A Fool's Errand, or Hope on the Humber

EvilDave · April 4, 2017

“I’ll be honest, this isn’t the situation I had in mind when I pictured coming back here, but we don’t often get a say in these things. Everybody here knows what the circumstances are, everyone is committed to turning things round, and it’s going to be tough. We’re down here because we haven’t been good enough, and we’ve got seven games to sort it out.”

I’d been out of the game for nearly two years when my Mariners came calling, and I couldn’t say no. They were my club, the team I had grown up watching and the side I made my name with. More than 500 league appearances over 17 years, I had made the holding midfield role my own up and down the leagues - from the halcyon days of what is now the Championship to the crushing relegation into non-league football. I’d turned down much bigger clubs to stay at the Blundell Park, and the fans worshipped me for it.

I was about to risk all of that. Since retiring on the back of that relegation in 2010, I’d stayed local as I built up my coaching career. First with the schoolboys in Grimsby, then the reserves at Gainsborough, before finally being given the top job across the water at North Ferriby. Three years there had yielded reasonable results - even reaching the play-offs before missing out on a spot in the National League - but with the Hassan family that caused so much fuss in Hull still pulling the strings, there was bound to be trouble at some point. They wanted a bigger name to take them forward, and I wasn’t it. My contract ran down, and in came Graham Bentley of all people to try and take the next step.

But this was no longer about North Ferriby. For the local press, this was the story of a hero returning to the scene of his greatest triumphs (they largely ignored the defeats) to save his ailing side from relegation. Usually, the club turned to John Goldsworthy in times of trouble, but with the great man finally retired, Paul Blackwood was the next best thing. My task was simple - with seven games to go, bridge the eight-point gap separating the Mariners from League Two safety.

“Of course there’s a risk in taking the job, but vacancies at champions are few and far between. Besides, my reputation doesn’t matter one bit - this is about the club, the fans and the town. It’s nothing to do with me, and everything to do with Grimsby.”

I had to say it, but it was true. Town had been miserable all season, and had only won seven of the 39 games they’d played so far. Dale Stevens had been given until Christmas, and then old hero Paddy Coyle was brought back to try and steady the ship. It didn’t work, and with seven games to go, they parachuted me in on a short-term deal. The local Telegraph had questioned the timing of it, but I could see what the directors were thinking - my first match in charge would be at home to the only team in the Football League with a record worse than ours, Dover Athletic, and so there was a real opportunity to claw back three of the points we needed to catch the sides above us.

“You only have to look at the table to see what’s gone wrong - we aren’t scoring enough, and we’re conceding too many. That’s a lot to fix in seven games, but when you’ve got one of the worst records in the league, there’s bound to be work to do. The boys know that, and we’ll be giving it everything and then some to survive.”

It may not have stirred the hearts of our fans, but it was true. Excluding Dover, who had won four games all season and were by some distance the worst team in the league, only one team had scored fewer goals than we had managed - 20th-place Torquay - and only one had conceded more - local rivals Lincoln in 21st. Both of those sides had accounted for their misgivings at one end of the field with success at the other, giving them a goal difference of -8 and -7 respectively. We, on the other hand, were -25.

When the chairman called, he made it clear that this was a cry for help. Eight points adrift with seven to play was not a position of strength to hire from, and I suspected I was the only candidate - after all, any up-and-coming manager looking to boost their reputation would not be attracted by an odds-on relegation to non-league football. No, I was the one man loyal enough, the one man with a strong enough connection to the club - some might have said the one man stupid enough - to drink from the poisoned chalice. I was the only one who would keep the fans onside.

And so, nine years after walking off the pitch a beaten man, relegated out of the football league after a humiliating defeat at Burton Albion, I was a Mariner once again, tasked with denying history one of its much-loved repetitions. It looked impossible, and we had already been written off, but I was going to try my damnedest to make sure we put up a hell of a fight.

			P	W	D	L	GF	GA	GD	PTS
19. Tranmere 		39	12	10	17	47	53	-6	46
20. Torquay United	39	11	8	20	39	47	-8	41
21. Lincoln City	39	11	7	19	67	74	-7	39
22. York City		39	10	9	20	45	59	-14	39
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
23. Grimsby Town	39	7	10	22	41	66	-25	31
24. Dover Athletic	39	4	9	26	32	70	-38	21

------

Welcome to another EvilDave production - this will be a short story, run in FM17 with fake names enabled. This threw itself up in one of my other long-term saves, and the scenario was too good not to run with. I hope you enjoy the show!

tenthreeleader · April 4, 2017

Looking forward to this, Dave. Good luck with your save. Kyle Cain tells me he'd appreciate it if you got Torquay relegated.

EvilDave · April 13, 2017

On 4/4/2017 at 13:19, tenthreeleader said:

Looking forward to this, Dave. Good luck with your save. Kyle Cain tells me he'd appreciate it if you got Torquay relegated.

Thanks 10-3. Mr Blackwood will see what he can do!
--

Training had been hard work. It was clear that the lads were down, that morale had slumped. I could hardly blame them either - they were on the brink of non-league football, without a win in six games, and running out of time. The League Two mediocrity which had defined the club since their return to the Football League had been overtaken by a calamitous slide down the table, and they no longer believed they had the ability to halt it. For many of them, the rest of the season was simply delaying the inevitable.

I had to stop that and, trying to play on my reputation as a club legend without overdoing it - after all, I had achieved very little in management - set to work building their confidence back up. I ran the simplest drills I could think of, praised even the most basic of tasks, tried to get them smiling again. By the end of the second day I think some of them had bought into it, and that was all I needed - the third day was Saturday, and my second debut with the Mariners.

League Two Matchday 40
Blundell Park, Cleethorpes
Grimsby Town vs Dover Athletic

The Blundell Park crowd had swelled since last time, and the directors had been keen to put that down to the change in management. Whilst I was probably a factor, I suspected it had more to do with the fact that Dover were in town, and they were the only team in the league worse than we were. If some of our lot were waiting to be relegated, they were almost there - 18 points adrift with 21 to play for - and the club were already preparing for a swift return to the National League after just a season in League Two. They had been underprepared, and had paid the price.

Tactically, I played it simple. Anything more complicated, and I think the lads would have given up before kick-off. We were going for good ol’ 4-4-2, the little and large combo of Danny Claybourne and Mike Shields hoping to grab us the goals we needed. Both Stevens and Boyle before me had only utilised one of the pair at any given time, the outcome being a pitiful 15 goals between them. I needed to make a statement, and against the worst team in the land, two up front was the only way to go.

I made my way to the dugout a couple of minutes after my counterpart, Bryan Crabtree, having had to make a swift return to the dressing room for fear of throwing up. I’m sure my opposite number felt the tension in my handshake and saw the nerves on my face, but his own expression was one of resignation and misery. In his wrinkled expression were both a call for mercy, and a wish that I would not have to suffer as he had done. An escape for us would be extraordinary - for Dover, it would be a miracle of miracles.

Within five minutes we were behind, and the 4,500 black-and-white shirts on the banks of the Humber fell silent. Young Joey Leach made a hash of a cross that should have posed no danger whatsoever, but he allowed the ball to slip from his grasp and drop at the feet of the waiting Barry Whitehouse. The veteran striker couldn’t miss, and all of a sudden Dover led. Already I could hear murmurs of discontent from the Pontoon, and I daren’t look towards the directors. Calling for calm and composure from my technical area, I felt powerless to stop the rot before me. I’d been in charge three days, and already things were out of my hands.

Buoyed by the early goal, Dover came looking for a second, but they were not the league’s basement club for nothing. Even with a swagger about them they were poor, misplacing passes and failed to trouble Leach with anything more than a couple of long-range efforts. Every touch we got was another modicum of confidence, and on our first purposeful foray into opposing territory, we were level. The goal would not win any awards for beauty - it was Route One at its finest - but it didn’t matter one jot. Liam Smithson picked up the ball on the right wing and pinged it long towards the edge of the Dover area, where Big Mike did what Big Mike was supposed to do. His header dropped kindly for his strike partner, and Claybourne struck a sweet half-volley into the bottom corner. Up went the roar I had so longed to hear.

Claybourne went close again before the break, but we came in at 1-1 and with wind in our sails. Gone was the timid play of the opening period, and even goalkeeper Leach seemed to have recovered from his early howler. Having come from behind we were in the ascendancy, and I had to say very little at the interval. Back out they went, and two minutes later we had the lead.

This time it was Dover’s turn to make the error, Tom Blake overlapping down the left and fizzing a low cross into the box which Alex Bryce-Wilkinson could only deflect into his own net. For the first time in a long time Grimsby Town were ahead in a game, and the Blundell Park faithful found their voice. One moment they cheered as I gave them the wave they desired, and the next broke out into my old favourite:

“Sing when we’re fishing
We only sing when we’re fishing,
Sing when we’re fiiiiishing,
We only sing when we’re fishing”

We dominated from then on, and Dover played like a side who had seen this one too many times before. With 15 minutes to play, Tom got his second assist of the match, threading a pass through static defenders for Claybourne to scuff beyond the goalkeeper. A roar greeted the final whistle, and an even bigger cheer met the scores from around the grounds - York had lost at Forest Green, and the gap was down to five. We could actually do this.

Matchday 40 Results and Table

Grimsby (23rd) 3-1 Dover (24th)					19th Tranmere 46 -8					                 	    
Forest Green (15th) 2-0 York (22nd)				20th Torquay 42 -8    			
Oldham (4th) 2-2 Lincoln (21st)					21st Lincoln 40 -14          	                              
Torquay (20th) 0-0 Bolton (3rd)					22nd York 39 -16  
Tranmere (19th) 0-2 Barnet (9th)				----------------------
								23rd Grimsby 34 -23	                    
								24th Dover 21 -40

EvilDave · April 17, 2017

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

Blackwood Back With A Bang

IT has been a long time since Blundell Park had anything to sing about, but that could all be about to change.

The appointment of club hero Paul Blackwood to the manager’s job remains a huge gamble, but on the basis on yesterday’s 3-1 win over Dover Athletic, could yet prove a masterstroke from the club’s owners.

A brace from the revitalised Danny Claybourne either side of an own goal from Alex Bryce-Wilkinson gave the Mariners all three points, a result which looked unlikely after an opening period which saw the visitors take the lead after a calamitous goalkeeping error from Joe Leach.

Skeptics will point to the calibre of the opposition - a Dover side all but relegated and low on both confidence and ability - but nevertheless Blackwood’s back-to-basics approach seems to have instilled much-needed confidence in the Mariners ranks.

With relegation rivals York City beaten at Forest Green, the win moves Town to within five points of safety with six matches to go, the next of which is away at midtable Stevenage on Tuesday night. Another win there, and the great escape will be well and truly on.

More on page 37.

