22/01 Lincoln Part 2

Grimsby Town 2 Lincoln City 4
22 Jan 2005, Coca Cola League 2

Hey, Hey! Town won another corner. Reddy rockin', rollin', ridin' out along the bye-line, cross blocked easily. Nothing.

I have just one question, how high are the clouds?

No shots, no crosses of any consequence, no attacks of any note, nothing to report from either side. The ball, still inside the ground, bumping between the groovers on the dancefloor. We’ve got no room for ravers. We must grumble. Horrid stuff. Inert attackers, reactive defending; Town an empty vessel bobbing along, hoping the tide would push it home. To put it simply, Town simply hoofed the ball from back to front. Lincoln’s defenders sat relatively deep and were taller than our attackers. Simple is the word; you know sometimes words have two mea-hea-nings.

After twelve or thirteen minutes Parkinson was caught offside down the left. Parky offside, never! Up went their big men, upfield went the ball, launched to the centre right of Town’s area. Forbes was tempted out to the edge of the area and was beaten to the ball by one of the centre backs. The ball was flicked on into an unmanned area about 8 yards out. Ramsden hesitated at the hair products section and was caught briefly contemplating a choice of hair gel. YEO swerved into the empty patch, twisted and obliterated the ball into the top of the net, just above Williams’ head. Excellent finish, droopy drippy defending. So simple, so sloppy, so Town.

The Town lion roared? No, in this comic monologue we’re Albert; Town eaten by yon Lincoln lion. The game remained the same. Silent Town fans, awful football, witless lumpings, no chances, Town never inside their penalty area. The Imps were organised, committed, a pleasant afternoon by the sea. Yeo ....not quite matey boy, a lovely curled pass down the centre saw him briefly free, but Ramsden emerged from behind a bush to crash his cymbals.

That clock is till ticking way. 21, 22, 23 ....still no Town shots. Hang on, you aren’t going to claim a rubbish cross from Parkinson that went straight to Marriott, are you? You are! How desperate is that?

24, 25, 26...nope.

Lincoln, for all their reputation, weren’t exactly a route-one side. They were direct, but only in the sense of breaking quickly, using their front three to shovel the ball up and across the pitch on the ground. Down their right, at speed, Yeo twirling free, shot deflected, Ramsden smooching, blocking, corner on their right. The penalty area was swamped, the ball was curled into the centre, grazing off a Town head to just beyond the far post. An unmarked Lincoln player controlled the ball about eight yards out. HANDBALL! The Pontoon spontaneously combusted as one. The ball dropped, he shot, deflecting off some ankles across the face of goal. YEO, unmarked about ten yards out, stepped forward and fiddled the ball low through a thicket of Town legs and in to the centre left of the net. The Pontoon in momentary uproar for handball, then the self-pitying fury set in, turning against the players. Oh the irony eh? Will we ever get a handball decision in our favour? Do you think the opposition would have to catch it before we’d get one? Are the Town defenders still in the 10 items or less queue? With Town there are always more questions than answers. Are you still waiting for Town to attack? So were we.

"In Immingham no-one can hear you scream."
"I think I’ll stay here for the second half, it’s less painful."
"With a hat like that they’ll think you’re a Lincoln fan."
"How does he manage to de-motivate them for derbies?"
"They’ll be dancing in the cloisters tonight, perhaps to some heavy dub evensong."