Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

15 March 2026

Is it possible to have happy memories of Oldham? It's sunny, it's raining, it's hailing, it's sunny again. The time has arrived to make your mind up. Brolly or no brolly?

Ah, Oldham, flat at the bottom and the sides too steep, but there's no hole in the ground next to their ground anymore. The new training ground, Little Wembley, is up and running. It's like you stuck that five-a-side pitch at King George onto the Blundell Park car park.

Monochrome Town lined up in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, McEachran, Burns, Green, Sellars-Fleming and Soonsup-Bell. The substitutes were Warren, Staunton, Walker, Svanthorsson, Amaluzor, Kabia and Cook. Bereft of the Wolds Panther, who shall be the stalking horse? Well, we may as well use him if we've got him. The Tiger on temporary loan has his chance of fame, fortune and glory but all eyes swoop and swoon towards the bench for the original geezer from the freezer has returned from the cold showers. What a lovely smile he has.

Oldham. Whaddayeknow? The data don't lie, they're statistically dull. Goals, like words, don't come easy. It's all about their base, no trouble, just double man mountains. Yes, the defence, the big men doing big things, so big you have to take the M62 to get around them. And today Monthè's double is Donervon Daniels, last spotted mumbling at crumbling Walsall. Big D obviously likes to have a major motorway nearby to make a getaway. As an experienced man he knows you need to have an exit strategy.

Right, both of us together, one each end and steady as we go!

1st half – Less than zero
The Old Hams kicked off away from 1,500 travelling Townites.

Latics trying to shift, not one Townite couldn't even lift it, we was getting nowhere.

Ups were undered. Chips were chased and home hoofs were manicured by Maldini and McJannet. A home cross diverted, a home intruder converted into fertilizer amidst minor moments of monotony. Is it time for a sandwich?

Now Oldham's like a less glamorous Grimsby with even less of a continental café culture, so there's nothing for it, bring you own food. There's just one lot of old Christmas ham left in the freezer, so today's the day for the final sandwich countdown. Now, I know what you're thinking, ham is ham, just dead pig meat, stick it between two slices and slap some pickle on it, that'll do. Ah, but like football there's more than one way to satisfy your soul.

It's not my recipe, I borrowed it from that Foodie Bible: Jackson Smith's Complete Cookery Course (available in the club shop, don't forget your season ticket discount!), but here's the top tip for meaty delight: boil your gammon joint for an hour in cider with your herbs and spices of choice. I suggest you add paprika, gives a nice colour and a bit of a zip. Then slather with black treacle and muscovado sugar and stick in the oven for an hour or so. Mmm, sizzles on the tongue.

Like Opal Fruits it's made to make your mouth water. Whaddya mean they're called Starburst now, when did that happen? Have I missed something? Did I have a lobotomy in this monotony.

Now this is them and only them, for this is their only themness. Hudson whacked longly, Fondup big-chested backly and Drummond big-dipper-dripped safely over the angle of snack bar and toilets. That was their only possession, there goes their everything as Town strangled but didn't spangle. Do you remember Spangles? Of course you do, they had many hits in the 80s. Not my cup of tea, a bit too lightweight in their pop, but, hey, wasn't that just the 80s to a T?

I see footsteps slowly walking as our lightweight loanee gently falls and fails across the board. I'm bored, you're bored, who isn't bored by this procession of striped shrugging, chugging and mugging. Space…drifting into space, drifting in space, drifting…drifting… shifting the ball, passing the ball is passing the buck and waiting for Rodgers to roam a long way from home.

A trio of tugs on Turi ignored but a blue plunge rewarded. Soonsup-Bell waved off for an unrequested short break and Town simmering with tuts as the purple peepster maintained a high score on the home clap-o-meter. Town are broken triangles, overhitting flicks, underhitting passes, laboriously lolloping, stodgy and sloppy.

And finally, Cyril, there was an effort on goal. Sellars-Fleming coiled a corner, Green Greened at the near post and grimaced not grinned as the ball gently arced across the face of goal and was inches away from missing by yards.

Five minutes were added. Yeah, that's it. That's more than you needed to know about a half where it is difficult to decide who deserved the nil less. The shape of it's wrong, the balls were much too long. This was a great advert for Brillo pads.

