Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

4 April 2026

My expectations may be high, I blame it on my youth, the painful truth is that the memories of a man in his old age are the deeds of a man in his prime. Kevin Drinkell's a bit porky these day, isn't he.

Is a Good Friday Town performance what we'll find against Simon Dreamweaver’s perpetually perennial irritants?

An old-fashioned April afternoon of sunshine and showers with a wicked wind swirling around the old home ground. Is it blowing this way or that? Both and neither at the same time.

Town lined up in a 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Staunton, Turi, Burns, Green, Walker, Kabia and Cook. The substitutes were Pym, Sweeney, Warren, Oduor, Svanthorsson, Amaluzor and Soonsup-Bell. All three of our International Bright Young Things are back on display with the same starting eleven as against Barrow, but the original geezer from the freezer is back in the store cupboard, ready to be unwrapped.

Harrogate turned up in turquoise with a trio of ex-Townites and a keeper in vivid bright pink, clashing terribly with the purple officials. Cass, Gibson and Morris. They are the past, will they haunt us?

1st half – Burning bridges

Town kicked off towards the Osmond and the 206 Yorkists huddled in the covered corner with the regulation roll back to Smith for a welly up. A nod, a prod and Kabia's drivelling scrape waddled across the face of goal off at least one set of Yorkie toes, tha' knows.

Staunton's corner underwhelmed. Town's passes overhit, Towns crosses underhit, and don't be under any illusions, Staunton's passing and crossing undermined any advances made as the wind swirled and Harrogate's wellington boots curled back. Heads and tails, heads and flails in the gale.

Once in a while the Spa Town battlers passed the halfway line. Not for long. Outside in the cold distance the Ramstand did growl as, with two raiders approaching, Rodgers clattered clear and the ref saw a foul. The wind and the Pontoon began to howl at this outrageous nonsense. Nothing became of nothing.

Merging with the shadows, flickering between the lines, occasional moments as hooks and punts floated softly in the air. A Staunton free kick bimpled off the highest peak in the Pennines and up and over the stand. The corner fliggled beyond humanity but stayed in play. Cook retrieved and rolled back for Walker, whose mis-volleyed bumper sniggled into the ground and across the face of goal. Gray doggy-paddled aside. Punts and hooks, hooks and punts, pinball airball, this is not football, that is all.

And in a bound he was free! Maldini muscled the muscular McClousky aside and, with brawny balletic beauty, double back spun a stepover through two further turquoise turnips.

After about 20 minutes it slowly dawned on those present that the trippers hadn't ventured beyond their windbreaker on the beach. Why did they bother if all they are going to do is dig for worms?

Niddling and noddling nowhere in particular. Walker wiffled, Turi was toppled and a Tyke-type tippled into the void where Rodgers wasn't. On the right edge of the Town area their Smith wiggled and wriggled as three Town socks shuffled nearby. A tipple between the sheets and an unmolested Gutterman wandered into vast open space between the retreated defence and absent midfield. Brenan adjusted his underpants and carefully clipped a coil over and around our Smith into the net off the left post.

One attack, one goal, and Cook shouted at Burns.

After five minutes of furtive non-football there be noddling and niddling in the same nowhere in particular. A Tyke tipple, the ball rolled off McClousky and Turi missed his prod. One pass into the twilight zone between Maldini and Rodgers and Evans' cross-shot was tipped onto the inside of the left post by Smith.

Second attack, second goal. Cook shouted at Maldini and Rodgers and anyone else within earshot.

Ah, typical, Town entered April like lions and are going down like lambs.

Scrimping, scraping, hooks and punts, hooks and punts. Shapeless mess of nothingness, a bar brawl around a handbag. A hooking punt and Burns burst into their box with a trio of Turquoisers behind. And down he goes. And up goes a yellow card as Burns was booked.

Turi followed instructions and shot into the Osmond. McClousky chased a wally and Smith, eventually, swept the carpet. We are losing our religion. And in between the ball was swirling around, floating down through the clouds and in the space between the heavens and the corner of this semi-ploughed field we could but dream. Last night I dreamt of mandolins again. I think I thought I saw them try.

