Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

8 March 2026

A still and dry day with a cutting chill as the leaders of the pack ride into town. Folk are always putting them down as they never cease to make us frown with that narky clown in charge. What nonsense will he come up with today to rile the masses?

There's only one way to find out.

Town lined up in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Staunton, Turi, McEachran, Burns, Green, Vernam and Cook. The substitutes were Auton, Sweeney, Warren, Walker, Sellars-Fleming, Soonsup-Bell and Kabia. Have we got our tallest defenders on then, Dave? Mmm, yep, sure have. That'll be handy given Sowunmi's taller than the Dock Tower and the rest tower over our lot.

Big Bromley turned up in a washed-out gold ensemble. Now here's today's top tip: if you want to paint your walls this colour then ask B&Q's mixologist for Shimmering Beige. Big Bromley turned up with another bunch of big blokes, though at least they won't be cheeky today. Ka-Ka-Ka-Kabamba replaced Micky Cheek. What do you expect, for Bromley big is beautiful and their motto is, after all, para subir al cielo, para subir al cielo se necesita.

Why the heck are Town watering the pitch? There's puddles in the penalty area.

1st half – They'll need a crane
Town kicked off towards the Osmond with triple bluff whack attack from on high. Side squeaking and their defence creaking. McEachran swung left, swung his left foot and the ball swung into their Smith's awaiting fists.

Hoof number one. Hoof number two. Hoof number three up on the roof. Don't be aloof, we're having to think on the hoof and hoof it too. One way or another, Cook's gonna lose ya, Green's gonna give you the slip. A follicled flick and Action Man bundled freely down the right, espied Vernam in the vast emptiness beyond the farthest post and carefully caressed a cross. Their Smith froze as the Wolds Panther piffled a wiffle past his flailing toes. The ball trickled and Jenkinson strolled around to tickle off the line.

Town sandblasting the golden wall, Green scampered into the nether regions and flat-flashed a cross into Smith's awaiting handbag. Town rolling their thunder, and out of the corner of his eye Green noticed Smith wandering, he turned to look but his shot had not gone into the net. A very pleasant back pass to the wrong Smith.

While we nodded Town were nearly caught napping, as suddenly there came a terrible tapping. T'was the ravenous Bromleyites battering down our doors. Long balls, long chucks, long looks with long lost memories of the Crazy Gang. For all the sturm und drang the only moments of danger flowed when Vernam was facing the Pontoon with Jenkinson raiding. He used to play for Arsenal, you know. So did Maldini, son, so did Maldini. He won't be pushed around.

Biffing, banging, barging, charging, by hook or by crook they will push us around. This isn't football, but it is somehow magnificent to watch a recreation of the Haxey Hood. Swaying left, swaying right, swaying up, swaying down, I can hear the sound of violins.

A cheap chip into the position of maximum opportunity flicked off Maldini, fell against Pinnock's thighs, and collided with the rollingg Kabamba, who with his magic technique rolled under Our Man Smith from eight or so yards out. When he swayed we went weak and the future looked bleak.

Ah, but seek and ye shall find. Town looked under chairs and looked under tables and tried to find the key. The carnival was over within a minute for the Ravens were rockin' as McJannet curled up the left where Staunton spun and shouldered arms, flicking on into the area. McEachran spun and flicked and Arthurs flipped the ball away. Hey Jude, don't you know that it's just you who didn't handle with care.

Who's gonna take it? Cook? No. Turi the telephone operator? No. The crowd sucked a thoughtful tooth or three as the Wolds Panther picked up the ball and strode towards the penalty spot. No, no, not the comfy chair!

Vernam tapped a pass straight down the middle, under Smith's remaining foot as he hastily vacated the centre. Off the Panther went immediately, replaced by Kabia. Well we do seem to be playing American Football, so having a specialist placekicker is de rigueur.