2nd half – Crash and Burns
Cook replaced Soonsup-Bell at half time. This meant Sellars-Fleming remained on the pitch. This is a fact and sometimes facts are painful, we just have to face up to them. What is real is what you feel. Grit yer teeth and carry on banging that drum.

"Jason Stockwood's data-led army (ChatGTFC)"

Here's some data: no-one's had a shot on target yet. Chat amongst yourselves whilst we await some football.

Tipping and tapping, and much, much scrapping. Turi super-scraped and was clobbered and nobbled and was seen no more until replaced by Walker ten or so minutes into this re-enactment of the classic 1953 Spilsby Shove-ha'penny Championship semi-final. Remember, it is not usually a good move to get your coin in a bed until towards the end of a match. The game? It's curling with coins. McJannet bundle flicked a caressed coil away from lurking heads at the farthest post and the flustered Mickey Fondant sliced as Maldini stared. Yes, Fondop didn't fancy that.

Woods, Oldham's ginger whinger, mucked up a moment, poking with his wrong foot after Smith had mucked up a messy back pass. Now he don't look much like a footballer, he don't look much like an athlete, but he definitely looks like one of Stan Ogden's mates on the dustbin lorry. The cheeky one, who only ever had two lines, but Stan and Hilda always talked about him.

With 25 minutes left Kabia replaced the work experience boy and Town suddenly upped the ante, seized control and camped outside the Oldham penalty area. Tapping left, tapping right, shallow and callow crosses pinballed in and out. A corner, a free kick, a corner cleared and twinkle-winkled back behind the defence. Green, ten yards to the right of goal, flash-volleyed and Hudson plunged and clung on to the ripping roarer at his near post.

All Town. Are we happy?

Mmm, maybe. A chipolata down the right and Cook cushioned to Green who cross-passed over the unmarked Rodgers. Kabia, on the penalty spot, snuggled and tapped back into the 'D'. Excuse me, sir! Burns receded and Walker stepped forward to carefully curl around the clashing rocks and against the face of the crossbar. The ball boinged back to the wrong trousers and, eventually, McEachran hit the turf as blue boots lurked. And was booked. You ain't getting owt from this ref, Georgie boy.

Occasionally the tables were turned as bluesmen wellied away and chased the dream. Well, the ball, they can but dream. Higgles were piggled and a lollipop from the corner flag bounced over Garner. Fonsop, hared into the near post, side-footed into the side net and gave side eye to the locals in the Joe Royle Stand as they cheered the phantom goal. Ooh here he is again flustered again by Maldini and confronting his demon. Handbags were returned to the table and lemons were sucked.

Town digging trenches, laying down foundations and ordering some roof tiles. Underhit crosses and tepid taps off timid toes. Sweeney swept and McEachran callow and shallow cross was headed outwards. A poke, a stroke and with Maldini wrestling Fondop the ball travelled into the unmanned Badlands behind. Hawkes scootled away, pursued by two Town bears and passed low and across the hurtling Smith into the bottom left corner, the Latics ecstatic at the stroke of luck rewarding their pluck. For Town it just sucks at being suckered into the trap.

With five minutes left Staunton and the lesser-spotted Amaluzor replaced Sweeney and McEachran as Town moved to more of a 4-4-2. Nothing changed much, though the underhit crosses were a little higher, reaching Oldham eyebrows and armpits. Do you still believe?

Five minutes were added. Do you believe in miracles? The underhit crosses were even higher now – reaching the hair line, even of Garner, which is an achievement of sorts given his gleaming pate. Staunton crossed, Hudson plucked as no-one attacked the near post. Another flick and trick and another corner and Staunton swervled a drooper into the heart of the penalty area. Cook arose, the ball travelled goalwards slapping against Garner's humerus and dropped down a couple of yards out before being belted out. And we're outta here, that's it, that's enough of that. That's not funny, is it.

What a rotten watch.

They had a shot on goal. We had a shot on goal. Theirs went in. That's it. A game that had nothing positive but the negatives as two evenly matched teams were equally inept in attack and adept in defence. You could say two bog standard League Two teams playing bog standard League Two football. You could say that and you'd be right.

We just lost a scoreless draw.