15/01 Leyton Orient Part 2

By: Tony Butcher
Date: 16/01/2005

TOWN kicked off towards the end manned by home support, wearing the away kit but with black shorts. So much better than the fey white efforts which made ‘em look like a bunch of hockey-girls. The ball didn’t go out immediately, nor after several seconds. Or after several more. How odd.

Leyton Orient 1 Grimsby Town 2 15 Jan 2005, Coca Cola League 2 It was all going rather well. Minutes ticked by, with Town retaining possession, snuffling any danger with ease and poise, although you know them as Jones and Ramsden. Coldicott was back strutting, the air of confidence enveloping his luminous being, if not the hair of confidence. He probably uses Colgate toothpaste too. This is all rather relaxing. Oo, a Town attack, Reddy revving up and hurtling goalwards. The ball diverted for a corner. No Pinault, so who’ll take it? McDermott, that’s who, wearing le Professeur’s silver boots. From the right, clipped low, Ramsden stooped at the near post and a defender humbled the ball away, back out. The ball dropped near the bye-line and His Holiness the Macctif stepped forward, threw some grass cuttings in to the air to judge the wind direction and lofted a sand wedge on to the putting green. Jones barged his way through and slapped a header against the cross bar from about eight or so yards out, in the centre. Now that was "Oooworthy" Back Leyton came, passing, passing, fizzling out 25 yards from Williams. Good linesmanship. We ask for offside, we get offside. He listens, he learns. Five minutes of reclining, not declining, passed. Dozens more Town fans seeped in, blocking the view, but not the sun. "There’s plenty of spaces up at the top." Are you talking about this league or this stand? Hang on, they’re attacking. Another minute, another break. Steele, fluttering between the Town centre backs , Jones backing off and off and off. Thadoom. Steele belittled the ball goalwards, forcing Williams to dive to his left and parry the ball away from the foot of the post for a corner. We’d better watch out for this Steele laddie, he’s lively. Fleming and Coldicott, those Hounds of Love, swaggered through the centre blocking all routes as effectively as an inappropriately placed pelican crossing. They just hung around the lights and pressed the button for fun. Tum-ti-tum. No, it’s not Name that Tune again, we’re happy, we’re not bored. As easy as a Sunday morning, what fuss, what cares have we? Well, we’d like to score I suppose. So let’s do so! Why not, eh? Town chucked a throw in down the right infield, Coldicott passed to Gritton, who laid it back to the Stacemeister General. A man-eating slide returned the ball to Gritton in the centre, about 35 yards out. He turned and zeroed in on the target, haring towards goal, sucking defenders into his slipstream. The defence converged, Parkinson split left, Reddy to the right and Gritton played a perfectly weighted pass inside the full back for Reddy. A couple of strides, hair flicking the defender aside, Reddy looked up and rolled the ball across the face of the goal to PARKINSON, alone inside the 6 yards box, who tapped in with some discomfort. It was too easy, perhaps he was a bit embarrassed. Remember Newcastle’s first goal against Yeading? It was a carbon copy. And we were six places below Orient, not six divisions above ‘em. Less than 20 minutes gone by the way and we were enjoying the party more than our hosts. It was so good no-one sat on the stairs plucking a guitar to impress the ladies with their thorough knowledge of Right Said Fred’s back catalogue. The stewards wouldn’t let us though, would they. And for once we’d back the stewards. Woah, stop being the cocks of the north, there’s still over an hour left. Leyton came back with a bit of a surge. None of this long ball rubbish they inflicted upon us at Blundell Park. Neat little one-twos, flicks and tricks, full backs overlapping, midfielders ghosting through, Steele the hub of all good things from them. Yoiks Scooby, a fine flowing move tearing Town to shreds down the centre right. One, two, three, pass and move, Eau de Buckley circa 1991, Steele goalside of Macca, way past Forbes, just eight yards out. He shaped to Thierry Henry it into the far corner, but succeed only in failing, curling the ball softly into Williams’ midriff. A very big warning, complacency is the enema of intention, or do I need my ears waxed?

Grimsby Anthony Williams Terrell Forbes Simon Ramsden Rob Jones John McDermott Terry Fleming Stacy Coldicott Ronnie Bull Michael Reddy Martin Gritton Andy Parkinson   Subs Greg Young 86 mins Thomas Pinault 79 mins Darren Mansaram Graham Hockless Tony Crane   Attendance 3,816   Referee Steve Tanner (Somerset)   Division Two League Table Reports/Fixtures Squad Stats Top Scorers Previews Predict-o-Meter   Man of the Match Vote for your Man of the Match Your Name (optional) Your Email Address (optional) Your Man of the Match Pick a player Bull Coldicott Fleming Forbes Gritton Jones McDermott Parkinson Pinault Ramsden Reddy Williams Young Nominations count towards the Player Of The Month shortlist.

