Cod Almighty | Article

by Richard Dawson

12 September 2024

He’s a man who turned heads at the turn of the century, a sexy superstar with swaying hips, who was still the sponsor's go-to man of the match a decade after his dismayingly mysterious migration to the mudflats of Kent. A season saving hat-trick against Wombledon, the greatest own goal ever scored in Town's own goal and a charismatic card magnet. Whoever could this be?

Alan Pouton. He was Poutonesque. He was Poutonian. He scythed. He surged. He thrusted. He thundered. He unleashed. On a good day the fans went home talking about Pouton. On a bad day the fans usually went home talking about Alan Pouton. He made the team of the century in a recent poll so I have had to go back to the dawn of the new millenium and think hard again about Alan before writing this. If he is your favourite player then this article comes with a blood pressure warning. He is not mine, but you gotta love our Alan....

We had better start in York. Pouton tore it up apparently in a team headed for non-league. Research tells me that he dyed his hair in leopard skin spots. It must have looked somewhat like a leopard skin pill box hat. I have always wanted to say "how does your head feel under something like that?" What a missed opportunity. Town scouted him, loaned him, never started him and then bought him for a hundred and fifty grand.

To quote Kirsty MacColl "he blew into Town like a paper sack - in a stolen car with a shotgun in the back". Groves, as a midfield force, was slowly declining and Pouton's arrival heralded the start of Town's long descent. But Alan was always a trier. He was teamed up with another new signing in central midfield - Stacy 'yard dog' Coldicott. The new midfield destroyers were unleashed.

Stacy was a neat and tidy player, good at sitting deep and breaking up play, although his passing was a weakness. Alan was simply a force of nature. He delighted in scything tackles which got the Town fans roaring in satisfaction. He had a penchant for surging forward dribbles which our fans loved. On the odd occasion he scored from open play his goal celebrations were exuberant in the extreme - all peculiar high-steps and manic fist pumping. The adoring faithful lapped it up. In the first season we stayed up (just, with 51 points), but we were circling the drain.

Sometimes Pouton was played wide on the left. He became known for clumsy, cartoonish double step-overs. He surged, he thrusted, he tried audacious long shots which either missed by some distance or were blocked at source as defenders came to know what to expect from him. His discipline went - bookings were commonplace and there was the odd sending off. But the fans loved him still. Pouton wore his heart on his sleeve and there is something to be said for that, I suppose. The trouble was he was a lower-league player trying to cut it in the second division.

At the start of his last season with Town (newly relegated) Pouton did his knee in a friendly at Lincoln and was out until nearly Christmas. The club cashed him in for thirty grand and he went to Gillingham.

So why is he still revered? He turned out for us over a hundred times, scoring a dozen goals. Over half of them were penalties - he took a decent penalty (although Gills fans might disagree as he missed a vital one for them). Pouton also scored one of the best own goals ever. Poor sod. Maybe because he sweated blood in a team that was playing two divisions higher than its talents warranted. Pouton never gave up and always energised the fans one way or another. He gave his best and we thank him for it.

With thanks to Pete Green, Tony Butcher and Bob Dylan

Illustration courtesy of Alex Chilvers