Bundling pile ons by their pylons. McJannet scraped a cross vertically and Sowunmi, their designated gunner, bombed Staunton and Smith as the ball bumped agin the top of the crossbar. Jammers and upbacks, long snappers and bell cows. Big booming balls! Three down and ten! Button hooks and chop blocks. Smith headed out of his area to head out as the missiles continued to rain down.

Back and forth, back again, over, over, over and out. Five minutes were added and Burns stood on ball.

Fascinating and frantic, full of antics, but is it football?

2nd half – Louder than bombs
Neither team made any changes at half time.

Bromley abandoned their prissy passing routines. Yes, I know it is hard to believe that Fat Andy abandoned his pure Pepball principles, but needs must as the Bromley Boys switched from Gridiron to Aussie Rules. Arts have rarely been darker as a series of Townites were removed from play clutching their heads. The cynics among us were pondering the possibility that this was a deliberate tactic. Heaven forfend, drop that hanky Andy.

Kabia hustled and hassled a golden wonderboy in the extreme shadows of the Ramstand. The flustered flan flinger under-passed towards his keeper but Green had anticipated this chess move. The pinker Smith plonked himself in front of Action Man and smother-blocked narrowly.

Lunging and plunging, fake aches and the occasional rake. Get up, shut up, you tarts. Get on with it!

Ooh, ah, a Town break down the right and Kabia headed wide. In between the fusillades Bromley were busted and flushed as Burns bundled to the bye-line. The Irish roamer looked up and passed behind the big golden wall. Cook stretchy-poked near the penalty spot, Kabia swept lowly and pinky Smith flew across to flap away from the foot of the near post. Kabia followed up but Smith got up to block again. Out the ball rolled and McEachran's narrow welly billowed off a Bromleyite for a corner of no consequences, so surprises, Staunton finally afflicted by the terrible Town yips – failing to levitate or elevate.

Gnarly and narky, the day trippers tripped over their own egos. Pinnock plunged, rolled over Maldini and suffered the consequences, forgetting just who he was dealing with. You reap just what you sow.

A terrible Burns cross made everyone cross, McEachran volleyed but pinky Smith plucked. Another break, another extraordinary moment from the outside of Green's boot. Smith and Burns converged at the near post and the ball grazed off a monochrome head and shivered across the face of the unattended goal. Yes, we had moments between the absence of moments. With a quarter of an hour left Walker came on for Turi and immediately pinky Smith became suddenly afflicted with a severe attack of Crocramp. Shocking. Positively shocking.

As the game resumed, the Southern Scamps resumed their fake shaker, nay, they upped the fakery to 11. Free kicks for nothing so they could clip for free. A deep plunge under a perfect tackle and a free kick 25 yards out, slightly off centre. Town's wall shrank and Charles caressed a coil. Our Smith, the Right Smith, sizzled across to supremely slap away from the very top left corner, making three quarters of the ground rise and purr.

With five minutes left Burns and Cook were replaced by Sellars-Fleming and Soonsup-Bell for a double barrelled double substitution. Bromley's bombardment battered against the striped shield, but they were getting closer, closer and closer to actually having a hint of an effort. Sowunmi headed at Smith, Smith fluffed a cross and Town heads nodded when necessary and prudent to do so.

Six minutes were added.

They pull a knife, we pull a gun. They send one of ours to the hospital, we'll send one of theirs to the morgue. A Staunton volleyed shotty-cross was flapped aside at the near post by the flying Smith for a corner. There is no memory of this corner. There was no elevation therefore no celebration.

Bang it high, bang it long, in and out and faffing about. Pinnock wrapped Sellars-Fleming inside out and crossed superbly from the corner flag in the covered corner. The ball sailed high and long and Sowunmi arose half a dozen yards out. The big man blamped down towards a very empty bottom left corner. The sensational Smith took a step left, spread his wings and flew across to brilliantly claw-paw off the line for Rodgers to screwball away.

And in the end it ended.

Should have won, should have lost, could have been worse, could have been better, a game of no half measures and virtually no football. What can we say? Town survived and gave as good as they got against hideous giants.

Football, eh, this game can play hideous tricks on the brain.