment passed, unlike him. Another minute another moment: Whittle headed a free kick across the area. Gritton, a dozen yards out with his back to goal, thighed the ball aside, turned and shinned the ball a couple of yards high and wide to the right of goal.

On the half hour, the chance arrived. Finally a Town move: flowing, fantastic, fun. Harrold received the ball just inside the Mansfield half, on the left. He chested down, turned and stonked a superb crossfield pass out into the desolate wastelands on the right. Fleming was prompted forward by the voice-activation remote control unit fitted earlier by Dave Moore. It wasn't a wet sponge, or a pair of sunglasses, after all. Fleming waited for support and Lord John got on his cloud, surfing down the wing. Macca took the ball into the box and crossed low to the near post where Parkinson stepped over the ball and back-heeled to the unmarked Harrold, about 10 yards out. Prince Haddock leant back and swished a first time shot a foot wide of the left hand post, with Pilkington left to indulge in some aerobic windmilling. Oh dear, what a shame. Never mind, they don't look like scoring either.

"You can't buy contemporary art on Tuesdays."
"They're better than us at being average."
"Sorry, I'm too tall to use the other one."
"How many of our players would get a job on Cleethorpes Beach?"
"I found the ladies toilet. I don't think it's been used this century."