Well, that wasn’t very entertaining. A game that could’ve been a real advert for lower league football became a battle between which fans could sing the loudest and drown out the turgid display of hoof and hope that was taking place on the pitch.
To be fair to Lincoln, they brought a good following. For once, us Mariners fans had some company. Okay, so it was company of the local rival variety but still it was nice to see that they still have an obsession with us and the majority of their songs are about how shit we and our town are. Then again, a lot of Imps only became Imps after their cup run last season when they went to Arsenal and just couldn’t stop talking about Grimsby Town. It’s strange having a stalker. Should we be flattered? If you can sing about Grimsby while all around you don't, you'll be a man, my son. Right, the match. I use the term ‘football’ loosely. Slade has a habit of getting us to play the game in the sky, prompting heated discussions about the plight of the poor seagulls being bombarded by the ball during the time it’s up in the air. Brian Clough said: “If God wanted us to play football in the clouds, he’d have put grass up there.” Take note, Russ, and let’s get back to being the neat and tidy passing philosophy that as a club, we are famous for. Then again Russell Slade said that "no side deserved to lose", which I guess is correct but what sort of defeatist gameplan is that against your fierce rivals from up the junction? It says so much about this team that a lot of them really did seem to be putting the effort in for the cause. Yet they were about as entertaining as a brick to the face and looked more uncomfortable doing some teamwork than Theresa May does when she smiles. Luke Summerfield, the much-maligned, midfield marauder made a decent fist out of winning the ball and stopping the Gimp attacks. When he was subbed off, a lot of the people in the Pontoon were bewildered. He was our best player on the pitch and, as much as I’ve criticised him in the past, I was pleased for him that he had a good game. We are the music makers, we are the dreamers of dreams. That’s the thing though, why do our players have one good game for every ten poor ones? I could sit and rant all day about James Berrett and Jamille Matt’s performances, again, completely devoid of any intent, threat, passion or talent. In what way is Paul Dixon an international footballer, his distribution at times was appalling? Nathan Clarke, an elder statesman, was solid enough but only in the confusingly befuddled mind of Russell Slade is he an improvement on Shaun Pearson. I don’t get it. The club is rapidly ripping its own soul. It’s almost as if that glorious day in May, 2016 when Omar and Nathan sent us back in to the FL had never happened. I’d love to tell you about some chances, or some neat passages of play, or anything that even remotely resembled sport but there wasn’t any. Occasionally, you’d hear excitement as we won a corner, only to see it lifted onto the head of the first man in the defence and cleared away. Lincoln were slightly better than us in the first half but still were quite poor. All in all it was a dreary derby day that would’ve seen Keith Alexander spinning in his grave, rest his soul, and seen Alan Buckley tearing his bald spot out in a rage. The second half saw us in a slightly springier step but still we had absolutely no cutting edge going forward. Town remind me of one of them coping saws you use at school in design technology, its blunt and it will give you a blister but, very occasionally, it will click into place and look sharp doing its task. This was not one of those days. Crane your necks skywards, Mariners, because that’s where Russell wants us to play. It was nice to see Nathan Arnold get a deserved ovation from all sides of the ground. He's ours and always will be. The Imps can sing their silly ditties about 'the black and white shite' to their hearts content but Nathan is a hero at Town because of THAT Wembley moment. Also, to the new Lincoln fans that only supported them when they weren't as shit any more, Blundell Park is in Cleethorpes. If you're gonna make your hilariously outdated shanties about us, at least get the facts first, cheers. I try and write match reports but what can I possibly tell you about this game, few chances, no attacking threat, a game which saw the players acting as though the pitch was made of treacle and waded through it with great difficulty. Forget the traditional attractive football that is synonymous with Grimsby Town and play a rough and tumble game of which ‘keeper can hoof it into the away fans the best? We had, I think, maybe one chance on goal when the frustrating Dembele dibbled and dobbled his way through the defence to seek out Sam Jones, who had a shot blocked. Be the change you wish to see in the world. Lincoln could have snatched it at the death when their Cornish pasty centre-forward Matt Rhead made a nuisance of himself to force a corner and a free header in front of their own fans was narrowly wide. To be honest, neither side deserved to win. It’s sobering to think that we barely look like scoring a goal let alone registering a victory. Where are the results gonna come from, Russell? Who do you have in this depressing, distressing bunch of journeymen that can win a match? As long as John Fenty is happy with us being a mediocre League Two side then that is what we shall be. Hopefully, things will turn around and we’ll look up the table instead of down. 0-0 a fair result for two sides that seemed to treat the Lincolnshire Derby like a leisurely kickabout in the Lidl car park. Truly, they could have played all weekend and we'd have been lucky to see a significant shot on target. Truly awful derby display from all involved.
