Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

22 March 2026

A town is full of buildings, some tall, some short, some wide and some narrow. The buildings are flats and houses and still some factories and shops. They are built in streets. The streets have cars and busses and lorries driving along them.

A river runs alongside of the town. The river has large boats and small boats on it.

There's a bridge across that river so that the cars and buses and lorries can get to the buildings on the other side. But who wants to go to Hull?

Anyway, back home, the cars and the buses and the streets are full of people all coming to Town. Did you go to Town? Or did you go to town and do your shopping instead. Silly you.

A brightly crisp day in the land of the free parking after 6pm in council car parks with 102 Barrow boys and girls hiding in the covered corner, perhaps cowering at the sight of the Viking longboatmen moored in the Osmond. Skål!

Town lined up in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Staunton, Turi, Walker, Burns, Green, Kabia and Cook. The substitutes were Pym, Sweeney, Warren, Oduor, McEachran, Amaluzor and Soonsup-Bell. Dynamic Dave decided he wouldn't change horses midstream, for the only thing different from Tuesday is that the grass is greener and the light was lighter, as was the mood as we have high apple pie in the sky hopes.

Let's be nice to Dr Teeth. We were nice to Dr Teeth and he smiled back, nice. But how are we going to deal with you Doc-Doc-Doc-Doc-Doctor Teeth? Do we need to?

1st half – The rhythm is gonna get you
Town kicked off towards the Pontoon. Yes they did. And if you ask what happened next you will get a variety of responses from a variety of people, none of whom can recall with precision or certainty whether the ball was up in the air or up in the clouds. No-no-no we know, there were no clouds, just doubt, and certainly no precision.

I doubt you guessed what happened next. Sloppy Maldini sounds like a pizza or a Rapper and not what we expect from Carlton the Doorman. Kacurri lazily clipped a free kick across the back four straight to a lurking Barrowboy. Triangulating with Dr Teeth, Barhuizen galloped gaily beyond all reasonable humans. And Staunton. Smith spread his wings and let the ball fly off his body and spindle beyond the farthest post for a corner.

And if you ask what happened next you will get a variety of responses from a variety of people, none of whom can recall with precision or certainty whether Green or McJannet headed clear. Don't worry, there's nothing to fear, nothing went near nothing nowhere.

Barrow bibbles and Barrow bobbles and they believe they are alive-alive-oh, but they are no more. They have ceased to be, but at least they have beautiful plumage. Stunned they were, just as they were waking up, falling on their backs the moment the home team moved.

Here is that moment. Walker waltzed away and drifted across the face of the penalty area, awaiting a parting of the yellow sea. Rodgers tickled out into the shadows of the Police Box, Burns twinkled back onto his left foot and dinkled delightfully into the zone of interest. The ball sailed over Kabia and Cook, eight yards out, steered a header down against the bottom of the left post and the ball riffled along the nettage. One attack, one goal, one is most content.

Up in the air and down on the ground, Walker aching, rolling, grimacing and gingerly returning. Well, he is Scottish. A Walker waffle whispered well wide, a dink and Cook slashed into the side netting. These are things that are scientifically proven to have occurred. These are verifiable facts. There are no other facts, just pigeons avoiding the dropping ball and Maldini, perhaps bored with the afternoon, decided to miscontrol, allowing him to dredge the Humber. And an innocent Cumbrian child building sandcastles on the beach.

Well, it's something to do to keep your mind ticking over.

Artell was booked, allegedly for doing an impression of Shaun Pearson. Well, it's something to do.

With ten minutes left the injured Walker was replaced by McEachran. This is one of them new FIFA regulations isn't it, that the physio gets to keep the injured player if they come on three times in a half. Wee Jimmy was in agony holding his elbow, but many were distracted by, and some in agony espying, Gorgeous George's hair. Get the shears out, Shaun, he looks like the second synth player in Depeche Mode.

Ah, but he still got the balance right in deciding when to pass and when to move. A Barrowboy mugged and McEachran chugged along unmolested under the Ramstand. A perfectly weighted pass released the hound and Kabia ambled along the touchline, into the penalty, carefully passing into the centre. Green arrived fashionably late to the party, swept past the security guard airily waving his bus pass and stabbed high into the centre of the goal from the penalty spot.