I didn’t bother reading the full match report - I was there, after all - but having the local rag onside was a good start. The Telegraph didn’t have the power to hire and fire, but they would go some way to colouring public opinion of my time in charge. Not that public opinion contributed anything to results on the field, but a little bit of positivity wouldn’t go amiss.

On the training pitch, it was there. The players didn’t care that it was only Dover they had beaten - they had won a football match, and that was all that mattered. There was a bit of a zip about them as they went through the Monday afternoon session, and even the tactical briefing on the way to the Stevenage game was well-received - in my experience as a player, going through these things on the move was a surefire way to make sure nobody really listened.

With 150 miles between us and our opponents however, we had very little choice. The journey down the A1 was not the most exciting, but it passed trouble-free and in good time. We arrived a full three hours before kick-off - I was never a fan of pulling up just in time to get kitted out - and that was when most of the pre-match tactics work took place. Away from home against a midtable outfit it made sense to revert to one up top, but I was looking to use the two wingers as auxiliary forwards - to the extent that match-winner Claybourne would be deployed on the right of the three.

The lads seemed to understand what I was after, and as kick-off drew nearer, they seemed confident. In 13th place, Stevenage had nothing to play for, no hope of pushing on towards the play-offs and no danger of being sucked into our relegation battle. The hope was that we caught them in holiday mode, grabbed a couple of early goals and got back to North East Lincolnshire before they woke up. It was a long shot, but we had to go for things if we were to survive.

As the fans began to seep into the Broadhall Way stands, I sent our physio to go and have a look at the away support - to try and establish whether or not we’d be able to hear them or not. Back in the club’s National League days, the Town support had overwhelmed home fans at some of the smaller teams, but this was unlikely to be the case in League Two despite the Mariners’ unswerving loyalty to the black and white cause. Niall Rodgers returned quickly, suggesting we were looking at a couple of hundred, outnumbered 10 to one by the home fans on a cool Tuesday night. They’d have their work cut out to make a difference, but I made a mental note to make sure my players thanked them regardless of the result - to make it on time some of them would have no doubt left work early or called in sick, and we could only admire that level of commitment to an ailing team.

Soon enough, the referee’s assistant knocked on our dressing room door, and it was showtime once again. Five points back with six to play, each game mattered more than the last - one slip and we were done for. We’d cleared one hurdle, but this one seemed much bigger in comparison. Nevertheless, we’d go at it hard.

tenthreeleader · April 17, 2017

I enjoy your pre-match setups, Dave. I admire the ease with which words flow from you. Relaxed read and as always, a lot of fun.

EvilDave · April 18, 2017

17 hours ago, tenthreeleader said:

I enjoy your pre-match setups, Dave. I admire the ease with which words flow from you. Relaxed read and as always, a lot of fun.

Thanks 10-3, your kind words are greatly appreciated - as is your readership.
--

League Two Matchday 41

Broadhall Way, Stevenage

Stevenage vs Grimsby Town

Ken Tanley was a man I felt understood my own position. Although his own playing career had seen him turn out for several different clubs, his home had always been Stevenage. Earning cult hero status as a no-nonsense defender, he’d spent four separate spells at the club before moving onto the coaching staff, and had eventually been rewarded with the top job. Now in his second season, he was proof that sometimes it paid to go back.

His handshake was firm, his smile a little on the menacing side, and his countenance told me that he was not about to let up just because his opposite number had something in common with him. His side had developed a reputation for playing a typically English brand of football - safety first, long balls, target men - and we had no reason to suspect that our penalty area wouldn’t come under an aerial bombardment or several over the course of the match. Our centre-backs, veteran Justin Daniels and the younger, quicker Scotsman Stewart McGregor, had been briefed accordingly, and expected to finish the match with strained necks. After his error in the Dover game, Joey Leach needed his men to protect him well, especially in the opening stages.

The referee got us underway, and the first wave of artillery fire broke on our defence. Three times in the opening moments Daniels was called on to head clear, and on a fourth occasion, our goalkeeper showed great confidence to come and claim a long ball off the head of the Stevenage striker. His clean grab earned a round of applause from the Town fans in the corner behind his goal, and you could see young Joey grow a couple of inches after his success. Smiling, I just hoped he would keep it up.

While Stevenage tried to go long at every opportunity, we found some success in using the midfield. The hosts lined up in a traditional 4-4-2, which gave us the extra body in the centre of the park. Rob Hinchcliffe, deployed in the deeper role which had made my career, regularly found himself in pockets of space between the Stevenage attack and midfield, freeing him to play either the simple ball to his midfield partners, or look to hit the wingers for the swift counter.

The best chance of the first half came as a result of his freedom, and had Tanley in the opposing dugout screaming blue murder at his men to close down. Leach hurled the ball to Hinchcliffe’s feet after claiming a cross, and after turning he clipped an ambitious ball towards the right corner flag for Claybourne to chase. To the surprise of everyone, not least his manager, he not only caught up with the ball, but also managed to wrap his right foot around it to send a brilliant cross towards the penalty spot. There, Big Mike Shields powered a header on goal, only to see it beat the goalkeeper’s dive and drift wide of the far post. For all Stevenage’s pressure, it was the closest either side came to scoring in the first period.

“Right lads, they’ve had more of the play but they’ll be frustrated, we’ve matched ‘em well and that won’t sit right. They’ll have expected an easy ride, you’ve haven’t given it to ‘em, and we might well be in front, so well done.

“Second half, let’s have more of the same. Hit the wings when you can - I’m looking at you Rob - and let’s see if we can’t finish one of the chances we make. Keep going, there are points here for us.”

I don’t know what Tanley said at the break to his men, but in the opening five minutes of the second half they came at us like he’d put a rocket up their backsides. The tackles came flying in, the ball was fizzed about, and twice Leach was called into action to keep his sheet clean. The home fans sensed their men building up a head of steam, and so the Broadhall Way crowd jacked up the volume in a bid to sustain their team’s pressure.

But they got too excited. In a flash, Hinchcliffe picked off an over-ambitious ball in the centre circle, and this time the ball wasn’t to the wing. Spotting the run of Claybourne between full-back and centre-half, he put the pass in just the right spot for our striker-turned-winger to go one-on-one with the keeper. The Stevenage stopper stood tall and got a glove to the ball, but Big Mike was in the right place to tap in the rebound, and with half an hour to play we had the lead.

Composure was the order of the day on the part of the players and myself - I had to resist the urge to take off Shields and give Hinchcliffe a partner in front of the defence. I made my changes, Tanley made his his, and it was down to the 22 men on the field to settle this one. Time ticked by, and as long as it continued to do we were happy.

It did, but we weren’t. As the more pessimistic of Stevenage fans began to vacate their seats, their men got the goal that their play had probably deserved, but in the cruellest of fashions. In came in classic League Two fashion - a free-kick from deep punched clear, a long shot half-blocked by a defender, and a schoolyard scramble in the penalty area which ended with the ball stabbed over the line from all of three yards with Leach lying helpless on the line. It was devastation for our defence, jubilation for Tanley and the remaining Stevenage fans, and a hammer blow to our survival homes. Three points, with York losing again, would have been a godsend. To drop two of them so late on was tough to take.

Matchday 41 Results and Table

Stevenage (13th) 1-1 Grimsby (23rd)				19th Tranmere 47 -8					                 	    
Barnet (8th) 1-0 York (22nd)					20th Lincoln 43 -12    			
Lincoln (21st) 4-2 Cambridge (10th)				21st Torquay 42 -9          	                              
Torquay (20th) 0-1 Exeter (6th)					22nd York 39 -17  
Dover (24th) 0-0 Tranmere (19th)				----------------------
								23rd Grimsby 35 -23	                    
								®    Dover 22 -40

EvilDave · April 19, 2017

I had a problem. On the face of it, a point from a tough away trip was nothing to be sniffed at, but all three were within our grasp and we let them let go. York had slipped up - they were in freefall, and looking worried - and we had let them off the hook, missing a golden opportunity to move to within two points of safety. As it was, the gap was at four, and it was highly unlikely that our next fixture would see us close it any further.

That was because we were being sent to Coventry. Coventry City Football Club to be precise, one of the 21st century’s most tragic stories of club mismanagement. The fiasco surrounding the Ricoh Arena the club’s deeply unpopular owners had seen the one-time Premier League club slide gradually down the leagues and only now, finally under the ownership of the fans themselves, had they been able to halt the decline. The Sky Blues, FA Cup winners as recently as 1987 and less than two decades ago proud members of the top flight, were now nine points clear at the top of League Two.

It was a small step on the road to redemption for Coventry, but it was a massive hurdle for my relegation-threatened Mariners. City had only lost a handful of matches all season, whereas we’d lost more than half of our 41 games. They were unbeaten at the Ricoh in league action, and we hadn’t won on the road since mid-February. It did not take a genius to see that this one might prove a step too far.

The fans seemed to know it as well, as the Telegraph’s pre-game vox pops proved. Of the half dozen travelling fans interviewed by the paper’s matchday reporter, only one of them predicted a Mariners win, and only one more dared back the draw. The bookmakers had the hosts as comfortable odds-on favourites, and if the game were to be played as the pundits expected, we would be looking at the wrong end of an absolute hammering.

The pessimism had not completely engulfed the squad, but after the Stevenage game the lads still needed picking up off the floor. There was some consolation to be taken from the manner in which we’d played - we fully deserved a point, possibly even all three given how resolutely we defended - and as before the Dover match, we had gone back to basics in training in a bid to try and massage the fragile egos that are professional footballers. Even at this level, my men needed to know that they were good enough.

Even so, we threw in a special focus on set-pieces ahead of our trip to the Ricoh. I wasn’t expecting to be given too many chances, and it was entirely possible that our best chance of nicking a goal would come from a deep free-kick or corner. At the other end, Coventry were leading the league in the number of goals netted from dead balls, so our defence would have to be on their toes for all of the 94 minutes or so we would be playing.

The results were enough to breed some enthusiasm - Big Mike and Justin Daniels in particular impressing in the air - but it was another thing entirely to produce that form in a game situation against the league leaders. The boys knew what they had to do - keep it tight and take our chances - but that would be easier said than done against the Sky Blues. At the same time, I had to make sure we weren’t a goal down before we even got out of the tunnel.

Without wanting to channel my inner pop-psychologist, my coaching staff and I had the unenviable task of convincing my 23rd-place team that they could overturn the league leaders on their turf, that they were eminently beatable, that they weren’t all they were cracked up to be, that the league table was lying and that the world was really upside-down. It was Coventry who should be scared of us, not the other way round. I had to sell them a complete and utter lie.