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A point gained rather than two points dropped? Russell Slade can chat about how we were the better side as much as he wants, it doesn’t make it true. Slade needs to give his head a wobble and admit he has a problem with his central midfielders, Berrett and Summerfield, not being good enough for this level of football.
Anyway, a 2-2 draw equates to something close to entertainment. We conceded a soft, early goal from a string of inept defensive tackles and poor passing. Colchester, the fluorescent incessant from Essex, made a hash of clearing their own lines and JJ Hooper capitalised to hoop and scoop into the net. Equaliser. Fast forward to half-time and a thick fog engulfed Blundell Park. Russell Slade must have mist, sorry, missed the turgid display of ‘football’ from both sides if he honestly believes we were better. The second half was much like the forty-five that preceded it. The view from the Pontoon was virtually non-existent, trying to spot Macca’s pastel jersey became a real game of hide and seek. Colchester re-took the lead from what might have been a corner, or a free-kick, or even open play. You know what? I haven’t the foggiest what went on, only that the Essex club’s eye-burning kit was still clearly visible in the coastal mist. Oh, for fogs sake, we look like a team that has been roped together at the last minute again. A failure to string passes together? Check. A truly frustrating series of ‘almost attacks’ on the Colchester custodian’s goal? Check. Out midfield running around hopelessly in the adverse weather conditions? Check. Berrett had a poor game. It isn’t the first time anyone has said that. Slade needs to have a good look at Clements, Clifton or, anyone really, to be honest and compare them to the former York midfielder. A man who can tackle himself and spends a lot of time patrolling aimlessly through the centre of Blundell Park. He looks like a bloke that refused to listen to his satnav and got lost somewhere down the M1. Sam Jones, our third sub, scored a penalty that probably gave us a deserved point, neither side showed any real endeavour or quality. The fact that there were four goals in this match was a real anomaly. The defending was, at times, more reminiscent of Titus Bramble in high heels than an assured Catenaccio style. So, onto the derby with one point from six this week. I actually fear that the Gimps are gonna go through this team. I’m genuinely scared that my record of having never seen us lose to Lincoln is under threat. I do not want the humiliation, nor do I want to see another display of stodgy, treacle football that was present on Tuesday night. Enjoy yourselves on derby day, I know it’s not Hull or the Scunts but they’re still our local rivals. Pack the park, make some noise for the boys and make sure you don’t get clocked by Humberside Police when you’re giving them a cheeky little slap behind the Main Stand. That’s sarcasm, by the way. I have to explain that because I receive messages from people like Martin Vickers over ‘inappropriate content regarding the endorsement of violence’. Yeah, whatever mate. See yer on Saturday. In times of crisis it is important to have a strong leader, a secure contingency plan and a squad of people willing to be dedicated to the cause.
