Wilted spinach: Mansfield (a) report

Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

7 November 2018

Mansfield Town 2 Grimsby Town 1

Where the fireworks are glowing and the starry sky is bright, five hundred and more travelling Townites espied three Roses planted in the team sheets.

Town lined up in an almost 4-4-2 formation as follows: McKeown, Hall-Johnson, Collins, Famewo, Hendrie, Woolford, Hessenthaler, M Rose, Pringle, Cook and Thomas. The substitutes were Russell, Dixon, Welsh, Clifton, Embleton, Vernam and A Rose.

Mansfield. They looked like athletes. Was this their paradise postponed?

First half: Dried peas

Town kicked off away from the huddled hordes.

Slipshod slackness, ricochets and rebounds as our red, red Rose's toeses nosed the ball into the vast void. Yellow Rose alone, McKeown noodled a doodle and smothered.

Slackshod slippyness, rebounds and ricochets, a cross pulled back and Walker, alone. Jamie Mack penned a poem and smooched.

Walker wafted over, the yellow rose of Mansfield.

Moments of almostness. Passing, movement in red. Cook barundled, red, red Rose's toenails failed to grow as the ball shivered through their six-yard box.

Waves of yellow, pools of monochrome joy as McKeown plunged and plucked and Walker knock-kneed over the bar from three yards. A header high, a header flipped, a cross missed, Collins clipped away from the line.
A cross, a red, red Rose header and a bumbling bomble in front of their keeper.

Hall-Johnson fouled a throw, and in homage we had foulchucks in yellow. Town lobbed, Thomas turned, a low cross nicked off nockles and bumbled in off Benning.

Back, back, back they come, hunting high and low. A drifter, a shifter, a grafter, and unsighted Jamie Mack flew low and left to hold on to what we've got. And again, and again.

If it wasn't for Jamie Mack Town would be five down already. It, and he, be macca-nificent. Be warned, there be peril in yellow.

Second half: Mushy peas

Mansfield made two changes. Town's song remained the same.

Oh dear. They are running around quickly.

We'd had the warning and now they are swarming. Swinging and winging, flicking and slicking and licking their lips as Town's spinach wilted.

Ah-ha! Cook burned forward from the half way line, sucking yellow into his half-powered hoover. Thomas alone to the left, Woolford alone to the right. Look! Four Townites, three yellows. Look! Cook curdled himself into a cheese, tickling timidly to no-one, nowhere. Off they raced down Town's right, and horizontal Collins swept away as a staggerman slinked into the area. A corner, in then out and highly dripped to the farthest post. Walker stretched in front of Rose to steer a volley across McKeown into the right side of the goal.

Intense and incessant, the yellowmen roving and roaming the hapless hinterlands 'twixt redmen. Head of Collins, toes of Luke, hands of Jamie and what a beaut! Maccanificence.

Up left, down right, a finger, a palm, a thigh and a leg. He springs but he's no chicken. Town's Trabant had stalled in a one-way street. Nope, the engine is dead, we'll just sit here hoping we don't get hit.

McKeown, Collins. Brilliant. Alone.

Have we had a shot yet? Famewo launched a precision up and under, Cook sneaked behind Pearce and stumble-stuttered a volley sideways, clearing rather than steering into the awaiting nettage.

Embleton replaced Pringle. Vernam replaced Cook. It may have been the other way around, but who can tell and who cares. Featherweights replaced flyweights. Butterflies fluttered.

Shots left and right, low and high, a header on the bar, more marvellous Maccaness.

Ah-ha! Hendrie bustled forward through a parting of the yellow river. A pass mislaid, so be afraid. Rose failed and Woolford let a terrible home pass go under his boots. Off they raced down Town's right and in a flash Walker stooped to steer a header at the far post.

Akheeeem Rose came on, Woolford trudged off. He is simply unable to run as fast as young athletes.

More Maccanificence. The end.