With five minutes to half time Town shuttled tips and taps across the back. Tired of waiting, McJannet shinned a punt towards their penalty area. Gray edged out, Gibson edged back, the ball dropped vertically and there was just one man beneath the sky, just two ears, just two eyes. Green arose alone to graze past the flapper and into the emptied net.

Town started like a lamb, are we going out of the half like a lion?

Harrogutters suddenly wibbled, if not wobbled, dithering as lumps and dumps dropped betwixt keeper and various defenders. After you Claude, no, your ball Clarence. Burns burstled into the box as Gibson slipped. Dashing Darragh still succeeded in avoiding going past his man. After you Darragh, no, your ball Liam.

Two minutes were added.

Is your conscience at rest if once put to the test? Ah Mr Humphries, are you free? Another hopelessly hopeful, or maybe hopefully hopeless, crossfield dump and the ball rubbed off Burns into Walker's flightpath. Break out the bagpipes! A little highland fling cheers people up no end, doesn't it. Walker plunged as turquoise toes withdrew from the action and the purple peepster pointed to the penalty spot.

Whose turn is it to miss today?

Kabia picked up the ball and walked to the penalty spot whereupon Cook plucked it from Kabia and passed the penalty gently to Gray's left. Gray swayed gently to his left. No-one shouted at Cook…not out loud.

What was all that? Two breaks, two lumps and a load of punts.

2nd half – Absolutely curtains

Neither team made any changes at half time as the rain swept in sideways.

Infiltrations now and then, here and there, sometimes, possibly, maybe. Green to the bye-line, Cook to the bye-line, Rodgers to the bye-line, everybody to the bye-line. To the near post, to the far post, to the penalty spot and never to the right spot for a lurking Town boot.

On the hour Kabia was felled and Amaluzor immediately replaced Burns. It is hard to say who was put out of their misery more, Darragh or the crowd. Staunton's free kick was sliced at the near post by Headman across the face of the far post. So near, so far, even they've started missing for us.

Roaming and raiding on the right and a Townite hit the byeline again, rolling a cross into a bibbling, bubbling throng of socks. The ball bumbled past this thickery to an unhindered striped shirt standing near the penalty spot. The goal briefly gaping as a phalanx of Tykes trekked west, Walker's whacking wallop slithered straight down the middle, hitting Gray's surprised boots. And Kabia coiled the rebound safely over.

And we may as well go home now.

With 20 minutes left Svanthorsson came on for Walker and Town moved to 4-4-2. You couldn't say this made things better. Well, you could, but you'd be laughed out of court when you presented your case, for there is no case, there is nothing but recent history repeating itself. Oh yeah, once in a while a monkey typed a sonnet on its smartphone. Green's standard issue near post flick-header at a corner flew straight into Gray's midriff. It's plain as the nose on your face that Town were heading nowhere.

With the floodlights beaming brightly the sun came out. But not metaphorically for the Mariners. A lob down the left as Green didn't follow his man. Maldini manoeuvred his man into the covered corner, but a cross was finagled behind the collapsing Turi. A tap back into the 'D' and Morris slathered a smacker into the left corner. Cue the inevitable march of the miserable to the sound of slapping seats.

Turi and Maldini were replaced by Oduor and Soonsup-Bell. There you go. There they went.

And finally they, them, that is Harrogate, the Hammer of the Cods, had another shot. It went wide. No need to be snide, no need for those slinking away to cry. There's no wind left in our soul and we've grown cold.
Six minutes were added.

A Staunton free kick dripped and amidst much messing about. Gray missed his punch, the ball was headed away from near the line and eggs were scrambled. It could have gone in several times. It didn't and never look like going in. There's no point in waffling about something that didn't happen.

And with some people still on the pitch Amaluzor's swing and sway was clutched bizarrely by Gray as he held the swerving and curving ball behind and possibly under his armpit. Not that it matters. It doesn’t matter anymore as we continue to see the same flaws in the masterplan. We got what we deserved.