Usually, Grimsby Town FC are missing one, or all, of those qualities. Saturday’s game with Yeovil should not be seen as a sign that all of the early season worry has dispersed, despite a much-improved performance and, of course, our second win in a week. The Mariners muscled and marauded past the Somerset side. An early mistake by the Glovers ‘keeper and the football landed on Danny Collins who couldn’t miss an open goal with his experienced head. 1-0 up in the first ten minutes? You better believe it, pinch yourselves Pontooners, it’s party time. Yeovil scored with their only notable foray forward and what was probably their only shot on goal. Zoko zonking a zipper beyond Jimmy Mac who stood helpless, staring daggers at Summerfield and Davies, the chief culprits of the downfall of his clean sheet. The chilly wind swirled slanting rain across BP as both sides scuffed and huffed towards the half-time orange juice. Refreshed, the black and white stripes came out with big guns for the second half. Dembele dodged defenders, Jones jinked through gaps and Woolford whistled way out on the left, linking well with Dixon to make life difficult for Yeovil’s backline. It was only when Scotty V replaced Jamille M that Slade’s side slid back in front. Vernon flicked a freaky knock-down with his forehead to beat Krysiak at his post. A well-deserved goal for both the team and the individual. Vernon is not gonna score twenty a season, but he has his role to play at the club, as proven here. It would be nice if he could prove it more often. The celebrations saw the Town players sprawled out all over each other in a display of 'pile on' last seen in the playground at Havelock School back in 2009... What’s this? James Berrett wins the ball and finds his own team-mate with the pass? We must have woken up from general anaesthetic and found ourselves on a different planet. Even Luke Summerfield, the balding pate of someone double his age, was having a not-too-shabby game in the centre. He even avoided doing one of his famous blind passes across the back four. A couple of minor scares were navigated by Captain Clarke and his crew, sailing the HMS Grimsby into the safer shores of mid-table. We can continue to look down, with justified content, on Forest Green Rovers, who remain struggling with the bottom-dwellers at the bottom of the ocean. I wonder what Mr Vegan Vince thinks about his boast now? He said, you remember, that being promoted to League One would be far easier than leaving the non-league. Well, stuff my mouth with a burger, his team have not found it so easy, yet, and I also hear their lentil and pearl barley pie is less popular than Kim Jong-un at a peace rally. You can eat as many sunflower seeds as you like, mate, but you can't make excuses for having a sort-of ponytail, sort-of Mohawk haircut beyond your teenage years. Anyway, a good win. Satisfactory. Keep up the good work, lads. Credit to the sixty Somerset travellers who made the migration North from their cider and folk festivals to spend a frustrating afternoon at the grey seaside. I’m sure the travelling army of Mariners will be singing their songs in South Wales next weekend as the tour bus turns up in Newport. Have a good’un and pick up a bunch of leeks and spuds for yer Sunday dinner the following day. That’s better. It felt good, it looked good and you’d best believe it that the table looks a whole lot healthier.
Slade stuck two up top and it worked. Town were fresher, brasher, more cohesive and actually managed to string a few passes together without someone making a complete mess of it. Except for Berrett, who still patrolled the middle like a useless goldfish, shimmering his way through a tight midfield and doing absolutely sweet FA in the process. Hooper and Rose, two of the players I singled out for criticism had good games. Indeed, they made Crewe look like a group of cobbled-together vagrants that had met in the drunk cells on a Friday night. The Crewetons offered very little and in the end Town battled to a very satisfactory victory. Crewe is my former hometown, the place I was a student, the rainy and windy North West outpost I called home for the last three years. To see their football team beaten by my birthplace was even sweeter. I don’t know a single Crewe Alexandra fan. They tonked us home and away last season, I was present at Gresty Road last year to see Bignot’s big tactical balls-up as we careered off the road in a 5-0 car crash. It was no such thing this weekend. Slade kept faith in JJ and stuck big Scotty V alongside him; debut boy Woolford wandered and wolfed up the wing to whip and whop the Railwaymen. A player who needs singling out-this time for praise-was our burly, beefy centre-half Karleigh Osbourne. He was immense in defence as he zipped up George Cooper into his back pocket, protecting the leaping salmon McKeown from picking the ball out of his goal. Danny Collins, watch out, you might just have a spell on the subs bench if Ozzy keeps up that sort of defensive masterclass. Ohhhhhh Siriki Dembele. What a player this lad is. He fizzed and shimmied beyond bewildered red shirts to lay a perfect dink onto the head of Mitch Rose, who, after knocking a Crewe player unconscious