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Not the best, all told.
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By:
Eric Hitchmo
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05/05/2010
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More On Grimsby Town
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I've been mulling over this for a while. Or rather, trying to avoid it for a while. The last few days has been spent forgetting, or trying to forget about football and Barnet in general. I don't know about you, but facing the reality of the situation we're in is something I just don't want to do. And it all turned into a horrible nightmare at around 4pm on Saturday. Since then, this defensive mechanism I have created seems to have worked quite well. But, as the day draws closer, I can't help thinking that I'm gonna have to face this sooner or later.
Saturday had all the hallmarks of a superb day out. It was a great day. Loads of on the train from very early in the morning having a good old drink up. We left London, and opened the first drink at 8:10am. Is there anything in life that makes that socially acceptable? I wager that the crucial game that was Grimsby v. Barnet warrants such a thing.
My plan had been to get into such a silly state that the pre-match would fly by and I didn't have to worry about it. There's nothing worse than that hour running up to kick off where you know what's coming but time will just stop. So fortunately by the time we got to Cleethorpes, before midday for goodness sake, I was well on my way to complete oblivion of the situation ahead. We even got there before most pubs were open, but we did find a cosy little place that would clearly cater for our needs. 24 of us, under the watchful eye of the local and London police holed up in a little place called The Swashbuckler. The mood was jovial. It needed to be. We were quietly confident. The match was not on our lips and that was just perfect for me. As I say, I didn't want to think about it.
We moved onto the O'Neills eventually where more people had joined our merry band. The police were still about and eventually we were to be escorted on the 20 minute walk to the ground. That was nice. It was certainly a good pre-match presence. By this stage I didn't know what time it was, so I was perfectly prepared as far as I was concerned. This is great. I'm just happy. I can't do with fretting about this silly game. But then we got into the ground, and that was a different story.
A lack of cider prevented a hide out in the concourse (probably a good thing considering) so I strolled out into a packed ground, besides our end of course, and sat at the front to ponder. Oh this wasn't good. All the questions I didn't want to ask myself came rushing to the fore. Are we going to lose this? What happens if we do lose? How many of us will there be? Are we going to get any trouble? Can't we get this over and done with? All of the questions were, unfortunately, to be answered in the negative in the upcoming two hours. Oh damn and blast.
There's not much I really want to say about the game. It was a good turnout of Barnet supporters and we made a racket. Supposedly Grimsby were bloomin' noisy too, but when you're in the middle of your own atmosphere you tend not to hear anything else. I believe you though. We weren't all that bad, but we didn't create anything. Grimsby were knocking on the door and found little. They had one clear cut chance which was well saved by Cole but other than that we kept them at bay.
The second half continued on a similar note, though we saw a little more forward play towards our end as Barnet attacked it with a little more guile. The huge sucker punch was to come though. A control on the chest from a ball back into the box, a swivel and fine finish. Grimsby went 1-0 up. The place went absolutely bananas. I mean, it would wouldn't it. But the whole place was bouncing up and down in pure jubilation, and the noise was incredible. I just wished it was us.
As usual, these sort of things tend to knock the wind out of my sails. The noise continued from the back but eventually I moved forward and sat pensively as the game unfolded before me. Joe Devera had a free header straight at the keeper from a corner. This was the closest we had come. I had come close to giving up hope. Some others had done so too. The 90 minutes drew closer. Changes were made. Not much changed on the pitch. We didn't have enough impetus to get the one measly goal that would seal our safety. And then they killed it. A good finish left the pitch awash with young invaders. The final whistle soon followed and the pitch, having been removed of its intruders was once again a swathe of black and white fishy people.
A lot of people reacted in lots of different ways. I saw and heard anger, desolation, disappointment and all sorts from the home crowd. My reaction was to sulk. I held my head in my hands like a little boy who didn't get what he wanted for Christmas. The worst possible outcome had happened. As such, I can only go by others' recollections of the activities in and outside of the ground. It's all a blur to me. As it turned out, I got quite lucky as I skulked out of the other exit, over the train bridge and back to the station. The majority of my group went back down the main road, with very few police to be found, and were threatened verbally and physically, with some taking one or two slaps and pushes and a large amount of abuse. I guess I got lucky in avoiding it all. Maybe it pays to sulk and be unhappy.
Obviously for those who went through these experiences, they will have an entirely different viewpoint on it. I can stand back and understand that every town, every club has its minority of morons. It just so happens that games like this bring out more of them. The 4,000 or so who have regularly been at Blundell Park barely celebrated the second goal. They stood and booed the pitch invaders, who were largely there to goad us into a reaction they were never going to get. It has been widely condemned, and for these reasons I can't get too upset at Grimsby Town FC, but it certainly does tarnish their reputation. A shame.
So I got out unscathed. The thing that hurt most on me was the fact that my hangover started to kick in. Oh dear. Only one remedy for that. Crack back on. It's fair to say I was worse for wear. The stop over in Doncaster passed me by and when we got into London all I wanted to do was go straight to bed. I negotiated my way home first, and then I did just that. This didn't happen.
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