Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

15 August 2013

After a brisk perambulation through the Elm Lodge housing estate, over 250 of your travelling Townites settled down to some Brodie-baiting. Town lined up in the Dusty Bin formation as follows: McKeown, Bignot, Pearson, Doig, Thomas, Disley, Kerr, McLaughlin, Colbeck, John-Lewis and Hearn. The substitutes were Burgerboy, Thanoj, Rodman, Cook and Southwell. Mr Shop was atop alone, flanked occasionally by Joltin' Joe and Hearn the Hunter, while the three amigos cracked whips and wisecracks in the high jump pit.

Look, over there – people!

First half: Hello darkness, my old friend
Dodgems and stodgems, Geordie jostling, Town hustling. Brodie used to be a banker – he's an accountant now. A shot, a save, a shot, a wave. Geordie pressing, Town messing up. A corner cleared, Turnbull pulled his pint 30,000 light years from home. A goal.

Hearn ducked and scraped a crawler over the bar. Colbeck: could he be magic? Thricely yes, across, a cross, a break and cross. Hearn ducked at the far post. A goal. Colbeck this, Colbeck that; a local shin-scraped, Colbeck volleyed and Bartlett trolleyed spectacularly. The Shop's window was broken by a local lout. Off he went for ever and ever and ever until half time and beyond.

The sun set and the lights came on: one light, two lights, three lights. Try again, put another 50p in the meter. Off they trouped in the half-light. Them and their laser-levelled floodlights. I'll see you on the dark side of half-time.

Second half: The lights all went out in Gateshead Stadium
Neither team made any changes at half-time, but who could tell in this murky backwater.

Town passed and passed, McLaughlin lashed high. The Shopper slashed right and dragged left, arose to glance a chance, perchance to dream of scoring. A short corner swingled highly and Doig majestically noodled. Another goal. Headers missed here and there, the Shopping Trolley a bulldozing bundle of joy.

Brodie! Brodie! Please let us know the score.

They had a couple of moments of almostness but nothing to scare the pants off the flying ants. And then we caught the midnight train from Gateshead, with three points and Brodie in our pocket. Town were much the better mundane muddlers.