by accident earlier in the game, knocked the fans off their rails by heading us into a 1-0 lead. What? 1-0 at half-time? You must be kidding. We actually made it through with all eleven starting players still on the pitch as well. To say we were comfortable would be to bend the truth ever so slightly. Crewe had their brief flashes of ‘oooo almost’ and ‘aaaaa watch out’ as Macca and co repelled any sort of rail strike with a defensive picket of their own. The train that was involved in the Great Train Robbery set off from Crewe you know. This was no smash-and-grab theft from the Mariners though as their hard-work in midfield and decent hold-up play by our battering rams up front was rewarded with all three points. Jamille Matt came off the bench to become a nuisance to the nervy Crewe defenders. Our new on-loan frontman pestered and postured as red shirts closed in on him. He took it into the corner and had a nice game of Who Can Tackle Jamille Matt? with the visitors. Macca made a fine save late on, reminiscent of THAT double-save by Jerzy Dudek in Istanbul that kept out the predatory Shevchenko. I think Macca stopped the mighty Chris Dagnall from finding the goal, but still, his clean sheet was intact. I have a question though about this proposed new stadium. If/when it’s eventually built, can we not build a stand with a great big support pole stuck right in front of my face, obscuring my view? Them poles in the Pontoon are nearly always in direct sight of the action. Just saying. More of the same next week please, Russ and team. A relatively short trip to the midlands to have a nice day out with Mansfield and their Marmite manager, Steve Evans. Love him or hate him, you can’t ignore him. This sombrero-donning, muffin-topped Scotsman has been a perennial figure of ridicule in these parts since his days as the tax-dodging tub of haggis at Boston United. Mansfield signed loads of players in the summer and are highly regarded. In other words, we’re gonna go to the bland arcade that is the East Midlands and give them a nice Grimsby gobful. Enjoy. Well done, Town. A good win that stops the rot and takes a bit of pressure off. Grimsby Town slipped to another defeat in front of their own fans.
It’s becoming the story of the season. Town create very little, have a man sent-off and then lose the match. Although this time we were playing Championship opposition and it must be said that you can’t fault the effort of a lot of the players. JJ Hooper and Sam Kelly on the other hand. The two Vale rejects were released by a relegated club and ended up marooned on Planet Cleethorpes. Hooper looks lazy. Kelly looks ill-equipped for league football and between them they zigzagged around on the Blundell Park turf making in-roads to dead-end destinations. The SatNav must have been screaming at them: “The goal is THAT way, make a U-Turn”. Derby weren’t much better than us in the first half as their reserve side were stifled by 2CC in the heart of defence. Clarke and Collins, the ancient Mariners, kept the Czech international Vydra at bay while at all times looking entirely unconvincing in the air. Midfield was run by Berrett, a divisive footballer who combines a range of passing (usually to the opposition) with a crunching tackle (usually with cards following), he was actually rather a bright spark for the team in the absence of his partner-in-oh-god-they’re-both-playing-crime, Summerfield. But 0-0 it was at the break. The second half saw Town attack. You read that right. We actually got the ball into the Derby half, Tombola terrorising the turgid Rams before a free-kick was awarded. Clarke headed over. But it was a chance. Shot through the goal and you’re too late, this gives Town a bad name. Then we conceded a penalty. Clarke pulled down his man. No arguments. It was like the Derby forward was a yo-yo and Clarke, the evil yo-yo puppet master, released the slack of the string forcing him down, down, deeper and down. Vydra scored. 1-0 Derby. Game over? Yep. Game over. This team just can’t create chances to grab a goal let alone win a match. Dembele was the spark again, the flint in the Mariners lighter, the filament in the black and white bulb as he tricked and flicked past Derby defenders all to no avail as nobody else is anywhere near his standard. Enjoy watching Siriki Dembele while it lasts because with his talent and these team-mates, he won’t be a Town player beyond the New Year. Derby got better. We stayed the same. Davies earned his second yellow card to stick to the new gameplan of going down to ten men in every match. Vydra being the matchwinner shows in microcosm just how the game was. He was anonymous for most of it, scrabbling around and Czeching out the Cleethorpes chips before his number was called to score the decisive spot-kick. Few players covered themselves in glory. But, and it’s a Zinedine Zidane of a butt, few players disgraced themselves so abysmally as they had in Stevenage. Macca almost got on the end of a last-minute corner to head just wide. Town’s chances of snatching extra-time sailing down the Humber like an Icelandic fishing fleet. We can only hope we’re better at the weekend. We simply have to be. Blue Shirts, Red FacesWhere to start?
