Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

4 March 2026

On a fine and dandy evening of the day let's sit and watch some players play. Smiling faces I can see, but not down yonder in the covered corner. Is there anybody out there?

Town lined up in a 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, Burns, Green, Khouri, Vernam and Soonsup-Bell. The substitutes were Staunton, McEachran, Walker, Amaluzor, Sellars-Fleming, Kabia and Cook. Tinkering again, eh Dave. One, ONE change, what do we keep telling you: never change horses midstream.

Salford. They barely brought a bus full of fans. They're barely worth thinking about, these playthings of the famous, a trifling hobby for the idle rich, a hollow 'project' full of hot air and hot money. Sexy Salford, what have you done? Go on Town, let's make a fool of Robinson.

It's getting nippy, let's get on with it.

1st half – Run like Soonsup-Bell
Town kicked off towards the Pontoon. And there we have it. We've had it. Whoosh.

Chug, chug, chug went their motors, bump, bump, bump went Town's brakes. N’Mai exited left pursued by a bear with a sore head. When Kelly smiled we could feel the ground shake.

Urgh. A sweep and swing and Graydon lobbed onto the roof of the net. We have youth team players who can do that for nothing. High long chucks, flat long chucks. Munchy-wunchy long chucks on toast and Dorrington snap-poked wide. Have we got in their half yet? Have we had the ball?

Flying tonight!

Zigger-zagger, zoom, boom and bust. Bye-bye Kelly N'Mai, drove his Chevvy to the levée but he's hurt his thigh. On came Stockton. Nice. A fourth division footballer with fourth division feet, not a fleet-footed air flyer.

Don't count your headless chickens too soon. Longolo lolloped past our left side and Vernamed a skimmer that shimmered onto the roof of net with Smith waving to the passing train. All them, all the time, themly them, very themly them with knobs on. Blocks by striped socks, a black and white blockade, an emergency Humber Barrier inflated inside the penalty area. All hands to all pumps and while you're at it pump it long. Khouri flew across to dynamically duvet, behold a magnificent manly Maldini mugging and shrugging aside the Mancunian-adjacent mercenaries.

Hanging on in quiet desperation is the Grimsby way.

Their time has gone, their game is over, it's about time Town started to play.

Nicky-nacky-knockings between nowhere and somewhere, a punt, a gambol, and Dorrington snicked the ball against the chasing hounds; well, Soonsup-Bell. With the Pontoon still tittering at the award of a corner, Vernam crinkled to the near post. Yeah, we've seen this all before…Vernam curls… and Greenie's leaping with three fish on his shirt. Dave Artell’s still dreaming, 35 minutes of hurt, never stop believing. And here he comes, running through the baked beans, through the fruits and vegetables, Green ran to the near post and nodded a noodle into the top right corner. One attack, one goal. One is most happy.

Oh-no, Burns is injured, bring on the stretcher, quick! Oh dear, too slow, he's alright now, baby he's alright now, but willowy Woodburn is down and off for some sponge-based magicking. Ticking away, passes that make up a dull game, but Town didn't fritter and waste the one man advantage. Of course not, we're lethal against ten. Khouri and Sweeney swept the carpet, releasing the Caistor Calliope. On the halfway line, under the Ramstanders' noses, the Wolds Panther gave us a twirl and surfed across the turf, wandering and dreaming and creaming some cheese with a whip across to Green. Action Man crimpled into the overgrowth, the ball bumpling off shirts of many colours, right into the flightpath of our very own extended highlight. On the penalty spot, the man on the spot spotted a hole in their bucket. Vernam pounced. Grrrrr.

And Woodburn, like Comedy Karl's Harmonica Gang, was a mere detail of history.

Turi, Khouri, Khouri, Turi, Sweeney, Maldini, and Burns took a turn too. Sweeping left, swooping right Turi's toes twinkled, transfixing the watching world with a delicate pluck and delightful lob. Burns wiggled, Burns wriggled, then giggled as a loopy, droopy cross landed on Soonsup-Bell’s head and arced around the aching limbs of the young man in goal. Oh yes, you can ring that bell now. The boy is young, full of possibilities.

Well, lay back and relax while we put away the dishes.

Seven minutes were added and nine were played. If anything happened please send us a postcard, drop us a line stating what you saw from your point of view.

They should have been several up by half time. Town were several up at half time. That's the way, uh-huh we like it. Get yer cones out Karl!

2nd half – One of our turns
Salford replaced Dorrington, an annoying contraflow on the A1, with Turton at half time.

Longelo long-range wobbler pinged against the bar as Smith flew through the air with greatest of unease, rolling beyond the post as Stockton volley-poked into the emptied net.

Salford flying but flailing, shots sailing, passes failing. Sweeney swooped, McJannet snooped, nicks and snicks, flicks and tricks, moogling and googling, slaps and tickles and the ball trickled to Smith.

Vernam and keeper ducked like donkeys as a cross shivered through the Salford penalty area and, at this point, which is now, but who know when, there was a pass from a Grimsby player that went to another one. Oh, and Borini replaced Woodburn's replacement shuttle bus. They're going down like flies.

On the hour Soonsup-Bell became Cook. Just after the hour, big blocks and big tackles became bigger blocks and bigger tackles. Oooooh, ahhhhhh, he'll go far. With a Salfordian scampering down the wing, as if by magic Turi appeared, sensationally swizzle-sweeping under the Ramstand.

With 20 minutes left McEachran replaced Khouri and Rodgers was replaced by Staunton, with Sweeney moving to right-back. Uncomfortable at first, The Flying Quads eased into the role, haring back to block a break, haring upfield to start a break, swinging and dodging up the wing like the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo.

Battle tops battling, barges charging, Burns turned Green's cross against red socks and Young spectacularly plopped upon Cook's glancing graze. A moment here, a moment there, floundering a flaccid shot and arthritic passes. And Cook headed straight at their minty keeper who blended perfectly with the grass, just an ethereal head floating across the pitch.

Madness, sadness, Turi and Vernam were replaced by Walker and Kabia. Time ticked on, some drifted off, some drifted away. On and on Salford banged their head against our big black and white wall. They couldn't take a hint. Borini's bicycle is not made for two today – like everything else they did it landed on the roof of the net.

Six minutes were added as Salford continued to rage against their dying light, A shot and header, a block, a knock. Maldini raised an eyebrow, or an elbow. Walker raised a fight, or a foot. Whichever, whatever, it all depends on the colour of your spectacles. And with that the last embers in their fire flickered as Graydon flicked over.

C'mon, it’s time to go.

What an odd game. Town were deeply uncomfortable yet won comfortably in front of a crowd that was comfortably numb throughout. Oh well, there we are, our pain has been eased, we're back on our feet again.