Without knowing for certain, I suspected it was beyond me. Coventry were the biggest club I had faced as a manager, and in hindsight I found myself a little overawed by the occasion, let alone the players. The modern, sparkling Ricoh Arena was a million miles from the quaint terraces of Grange Lane where I had cut my managerial teeth, and even from Blundell Park with its wooden stands and timeless view of the Humber Estuary. We were entering a world we were unfamiliar with, and we were not expected to enjoy the experience.

EvilDave · April 20, 2017

League Two Matchday 42
Ricoh Arena, Coventry
Coventry City vs Grimsby Town

Well, it was never going to end well. Perhaps we had been beaten in the tunnel, but the simple fact of the matter was that Coventry were better than us in every single department. We stayed with them for all of eight minutes before Moussa Toure slotted past Leach, and the Malian international continued to be a thorn in our side for the entire 70 minutes he was on the pitch. He added insult to injury by taking a standing ovation from the home fans when substituted, and by that time the game was long gone.

Somehow we were only a goal down at the break, with some resolute defending and good goalkeeping keeping us in the game. In reality however, our proximity to parity was on the scoreboard alone - we registered just the one shot on goal, and never looked like threatening the champions-elect. They toyed with us at times, their midfield dragging my men around at will before finding a team-mate, and it was only due to the Leach’s good form that we weren’t on the wrong end of a hammering.

The floodgates did open a little further in the second period, with Toure setting up Kyle Browning for the second, and then winning the penalty for Rhys Davies to convert. That penalty also meant we would finish the game with 10 men - Daniels simply beaten by the pace of the Malian winger and stretching out a leg less in hope than desperation. Over went the tricky winger, out came the yellow card for the second time, and our veteran centre-back would miss our next game - a huge loss which would massively affect the way we prepared for the visit of midtable Chester.

On the other hand, the Sky Blue supporters in the Ricoh Arena had a whale of a time, particularly after their second goal went in. At that point, any lingering doubts they might have had about their ability to see out the win completely evaporated, and the ‘olés’ began to ring about the ground. Every man who touched the ball seemed to have his own song, and there was one song in particular which seemed popular as the final whistle drew ever closer:

“Too good for League Two,
Good for League Two,
We’re Coventry City,
Too good for League Two.”

It was something I commented on to my opposite number, Michael Pennington, after the match. Pennington had played for his club in their Premier League days in the mid-90s, and although my no means a one-club man nor a club legend, he obviously felt the fans’ desire to be restored to their former glories.

“Well Paul, without wanting to sound cocky, they’re not wrong. This club has been down here for too long, and that lot deserves better. The hard work starts next season for us.”

“You’ll stay up easily enough, won’t you?”

“I’d hope so. What about your lads? I see York lost again today, and to Chester as well - haven’t you got them next week?”

“That’s right, I’m surprised you look that far down the table Mike!”

“I don’t like to see a good club go Paul, it’s never fun. Reckon you can do it?”

“As long as we don’t to play you any more, we’ve got a chance. They’re fighters, no doubt about it. We’ll need to be lucky as well as good though, and I can’t control that.”

“Well good luck to you. If we wind up against another side at the wrong end, we won’t let up - that I can promise you.”

“Thanks Mike, and good luck wrapping up the title. Not that I think you’ll be needing it.”

Matchday 42 Results and Table

Coventry (1st) 3-0 Grimsby (23rd)				19th Tranmere 47 -9					                 	    
York (22nd) 0-1 Chester (11th)					20th Lincoln 44 -12    			
Preston (2nd) 2-1 Torquay (21st)				21st Torquay 42 -10          	                              
Lincoln (20th) 3-3 Stevenage (13th)				22nd York 39 -18  
Tranmere (19th) 0-1 Macclesfield (17th)				----------------------
								23rd Grimsby 35 -26

EvilDave · April 21, 2017

The defeat was to be expected, but York’s 1-0 defeat at home to Chester, our next opponents, was not. I had earmarked at least a point for the Minstermen for that particular clash, and so in actual fact we were no worse off than we had been before the game - just with one fewer match in which to haul them in. We’d sent a couple of our scouts to take it in that particular encounter, and the general verdict was that Chester were nothing spectacular, and that if we executed our gameplan well enough, we stood every chance of picking up three points, especially at home.

Speaking of home, the overwhelming loneliness of the managerial job was once again beginning to hit me. Across the water at North Ferriby, things had been going swimmingly for the first year. Family life was reasonably normal - as normal as it can be for a married couple desperately trying for children - but during the second things took a turn for the worse.

As it became apparent that my Villagers were up in the promotion fight, my hours at the office gradually built up to the point at which our home was simply somewhere for me to sleep at night. Michelle didn’t like it, and made no attempt to hide it, whereas I simply hid behind my job, emphasising the importance of what we could achieve and telling her it would all be worth it in the long run. Disagreements turned into arguments turned into full-blown rows, and in February of my second season, Michelle walked out. Looking back, it’s easy to see where the fault was. At the time, I was completely blind.

I should never have let her go. I’d met Michelle at the back end of my playing career, a couple of seasons before moving into coaching. We were, bizarrely enough, introduced at the local hospital when I was visiting one of the wards, and our romance blossomed from there. We didn’t hang around too long - partly because, with us both in our early 30s, we were both acutely aware of the pressure to be married, but also because she was determined to walk down the aisle with her grandfather, who had picked up the pieces of his daughter’s broken marriage and brought Michelle up. He had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease, and we were right to rush. Six months after our wedding, we returned to the same church for his funeral.

With the relationship with her parents broken down and her grandparents all deceased, I was all Michelle had left, and I failed to fully appreciate the extent of that. She needed me to be constant, to be present, to be the rock she could depend on after the long days surrounded by death and illness at the hospital. Instead, she found the one man she loved consistent in his inconsistency, forever travelling the length and breadth of the country pursuing a dream she hadn’t been consulted on. She assumed that she was at fault for our inability to start a family of our own, and eventually something in her snapped. There was no blazing row this time, no verbal hand grenades lobbed into the mix. Just a cold, calm conversation which bordered on the detached. She had few demands, and I couldn’t argue with any of them. She left in a taxi, a friend collected her belongings a couple of days later, and I never heard from her again. Enquiries at the hospital informed me that she had requested a transfer to Lincoln, and that was that.

Now, years later and under more pressure than I had ever been in my life, I felt her absence acutely. Gone was the knowledge that I was loved, wanted, even needed. Gone was the assurance that, at any given time, at least one person in the world was on my side. Now, my worth and value hung on my most recent result, and while victory and success would make the hero of an entire town, defeat would equally render me the villain of the peace - even if the damage had already been done by my predecessors. The highs of Dover had already been replaced by the lows of Stevenage and the crushing inevitability of Coventry, and there was no way of knowing which way Chester, Southend, Doncaster and Chesterfield would take me.

And so, as our remaining dates with destiny drew ever closer, no amount of late-night tactical re-thinking or statistical analysis could fix things. Heading out into town was never really an option - firstly because the Telegraph was bound to whip up a storm if the local football manager was seen drinking late in the week before a crucial relegation match, and secondly because my home in Scartho was too far away from the town centre for that to be practical - and so instead I simply took to waiting, immersing myself in my work until it was time to turn in, trying hard not to think too hard about anything unrelated to the immediate affairs of Grimsby Town.

tenthreeleader · April 21, 2017

More great stuff, Dave. Very good backstory and as always, smooth and enjoyable. Good luck against Chester.

neilhoskins77 · April 22, 2017

Loving this Evil Dave. Great work.

EvilDave · April 24, 2017

Thanks chaps, your kind words are much appreciated!
--

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

Blackwood: We Can Still Survive

DESPITE being four points from safety with just four games to play, Grimsby Town are still capable of avoiding relegation from League Two, according to manager Paul Blackwood.

Blackwood, who has won four points from the three games he has overseen since replacing Paddy Coyle, told the Telegraph that the Mariners are perfectly capable of avoiding the drop - starting with a win over midtable Chester at Blundell Park this Saturday.

“Of course we can escape,” said Blackwood, who made over 500 appearances for Town. “In three games we’ve picked up four points on York, and the lads are understanding more and more each day. You can see it in training, everyone is fully committed to the cause and convinced that we can beat Chester on Saturday. Obviously it isn’t entirely in our hands, but we’re more than capable of holding up our end of the bargain.”

While Tranmere, Lincoln and Torquay remain mathematically in the relegation scrap, the end of the season is looking increasingly like a shoot-out between Town and York, who host Newport County on Saturday hoping to end a run of seven games without a win. Last time out the Minstermen were beaten by Chester, but Blackwood is not giving his rivals too much thought.

“We can’t afford to spend all our time looking at what York, Torquay or anyone is up to, because if we don’t win football matches they can lose 10-0 and it won’t matter one jot. At this point in the season, we can only focus on the things we have control over, and the first one of those is making sure we get three points at the weekend.”

Following a 3-0 reverse at Coventry on Saturday, the new Mariners boss was keen to emphasise the need to move forward, suggesting that any team would have struggled with the league leaders on current form.

“Every team that goes to Coventry at the moment is getting beaten,” said Blackwood, 42, “so we can’t hold onto that disappointment. At the start of the season you’d have put a loss next to that fixture, and while none of us were happy about it, we have to move on.

“The biggest disappointment was the red card for Justin [Daniels], and I’ll have to sit down with the coaching team to see how we adapt to the situation. I’ve got one or two ideas, we’ve already tried one or two of them in training, and we’ll give it as much time as possible before making the call. We’ve got the depth at the club to not lose too much sleep over it, although I’m sure Justin will be itching to get back in for Southend.”

Telegraph sources believe that one option being considered by Blackwood is to recall teenage centre-back Andy Graves from his loan spell at Boston United, but the manager offered no comment to the suggestion.

What is certain, regardless of the changes in personnel, is that the new boss is confident of survival despite the dire straits the club found itself in at his appointment. If his confidence proves to be well-placed, the decision to hand him the top job will no doubt be one of the finest ever made by this storied club.

I enjoyed the paper’s representation of my interview, even if their wily old reporter John Christian had tried to throw a curveball with his question about Graves - there was no way he was coming back from Boston for such an important game, and I knew perfectly well he didn’t have any ‘sources’ telling him otherwise. Not unless they were having him on.

Nevertheless, he was right - I was confident, and having watched hours of footage of Chester during the week, I honestly believed we had enough to send the Blues home with nothing to show for their efforts. I had faith in the Blundell Park fans too, and was expecting another bumper crowd for the occasion to spur my lads on.

Chester, on the other hand, had little to play for, being lodged in midtable and both safe from the drop and incapable of breaking into the play-offs. No matter what their coaches drilled into them, some of them would already be on holiday, and we had a real opportunity to take advantage. If we could, we would be doing ourselves a huge favour.