Coventry brought a mob of replica shirt wearing, Midland accented fans. That’s the first difference between being back in the league and traipsing around the arse end of nowhere in the non-league. It seems fitting that Lady Godiva is a famous name in Coventry, as their footballers were just that- a bunch of divers. Jodi Jones was Public Enemy Number Two (I’ll explain later) as his pathetic attempt at a man bun bobbed up and down BP as his body slapped down on the turf like a sack of Maris Pipers chucked out a window. He was rightly booked for an altercation with our defender Paul Dixon. Public Enemy Number One goes by the name of Richard Clark. The ‘referee’. If you can call him that. We use the term loosely as his diabolical performance brought a shadow of shame onto an already turgid and scrappy display. Russell Slade played one up top and seemingly nobody in midfield. The absence of Summerfield and Berrett…wait, they WERE on the pitch? I must have slipped into a boredom coma by the ultra-defensive tactics of the Coventry contingent and our own inept football. Just like last season we have nothing in the middle. Same old, same old. The ‘referee’ blew up (not literally) for seemingly every time anyone put in a tackle. His whistle was never out of his gob as he made himself look a right knob by allowing the Jodi Jones bob to give us all a cob on. It was the first Coventry goal that really sticks in the throat like a haddock bone. Town won a free-kick. Our captain, Nathan Clarke, was about to pass the ball back to Jimmy Mac to take the free-kick. As he did, the Coventry striker nipped in, stole the ball and passed it into the net much to the groans, moans and angry prodding at phones from the aggrieved home support. It should never have been a goal. The ‘referee’ consulted his assistant and they gave the goal. A huge miscarriage of justice. But, we should have been much more switched on. It was like watching a gang of ten year olds trying to attack against a resolute wall of defence that had several layers of fortified steel behind it. We were, quite frankly, clueless. The ‘referee’ ruined what was already a rubbish spectacle. Good luck to the West Midlands Scuba Diving champions…err, sorry, Coventry City, as they climb to the top of the table on the back of being marginally less worse than we were on the day. Special mention should go to the ineffective Berrett who was later sent off, much to the relief of everyone in the ground as he trudged off. The match was bad, the decisions were shocking, the away fans were loud and the Pontoon was rocking. All in a day’s work for the Football League. We went down 2-0 and Town fans on social media have already (some tongue-in-cheek) began to ponder life without our manager. Chill out. It’s August. If we’re bottom of the league by the time we clock on into 2018 then he’ll have to go but it’s a long way to go. Match number 2 of 46. The team, for anyone who cares, looked like one that needed a lot of time to gel together. Dembele had his moments that got some of us out of our seats; Cardwell led the line in the absence of Scotty V; Macca made a good save. That’s about it. Work means I will not be attending the next home game but I’ll see my fellow Mariners for the rescheduled cup tie with Derby County on the 22nd. What is it with the Champions League being seen as the greatest competition in the world? Okay, so it shows the world’s best players performing against the big sides but it’s also just money, money, money. I can’t even stand to watch it as they make a huge fanfare for Europe. Leicester are out. English football has no more representatives in the Money Grabbing Parade. Good. Let’s get back to what is really entertaining- the last fortnight of the Football League campaign.
