27/09 Notts Co Part 2

Grimsby Town 4 Notts County 0
24 Sep 2005, Coca Cola League 2

But it was Bolland who took charge, wrestling with County crocodiles bare-chested and without the aid of electric forks, the flying roofer fixing a hole where the rain gets. They Shall Not Pass tattooed on his forehead.

Finally, a Town attack, though it was a god-awful small affair. Gritton tried a looper-drooper volley from about 30 yards on the centre left. Bouncing once, the ball almost bumbled over Pilkington, but he failed to fail. Still, a Town shot: there is life on Mars. Town were starting to press, Francis prominent, crosses hurled in, corners won. A bimble, a bumble and Gritton hooking, the ball squirmed through gaps in the fence and squiffed away from near the line as legs thrashed and heads bashed. Another Town cross from deep, nodded on by Jones, just rolling behind Gritton and Reddy inside the six yards box. Town were seeping into this game. Kalala-di-da, midfield huffling and puffling, County breaking quickly, a blur of blue and corner to you, Mr Pie. Clipped from their right, the ball zoomed to an unmarked Countyite, perhaps a dozen yards out, who steered the ball towards the bottom right hand corner of the goal. A nod, a wink, and Macca gracefully ushered the ball off the line with a three iron down the fairway. This isn't going to plan, is it. Town were producing little with the Magpies pecking at their nest.

After about twenty minutes the worm turned and Town started to press against the County door. Was it locked? Go on, you try, give it a push. Try the handle. Overstaffed on their left, the Nottinghamshire folk got away with it as Town sent four players into the same space, Bolland shinning the ball out for a goal-kick whilst the blueboys were phoning their agents. Another minute, another Town attack: Reddy rocking, Parky flitting, Gritton bundling defenders aside. County creaking.

Let's get their last attack of the half out of the way. They had an attack, they were offside, then one of their abstract attackers placed the ball around Mildenhall into the bottom right hand corner. So it didn't count. Happy? They weren't, we were.

Near the half hour the Town cats started to purr with Gritton the fulcrum around which the world pivoted. The Gritster rolled, Reddy reeled, Parkinson pestered the life out of the full back. A cross was blocked and a corner to Town; the Pontoon reared and roared its head as Whittle and Jones lumbered upfield. Parkinson's cross was half cleared and McDermott sprinted forward to retrieve possession midway inside the half, passing the ball back to Parkinson on the wing. The Scouse scamp took one touch, cut back and chippled a cross into the centre of the penalty area. JONES rose above mankind and pummelled a header down low to Pilkington's right and into the net as the keeper grappled with basic ballistics. Oh yes, the doors are open: welcome to the party, leave your six pack of Double Diamond in the kitchen.

A minute later Town were at it again, throttling the flimsy lacemakers. A Town corner was cleared to the centre circle and hoiked back again with Jones flickering the ball on. Reddy, five yards offside, stood in the centre with arms in the air. Gritton, on the left, shuffled forward unmarked and powered into the penalty area. One stride, one touch and a precisely placed finish over and across Pilkington into the left hand side of the goal. The crowd rose, County players sank, then a couple made mild complaints to the referee. Why? The linesman hadn't put his flag up, at all, ever, ever. Ever. After a while the referee decided to walk over to the linesman. Both stroked their chin, scratched their cheeks, shook their heads and...disallowed the goal for offside. The Lower Smiths/Stones/Findus was vacated as its inhabitants leapt up in fury. Five minutes later the linesman put his flag up, but not where the crowd demanded.

"It's got a red button and a wooden handle, you can't miss it."
"Do you think we can swap Francis for Glen Downey?"
"My balti pie was harder than them."
"All we had to do was play louder."
"They have a player who sounds like a sausage."