Goals win games. Someone should tell our lot that.
If — sorry, when — we get relegated to non-league at the end of this season, it will be thoroughly deserved.
I don’t think you’ll find one Grimsby fan who’s got an imagination vivid enough or even warped enough to concoct a fanciful hard luck story.
Naturally, it’s our failure to be any good that will relegate us, but the lack of goals is the glaringly obvious problem.
That, and not being able to defend.
That’s the on-field story, anyway. What happens on the field is usually dictated by what happens off the field. Let’s not revisit that tale of woe and chronic incompetence today.
It feels like we’ve been saying it all season: beat the teams around us, and we’ll give ourselves a chance.
The phrase has had to be adapted in the last month to ‘beat the teams directly above us’, owing to the way we’ve plummeted to the bottom of the table.
Around us, above us, it makes no odds. There are some dire teams in this division, and Colchester were one of them.
Only one team was in worse form than us before Tuesday’s game at Carlisle, and that was Carlisle.
Colchester have dropped like a stone since the turn of the year, and for the first half at least played like a team bereft of confidence and nervous at the thought of being entangled with us in a relegation scrap.
Town controlled large parts of the opening 45 minutes and should have taken the lead on the stroke of half time, but Lenell John-Lewis somehow managed to guide his two-yard effort onto the top of the bar.
Jay Matete was possibly lucky to escape a red card for a bit of a lunge earlier in the game.
The protestations for the U’s were led, naturally, by football’s biggest vagina, Harry Pell. He’s one of those awful modern-day footballers who spends more time in the referee’s face than he does actually kicking a ball.
In the second half, Pell genuinely believed he deserved a penalty when he fell over his own stupid legs in the box.
In truth, Colchester will probably feel they could have nicked it in the second half.
However, they too looked like they wouldn’t be able to score at a Bags’ Ball. Town were, well, Town. Swapping John-Lewis for Stefan Payne did fuck all, and Jackson came on near the end to prove that we are just as ineffective from long throws as we are at every other facet of the game.
At this rate, we’re going to finish the season with a much lower points total than the bunch of alcoholics that got us relegated to non-league in 2010.
However, in this squad we see no lack of effort. We’re just desperately short of quality.
Our attacking options look a little brighter but still we have no invention in the final third. The ball just appears to be a hot potato for this lot.
You have it. No, you have it. Here, I don’t want it — you have it back. You gonna move for it?
Every time I watch the Mariners it’s an absolute slog. I don’t know if it’s just because we’re shit, or that it’s the fourth division’s style these days, but matches are played like dinnertime games of football at school.
The standard is pretty awful. We could have won that game 1-0 today and I’d still be honest enough to say that there was little to no excitement.
It’s got to the point where you just want this whole nightmare to end. Of course, you don’t want to take relegation now and move on when there’s still a mathematical chance of that miracle escape, but games like today’s only prolong the agony.
Back-to-back draws have left us six points adrift of safety tonight, and our top scorer is a 19-year-old central defender who, even when fit, hasn’t been able to make it into our starting XI recently.
Today was a chance to draw a team super low on confidence closer into the relegation fight.
But that was never going to happen because we can’t put the sodding ball in the sodding net.
24 goals in 33 matches tells its own story.