Its been a marathon, a real slog through deep winter and sodden spring until the 72 clubs have reached mid-April with plenty left to decide. Destructive ownership is again in the headlines as Blackburn Rovers, Leyton Orient and Birmingham City have all been plunged into despair by a set of owners that have very little idea how to run a football club. Roll down your windows on deadline day, everyone, the old wheeler-dealer himself, Harry Redknapp, has got his feet under the desk at Birmingham City. So expect them to stay up. Orient are doomed, however. The same team that spanked my team back in August are days away from the trapdoor to non-league while Blackburn simply have to win their remaining matches to avoid League One. How can the Football League continue to rubber-stamp these takeovers when the people behind the consortiums and groups are clueless, business-wise? Cellino at Leeds. Becchetti at Orient. Duchatelet at Charlton. The Venky’s at Ewood Park. They are what is ruining football clubs. Successful teams that have rich and glorious history are being left to rot like driftwood in the North Sea. It will not get any better until the FA draws up a competent ‘fit and proper persons test’, not this pathetic piece of paper that is currently in place. At the other end of the spectrum, there is the race for the Football League. Lincoln have all but secured their return to the promised land and a derby day out to the seaside against local rivals Grimsby Town for next season. I’m still tipping Tranmere to join them via the play-offs. Also, its that time to keep an eye out for the late runners to the finish line. Accrington have built up steam in League Two and could yet gatecrash the play-off party, while Gillingham have been dropping like a stone towards potential relegation. There is still a lot to play for. Would you get this kind of excitement and suspense watching the poncy millionaires in the Not-Even Champions League competition? Maybe. But it can’t possibly be the same. To put it another way, I’d rather see someone with an ale gut running down the wing trying to keep his doner kebab down than watch a prima donna going down like a sack of spuds after someone broke his fifty quid acrylic nails. Oh yeah and good luck to Russell Slade on his third managerial job of the season at Blundell Park. He knows the club and he knows how to win football matches, forget what happened back in 2006, get behind the Cueball Colonel and make some noise for the boys. What is it with football pundits and talking complete balls? I sat through the entirety of Football on 5 on Saturday, waiting for the highlights of Grimsby’s victorious trip to Blackpool and sat listening to Michael Gray spouting on about winning mentalities or whatever it was. It got me thinking that any man can sit in his chair and analyse a football match, they just wouldn’t get the astronomical salaries that these ‘pundits’ do. Match of the Day is a repeat offender. I barely even pay attention to the post-match analysis and statistics simply because it bores me to tears. If you were at the game or even if you’d just seen the highlights on the television, you know what happened. The last thing we need is a highly-paid, former footballer pontificating about two banks of four and what should have happened during the match. It didn’t. Get over it.
Again, I understand the irony of me writing these weekly 500 words on the football, you didn’t ask for it or do you need it but nobody has told me to stop yet. Congratulations to the Yorkshire pair Sheffield United and Doncaster Rovers who have earned promotion up the leagues before the crucial Easter weekend double-header. I guess you can play better football if you have an extra finger on each hand and three legs! Yorkshire banter aside, it just shows what a lot of teams in the Football League have been crying out for this season- a prolific Goalscorer. Both of those teams have one in Billy Sharp and John Marquis. You just look at the likes of Chesterfield, Rotherham and Oldham who have struggled for goals and battling the drop due to a lack of that killer instinct that comes from having a clinical striker in their ranks. I mean, you’re not going to do very well if you have a strike force that boasts the likes of Sylvan Ebanks-Blake or Mickael Mandron- two players somehow still carving out a living from scoring goals without actually scoring very many goals. It’s that time of the season when preparation begins for next year. It appears that my team, Grimsby Town, have been coasting like its pre-season for weeks now. Dodgy formation selections have some fans on the managers back but we need to keep the faith that Smiley Marcus Bignot knows what he wants to achieve next season. How many teams, at the start of this season, would have taken mid-table mediocrity over their current predicaments? Exactly. Think about that, Leyton Orient or Wigan fans. The Premier League is drawing to its boring, predictable conclusion but the Football League still has so much to sort out as five more automatic promotion places and eight relegations to confirm over the next few weeks. Unless you are Coventry City, then everything is to play for. What is it with Scottish football and being dire? It’s in such a state right now that Brendan Rodgers, the man who was made to look great by Luis Suarez has just secured the Scottish title. Celtic are unbeaten and have won nearly all of their games this season. That boils down to one thing- a lack of first-class competition. I’m sure there’s the blue half of Glasgow that are gonna be jumping on this and shouting that the Rangers will be stronger next season under the management of their never-before-heard-of new foreign head coach. I get it that you can only beat what’s put out on front of you but wrapping up the league in the first weekend of April having not got out of first gear says it all about the competition.