EvilDave · April 25, 2017

League Two Matchday 43
Blundell Park, Cleethorpes
Grimsby Town vs Chester FC

As I’ve previously suggested, it wasn’t Andy Graves who stepped in at centre-back to deputise for the suspended Daniels. A relegation crunch match was no place to hand a teenager their debut for the club, especially given as the teenager in question was currently 50 miles away with a different team. I’d spoken to Andy, and he was finding his loan spell with the Pilgrims very useful. I had no desire to interfere beyond a phonecall.

Instead, we turned to to the only non-Brit in the paying squad, Irish youth cap Richard O’Donoghue. Now 33 and very much on the fringe of the first team squad, he was nonetheless a capable central defender, even if he did prefer to play his football on the left of a back four. He was thrilled to be given the nod, and the extra skip in the veteran’s step in the run-up to kick-off brought a smile to the face of even the most cynical Mariner.

Chester had, unsurprisingly, identified him as the weak link in our defensive chain, but even so he had very little to do in the first half, heading one cross away and a long ball back to Leach in goal. The problem we had was that the same could be said for the visiting defenders, a thoroughly dismal 45 minutes in the North Sea wind doing little to justify the ticket price for the 5,000 or so fans who had parted with their hard-earned cash. When the half-time whistle blew, the overwhelming sensation was one of relief.

Inside the dressing room, that sensation quickly turned to mild panic, as we heard that York had taken the lead against Newport. If things stayed as they were, the Minstermen would move six points clear of the drop zone and, more critically, us. With a superior goal difference backing them up, we would be left hoping for a miracle in the final three games of the season if we were to catch them in that case.

But there was still time, and Chester hadn’t looked like threatening our goal. That meant we could afford to be that little bit more adventurous in the second period, and with the scene already, it didn’t take any additional encouragement to highlight the urgency of the situation. From the outset, we began the second half looking a little sharper, daring to try the killer ball even if didn’t come off, and pressurising the Chester midfield to try and get the edge.

The visitors gave as good as they got, and all of a sudden the match transformed from a dull end-of-season exercise in futility to one of the more lively goalless draws on offer in League Two that particular weekend. While the scoreboard remained goalless, the escalation did at least bring the crowd into play, the Mariners in the stands finding both their collective voice and inflatable Harry Haddocks in a bid to spur us into the ascendancy.

Just after the hour mark, I played my first card. Off came Danny Claybourne, the smaller and quicker of our front two having run himself into the ground without really getting a sniff of goal. On his place went Jay Newton, a more technical player not always suited to the rough and tumble of League Two, but with the ability to pick a team apart on his day.

Today was his day. Within 10 minutes of his introduction, he supplied the only goal of the game, a simply crucial goal which ensured we stayed in the hunt for survival. Collecting a routine ball from Rob Hinchcliffe in midfield, he strode into the space created by his dropping deep and broke through the incoming challenge. Looking up, he then pushed a pass to his left for Mark Bryant who, coming off the left wing, took one touch to cross the white line into the penalty area, and a second to drill the ball hard and low in at the near post, wrong-footing the Chester goalkeeper and delighting all in black and white.

From then on, we held what we had. O’Donoghue completed a comfortable afternoon with a classic clearance into Harrington Street, much to the joy of the crowd, and eventually the referee blew his whistle on a second win in four matches. We had kept pace with York, and would remain just four points behind going into those all-important final three games.

Or so we thought - while Bryant’s goal had sparked wild celebrations, perhaps the biggest cheer of the afternoon met the scores from around the ground. One score in particular, from Bootham Crescent - York City 1, Newport County 1. A late equaliser had extended York’s winless run, and meant we were now within striking distance of our rivals. Two points were all that separated us. Two simple points.

Matchday 43 Results and Table

Grimsby (23rd) 1-0 Chester (11th)				19th Tranmere 48 -9					                 	    
York (22nd) 1-1 Newport County (9th)				20th Lincoln 44 -14    			
Dover (24th) 0-0 Torquay (21st)					21st Torquay 43 -10          	                              
Doncaster(15th) 2-0 Lincoln (20th)				22nd York 40 -18  
Tranmere (19th) 1-1 Bolton (4th)				----------------------
								23rd Grimsby 38 -25

EvilDave · April 26, 2017

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

Mariners On The March

MARK Bryant’s second half goal saw Grimsby Town to a 1-0 win over Chester at Blundell Park on Saturday afternoon, moving the Mariners closer to League Two safety.

The Town winger finished from substitute Jay Newton’s pass in the 72nd minute to seal all three points against the midtable Blues, a result which saw Paul Blackwood’s side move to within two points of York City.

With the Minstermen conceding a late equaliser at home to Newport County, there will now be real belief around the Blundell Park club that an escape is within their reach.

Such a situation was deemed unthinkable just weeks ago, when club legend Blackwood was chosen to take over with the Mariners eight points behind their rivals with just seven games to play, but a run of seven points in four games - compared to just a single point gathered by York - will give fans hope of securing Football League status for next season.

Yesterday’s match was by no means a thriller for the crowd of over 5,000 at Blundell Park, with neither side able to trouble the opposing goalkeeper in the opening 45 minutes. Richard O’Donoghue, drafted in to replace the suspended Justin Daniels at the heart of the Town defence, enjoyed a comfortable afternoon against a Chester outfit with very little left to play for in the season.

Nor did the second half spark into life, with Newton’s ball to Bryant the only clear-cut chance of the entire match. However, what was lacking in action was more than made up for in tension after the goal, with the crowd holding its breath each time the visitors looked to attack Joe Leach’s net.

But neither Owain Abrahams nor Ryan Caddis could find a way through the disciplined Town defence, which held firm for the remaining 20 minutes to see out a vital victory. As a result, the revitalised Mariners now have a genuine opportunity to see themselves through to safety, having recovered from a seemingly impossible situation.

Next up for Blackwood’s men are play-off chasing Southend at home, followed by Doncaster at the Keepmoat before Chesterfield at home on the final day. Meanwhile, York go to Stevenage, host already-relegated Dover, and then go to high-flying Oldham to wrap up the season. With so much at stake for both sides, the conclusion to the campaign is bound to be a thriller.

As ever, the sports section of the Telegraph was spot on, although it made me chuckle to see no mention of Andy Graves anywhere in John Christian’s piece. Our teenage defender had put in another solid performance as Boston chased promotion into the National League, and while he would no doubt play a role in next season’s squad, he would remain a Pilgrim for the remainder of this campaign.

Back in training on Cheapside, the lads were excited. While the more intelligent of them knew that we were only in with a shout because of York’s awful form, they all knew that they had improved their games and upped their performances. That meant we still had a chance, and we were the form side in the survival race. With at least one bookmaker, our odds for survival were better than York’s.

What that meant for me was that I had a difficult balancing act ahead of me. Southend would be the visitors to Blundell Park on Saturday, and they sat in the play-off places after three straight wins. I needed my men to be confident in their ability to get a result, but not excessively so - any overconfidence or arrogance on our part would almost certainly play into the hands of the Shrimpers and their promotion bid.

I also had a choice to make tactically. We were playing at home, which to this point had meant 4-4-2 and the Shields/Claybourne strike partnership. However, we were also up against a superior side, which to this point had meant 4-5-1 with a midfield triangle and a deeper, counter-attacking system. If we got it wrong, we ran the risk of being overrun by the visitors. I had plenty of thinking to do.

EvilDave · April 28, 2017

As I attempted to settle on a system and a line-up for Saturday’s match, my solitude was interrupted on an increasingly regular basis. Until this point, the affairs of Grimsby Town had been largely local - a small team from an unfashionable part of the country struggling in the basement division was of no interest to the wider press.

However, my arrival and our upturn in form was beginning to change that. Sports editors across the country were now beginning to notice us and joining the dots - a club legend brought in to save a side from an awful position, and a run of results that made the great escape seem possible. With Wim Kooverman’s Arsenal side having already wrapped up the Premier League title and only one of the three relegation places still to be settled, stories from the rest of the Football League were suddenly a lot more appealing to them.

As a result, our small press office was becoming a minor irritation. Unused to having the nationals at the other end of the phone, the regularity with which I was being asked to pass comment on our position increased. I asked them whether or not they could simply produce a generic statement - or indeed ask another member of staff - but as you might expect, the papers were far more interested in speaking to the manager than to the defensive coach. So, I was forced to speak out.

The frustrating aspect of that, other than the disruption to my plans, was that none of the journalists seemed particularly interested in what I had to say. For the most part, they had already written their stories - small town team saved by returning hero - and just needed to quote to show their editor. The content of it didn’t matter, and so the ‘interviews,’ in as much as they were, consisted of a series of unrelated questions designed simply to fill in the gaps in their knowledge.

All of which meant that, while our profile was increased, we were still a pub quiz question waiting to be asked. And, in exchange, I had significantly less time in which to formulate my plans to take on Southend. They were the forgotten party in all of this, but we were the ones with the gap to bridge, and it would take a fair bit of work for us to do so.

In the end, I decided that we would revert to the 4-5-1. At first glance this seemed a defensive move against the Shrimpers, but our scout reports had shown me that a great deal of their success had come by getting their in-form striker, Seun Mulungu, in behind opposition defences. If we dropped off a little and limited the space in which he had to run, we stood a chance of negating their prize asset.

Additionally, the system gave us an extra man in the middle of the park without really sacrificing men up front - Claybourne would once again take up his position on the right wing with Big Mike through the middle. If we could crowd Southend out in the centre, I reckoned on us standing a much better chance of keeping the clean sheet that would guarantee us at least one valuable point.

One option that I did briefly consider to achieve the same thing was a wing-back system which would allow us to both retain O’Donoghue and bring Daniels back into defence, but as much as I enjoyed the idea of being some sort of Italian tactical genius, it did not take long to rule out the idea of teaching a group of League Two footballers - albeit confident League Two footballers - a completely new formation when fighting for their futures at the wrong end of the table.

So, 4-5-1 it would be, and already I was prepared for the negative headlines if we failed to get a result against our opponents. I would be criticised for being too defensive, for tinkering with a successful system, for making changes for the sake of it. It was easy for outsiders to point the finger however, and I knew that those making remarks would have no idea how to respond if they were the one in the hotseat. I had my answers ready, and I was ready to live or die by my decisions. Only time would tell which of the two it would be, but we were ready for the consequences.

EvilDave · May 22, 2017

League Two Matchday 44
Blundell Park, Cleethorpes
Grimsby Town vs Southend United

The players understood why were going 4-5-1, and the cheers from the fans when the squads were announced suggested that, at least initially, they were happy for us to do so. Southend had brought with them a good number of travelling supporters, which pushed the attendance over the 6,000 mark for the first time all season. The stage was set, and for 90 minutes we had to push everything else to one side and get the job done.

Unlike our last opponents Chester, today’s visitors still had plenty to play for. Sat in 5th place before kick-off, the Shrimpers sat four points outside the automatic promotion spots and just three inside the play-off positions, giving them plenty to think about looking both up and down the table. Manager Grant Parks was under pressure to take his side straight back up after relegation from League One the previous season, and needed a win to stay on track.

