Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

15 August 2024

People going by, friends shaking hands, there's more to Meggies than trippers on joyrides and little houses by the seaside. Is there more to Artellball than a graph on the wall? Picture it now, let's just see how this pans out.

The sun is up, the sky is blue, there's not a cloud to spoil the view of beautiful Blundell Park. Welcome home. Whatever it is, it's ours.

Town lined up in a 4-3-3 formation as follows: Eastwood, Warren, Rodgers, McJannet, Khouri, McEachran, Davies, Green, Vernam, Wilson and Barrington. The substitutes were Wright, Cass, Ainley, Brown, Cribb, Gardner and Clements. Two subs short and very short on height. Dem bones are barely barer with Khouri auditioning for the role of Kevin Jobling in the latest remake of Alan Buckley's black and white army.

Spatial awareness Khouri!

Bradford. Is it their stripes or are they really that beefy?

Let’s get ready to grumble. Blimey, it ain't 'alf 'ot mum.

1st half – Depeche mode
Town kicked off towards the Pontoon with the becapped Eastwood hooking straight into the Lower Thawing Horsebeer Stand. Hey, that's global warming for you.

Big balls, big booming balls, big booming balls from Bradford. Corners. Free kicks. Corners. A shove, a shake of the referee's head and a header disallowed.

Crank up the Vernamator! It's all about the vibes man. Smell the positivity, drink in the intent. We're nicking, we're knocking-knock-knocking; don't knock it, it's all we've got.

Did they have a shot? Yes. So what?

First to the left, back to the right, a twist and turn until Barrington, barundling past Bradfordian sockage, riverdanced into the Bantam's box. A squittle, a squirtle and Dangerous Davies on the penalty spot passed through the eye of a needle. The ball bumpled up off Walker's socks and the Wold's Panther was beaten to the rabbit by a swooping kestrel.

Ooh, interesting, very interesting. Triangulation leads to strangulation. I'm sure young Jonah Barrington will learn to levitate and elevate his corners.

Here they come: big booming balls and ram-raiding on their right. A corner flerted and bandy-legged Coote was taken in by a suntan and a grin. A single Bantam lay on the turf near no-one and that fickle finger pointed spotward. Eastwood flew low and right as Smallwood wellied above the wafting gloves, against the crossbar and the ball crashed into the back of their crowd off the underside of the Osmond gutters.

Uproar and mayhem, a surge of belief, a spring in the step and a song in our heart. Rat-a-tat-tat Town, the machine gun Mariners marched on, complicating, circulating, new life, new life. To the left, to the right, up and down but not out as Artell's artists in residence tried to get the balance right. Swishing, swooping, coiling, curling. A tipple and chase under the old Police Box and Green crossplied immediately. Wilson took a touch, stepped across his marker and low riffled under and through marooned shorts into the bottom right corner.

It's a competitive world.

I say ooh, you say ah, ooh-la-la. Stripes swarming, cockles warming. Freedom! Freedom! Clap your hands, clap your hands, hey, yeah. That was gorgeous George. Love your attitude Luca. Keep calm and carry on Keiran, don't lose your head. I see a midfield, I see a left-back, I see things you people would not believe. Joking Jake flying high to push aside, to catch a falling star and put it in his pocket.

Oof. Nice. Passing, moving, breaking the waves and Dangerous Davies drove over the bar.

Four minutes were added. Is there time for a vibraphone solo? Not now Arthur.

Fear. Fear and surprise. If we could just crack that ruthless efficiency bit we'd be in business. No-one expected the Grimsby inquisition.

2nd half – Classic nouveau
Neither team made any changes at half time.

Oliver aerially crumpled and on came the Cookie Monster. Things changed.

Vernam shot, probably. Or was that last year? Jinking, jiving, ricochets and rebounds. Town broke the chains from their heart, Green chested on and barged on and on and on and bedriggled lowly across Walker. The mintyman plunged right and flicked the furthest finger nail and the ball winked past the far post.

Doh, Bradford got out their Cookie cutters, barging and bundling ever closer. Harvey's head, Khouri's knee, up and down, upper and downer, higher and higher baby, it's a living thing, it'll be a terrible thing to lose this now. Blocks by white socks, a thumping header past the Tiller Girls can-canning in front of Eastwood. And Davies hooked off the line.