Two shots on target, two goals. You have to say that's efficient. You also have to say for Barrow that's all folks. They may as well go home now and take a 3-0 by default. They'd be home before closing time as time is closing in on their days back in the Football League. There's nothing more to say about them. There's nothing more to say about this half other than five minutes were added and at the end of those five minutes it ended.

Three breaks, two goals and that's all there is to it.

2nd half – Let it loose
Barrow made two changes at half time, Gordon and Mahoney replacing Newby and Barkhuizen. It's always nice to mention guests, it makes them feel special. Fortunately this Gordon was not alive.

And neither is this game. The ball! The ball! When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?
Bouncity-bouncity-bouncity-bounce. McEachran up an under and Kabia was cleaned out by a Cumbrian clown. Little George swept up and swept a pass perfectly into the flightpath of Burns. Bearing down on goal from the centre left, the Stamullen stroller stabbed with his right foot and the ball flabbed off purple flesh. Remember, you've got to be there to miss 'em. Darragh was there.

Oh, alright then, a bit of them, nothing serious, Smith had to intercept the ball as it moved through the air. He did it, of course, with the greatest of ease. They really are wasting their time.

Isn't it time we scored again? Up the left, down the right, toying and teasing with a simple passing rondo around the yellow brick wall. Rodgers roamed, Burns buffled, McEachran manipulated and Kabia stepped inside to carefully pass through and under Stanway the purple plopper. Yes, it was about time. And the time? About a hour gone, and this game, this season has definitely gone for Barrow.

Give up now, go home.

Kabia headed over from a corner, or a free kick, or cross. Does it matter? The ball za-zoomed in from Staunton's luscious left boot, that's the important detail in this vignette. Don't you pour that over lettuce?
Town continued to pour over this poor wet lettuce.

Subs. Subs laddie. Turi and Burns were replaced by Oduor and Amaluzor and Danny, Danny Rose departed the stage one last time, still having the grace to hold yourself while those around you crawled.

Oduor! Oh yes, smells like victory. Clarke the Closer got closer and closer to goal. A shimmy and shake and a yellow boot blocked. A shake and shimmy and Stanway smothered. Moving in space with minimum waste and a soupcon of joy, such a smooth operator.

A pigeon, seeking a place to nest for the summer, settled inside the Town half.

McEachran was mauled and eventually hauled off hobbling with Artell babbling about the suspicious circumstances surrounding his mysterious ailment. And so The Sweeney became the holding midfield, the fulcrum around which the world spins.

With three or four minutes left Amaluzor twisted, Amaluzor twizzled, Amaluzor won a corner. Staunton big dripped from the right, right into a bundle of black and white shirts. The ball grazed into the centre of the emptied nest and from the throng Green emerged with his hands held highest.

One last gasp of air from the drowning yellowmen. Kabia turned like a newly washed sock, a lob nodded out and Foley, dead centre, in the dead centre of the 'D' volleyed straight down the middle, it went zing down the middle. The sun has never been brighter, the grass rarely been greener, and we've never been keener to have a keeper stay. Smith battered aside without batting an eyelid, then carefully shepherded aside a sneaky slitherer after the referee had checked the ball was in the corner quadrant. Don't waste your time and our time lad, we'll tell you if it isn't; we're here to help.

Ten minutes were added. Well, there had been a lot of hurtiness. And the pain will not end for you Barrow.
Amazulor sniffled and snuffled seeking a truffle or two. Kabia's slap-shot was patted aside by the flying Stanway and the keeper got in a tizz when Amaluzor's cunning cross caused confusion at his near post with Soonsup-Bell lurking behind.

Are we there yet? Can we go? Ah, wait, just one more thing. Amaluzor made them forget their marbles, said he had another game to play. A big one-two with Rodgers and Jiving Justin hit the bye-line, crackled lowly across the face of goal towards many unmarked merry Marinermen. Kabia tapped in from two yards out.

And finally their misery ended. They do say you can only beat what's put in front of you. Town beat some wet plywood with an adequate amble past a footballing absence. There was barely more than the goals, but what more do you need in March. It's business time, baby.

That'll do.