As such, Southend came at us hard. In the opening 10 minutes, the visitors ran through our midfield three as if they were not there, creating several chances and half chances which kept Joe Leach on his toes. Mulungu, the obvious dangerman with 28 goals to his name of the season, came closest with a powerful drive which was palmed round the post for a corner, and as the Southend pressures mounted, we retreated further and further towards our own goal.

It was not the start we hoped for, and moments later it got even worse. Daniels, returning to the side after his suspension, slipped when turning to challenge Mulumbu, allowing the striker a clear run on goal. The in-form forward sensed the opportunity, pushing the ball forward into the penalty area before thumping a right-footed shot goalwards. Leach threw up a strong right hand to keep the ball out, but the rebound dropped kindly for on-loan West Ham winger Victor Lynch, who tapped past our stricken goalkeeper to give the visitors the lead.

It was a hammer blow to our survival ambitions, and we now faced the additional problem of having to go on the attack having been pushed so far back into our own territory. On the other hand, Parks’ men had their tails up, and set about continuing their pressure. They drove forward again and again, and threatened to extend their lead with a second quickfire goal. We had to buckle up and ride out the storm.

Practically, that meant an important role for Rob Hinchcliffe in the holding role. In an ideal situation, his role would be to pick off wayward passes and begin the transition into attack. Here however, he was forced to scamper across the width of the pitch to make tackles and interceptions in a bid simply to get a Grimsby foot on the ball. It was not easy work, but he carried it out diligently and effectively.

So effective was his ball-winning that we were level soon after, scoring with our first attack of the match half an hour in. At full stretch Hinchcliffe got a toe on a pass to divert it into Bryant’s path, and he hared down the left wing into space left by the right-back pushing on. His cross was too high even for Big Mike in the middle of the penalty area, but when it did eventually drop it was in the right position for Danny Claybourne, who lashed home on the half-volley to level the scores. We did not deserve to be in the match, and yet we were tied.

Not for long. Incredibly, the Southend right-back who had been pulled out of position for the first goal lost possession in our defensive third just two minutes later, and again Bryant was able to speed down the left. This time his cross skidded in beyond the outstretched foot of the centre-back coming across to cover, and Big Mike muscled his man out of the way to poke in at the near post. Despite barely touching the ball, despite being penned back into our own half, we led 2-1 at the break.

After the interval, the siege came again, this time from a Southend side who knew they were on the wrong end of an unfair result. It took just 10 minutes for them to find the net again, this time Mulumbu finding space in the area to head beyond Leach. However, the space he had found was beyond our last man, and so to jeers from the home fans, the linesman’s flag denied the Shrimpers’ top scorer. It looked for all the world as if it was going to be our day.

We continued to look to break out where we could, but our opportunities were limited. Their liability at right-back had been replaced at the interval by a much more positionally disciplined defender, and so we were restricted to long balls into the channels for Bryant and Claybourne to chase. It was all too easy for Southend to defend.

But we were still ahead, and every second that ticked by helped our cause. Until, that is, an attempt by Tom Blake to usher a wayward pass out of play saw him tangle with Lynch. Down went the West Ham man and, to the horror of our left-back, the penalty was given. With 68 minutes showing on the clock, Mulumbu fired beyond Leach to make it 2-2, and this time it counted. Our opponents smelled blood, and we still had a quarter of the game to hold out if we were to claim even a point.

Those 20 or so minutes became 15, and then 10 with the score still tied. By this point we had given up all hope of snatching a win - barring a ridiculous error from the Southend defence, we were unlikely even to register a shot - and with the occasional exception of Claybourne holding a higher position on the right wing, every member of our team was camped in our own half. We simply needed to preserve what we had. Every wayward pass, overhit cross and high shot were met with cheers from our supporters, but the tension was tangible. Survival was the name of the game in more ways than one.

Ten minutes, nine, eight. Southend came forward once again, another attack breaking against our entrenched defence. Seven, six, five. Frustration from the away fans, whistles from the Blundell Park faithful as they urged the referee to stop the contest. Four, three, disaster. Mulumbu put through, Leach out to meet him, and a flailing arm tripping the striker. McGregor’s pace had got him back to cover and saved our goalkeeper from a red card, but it was still yellow and a penalty. Up stepped Mulumbu, confident from his earlier success, to fire low to Leach’s left.

The roar told me everything I needed to know. As Leach rose to defend the corner, his team-mates raced to congratulate him on the save that earned us a point. Another cheer rose from the fans as our young stopper claimed the cross, and that was that. Another point on the board, another point closer to survival, another performance to be proud of. Nearly there.

Matchday 44 Results and Table

Grimsby (23rd) 2-2 Southend(5th)				20th Lincoln 47 -13 				                 	    
Stevenage (13th) 4-1 York (22nd)				21st Torquay 46 -9 		
Torquay (21st) 2-1 Macclesfield (17th)				22nd York 40 -21	         	                              
Lincoln (20th) 3-2 Tranmere (19th)				----------------------  
								23rd Grimsby 39 -25

EvilDave · May 23, 2017

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

Penalty Hero Leach Keeps Mariners Miracle Alive

GOALKEEPER Joe Leach was Grimsby Town’s hero yesterday as the Mariners survived an onslaught from high-flying Southend to claim another precious point in their relegation battle.

York City, the only side Town can still catch after wins for 21st-place Torquay and 20th-place Lincoln, were thumped 4-1 by Stevenage at Broadhall Way and, given the amount of pressure applied by the play-off chasing Shrimpers, a similar scoreline at Blundell Park would not have been unfair.

But Leach put in one of his finest performances of the season to keep the hosts in the match, capping his display with a one-handed penalty save from the ever-dangerous Frederic Mulumbu, who had already beaten him from the spot earlier in the match.

Earlier on, Leach had saved well from the Congolese international only for Victor Lynch to convert from the rebound, a goal which threatened to open the floodgates for the visitors.

But two quick-fire goals, both created by the pace of Mark Bryant on the left, from strikers Sheilds and Claybourne turned the tide unexpectedly towards Town, before Mulumbu’s second-half penalty earned the visitors a share of the spoils they more than deserved.

Afterwards, Southend boss Grant Parks apologised to the travelling fans for failing to come away with three points.

“I can’t explain what I’ve just seen out there,” said the United manager. “I don’t think Grimsby have really been out of their half, and yet somehow we’ve conceded two, almost identical goals. I was just as stunned as the players at half-time, but they knew what they had to do.

“Somehow we couldn’t do it, and I can only apologise. We had plenty of chances, but we didn’t take them and that’s why we’re talking about the play-offs instead of automatic promotion at the minute. Title-winning teams win matches like this, and we weren’t good enough.”

Town manager Paul Blackwood was understandably more upbeat, praising his players’ performance.

He said: “We knew Southend were going to come out hard, and we weathered it well. They attacked us more than any team we've played, but for 95 per cent of the match we played with intelligence and determination, and that’s earned us a point.

“Joey [Leach] was gutted when the referee blew for the penalty, but it’s an absolutely sensational save, and it’s got us the draw. I think for the effort we put in and the fact we managed to hit them on the break twice, we’ve earned that, but I can see why they might be bit annoyed.”

Whichever side of the argument you fall down, the League Two table now shows Town just a single point behind York, who are without a win in nine matches with just two games remaining. The fixture list has thrown them a lifeline in the form of a home game with relegated Dover next time out, while Blackwood takes the Mariners to Doncaster for a local derby of huge significance.

More reaction inside

Huge significance was one way of putting it. Doncaster had always been a rival of Grimsby’s, but only in the last couple of decades had it really been relevant. Scunthorpe were public enemy number one on the town’s streets, followed closely by the Tigers across the Humber. In days of old, the Mariners had held the upper hand in those rivalries, but with Hull fighting for promotion to the Premier League and the Iron an established League One outfit, the likes of Donny and Lincoln were more our level.

This season, they had mired themselves in midtable, disappointing the fans who were expecting this to be the year to return to the third tier. Ian Thornley’s job was safe, there would be little investment in the team - the owners seemed happy enough with League Two security for the time being. Nevertheless, if Grimsby were coming with something to play for, they would certainly not make it easy for us on the field. I doubted their fans would make it easy for us off it either, if recent history was anything to go by.

EvilDave · May 24, 2017

The week before the Doncaster game was one of the strangest of my life. For a football manager in a one-club town, I was relatively used to people seeing me in the street, recognising me from a distance and wanting to wish me good luck - either that or tell me what I was doing wrong and lecturing me on why such-and-such a player should be in the team instead of another.

Before this particular match however, I got none of that. Instead, it seemed that whole of Grimsby had decided that Doncaster were the enemy, that the object of the game was not three points and Football League survival, but to crush, humiliate and otherwise destroy our Yorkshire rivals. The friendly handshakes were replaced by snarls of aggression and Mariner battle-cries. The significance of the fixture, already firmly entrenched in my thinking, could not have been more firmly set.

It was so set in the town’s mentality that it became uncomfortable - a quiet midweek meal at Steels turned into a lively debate between three other patrons about how many we were going to put past the Rovers - and so the sensible option was to retreat back to base, and so home I stayed. The hours not spent at the training ground were spent on the laptop, analysing as much of Doncaster’s season as I could possibly manage in such a short space of time. How much space did they leave behind defence and midfield? Would their strikers run the channels? Did they have weaknesses at set-pieces? It was, of course, impossible to tell, but by the time kick-off rolled round, I felt certain I had given it the best go possible.

On the Cheapside pitches, that translated into two practical outworkings - pressing drill after pressing drill as I convinced my men that the best way to overcome our opponents was to harry them off the ball and catch them on the turn, and corner practice. I believed I had identified an opportunity to take advantage of Donny’s small-ish fullbacks, and so if we were going to earn ourselves a corner, we were going to damn well make the most of it.

The lads believed it as well. The fire I had seen in the eyes of my fellow Grimberians had been passed to me, and my ceaseless drive to win had transferred it to my players. On a couple of occasions Big Mike had to be calmed down, such was the full-blooded nature of his tackling, and time after time the corner routines that came off were greeted with shrieks of delight from taker and scorer alike. We were ready for a war, not a football match, and as we got off the team bus at the Keepmoat, that same flame was very much roaring in each and every member of my team - playing squad and backroom staff alike.

If we were going to go down, we were going to go down fighting. Striding out onto the pitch, I raised my fist instinctively to the masses of travelling fans, who roared their approval back. We didn’t care if the hosts were almost a dozen places higher than us, were on paper a much better team, or had put four past Steven’s Mariners at the back end of October. We were going to beat them, and we were going to beat them in every conceivable meaning of the word. I only hoped the referee and his assistants were up to the job.

