Shrewsbury Town (4) 7 Jackson 27, Hibbert 30, Davies 42, 87, Coughlan 45, Cansdell-Sherfiff 52, Holt 58 (pen)
Gillingham (0) 0
Att. 5,319
Entrance: £16
Programme: £2.50
Mileage: 450/1,793
New Ground: 226
Match Report
I chose not to go to Croatia on Wednesday and I made the choice to go to Shrewsbury today and at this point the imaginary gun is pointed at my head.I’ve never witnessed anything like this before (and hope I never will again) and I’m not sure what reaction I might have expected, but whether it was shock, we, as a threesome, just had to laugh. It was either that or cry and we had all suffered enough embarrassment for one day.
This was just a strange day, for 25 minutes we were in fact the better side. Comfortably containing the home side and after just four minutes a sweetly struck effort from Curtis Weston was well saved by the home keeper. There was absolutely nothing to suggest the carnage that was about to unfold. A straightforward corner to the far post was met by Michael Jackson and the wheels just fell off. A fine effort made it 2-0 with the stadium announcer exclaiming that was the best goal we’ve ever seen. Well, no actually, Maradona’s goal against England was a tad better.
With Gary Richards off the pitch getting his head stitched back together we shipped another couple of goals, neither of which covered our defence with any glory. By this time we were getting run completely ragged and a couple of saves from Royce and a goal line clearance thwarted the home side from running up half a dozen before the break. Poor decision from Stimson not to substitute Richards and play with ten men? . . . possibly.
The result was no longer in any doubt, so there was nothing left to play for but pride and respectability. None of the aforementioned were in evidence as in front of the assembled 350 Gills fans, two more pieces of shambolic defending left us six goals in arrears. At this point, with half-an-hour to go, it was anybody’s guess just how many the final total might amount to. A trickle of disenchanted, resigned to their fate, Gillingham fans started to head for the exit.
Whether Shrewsbury took pity, perhaps they slightly ran out of steam on a warm afternoon, but the home side took their foot off the pedal and started showboating, playing keep ball, but for the first time since the 27th minute they were no longer hurting us. A couple of minutes before the end another free kick curled in for a seventh and with that came my own exit. Quite frankly, I wanted out of the place before the final whistle. Whatever the players did at the end, it would not have been good enough. If they had slunk away, heads bowed without acknowledging the support, they would have been ridiculed, if they had faced us up, they would have been derided. Whatever action they took, I wasn’t going to be a part of it.
The day had started so well. There were none of the traffic tribulations of Bournemouth or the sheer mileage involved with Darlington. Three hours driving saw us into Shrewsbury and beginning our search for the park and ride. Shrewsbury looked a pretty town, but when you’ve seen the same column and same bridge half a dozen times it became tiresome. If you have to have a park and ride Shrewsbury, make sure it is properly signposted, one sign leading nowhere does not constitute directions. It’s all a bit of a rip off anyway, £2.50 per person means for a four person car a tenner to park the car, that’s airport charges.
The new Meadow, positioned in what appeared to be a greenfield site, is functional, but uninspiring. Everything is perfectly symmetrical and it suits the purpose of a League Two club that is not going to attract attendances of greater than 10,000 in the immediate future. But I have to make the same comment that I made about the Darlington Arena, it is utterly soulless. These stadiums look like they have been put together by the same designers and builders that erect B&Q superstores, but instead of buying screws and nails, here you buy a ticket and get nailed.
Leaving early to make the first park and ride back, not surprisingly the bus was largely filled with Gillingham fans anxious to get away from the scene of their discomfort. The bus leaves when it is full and this one left before the final whistle sounded.
And as the elderly lady, a Shrewsbury supporter, that sat next to me on the bus said, the weather was nice and at least we saw some goals. Pass me that imaginary gun again, last time I missed.
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