Scunthorpe United v Bournemouth

Saturday, April 8, 2006

Football League One

Scunthorpe United :
Musselwhite, Stanton (Byrne 69), Crosby, Foster, Rose, Taylor (Sharp 60), Hinds, Baraclough, Beagrie (Richie Ryan 69), Torpey, Keogh
Subs not used:
Evans, Goodwin

Bournemouth :
Stewart, O'Connor, Cooper, Young, Howe, Purches (Hart 89), Cooke (Rix 78), Foley, Browning, Hayter, Fletcher
Subs not used:
Pitman, Tindall, Broadhurst

SULSESC REPORT

by Keith Solomon at Glanford Park

CURIOSITY may have killed the cat, but when it comes to re-acquainting yourself with the wild, windswept north, the punishment is regrettably less conclusive.

The early omens seemed good as a quaffing of exotic ales in the Lawyer was punctuated with cheery banter but, as ever, the tricky bit between 3 pm and 4.45 was still to be suffered amid the sneaking suspicion that a footballing feast was not lurking on the shadowy menu at Glanford Park.

The timely arrival of a clattering hailstorm at kick-off time seemed so in keeping with the grim battle for survival that ensued. United's clever ploy to leave Bournemouth's strike force unattended seemed slightly rash, but then as we know, a course of penicillin can cure that in no time.

With the surroundings of GP having changed so radically since last stumbling on a home game, it was heartening to see some things hadn't changed. Many of these were mildly amusing whilst others were less so and those cunning enough to rearrange the words Torpey and Steve may hazard a guess as to what fits so well into the latter category.

A foul looking suspiciously like it started outside the box gave Peter 'the old gits messiah' Beagrie the chance to put the Iron one up, one he took with thanks and his usual panache.

Clearly believing dead fishes is a better gamer than football when defending a corner, United allowed Hayter to equalise after 19 minutes, hard stares failing to put off the lonely striker as he somewhat churlishly took advantage of our hospitality.

The second-half brought much to-ing and fro-ing until O'Connor put the hitherto lost Cherries into aroused excitement. Oh, the nostalgia of it all was almost too much as the Iron's bid to get us panting ourselves until the last day of the season took serious hold.

With the boo boys clearing their collective throats for another intellectual ensemble, it fell to the unlikely goal machine, Hinds, to grab a point before it was time to poetically grab a pint before leaving Scunny with either a tear or was it a piece of grit in my eye?