EvilDave · May 26, 2017

League Two Matchday 45
Keepmoat Community Stadium, Doncaster
Doncaster Rovers vs Grimsby Town

If there was ever a match which epitomised everything people both love and hate about English football, this was it. Two teams, inspired more by hatred of the other than by their own technical prowess, both lining up 4-4-2 and looking to play off the stereotypical target man, both testing the patience of the referee with thunderous tackles, and a crowd of thousands baying for blood. This was no skillful team sport, this was an organised brawl, a gladiatorial contest with none of the status afforded to the Roman warriors of old. This was all-out war, dressed up as a football match.

Rovers captain Jason Trimble was the first man to suffer, a flailing elbow in a crowded penalty area leaving their midfield general was a bloodied nose to hide in the red and white stripes of his shirt. There was nothing illegal in the jump - referees have yet to criminalise all forms of clumsiness - but that didn’t stop the home fans calling for a card to match the crimson flow. Thankfully, we surrendered a free-kick rather than a man, and Trimble would watch carefully before sticking his face in the way of another Grimsby limb.

Next up was our battle-scarred veteran, Justin Daniels. The man charged with marshalling our defence took a moment to recover after taking a driven free-kick full in the stomach, leaving him struggling for breath and grateful that the shot had not been just a few inches lower. Importantly for our centre-back, the next man to reach the ball was in a black and white shirt, and so the seconds he needed to recover his lung capacity were afforded to him. Before too long, he was back up and running as if nothing had happened.

Another man taking a bit of a beating was our young goalkeeper. Joey Leach had come on leaps and bounds since his nervy start to my spell, but his youth and relative lack of height - at an inch over six foot he was by no means small, but no giant between the sticks - made him an obvious target at set-pieces. Every time the ball was tossed into the area, at least two hooped shirts leapt with the green of our goalkeeper, often drawing a blast of the referee’s whistle for their troubles. On the one occasion they managed to avoid a foul, the ball was met by a Doncaster head and thumped off the crossbar. Tom Blake was the man on the spot to volley the rebound into touch to complete our escape, but it was a much-needed warning shot just seconds before the interval. Tactically, there was nothing revolutionary on show, and Doncaster’s intimidatory plans were primitive at best, but two teams determined to batter the other into submission made for a highly entertaining match. We just needed to win it.

I didn’t do anything other than what was expected of me at the interval, sending the lads back out into the cauldron of the Keepmoat with hot blood flowing through their veins and convinced of their ability to come out on top. Of course, inside I knew we were in a relegation battle as well as a one-off, bragging-rights-at-stake derby, and so I made sure I checked the York score without letting on to my team what was happening. Surprisingly, we had hope - Dover had got a goal, and had the Minstermen locked at 1-1. If it stayed that way, a win would pull us clear.

It didn’t. Just seven minutes into the second period an almighty groan came out of the Keepmoat’s away end, and it didn’t take long for news of York’s lead to filter through to the players. Now the pressure was really on - if York won and we drew, we’d have to hope for a sizeable goal difference swing on the final day of the season. We needed a winner just to stay alive, and yet for all our efforts, the goal just wouldn’t come.

We moved into the final 15 minutes, with both sides burning through their substitutions and pushing hard for the win. Doncaster needed nothing - their season was long over - but the desire to push their rivals over the cliff of relegation was too great a prize for them to ignore. For my men in black and white, the need for three points could not have been more urgent.

Five minutes to go, and with tackles flying in from all angles and players going down all over the field, the referee did incredibly well not to reduce it to eight a side. There were bookings, but somehow both teams retained their full complement, and the entertainment for the neutral was high. Not that I imagined there was many neutrals in attendance.

Two minutes left, and a corner to my visitors. It was given to us as well, the Doncaster left-back dithering on the ball and making a hash of his attempt to play it off the onrushing winger. Instead he got the final touch, and despite his protests was forced back onto his far post to defend the set-piece. We left Leach back in goal and Tom Blake on halfway, but other than that every Mariner on the field piled into the Rovers penalty area this was it. It had to be.

It was. Substitute Newton raised his hand and drove the corner left-footed towards the near post. There it was met by Big Mike stealing a march on his defender, turning it powerfully goalwards with his right boot. The Doncaster goalkeeper barely had time to react to the shot, but it didn’t matter - the ball was past him, cannoning off the crossbar and bouncing down onto the goalline. Mike threw his arms up in celebration, but the referee’s whistle stayed silent for another second, the goal not given until Mark Bryant bundled it over the line from less than a yard out. Small band of travelling Mariners aside, you can hear a pin drop in Doncaster.

I didn’t care, nor did my players. The hosts barely had time to muster a response, and when it came it was utterly insufficient. Three more points, and we were alive for another week. Dover were predictably unable to offer us a favour, but we would deal with that another day. We were taking it to the last day of the entire Football League season, and our survival bid would go down to the wire. That was the only thing anyone in black and white could think about.

Matchday 45 Results and Table

Doncaster (14th) 0-1 Grimsby (23rd) 			22nd York 43 -30 				                 	    
York (22nd) 2-1 Dover (24th)				---------------------- 		
							23rd Grimsby 42 -24

EvilDave · May 31, 2017

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

26 Arrested, Two In Hospital In Derby Disgrace

A CRUCIAL win for Grimsby Town at local rivals Doncaster Rovers was overshadowed by violent clashes between opposing fans in the aftermath.

The Mariners took one of their largest away followings of the season to South Yorkshire, and were jubilant when Mike Bryant’s last-gasp winner kept their survival hopes alive.

However, after a physical match between the two teams, tensions boiled over at the Keepmoat Community Stadium, with rival fans hurling both abuse and projectiles at one another on the concourse, leading to police intervention.

South Yorkshire and Humberside Police issued a joint statement condemning the violence, writing: “Following Saturday’s League Two fixture between Doncaster Rovers and Grimsby Town, fighting between so-called ‘supporters’ resulted in 26 arrests being made at the ground and two men in their 30s being seriously injured.

“South Yorkshire and Humberside Police Forces attend football matches in the interest of community safety, and on this occasion were able to apprehend those responsible beyond further injuries were sustained. This small minority, who let their teams down with their unlawful behaviour, spoiled the afternoons of thousands of well-behaved fans who had been treated to a great game of football.

“We take football violence incredibly seriously, and will be seeking banning orders for anyone convicted of offences in relation to the incident. If you have further information about the violence, please call the police non-emergency number 101 and refer to incident 371.”

Those present at the match reported bottles being smashed and thrown, and supporters throwing punches at one another with no regard for the safety of fans simply attempting to leave the stadium.

The Grimsby Town coach was also delayed by 20 minutes as it attempted to leave the Keepmoat stadium, with angry Doncaster supporters blocking its path until being moved by police.

With more fallout certain to come, the focus will be taken away from the Mariners’ on-field performance, in which a dogged defensive display and sheer determination was enough to see Paul Blackwood’s men take their League Two survival campaign to the final day of the season.

More reaction inside.

The Telegraph’s report was fair, if a little light on the actual details of our performance. It also omitted the crucial fact that a brick had been thrown at the bus as we sat static in the Keepmoat car park - although whether the police knew of the incident I had no idea.

What it did mean however, was that my men were a strange mix of shaken and ecstatic on their return home. We’d been in a war on the pitch, attacked off it, and yet had emerged with all three points from the definition of a must-win encounter. Had we lost, that would have been it – game over, thanks for playing, don’t bother coming back next year. Instead, we were alive, we had the all-important momentum, and we had one more match to make it count.

We would be at home to Chesterfield, 10^th in the table and with no hope of scrapping their way into the play-offs. For them, it was a dead rubber. York, on the other hand, travelled to Oldham, flying high in 3^rd and trying desperately to cling on to the final automatic promotion place. Given the Minstermen had won only one game in recent memory, and that against last-placed Dover, they surely weren’t about to start a run at Boundary Park. The maths was simple – if they lost, we needed them to lose by four and get a point ourselves. If they drew, we needed a win. If we lost, that was it.

For the sake of the fans injured at the Keepmoat, for the sake of the fans who had come back to witness an old favourite drag their team to within one last chance of survival after looking dead and buried, for the sake of the fans who paid their hard-earned cash to turn out each week at our quaint, outdated and yet unique little ground on the banks of the Humber. And for the board, who had put their faith in a man with nothing like the experience they would have wanted for a task of this magnitude. It was for them, the life and soul of the club, that we would go at it hammer-and-tongs against Chesterfield on the final day. That we would sweat hard in training, that we would put in the extra time and effort. It would be the game to define an entire era of Grimsby Town Football Club. Whether the return to the Football League was deemed a triumphant return or a prolonged lapse back into insignificance would be determined largely by whether or not we stayed up against Chesterfield.

So, we were just going to have to stay up.

EvilDave · June 1, 2017

It had to happen eventually. Fed up of our suddenly understaffed press office being unable to land them the story they wanted, and with the ups and downs across most of the Football and Premier Leagues sorted long before the last day of the season, we were the story of the week. Written off as relegated as recently as my appointment, the BBC, BT and Sky Sports all now wanted a piece of the little club that could as they prepared for the biggest match of their lives. We could hold it off no longer, and so it was agreed that we would open up one of our training sessions in the week to the media. It would be busiest in living memory.

And so I played with them. If they were coming to interrupt our routine, they would at least do so on our terms. Instead of our usual Cheapside sessions, the media hordes were invited to continue a little further, turn right along the A1098, and meet us for a series of drills on the beach at Cleethorpes. With the North Sea wind blowing in off the Humber and sand swirling indiscriminately, it was something my players were used to. The sharp suits and high-tech world of national media, less so.

“Paul, you’ve taken 11 points from your last six games and won a gruelling match against Doncaster last time out. How do you rate your chances of survival?”

Perhaps because of the conditions, or because they weren’t particularly keen on the backstory, the Sky reporter got straight to the point. Which was fair enough – I wouldn’t have wanted to hang around either.

“I think our chances of survival are a great deal better than they were six games ago, and there’s no doubt that the momentum is with us. That said, Chesterfield are a very strong outfit, and ultimately if York win at Oldham it won’t matter what we do here. The lads are confident, training has been hugely positive, and we’ll give it everything on the field.”

“Paul, will you have half an eye on the score at Boundary Park?”

“For me to be paying attention to what’s going on in Lancashire would be madness with such an important game in front of me, so you won’t see me reading your live text updates in the dugout. However, I know there’ll be plenty of fans who will be doing just that, and if anything happens I’m sure we’ll hear all about in good time. It won’t affect the way we go out and play though – we’ve got a plan, and we’ll be looking to execute it and get the three points.”

“Do you think Grimsby would be in this position if you’d been given the job earlier in the season?”

