Cod Almighty | Match Report
by Tony Butcher
25 January 2011
Luton Skyscrapers 1 Grimsby Bungalows 0
In a muddy field far, far from home the suited and booted Town diaspora slunk into the midget seats.
Town lined up in a 4-4-2 formation as follows: Arthur, Watt, Atkinson, Kempson, Wood, Bore, Leary, Cummins, Eagle, Connell, Makofo. The substitutes were Croudson, Garner, Hudson, Sinclair and Corner. Oh dear, oh Leary. Oh.
Luton. Big men, really big men, a bunch of boxers and arm wrestlers. It ain't going to be pretty.
First half: Men against boys
Do you hear that? The sound of a jet plane taking off from Luton Airport? No! It's the roar of the Lutonites as they flatten the Town trees: a hurricane, a typhoon, an old tea bag dunked in lukewarm water and tossed aside with disdain. Ouch, ooh, oof, ow. OW! Bang! Bang! Lawless near, flawless Lawless far, side netting left, side netting right, Arthur dipping and dunking. Atkinson staunch, a rock, a man of iron. The orange sea surged over the walls, drenching the mariners. When will they score?
Pressure, pressure, shots, shots, corners, crosses, crosses, corners and again and again. It's a cabbage patch and we're their dolls, tossed into the cupboard, kicked and plucked and ooh, we've got a corner.
Oh no Dave, they've scored.
Cleared, Bore sauntered slightly, Barnes-Homer sautéed SPB, Flawless flew left, crossed and Gnapkin diverted under Arthur. The ball skipped up and Wood hooked away. The linesman eventually reached the corner flag, calculated his risks and came down on the side of the homesters.
They carried on and on an on and on. A header over, a flash left, a flash right. Drury scrimpled at Arthur, someone slashed, someone flashed, titans will clash. How is this only 1-0?
Eagle smackerooned from forever away: Tyler sailed and parried aside. That was the Town. The only Town, the one and only Town moment of anything.
They are too big, too strong, too everything. Stop this, stop this now. It's cruel. I'm going to close my eyes and count to three.
Wahey, it's only 1-0. Listen lads, we can still do this.
Second half: Man bites dog
What's happened? This is now a football match, not the Harlem Globetrotters.
On the floor, we're not poor, this is Town to the core. Passing, moving, not scoring, Nearly this, oh, nearly then. Almost, almost, whoops they headed over. Hattermen shot over, Hattermen shot wide. Eagle and Bore crossed in, crossed out and Watt slapped into the side netting. Eagle's bumbler dumbled off a tangerine. Serge! Serge surged, twiddling and twisting through three and haring off towards goal. Howells was sent to Harpenden and Tyler's thigh flicked the ball over the bar.
Yeah, Luton had more breakaways and crosses. And so did we. What a game, what a guy. Connell, remember him? The twisted flax spun and coiled a shot against the top of the stanchion. Ah, old-fashioned football in an old-fashioned place. Stanchions for goalposts, marvellous.
Owusu wasted, Owusu wafted, Drury slapped and sliced. Someone else did something else. Substitutions? They happened now and again. Sinclair came on and Town got better.
Luton: hanging on, time wasting, the home crowd whistling and hollerin' their nerves out in to the wet night. Added time, this could be our time. Town pressed, pressed and Eagle flashed low across goal, towards the bottom left corner. The keeper peered, peaked and sneaked a hand out at the last to divert.
Ah well, we didn't lose our dignity.