Crosses, blocks, Bull stooping, Bull clattering, Bull handballing away. Free kick to Town. Still a great linesman. Fitzgerald allowed to turn 35 yards out, advance and.... wallop the ball into the pile of breeze blocks stacked 25 yards behind the goal. High, wide, poor for them, great for us. Another Fitzgerald long shot. Wider still. He’d pot the lot if he wore his goggles.

Parky free, behind the defence! How did that happen? Harrison raced out, jumped and clattered Parkinson on the edge of the area, the ball appearing to be knocked sideways past the ‘keeper by Noddy’s best friend. Penalty! Sending off! No, a drop ball and treatment for perky Parky. If Tony Crane hadn’t been warming up in front of us, more of the Town fans would have seen the incident and made some noise. He could have made himself useful and acted as a sunshield, all he had to do was stand in the building site. You know, there’s going to be plenty of room for snooker tables in the new stand. More tables than seats, it’s the modern way, cross-fertilisation, like greengrocers who sell antiques.

More long shots from the homesters. New balls please.

Town, Town, lovely Town, breaking quickly, the front three a constant menace, the Leyton defence disorientated, unable to cope with pace and power. And sometimes Parkinson too. Reddy ran ‘em ragged down the right, Gritton lampooned them down the left. This is attacking! Bull curled the ball down the left to Gritton on the half way line, who held off his defender and twizzled and fizzled down the touchline. He muscled his marker away, hit the bye-line and clapped a dipping cross to the near post, the ball just avoiding Parkinson and bouncing into the ‘keeper’s waiting hands. Well, it looked good to us 100 yards away, hidden behind a thick girder, which might have been a lump of old iron or a Town fan in a bobble hat, who can tell in this light?

Orient returned, pinning Town back for minutes on end. Corners, free kicks, crosses just flicked away, Bull from the near post, Ramsden at the far post, Williams off his line, Jones nodding like a donkey. Town were creaking ever so slightly, the sea trying to split the timbers, but the timbers held firm; just don’t rock too much. Fitzgerald free after a superb pass curled down their centre right, around Jones and into the forward’s flightpath. Momentary panic, fleetingly free, Fitzgerald took a touch too much, allowing Town to manoeuvre themselves into the semblance of a shape. Ramsden glided to the near post and intercepted the cross as strikers lurked behind and Williams watched with mother. Danger over.

Reddy, again, wearing a white cloak and making "wooah, wooah" noises, scaring the locals on his ghost ride down their right. A cross, Parkinson at the near post, a couple of yards out, defenders eating his shorts, Town players baying for a pass. Parky was subsumed by the red masses. Ball cleared. Back they came, another rubbish long shot then another fine flowing move. Town sucked in and blown out, their left back released inside the Town area. He tried a first-time steer towards a nebulous region and succeeded in passing straight to Williams’ chest, several yards in front of his team mates. Phew. They’ve had a lot of shots, but only one save made. And Town never looked that fussed.

Ticking, ticking, tocking, the half ending, the sun setting, the stands emptying, Reddy roving. Receiving a throw from Williams, he rampaged down the right, past one, two, three, four, past everyone twice and a third time, into the area. Reddy pulled back the trigger and BANG! Harrison flew to his left and made an excellent one-hand save, pushing the ball aside for a corner. It was a save that matched Reddy’s run in quality.

Two minutes of added time. It ended. We were happy.

Half time: Leyton Orient 0 Grimsby Town 1

Oh yes, we very happy, it was so comfortable. Orient were trying to play football, which is always a mistake against Town. We don’t crumble when faced with fourth division teams passing. It’s mucky scruffiness we don’t do very well. Arggh. It’s half time! A twenty minute Sladian soliloquy usually does the trick: we don’t do second halves.

Stu's Half Time Toilet Talk "I thought you said Reddy was a podgy dilettante?" "I see you’ve brought your own stalker" "With their wavy hair, Gritton and Reddy look like romantic poets." "Where breakfast meets lunch." "Is Pinault as good as Wayne Burnett? Better, but not as good looking."

The report continues in the Second Half.

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