I remember this encounter very, very well indeed despite it being 15 years ago today.
After an entertaining first leg, in which we scored twice and had both disallowed, I felt we had a chance even though we were trailing 1-0. Grimsby were not a great side, we’d thrashed them 5-0 just a couple of months before, and despite beating us in the first leg, I felt we’d given a good account of ourselves. I hadn’t missed a play-off game in four years and somehow, this was the last away one I went to. I didn’t go to Bristol Rovers a year later due to apathy setting in, and I missed Exeter away in 2018 after my op.
They did lead 1-0 though, Gary Jones giving them the goal they needed, but Keith’s sides were never truly beaten at a goal down. We had not really been play-off quality all year though, yet through fight, grit and Jamie Forrester arriving on loan, we did suddenly look like a real prospect. The team doesn’t feel like a ‘classic’ Imps side, bearing in mind this was Keith’s final game in charge before John Schofield came in. We lined up Alan Marriott, Gareth McAuley, Paul Morgan, Jamies McCombe, Lee Beevers, Scott Kerr, Nat Brown, Jeff Hughes, Jamie Forrester, Marvin Robinson and Simon Yeo. Paul Mayo, Francis Green and Lee Frecklington all came off the bench, whilst Gary Birch and Colin Cryan were unused subs.
It wasn’t only Keith’s last game for the club: Jamie McCombe left although he did come back in 2016, whilst Yeo, McAuley and Francis Green were putting in their final Imps’ shifts. To a lesser extent in terms of transition, Marvin Robinson moved on after one season too.
I remember the game for the atmosphere. I know Grimsby can be hostile, but this was another level. I went with my boss at the time, Stimmo (Paul Stimpson), and we parked on the long drag before the ground, walking to the pub that I think was called the Leaking Boot or something. That had been designated as our pub that night, and as the beers flowed, so did belief we could get something from the game. Coming out of the pub was interesting, police on horses lined the streets keeping the two sets of fans apart. Genuinely, I had never really been scared at a game before, not since 1993 when as a 14-year-old I was forced to run away from a group of York City fans, but this did feel a bit different.
City needed a win, we knew that, and when we did score the first it caused controversy. Marvin Robinson and Rob Jones clashed heads just before the half hour mark, and the defender went off for treatment. Whilst the home side were reduced to ten men, Scott Kerr’s free kick was nodded home by Robinson. The home side felt it wasn’t a freekick, but as the ball nestled in the net right in front of me, I didn’t care. 1-1, and City were back in the game. Jones went off, Ben Futcher came on to a chorus of boos from the home side, and the scene was set.
Grimsby had a decent effort through Junior Mendes which seemed to swerve right in front of Marriott before he held on to it, then in the second half a rare City foray forward saw a Yeo effort headed off the line by Tom Newey. From my vantage point, low down on the front row of the away end, you could barely see what was happening as you’re almost below pitch level.
For 30 minutes, the two sides battled in a poor, uneventful game. In truth, City were not really at the races, it felt like an end-of-era game, not a serious play-off challenge. How fitting, sadly, that the era should be brought to an end by a player who helped kick it off: Ben Futcher. On the hour mark, after City had been level and in the game, he got the crucial Mariners goal. Newey’s cross was nodded back across the six-yard box by Gary Jones, and there was Futcher to stab home, again right in front of me. He ran across the front of the Imps’ fans, past me, and in one brief moment did enough to tarnish his reputation with us. As if turning a new deal down with us to go to Boston wasn’t enough, then scoring and doing that in such a big game really was. I hear about Gain’s goal against us and his celebration for Posh, but that was a nothing game after he’d been barracked all game. For me, this was different.
I was pretty inconsolable after that because I never thought for a second we’d get back into it. Yeo did get a decent effort away not long after, turning a defender and cutting into the box before seeing his fierce drive saved by Steve Mildenhall, but with ten minutes left it was all over. In the first leg, a Curtis Woodhouse cross was converted by Gary Jones and the same combination made it 2-1 on the night, 3-1 on aggregate, again right in front of me. It was utter heartbreak, because with no promotion you knew Keith would likely leave the club, the bigger players too, and the future looked very bleak.