It’s that time of the season when football clubs have it all to play for. Unless you’re my team, Grimsby Town, of course. A 5-1 home defeat to the league leaders had us in tears of absolute embarrassment but that’s what you get for letting the season peter out into nothingness. There are a generation of Mariners, myself included, that haven’t seen a mediocre mid-table kind of season with no real struggle against the drop and no real challenge for the top. The past decade or so has seen Grimsby either battling the threat of relegation or frustrating us with their title charge. A season in fourteenth place is something a lot of Town fans would’ve taken that at the start of the campaign. What irritates me no end is the know-nothing brigade that have the loudest voice on social media. You know the ones that get on the manager’s back even if we win. The kind of person who spills out bile from their gobs about what the players should be doing and how they could do it so much better because they have four years’ experience on Football Manager. These keyboard warriors are damaging to the reputation of other football fans. I understand the irony of me complaining about this after my vehement rant at the state of Scottish football. But, at least I have reasons behind my ranting. I don’t just shove my opinions into the ether of the internet and let them hang there like the bad fart that they so often are. Anyway, hard luck to Rotherham fans as their inevitable relegation was finally confirmed at the weekend. Also to the Doncaster fans that stayed in Blundell Park celebrating promotion, you’re not there yet. Yeah you were better than us but you only started singing when you went 4-1 up. The Premier League is dull and the Champions League is still money-grabbing. The lower leagues is where it’s at. What is with the England team and being sort of alright but also being definitely rubbish? Sunday’s game with Lithuania was a fairly straightforward win over a nation that has little to no pedigree on the international football stage. Yet they still seemed to be lethargic and struggle to break down the stubborn defence. We have some very good individual players. We have some world-class footballers. But, and it’s a Zinedine Zidane of a butt, we can’t seem to perform against the bigger sides.
Credit to Gareth Southgate, he has brought in some untested players that have done well for their club sides. Unfashionable teams like Burnley and Southampton are finally having their players called up on merit. Forget about the likes of Wilshere, Rooney and especially Walcott- they get in the England team because their names sell replica shirts and not because they’re deserving of a place on their form. It has been a problem with the national side for as long as anyone can remember. Why not give a chance to Michael Keane, James Ward-Prowse and Tom Heaton? Southgate deserves credit. Also, I was at Accrington on Saturday and stumbled upon perhaps the most pointless football chant I’ve ever heard. The Stanley fans were almost taunting Grimsby fans with “You’re only here for Stanley”. Well, yeah. It was a football match in which the Lancastrians were facing the Lincolnshire-ites. Of course we were only there for that. I didn’t just make the trip to sunny Accie to go and look at the scenery in gorgeous Lancashire. It’s like that irritating “Will Grigg’s on fire” song. He isn’t. Wigan are going down and he hasn’t done anything to stop that. If Will Grigg was on fire then he wouldn’t lose his place to Omar Bogle or even non-leagues answer to Thierry Henry, a certain Mickael Mandron who had signed for them from Eastleigh. It got me thinking that football chants used to be original and humorous. Not like these annoyingly universal ones that use Achy-Breaky Heart or (if you’re Mansfield fans) Herman’s bloody Hermits as a carbon copy to be used by every fan from Accrington to York City. Where is the imagination? That said, I do love “He’s got a pineapple on his head” and my own team’s glorious rendition of a rhythmic clapping followed by the throaty roar of ‘FISH’. Thankfully the international break is over and managers everywhere can get back to the business end of the season. There are promotions to be decided, relegations to be avoided and awards to be dished out. It’s gonna be a close run thing from now to the end of the season and watch out for that one team in every division that goes on a great run in the spring sunshine and clinches a play-off spot or the one that drop out of their league on the back of an ill-timed loss of form. Excitement, she wrote. |
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