That was a curveball, and a dangerous question to answer. My own future was not yet certain, as so to cast aspersions on the board would not be a good idea. Nor would it be very professional of me to criticise my predecessors. Conversely, denying any responsibility for our upturn in fortunes would smack of false modesty. So I ducked it.

“Speculating on what might and could have been is not something I’m particularly keen on doing – the fact of the matter is that unless we get a result on Saturday, this club will find itself in the National League. What’s done is done, and my job this week is making sure we give ourselves every opportunity of avoiding that fate.”

“Paul, have there been any conversations about you continuing in the job beyond the end of the season? Is there a clause in your contract if you stay up or go down?”

That was what they really wanted to know.

“I can confirm that there is no extension clause in my contract in the event of survival or relegation – I was appointed for these seven games, and beyond that, I’ll sit down with the board on Monday morning and see where we are. I don’t want to let my personal future in any way affect Saturday’s match or our preparations, that’s what we’re focusing on right now.”

“Would you like to stay on?”

“As I’ve just said, I don’t want my personal future get in the way of what we’re trying to do on Saturday. There’ll be time for those questions at another time. Not now.”

“If the club offered you a contract today, would you sign it?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve already been quite clear – we aren’t here to talk about my future. Now, if anyone has a question about Saturday’s match I’d be delighted to answer it.”

Sometimes, shutting them down is the only option.

EvilDave · June 12, 2017

From the Grimsby Telegraph

Quote

Mariners Star OUT Of Survival Showdown

GRIMSBY Town will be without one of their key players for Saturday’s crucial match against Chesterfield, after Danny Claybourne limped out of yesterday’s training session with a pulled hamstring.

The Mariners frontman, who has played a key part in the club’s late-season revival under Paul Blackwood, pulled up during a routine training exercise at the club’s Cheapside base, and will be unavailable for the final match of the season against the Spireites.

Town go into the game knowing that they need to better York’s result away at Oldham to stay in the Football League, and the loss of Claybourne – their second highest scorer with eight goals in the campaign – comes at the worst possible time for the manager.

In previous home games, Claybourne has been paired with Mike Shields as part of a 4-4-2 formation, and deployed on the wing as part of a 4-5-1 for matches away from Blundell Park.

With Town needing all three points on Saturday to give themselves the best possible chance of survival, Blackwood is expected to field two strikers, but has limited options with whom to partner Shields up front.

Ashley Reynolds has made regular substitute appearances over the course of the season, but has yet to be used by Blackwood and has netted just three goals in the league. Should the manager find himself unable to trust the 25-year-old, attacking midfielder Jay Newton may find himself called into service in an unfamiliar role. Alternatively, a change from the tried and tested 4-4-2 may be forced upon the Grimsby boss.

More build-up to the big game inside

There were nearly two men on the injured list after Claybourne pulled up, the bones in my right hand lucky not to be broken as I punched the wall in frustration. It was my own fault – I had encouraged the players to train hard in the build-up to the big game – and now we would be without a key man against Chesterfield. The Telegraph was right in that I didn’t trust Reynolds, and I had no intention of using Newton as a makeshift striker. Had it been Shields that had gone down, I might have considered it, but he too lacked pace and would be no use in tandem with the big man.

Nevertheless, we played 4-4-2 at home, and I was not about to reduce our number of attacking options in a game we needed to win. My solution to the problem would raise a few eyebrows, but it would hopefully throw Chesterfield off-balance too. We needed every bit of help we could get.

EvilDave · June 13, 2017

League Two Matchday 46
Blundell Park, Cleethorpes
Grimsby Town vs Chesterfield

This was it then. The 90 minutes or so that would define our season and possibly so much more – including my own managerial career. Strip away all the trimmings, all the side stories and speculation, and what we had in front of us was Grimsby Town against Chesterfield, with the home side needing to better the result of York City away at Oldham to survive. Their goal difference was four better than ours, and we had been through every permutation dozens of times. The simplest thing was us to do was win. Anything else was secondary to that.

Referee David Sanderson blew his whistle, and Mike Shields knocked the ball sideways to his strike partner for the day, Leo McLeod. You don’t find too many Leos in North East Lincolnshire, but McLeod could pull it off – 19 years old, with Antiguan heritage and a confidence not usually associated with our neck of the woods, he had been scoring at a rate of a goal every 120 minutes or so for the under-21s all season, and was itching for his shot at the first team. His workrate sometimes had a little to be desired, but in Claybourne’s absence, I was happy to gamble on his blistering pace and keen eye for goal. Goals, after all, were what we needed.

Five minutes in he got his first sniff of the action, and came close to becoming a Mariners hero immediately. A long ball from Leach in goal was flicked on by Shields into the left channel, and in a flash Leo was there, beating his man to the ball, going past him with a stepover, and flashing a shot high past the angle of crossbar and far post. Blundell Park showed its appreciation and roared on their side – we had started well.

Chesterfield, for their part, could have phoned in this particular performance. They had finished firmly in midtable, a slightly disappointing result after falling in the play-offs the year before, and were ready for their summer holidays. But Alan Washington was not a man to let his team go at anything less than 100%, and in setting up in a 3-5-2 system with wingbacks running relentlessly, made it clear that he had not come to the seaside to get rolled over. If we wanted to stay in the division, Alan was saying, we were going to have to earn it.

Midway through the half, we had our first scare. Tom Blake missed a tackle on the right wing-back, and his man allowed the freedom of Cleethorpes to get to the byline and chip the ball to the back post. There it was met with a powerful volley from Jack Campbell, but Leach was well positioned to parry the ball into the ground and then catch it at the second attempt. The shot drew a hearty round of applause from the fans who had travelled from Derbyshire, and let us know our opponents were very much in the game.

Just three minutes later, a faint noise was heard in the Pontoon, which quickly gathered momentum into a full-throated cheer from the fans. It didn’t take long to figure out what had happened either – York were a goal down at Oldham, meaning that a win for us, or a draw coupled with a big win for the Latics, would see us safe. The promotion battlers were holding up their end of the bargain. All we needed was a goal.

Buoyed by the news, we pushed on. Shields won yet another header in the Chesterfield half, but this time his flick was cut out before it could reach McLeod, and the Spireites could break against us. Their five at the back quickly became five in midfield as they came forward, the wing-backs causing chaos on our flanks, and the space opened up much more than I was comfortable with. A cross from the left was whipped in, arcing gracefully over the head of McGregor’s attempted header and being volleyed beyond the dive of Leach to give the visitors a 1-0 lead. Blundell Park fell silent.

A goal down, we had little choice to throw caution to the wind. Even if Oldham were to put a cricket score past York, no points for my Mariners meant non-league football next year. There were no complicated calculations, no waiting on results from elsewhere. Unless something changed in the next 60 minutes of football, we were down. At least that made things simple.

Half-time approached, and we still trailed 1-0, albeit it with Chesterfield pinned back into their defensive third. Frustratingly, that meant the pace of McLeod was somewhat nullified – he was undoubtedly on his best running in behind off the shoulder of the last defender, impossible in a packed penalty area – but if we could force the error, we’d be back in with a chance.

One single minute of injury time was called for by the fourth official – a fair reflection of a busy but clean opening half. Hinchcliffe found McLeod 25 yards out, and immediately his man got tight, not allowing him space to wind through the gears. Instead, our teenage debutant stroked a pass wide to Bryant on the left, who shaped to cross before checking back inside onto his weaker right foot.

His defender fooled, our winger had an extra second to make his move. Coming forwards, he played a give-and-go with Shields before collecting the return, dropping his left shoulder and taking a tumble over the outstretched leg of the centre-back who had moved across to cover his flank. The whistle blew. Penalty!

No. After consultation with his linesman, Sanderson ruled that the foul had taken place a couple of inches outside the penalty area. Free-kick to Grimsby. Blundell Park told him what it made of that particular decision, but his mind was made up. The wall formed, and Liam Smithson came across from his right wing to assume dead ball duties. Three strides back, then the same again forward. In came the shot.

Into the wall, out for a throw, and done for the first half. A goal behind, we had everything to do.

EvilDave · June 13, 2017

“Gentlemen, as it stands, we are going down. York are behind, but so are we, and that’s all there is to it. I want you to drink that in a moment.”

The silence lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time. I wanted them to feel it, to see the pain in their eyes. Only then would they be able to dig themselves out of the hole.

“Now I don’t want you to think I’m angry. Not at all. We shouldn’t be behind – they scored with their only chance. But we need to take ours. Unless Oldham get greedy, we need to take two, and keep that lot out. That’s the deal here boys.

“Now, the last 10 minutes have been great. High pressure, lots of the ball, forcing the errors. But it hasn’t worked. So, I want us to switch things up a bit. Jay, I want you on and sitting deep with Rob in the middle. For the first few minutes, we’re going to drop deeper, let them at us.

“They’ll come out at us – they won’t know any different. As long as you don’t let them through, that’s when we strike. Get the ball to the middle, and let’s see if Jay can’t find Leo over the top and use that pace. If we level, they’ll come out again, and we can repeat the trick. Two goals is what we need, so two goals is what we’ll get.

“What I want you to do is scrub the York game out of your mind. The crowd will let me know what’s going on, but you’ve got to ignore it. Even if they go six down, they can still score. We can’t rely on Oldham for anything, this has got to be us.

“And gentlemen, if we pull this off, we go down in the history as architects of the greatest footballing escape this country has ever seen. You will be worshipped as heroes from now until August and even beyond, you’ll never have to buy a drink in this town again.

“I want you to listen to the men and women in the stands out there. The ones who pay your wages. The ones who follow this club through thick and thin, from Dover to Carlisle and every dive in-between. The ones who will, one way or the other, be shedding tears at the final whistle today.

“Whether I’m here next week or not, they will be. And the week after that, the one after that, and until either Grimsby Town is no more or they are. If we go down today, you will all find other clubs if you choose to leave. Sure it’ll hurt, but in a few weeks you might well rock up in Chesterfield, in Lincoln, in Barnsley – God forbid even in Scunthorpe – and you’ll get on with your lives.

“These guys won’t. They’ll feel every single day out of the Football League, every match in the non-league wilderness. Now, get out there and make them proud. Make them proud to declare themselves Mariners. Proud to hold their season ticket, to sing their songs and wear their shirt. For the next 45 minutes, forget yourselves. Forget your manager. Get out there, and win this thing for the thousands out there would worship the ground you walk on.”

It may not have been the most original theme in the world, but as the referee ushered us out of the dressing rooms to a rousing chorus of ‘Mariners’ from the Blundell Park faithful, my simple message hit home. Other managers have done the same thing to little effect – foreigners with no link to the club. Coming from this manager, a one-club hero returning to try and save them, it carried rather more resonance. All they had to do now was execute the new plan.

