Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

23 August 2024

Snottingham's quiet and snoozing, the wind is freshly easing and who doesn't love Thursday football. It's always been our dream to be content filler for a multi-territory broadcast package, it's why we go to football.

Town lined up in a 4-3-3 formation as follows: Wright, Cass, Rodgers, Khouri, McEachran, Davies, Green, Vernam, Wilson and Barrington. The substitutes were Eastwood, Warren, Hume, Ainley, Svanborrson, Gardner and Rose. Never change a winning team, never change horses mid-stream and never, ever, say never again.

Town turned up in yellow, County turned up in our relegation kit from 2021. Nothing is so good it lasts eternally, perfect situations must go wrong. Lights, roll the sound effect effects, action!

1st half – Thursday, here's why I didn’t go to work today
County kicked off towards the Trent with Town gone fishin' by a shady wady pool.

Gavotting and garrotting and Barrington back to whisk off the lurking toes of Jatta. I know you, I know, you thought that was a film scheduled for 2:30 am on Talking Pictures TV. Just the sort of film that'd star Van Heflin.

Sorry, it's been a lazy Thursday afternoon with ice cream and apple crumble, mustn't grumble. Town's midfield closed their eyes and drifted away. Aroo de do de do, aroo de do de di day, aroo de do de dum, aree de de do dee, Crowley danced around George, Wright flew lowly to parry.

It's supernatural how spaced out we can be. On a Thursday. You can get lost on a Thursday.

A quick chuck chucked quickly, Crowley jinked and jived, coiling cooly from deeply and jiggling Jatta knock-kneed back across the plunging Wright. Where's that flag? Forget it Jack, they've a downer on Town, he is the linesman for the County. A thousand phones rung with hot news of foul misdeeds from the authorities.

An absence of yellowness near the football, concerns were raised. Town didn't know how to play, they're just giving the ball away, watching it sail away, sail away.

We've been standing here waiting…woah, stop, oh yes, wait a minute Mr Postman! Bumbling bananas, Wilson flicked on from the halfway line and Dangerous Davies rolled on into the penalty area, pursued by three bears. A swishing swipe, daddy bear blocked aside and the Wolds Panther struck. Well, struck the ball against Bass's feet and Davies …Davies sat down. This is the end of the beginning and the beginning of the end of something that had probably already finished. On came Ainley. In that sense Ainley was on the pitch.

As Town faffed about Crowley nicked and chipped danglingly afar as Cass grazed away for a corner.

Now, I read an interview last year with their manager. He explained in great detail why they never, ever lump a corner into the box, they always take short corners. Always.

What happened next?

Town, expecting the unexpected, were flummoxed and fooled by the double bluff of doing exactly the same thing County have done for two years and already done in this game. Tripled up County tapped shortly and triangulated between melting Mariners. A stabby flaggle and the unmolested Crowley cakewalked through a massive cavity, chested down off his arms and dropped the ball at his feet, drinkling under and through the thoroughly exposed Wright.

A thousand phones rung with hotter news of a governmental conspiracy.

Fifteen minutes. We may as well go home now.

Do you believe in miracles?

A short corner, fliggling and flaggling, hotches were potched and home plans were scotched as we watched sweeping hordes of monochrome winkling, tinkling, missing and messing.

I read an article this summer where Jodi Jones described exactly how he plays, how Notts County play. Jodi Jones does what he says on the tin. I'm sure someone, somewhere in Town's brains trust must have read a book once. Green it was. No, not Keiran Green, the book was green. Sometimes our special K is very soggy and our midfield turns to mush.

Jones, Jones, Jones, jiminy cricket it's Jodi Jones boiling and coiling a curler. From my angle I can see triangles and Wright kicked aside jinking Jatta's splatter. County got a corner. And another. And another. Yellow shirts repeatedly retreated, striped shirts stroked to blokes left alone to consider the lily. What do they say about insanity?

What have we, what are we? We are wee, small furry animals buffeted and barged aside. Barrington felled in full flow, a Khouri cross zimbled across the face of goal past unstretched red socks, moments here and there where irrational hope transcended logic. Hang on, wasn't that a penalty? A scrambling scrumble and Ainley sniffed the turf courtesy of stripes arms.

Six minutes were added for all that time lost way back when when Rodgers and Robertson hit the deck after heading each other's heads.

Ambling and shambling, County caressed and oozed around and through some custard tarts. Jatta spun a yarn way out to jaunty Jones who sipped his pina colada, shuffled his sexy shoes, shook his hips and whipped a mishit cross over Wright's confused forelock and into the top right corner.

Well, one has to say, we were a little disappointed with that Trevor.

Divots, diversions, take your pick, here's a Town free kick. Cass headed back, Rodgers spun and spangled a dribbler into the bottom right corner. Shoulders will shrug.

And Barrington passed to an overlapping poltergeist. We have now reached the end of civilisation.

Offside, handball, mishit. Are we going for the full set of unlucky concession? Will one go in off a divot.
Who are you calling a divot? Who are you not?

2nd half – The angry silence
Neither team made any changes at half time.

Fast and feverish the miracle by the Trent is on! Wilson stretch-tackled and Vernam va-voomed onto the stray cat. Slim Charles sashayed into the penalty area, slithering a slap along the roof of the net. We've cranked up the Vernamator to 11. A slalom through stripes and Green swept around and over from the edge of the box.
A Countyman plunged way out, Jones coiled a delicious free kick deeply and Bedeau sneaked beyond dozy defenders to stretchy half-volley against the cross bar from six yards out.

Piemen pressing, Townites under pressure and ripped aside and torn asunder in a depressingly familiar manner. We've seen this movie before, we didn't want a sequel.

Dadi's here, replacing the boy Barrington, who's beginning to realise they'll only kick you until you cry.

Near, near, and nearer again, as Town imploded when strangers stared into their eyes. A goal kick squittled into the middle ether, Town surrendering to the void. Crowley wiggled and wriggled, bouncing McEachran into Green and a shot deflected off McJannet and spundled in a crazy arc over flapping Wright.

There we are, that really is that. Shall we just keep the score down, eh, we don't want another Hartlepuddle do we.

Half the time you're feeling fine, cool as an amphibian, half the time you wonder why we're stuck in this oblivion.

Crosses crossing, home legs avoided. Jatta missed, Crowley swingled wide then high then higly wide, Jones deflected off defunct defenders. This panopticon is full of people sitting still until this time has passed. We want to go home.

I have nothing to say, there's nothing you want to see. Town toyed, teased and treated as mere skittles in the bowling alley of life. A holy mess of individual incapabilities, a collective calamity of inferiority. There are no reserves of strength.

Rose and Hume replaced Wilson and McEachran. Little George was exceedingly tiny today, a dandelion blowing in the wind. Khouri coiled deeply beyond the blackness to the remarkably unmarked Rose who headed past the near post and when the far post beckoned. A Hume run ran into the sand and Vernam…..the blue moon was last week.

Four minutes were added, filled with Vernam standing still, gesturing, sighing, shrugging and walking as Austin trotted off into space.

I went to Notts and I got some free dough balls, what did you get? An acute sense of déjà vu? Here we are, looking into the abyss again. All the goals conceded were lucky, but Town were lucky to get away with only a pasting. This is what a relegation team looks like, deluding themselves with cherry-picked moments of clarity between the penalty boxes. There is only one question: are there two teams worse than Town? One can only hope.