Deep into injury time, Jones saw his play-off campaign curtailed early with a red card for a flailing arm. If you see the footage on YouTube, their commentator says ‘I hope that wasn’t a red card’, shortly after saying Jones had got up well. The referee, one Mike Dean, thought it was use of the elbow, and pulled out a red. I’ve watched it back and it isn’t a red card for me, but it stood.
“I want another look at Gary Jones’ red card,” said their manager, Russell Slade. “He says he has done little wrong and we are considering an appeal.” I’m not sure if they did, but it was not rescinded and Grimsby ultimately went to lose the play-off final not only because of Jones’ absence but because Michael Reddy, his replacement, was injured 27 minutes into their clash with Cheltenham. I’d say I feel sorry for them, but after the disallowed McCombe goal in the first leg, I didn’t and I still don’t.
As the final whistle blew, our dreams were shattered. Keith didn’t hold back after the game, in what would be his final post-match interview. “I’m very disappointed and thought we were poor from start to finish,” he said. “Four years of failure in the play-offs is better than finishing bottom of the league every year. I’m going to go away and have a good holiday which I thoroughly deserve.” Nobody could deny that, nor his move to Peterborough.
Upon the whistle blowing, their fans invaded the pitch and many headed straight for the away end. Police on horseback immediately came onto the field and formed a barrier, opening the gates for us to skulk out quietly, which we did. I didn’t watch Accrington celebrate a justified title win in 2018, so I certainly wasn’t going to watch that lot drinking down success when I could be on my way home, or so I thought.
Outside the ground, it was carnage. The police had been so intent on separating fans inside the ground, that outside their ‘supporters’ mixed freely, goading and scuffles breaking out everywhere. Stimmo and I were just a few feet from the car when Humberside’s ‘finest’ herded us down a sidestreet without reason. No amount of pointing out the location of our car would sway the officer into letting us pass. It appeared no amount of swearing did either.
It was heavy-handed treatment, and as they formed a cordon to separate us from Grimsby supporters they split up a father and daughter, making the father come down the side street with us. I forgot I was dealing with officers of the law. I’d had a few, I was upset at the result and spoiling for an argument and that’s a bad combination.
Eventually, my drunken mouthing off wore thin I won’t repeat what I was saying, but I suspect in this day and age if I were to do the same, I would likely be arrested. Looking back I am a little ashamed, but it was awful policing. An officer shoved a baton into the small of my back like a shotgun barrel and forcibly marched me down the street with the other fans. I kept running my mouth without thought of the consequence and I was finally threatened with arrest. Stimmo grabbed me and dragged me further on into the crowd to keep me out of trouble, as a good boss would.
We were herded into a car park near the train station and police on mounted horses began coming into the crowd filming us. Luckily for me, Andy Pearson was with them and he recognised me. He told the other police I wasn’t one of the people they needed to worry about and I could go on my way. I grabbed Stimmo and we left.
We had to find our way back to the car, which involved walking through some dodgy side streets in our full Imps colours. As we left one of the other fans threw me a hoodie and told me to cover up in case some of the Grimsby hooligans were about. It didn’t take long for us to encounter some as we bumped into a guy covered in blood just a few doors down the street. A gang of Grimsby fans had cornered him and launched into him suspecting him (correctly) of being a Lincoln fan. We’d just missed getting a good hiding at the hands of a large group of fans.
We got back to the car safely, but the drive home was morose. The talk was of the treatment by police, not the game, which was probably a good thing. The next day I wrote an angry letter to the Echo about the way we were treated and it got top billing by the weekend – I even have the cutting somewhere. Anything to take away that bitter sting of defeat.
Within a month or so, Keith left as did Yeo, McCombe, McAuley and Green. A new era dawned, the 2006/07 season, one which we felt would yield little. 12 months later I’d be feeling just as apathetic and unexcited about the future, but it was still set to be a brilliant year, even if the outcome was to be the same.
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