EvilDave · June 14, 2017

Chesterfield got the ball rolling again and, as instructed, my men dropped subtly back towards their own goal. The visitors came at us without thinking, their wing-backs moving forward to link up with the front two, and we waiting for the moment to pounce. In their first foray into attacking territory, Daniels got his head to the anticipated cross and found Blake, but our left-back’s ball into midfield was misplaced and the opportunity for a break went begging.

The second didn’t. This time the Chesterfield attack was cut off at source, Hinchcliffe getting a foot in in the middle of the park and rolling the ball four yards to his right for Newton to play with. His right boot carved a pass between two of the three visiting defenders, and before they could turn McLeod was onto it, his sprinter’s pace leaving them for dead. As Blundell Park rose to its feet in anticipation of the goal, the teenager thumped his shot beyond the advancing goalkeeper and against the post.

Before the groans could reach full volume, Big Mike reached the ball to tap into the unguarded net from eight yards out. Disappointment was replaced by jubilation as my men mobbed their newest team-mate. Shields’ goal brought us level on points with York and just three goals behind them on goal difference. One more – or a barrage of goals from Oldham – and we’d leapfrog them to safety. We were nearly there.

“Same again lads, keep it going!” was my doubtlessly unheard yell from the sideline. “Listen to the fans, feed off them. You can do this!”

They could as well, as we were looking dangerous every time we got the ball. Jay Newton, sitting 20 yards deeper than he would normally play, was having a field day picking his passes from the centre of midfield, and the sheer pace of McLeod had the Spireites defence terrified. Everything was working to plan. It was almost a little too good.

Five minutes after our goal, there was another – at Boundary Park. A second goal for the hosts meant we were now just two behind York, and in the ascendancy. Just over half an hour remained, and there was still every chance that Oldham could complete the swing for us. Still, I couldn’t allow my players to think in the same way. We needed a second goal of our own to make sure.

The news from Lancashire, coupled with our leveller, understandably saw confidence levels soar. Whereas before we were a little nervous about inviting Chesterfield onto us, we were now doing so in an almost teasing fashion before stealing in and snatching away the ball. Not only that, but we were doing a fair bit of pressing ourselves, advancing well up the pitch in possession as we had done at the end of the first half. There was an element of risk involved as we had previously found, but we needed a goal by any means necessary.

Ten more minutes passed without a goal, the closest being a Big Mike header tipped over the crossbar by a stretching Spireite keeper. The resulting corner almost crept in at the near post, but the man on the line was on hand to deny Smithson what would have been a most welcome fluke, and we remained locked at 1-1. Over in Oldham, the longed-for flurry of goals was yet to come, and so despite our high spirits and head of steam, we were still down.

Twenty minutes to go, and the dice was well and truly rolled. Hinchcliffe came off for Reynolds, leaving us with Newton sat in front of the back four, Bryant and Smithson as wide midfielders, and three out-and-out strikers in Shields, McLeod and the substitute. It was unorthodox, but we needed another goal. It was increasingly obvious that we couldn’t simply sit back and hit Chesterfield on the break – they were wise to our plans and were leaving men to cover. We would have to go for it, and even though I was a huge doubter of Reynolds’ ability, he was infinitely more likely to score on the pitch than on the bench.

A massive cheer from the crowd, followed by uncertain murmuring. Oldham had scored a third, and in the very next minute been reduced to 10 men. If they scored just one more goal, we’d tie them on goal difference and jump ahead of the Minstermen – not on points, goal difference, or even goals scored – but by virtue of a 2-0 win at Blundell Park in November and goalless draw at Bootham Crescent in late January. We were playing with the finest of margins, and if failed to score ourselves, even a consolation for our relegation rivals could mean the difference between survival and failure. In many ways, nothing changed. Another goal for my Mariners would settle things emphatically. We had 20 minutes to get it.

EvilDave · June 14, 2017

Pressure was the name of the game – at both Blundell and Boundary Parks. We knew another goal would have us safe, while York knew a goal against 10-man Oldham would rule out the possibility of us sneaking above them on head-to-head. Time was running out for all four teams involved, and as the clock ticked relentlessly on, the tension in the two grounds continued to build.

We needed a release, but it wouldn’t come. With Oldham holding York at arm’s length 100 or so miles away, everybody was abundantly aware of what we needed to do, but Chesterfield were not playing ball. Worse than that, they had even showed signs of spoiling our story, breaking out of their own half on a couple of occasions and forcing our defence to scramble back and clear the danger. It was something we had to be awake to.

The 80^th minute came and went with no further change to the score, and still we had the lion’s share of possession in the final 35 yards of the visitors’ half. McLeod was running out of space to exploit, but the presence of both Shields and Reynolds was enough of a threat to give him some room to work in. Newton was pushing gradually into his more usual advanced role, looking to thread needles with through balls. The crowd were getting desperate.

Our main creator flicked a ball out to Smithson on the right, and a curling ball into the mixer was won by a Chesterfield head. Reynolds got to the rebound a split-second before his man, and tumbled as the defender’s leg rose to volley a ball which had been chested away. Nothing given. As Ash appealed, Shields flung a boot at the loose ball, sending it crashing inches wide. We were pounding on the door, but it remained shut.

Two minutes later we came again, a hopeful punt forward from the punt again finding its way to Newton. This time he went left to the overlapping run of Tom Blake, the full-back rifling in a low cross which somehow missed everyone on its way through the penalty area, leaving McLeod on his back in the dirt after failing to make contact. From the throw, Chesterfield coughed up possession and could only watch as Bryant saw a shot deflected, wrong-footing the goalkeeper and dribbling over the line on the far side of the far post. Somehow they were surviving.

The corner came in, high towards the back post. A clash of bodies sent the ball high again, the goalkeeper caught in two minds – should he stay or go? He eventually chose to go for it, leaping and landing a half-punch on the ball with a swatted right fist. Out towards the edge of the box it went, where Newton met it on the volley with his left instep. His cushioned effort floated serenely over a dozen or more heads, each turning to see where it would land.

The roof of the net. Newton’s hands rose to his head, his strike just inches away from the goal which would have secured Football League safety. Instead, we were running out of time. Three minutes to go, and needing to regain possession. I couldn’t bear it any longer.

EvilDave · June 14, 2017

A steepling clearance into the clouds, the ball re-emerging out of the sun as spectators squint to follow the action.

Three men converge beneath the up-and-under, none sure of the descending ball’s path. All leap, two collide, and the ball skids off the head of the third, maintaining its onward direction.

From three jumping, the actions moves to three racing. Two of one colour, a third of the other, each man grasping for every pace, every sinew straining after 88 minutes of frenzied football. Every step harder than the last.

One man slips, his aching knee buckling beneath him and seeing him fall to the ground in horror-movie slow-motion. One-on-one, a victor emerges, ball pushed in front of him as the white line of the penalty area approaches, his rival breathing hard and fighting to get back in position.

The crowd holds its breath, a manager closes his eyes. The striker, anticipating a challenge, feigns the shot. The defender slides in vain, the ball escaping his desperate lunge. Only the keeper to beat.

The gloved man in yellow approaches, arms wide in an act of primitive psychology. The striker, head over the ball in a posture straight from the textbooks, takes aim, fires.

Time slows to a crawl. A left hand instinctively shoots out, fingertips brushing the ball but unable to divert it from its course. Head turning as he falls to the ground, the keeper watches as the net ripples, his foe wheeling away to celebrate the match-winning goal.

Grown men begin to cry. A town falls silent, its team vanquished. Years of rebuilding, restoration, revival – gone. A season’s work up in flames. The cruellest of conclusions.

Matchday 46 Results and Table

Grimsby (23rd) 1-2 Chesterfield (10th)			22nd York 43 -23 				                 	    
Oldham (3rd) 3-0 York (22nd)				---------------------- 		
							23rd Grimsby 42 -25

EvilDave · June 14, 2017

The Telegraph’s report was fair, but the local rag could have knighted me for all the good it would have done. Chesterfield’s late goal meant we fell short, failed, lost the race. However you put it, the fact of the matter was that Grimsby Town were no longer a Football League club, and I had presided over the process.

Of course things may have turned out differently had I been given longer at the helm – even one more game – but I had not. I had been appointed for seven matches and taken a respectable 11 points from them, but respect would not save the Mariners from the horror of non-league football. It would be my name in the history books next to that particular accolade, and no amount of alternate history could do anything about it.

The defeat hurt. On another day, we would have won comfortably – Newton’s late chip dropping in, Bryant’s deflected effort nestling in the corner, the Blundell Park faithful sucking the ball into the net. We had been the better team on the day, and came away with worse than nothing. Applauding the fans at the final whistle was the right thing to do, but every one of us in Grimsby colours would rather have disappeared.

Many of the players were able to do just that, should they desire. Plenty of them had clauses in their contracts allowing to leave Town in the event of relegation, and I did not know how many of them would exercise that right. Some would respond to the pain of relegation by hawking for another Football League contract, others would react by digging in deep for the fightback and longed-for promotion campaign.

I would do neither.

Despite this being my club and my town, I could not in good faith continue at the helm. I had taken the team down, the buck stopped with me. The board urged me to stay – something I had not expected – but I was done. I had too much invested in the club to deal with a full season in the dugout, and there were better men than me able to return the Mariners to League Two.

No, that was me done. My footballing life had come full circle, bowing out as a manager at the same place I pulled on my first boots as a professional, the suited tactician and the awestruck schoolboy one and the same. Some dream of winners at Old Trafford, others of travelling the globe with a ball at their feet. For me, all I asked for was the adoration of Blundell Park. I had been fortunate enough to live that dream.

Not for me was the merry-go-round, the constant worry of whether or not the next result would be enough, where the next job might be, what someone else’s fans might think of me. Football had given me a career – it was now time for me to live the life it afforded me.

Relegation, I resolved, would not be the end. It was only a new beginning.

--

That concludes this short story - I hope you've enjoyed the ups and down of Paul Blackwood's brief managerial career, and I hope to be back before long with my next tale!

gaz_man · June 26, 2017

Enjoyed the short ED. Hope to see the return of Owain Williams soon too

chesterfan2 · September 6, 2017

ED, reading this in part due to the due diligence I apply to my FM Awards voting, and I can tell you this. You have a fan. I enjoyed this alot (apart from you beating Chester, obviously), I like your style of writing, Dave, I hope to be as good as this one of these days.

EvilDave · September 8, 2017

On 9/6/2017 at 16:07, chesterfan2 said:

ED, reading this in part due to the due diligence I apply to my FM Awards voting, and I can tell you this. You have a fan. I enjoyed this alot (apart from you beating Chester, obviously), I like your style of writing, Dave, I hope to be as good as this one of these days.

I don't know what to say to that other than thank you! It's very kind of you to say so, and I really appreciate you coming back to read this long after it's done. I shall endeavour to cut Chester some slack in future...

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