Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Simon Morgan-Wilson

2 September 2026

Hit the north! Off the M65 at junction 7, past the sheds, up towards a ground pinned to the side of a hill.

Two up, two downs everywhere! We were also counting the flags, the tired worn St George flags. Take it as pride or take it as a postcode announcing its mindset. A town whose Nori bricks hold up half of New York has a rather more interesting relationship with the wider world than a cable tie can express. And yes, there was a milk advert. Everyone does the milk advert. We are not doing the milk advert.

Our usual Town crier is off duty, so you will have to supply the Half Man Half Biscuit reference yourself. Leave a gap. Fill it in on the way home.

A pre-match drink in the ground bar, which was an unexpected delight. Wood, light, room to stand, families in, no queue worth the name, none of that breeze-block-and-warm-lager energy that makes so many away days feel like a sentence handed down. Also, how else could I have seen in the warm up our Buck Rodgers is taller than Wilmer Kacurri?

The Town team to jump into the pool: Pym, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, Green, Reynolds, Morgan, Finch, Cook. Something like a 4-1-4-1. Subs: Auton, Foulkes, Pruti, Walker, Brown, Doyle, Vernam. Three changes and three first starts: Reynolds, Morgan and Finch all thrown in from the off, probably not surprising after a game on Saturday, performances, and a chance to give the newbies some game time.

The sky behind the Whinney Hill going pink, then orange, then a bruised sort of violet, like the sleeve of an indiepop single. A bloke near me said "look at that" out loud, to nobody in particular, a League Two review that is five star.

First half: Mixing it

Town were terrific. Not terrific-for-the-level, not terrific-considering. Terrific.

Rodgers spent the opening 20 minutes battering crosses in from the right at his old club. Six minutes in, one of them arrived, Joe Anderson stuck out something he immediately regretted, and it went in off him. A minute later Cook was unmarked and headed over, which ought to have been the last time anybody had cause for concern all night. Instead the chances kept coming and kept not going in.

Morgan curled one wide early. Cook headed off target from Morgan's delivery. Moulden, the Norwich loanee, saved brilliantly from Cook on the half hour after Mols kindly gift-wrapped it, then pushed a Finch effort past the post four minutes later. Corners arrived, were half cleared, came back again. Town were, in the Prestwich vernacular, totally wired.

In the 38th minute it came. McJannet long, Reynolds flicking it on, Green tearing down the right and rolling it low, and Cook flicking a first-time finish past Moulden with the calm of a man ordering a Royale with cheese. Two up and going on four.

And then Moulden went straight through Morgan. Not a challenge. An arrival. Studs, forearm, momentum, the lot, and no attempt at the ball. Everyone in the away end saw it, half the home end saw it, and Mr Barlow saw a goalkeeper being enthusiastic about his job. It was a red card in any division with a functioning set of eyes. He did not even get spoken to. He would find his voice later, when it suited.

Seven minutes of added time in a first half. Pym blocked bravely from the galloping Mols who smashed into our custard custodian. Free kick – um, no? Turi, spotting a loose ball and Tyler Walton in the same postcode, went in like a man reaching across a table for the last chip. It was clumsy. It was obvious. It was, in most readings, a penalty. Two things can be true at once: Turi lunged, but Pym had been done first. Referee Barlow took a long moment, considered while being press-ganged by the Accrington players, and gave the decision everybody could see rather than the one that started it.

Woods sent Pym the wrong way. Peep peep peeeeeep. A half that deserved to end in silence from the home end ended in their noise.

Second half: B2B, badly mixed

Pym did not reappear, Auton in his place.

What followed was back to back. Unlike Sasha and Digweed - where you cannot hear the joins and neither man needs to look up - this was the version where two blokes keep dragging the fader back and neither will commit to a record. Ninety seconds of promise, ninety seconds of alarm, repeat until somebody scores.
Morgan volleyed at Moulden. Finch cut in and curled one past the far post. Kacurri won everything within reach and a couple of things that weren't. Accrington came on.

On the hour, they levelled, and if you had been at Blundell Park on Saturday you had already seen it. It was coming, you could feel it in your bones. Cross from Woods, Charlie Warren beating Sweeney to the header, Love firing it back across the six-yard box, Walton turning it in from about a yard. Fleetwood's second, restaged in east Lancashire with a new cast and the same ending. Repetition in the music.

Morgan went down soon after and could not continue, Vernam came on along with Doyle for Reynolds. To their credit, Town did not sulk. Rodgers kept winning corners. Whalley got booked for chopping Sweeney and then hobbled off himself, which felt like a small dividend.

With about 15 minutes to go Finch found Green, Green found Cook, and Cook's first-time shot clipped the outside of the post and went out for a goal kick - which is the most League Two sentence anybody will write this month. Should've scored.

Cook hit the side netting from eight yards. Vernam's free kick was punched clear, his follow-up caught.

And then, with the game in its last breath, Kacurri crossed, Cook rose, the header went exactly where it was supposed to go - and Moulden threw himself across his line and kept it out. Oooooooohhhh.

And time. Gah!

Their goalie was the man of the match, comfortably so. Three saves of real class, one point rescued. He should also have been sent off before half time.

For us? Morgan was excellent while he was on, all verve and swerve (and not getting a shout out because of his surname). Turi was great once again, the chaos around the penno aside, the team knitter. But…Andy Cook is my big new prinz. Scored one, could have had more, personally funding Moulden's highlights reel, made a right pest of himself. Isn't that what Town fans have said we've been missing for a few seasons?

Third draw on the spin, still unbeaten, six points, and the familiar taste of something handed back.

Last season we found a way to surrender a lead on this ground without the small comfort of having built a proper one first. The season before that we simply played badly, which is worse. This time we got two in the bank, made a good goalkeeper work for the full ninety, and felt like we were the likelier side to win it at the death.

And Reynolds, Morgan and Finch all got a proper go. You have to find these things out some time, and the first week of September is better than later.

Not a win. Felt like two points dropped. A sign of progress, of raised expectations from us and the team? Probably. Early days still, though. There is a light. It has not gone out.

Onwards.