Grimsby Town - The Nightmare Continues Part 2

By: Chris Smith
Date: 19/08/2009

THANKS Gary, for reminding me that the title was your idea! I was hoping that it would end at Part 1 and am worried that it could have as many sequels as Halloween. However, there were some positives to be pulled from tonight. Whilst it isn't time to press the panic button, I already feel under pressure as a fan.

One thing I'd like to say and I don't care whose nose it puts out of joint. We shouldn't have been playing Rotherham tonight. Clubs with consistent records of insolvency such as Rotherham, Bradford, Stockport, Darlington et al, should have been disposed of years ago. Harsh? You bet, but administration isn't a victimless process.

I thought it was going to be one of those days. I'd taken a days leave to avoid rushing around before going to the game and wasn't surprised to see totally overcast skies where blue had been forecast (Aaargh! We have problems with that word! Only joking, he’s pulled of some good saves when called upon) . Despite the inclement weather, I spent the morning tailed by the total wasp population of South Yorkshire. I was stood at a bus stop being dive bombed by them and an old boy told me they wouldn't hurt me as I kicked out, told them to **** off (as though they understood me) and generally did a good impression of Mark Hughes at the weekend. The bloke did concede that I seemed to have a fair following, certainly bigger than Crewe’s and a nasty bit of me wanted one to sting him so he could bang his head on the shelter and tell me it didn't hurt. To top that, the bus didn't turn up and I found myself actually making a very audible strangled noise which is unlike me, despite my many public transport disappointments.

Then I realised what the real problem was. It was my Time of The Week. That period of tension, prior to a football match, when I have little or no expectation of a decent result. The thing is, I'm having two Time of The Weeks at the moment. I was already savouring the injustice of a defeat at the hands of a club that through various regimes, seems to have torn up the rulebook when it has suited them. For the record, I could never tell the difference between Millmoor and the scrap yard down the road from it. Talking of scrap and football I think of the Barnestoneworth sketch from Ripping Yarns. In their case, the incompetence was off the pitch.

Anyway, back to the Time of The Week. In a brief wasp-free respite, I heard the ominous sound of a neighbour’s lawnmower. I know whose it is by the warping of my fence as the panels are sucked out and nails fly everywhere due to the suction of this loud industrial strength hoover. It wouldn't be so bad but they don't even live next door, which is of course where southern Man Ure fans live. This then leads to the Mating Call of The Estate Lawnmowers. Once one starts, everyone is out, each trying to make more noise than the other. It drives me insane. Not the greatest preparation for a game.

Gary eventually rescued me when he picked me up in Thorne and we made the short trip through enemy territory to GY. A worrying development this season and towards the end of the last, is that we pass Glansford Park (as it should be called as it is full of... come on, you know) and Scumthorpe without even singing about where they can stick their flipping steelworks (furnace first, of course). I do think some of my very essence has been diminished for home games and a depressing series of heavy defeats. The only thing that was making me laugh prior to tonight’s game was the post on The Fishy where a Town fan reminded a coal troll about the fact that the admission price wouldn't be 6p in the pound.

Again, a highlight of the day was a spiffing meal around my folks’ house, (mum really is a brick) although there weren't lashings of ginger ale. That’s enough Enid Blyton politeness and time for Look North where Glansford Park appeared on the screen. Cue frenzied two fingered salutes and bad language by Gary before realising that he is in my long suffering folks’ living room. I was doing the same as well, mind you. One good thing about living in South Yorkshire is that (and I never thought I'd say this) we don't get coverage of t’Tahgers and the Johnny-come-latelies. Instead, it is Wendy, the Blades and Leeds. That I'd rather hear the goings on at these clubs is some statement.

Time to go, so we got Jere in the motor and headed up to the ground to meet with Big Jim, Nick and Glyn (who really does suffer, living in Scumthorpe itself). I used my non-misprinted £5 off voucher for the club shop, which had come with my seaso, to buy the blue Town scarf, presumably to go with the away strip but also appropriate for post-game moods.

The article continues in Part Two

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