Was this before their triple change or after? To tell you the truth in all this excitement I kinda lost count of whether they had five shots or six and lost track of time. Do we feel lucky?

Wilting Wilson was replaced by Gardner, the angular eager puppy.

George, they're catching up to us! There's three wheels on our wagon but we're still rolling along. We can watch those Bantams go galloping by safe in the knowledge that Khouri's there to sweep the floor. And then Bunny Warren, rousing himself from a timid torpor and rising to the occasion with a truly magnificent sliding tackle on the half way line, taking out two pigeons with just the one stone. That's the way to do it, lad, get stuck in. No, hang on, that was later, after the fall.

A chip, a chase, Young Cam rolling around and past an old oak tree and heading towards the covered corner. Outpaced and outfought, the brute from the Bradford Bulls leapt upon Gardner and dragged the boy down as he approached the try line. The pusillanimous pastel poltroon pointed towards Yorkshire, imaging local youths cycling by and choi-oiking trippers with the uncouth local sayings. Indeed Cooteman we are saying uncouth things.

A false free kick and a prelude to disaster. Upfield it went, Yorkies yomping relentlessly across the green, green grass of our home. Big balls, half clearance, quarter clearance, a waft, McJannet swiped away, a mis-control by Barrington and Odour was sneakily slippered in behind Warren. A low slap across the face of goal flew under Eastwood and Cook tapped in at the far post.

That went down well, didn't it. And Ainley replaced Barrington.

Moments, movements, Big boys pushing and shoving, little men holding on. Blocking as the clock was tick-tocking down. With three minutes left Cass replaced Warren.

Four minutes were added. Get it out, boot it out, oh no, we're out. Cook arrived above McJannet six yards out and headed straight at Eastwood – header saved. Oh yes, we're not. It's time for the national lottery, we're in it to win it.

Penalties – tales of the unexpected
It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. A miss is just a miss, a sigh is just a sigh and they're doing it down at the Osmond end so we can barely see it anyway. It doesn't matter, it doesn't matter, we didn't lose, it doesn't matter, it's a lottery wrapped inside a cliché.

Smallwood - Eastwood flew left. The ball didn't. (1-0)
Green – all roads lead to Rome but with Town the ball will always end up with Green. Walker patted away at the keeper's height (1-0)
Halliday – celebrate, come on, let's celebrate! Eastwood lunged leftly and deftly deflected (1-0)
Davies – Esprit de Groves: sending Walker on a one way ticket to Spurn Point (1-1)
Odour - oh dear, Eastwood sat down (2-1)
Vernam – Walker wilted leftly, the Wolds Panther passed rightly, pointing out many things to many mithering Bantamites, ear cupping and blowing kisses to his adoring public (2-2)
Sarcevic - the ball travelled above blue be-gloved fingers (3-2)
Cass – rolled a precision pearler in off the inside of keeper's right post past minty fingers. Eh, eh, calm down, calm down (3-3)
Cook – repeat and invert (4-3)
Gardner – Young Cam calmly rolled down the middle into the vacancy (4-4)
Young – nah, wrong way, boring (5-4)
Ainley – stuttered and lofted a sand wedge into the top corner. Not boring (5-5)
Baldwin - Eastwood flew below flight path. No animals were harmed (6-5)
Eastwood – woah, hold your horses, wahey, woah-o–ho-ho. Invert and repeat as above. But, yeah, he's a goalie! You beauty! (6-6)
Shepherd – yawn, nothing to report (7-6)
McJannet - carefully caressed around flying fingers into the left side netting (7-7)
Pointon – isn't about time someone went ker-razy and walloped it over the Osmond? Eastwood stood still. The ball didn't fly down to Rio (8-7)
Khouri – oof, nice, calmly rolled and calamity averted (8-8)
Byrne – Can you hear the Bradford sing? Not any more! Jumping Jake jammed their gears (8-8)
McEachran - hit it high and we're on a high, Bradford bye-bye (9-8)

First, at Fleetwood, there was nothing but a slow glowering dream. Now we're back home, we're back to black and white basics, so just close your eyes, feel the rhythm. Town flashdanced through some startled day trippers. Resilience, persistence, playing to a plan: The A Plan.