Cod Almighty | Article

by Various

23 December 2024

Are you curious how we curated our back catalogue into bite-sized morsels fit for the matchday programme? Oh, you're not, well you can read them anyway. What better way to distract yourself this murky/bright/freezing/boiling morning/ afternoon/evening.

Let's start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start, with the pre-season double header: Massive Mansfield and Rugged Rotherham 

A Miller's Tale

Oh Rotherham, we used to be a contender, we used to be somebody.

Encounters with the Millers are few and far between these days, the banks of the River Rother supplying a steady stream of our managers and trippers rather than opponents. Our archives are a series of reports of reserve games being called off, pre-season friendlies and one marvellous moment when the streams crossed and a pre-season friendly was called off. All of which simply reminds us of the trajectory of these two clubs this century.

We've become their friendly fodder.

But we were together in 2002 at the dawn of Cod Almighty. Our eagle-eyed diarist noted that before the previous home game "…Ronnie Moore, was espied in the fish and chip shop formerly known as Hobsons. Make of this what you will: he likes to make mushy pea butties, which he constructed in the most dainty fashion".

The game began as a drifting drear, enlivened only by an early Pouton dredging. Our match reporter takes up the slack:

"A satisfying tackle was greeted like a triple step-over and double Lutz with handstands."

A couple of minutes later, pandemonium. Santos tricked and barged his way through the Rotherham defence. Garner, who had the physique and stubble of a Sunday league division two team's gifted but temperamental playmaker, legged him up from behind, with a mild raking stamp. Santos waggled his boot at Garner, got up, shoved him, and was then pushed over. Rotherham players ran over, as did Pouton and Livingstone (I presume) and much continental slapping ensued, being manly chest-beating and pouting.

Pouton engaged in a lengthy, intimate, philosophical discourse with Garner and, as one would expect, the charabanc trippers behind that goal enquired whether the referee would consider that Mr Santos should be removed from the field of play.

The Town fans had a contrary view: as Garner was still alive, Santos could not possibly have touched him. Right? Out came the red card and our weapon of mass destruction was off. No UN resolution required here, then. Gorgeous George is at times a glowering inferno – he's outta control and heading your way.

Rotherham may have had Warne on the pitch but it was the ref who chucked in a googly to spice things up.

Pumped up by the perceived injustice, the crowd created an invisible 10th player, then, after Raven was removed, a transparent 11th in this crumpled, crestfallen mass of mid-table madness”

After the game our diarist noted that "Hard-done-by hardman Georges Santos…denies punching Rotherham defender Darren Garner in the incident that led to his dismissal last Saturday, correctly if chillingly pointing out: "If I gave him a lick - I am 6 feet 5 and he is 5 feet 2 - he would have been on the floor." You can't argue with him there; not that you would.”

Nil-nils can be fun you know.

Mansfield of Dreams

Ah, now Mansfield, there's a different kettle of fish, we've been chasing each other up and down the lowest leagues all century. Mostly down, for life in the East Midlands had been a series of down endings.

Our archives show diarists' obsession with that grand old pantomime dame Steve Evans and a distinct lack of excitement for trips to the Field Mill of dreams, frequently devoid of local bottoms. As one wrote "They have built it; they haven't come". That was in the past, a different country where Big Dave Artell once lurked in their line-up.

In August 2004 the present Grimsby guru was not mellow in yellow when he staggered out at Blundell Park before the biggest crowd in our division that day. It all started so pleasantly:

"I could give you some useless information, suppose it could fire your imagination. Reddy this, Parky that, Sestanovich a twinkling star in a far-off galaxy, briefly glimpsed. But it all centred around control in midfield. Mansfield were no match for our Gallic balladeer, roaming the land with a lyre and a lyric for all occasions. Sweet, sweet song, sing to us Thomas."

And then it all kicked off, literally.

"Ouch, that hurt. Oof, that stung. Ah, we see. It's Plan 9 from outer Nottinghamshire. If you can't beat them, beat them up. Bang, bang, bang went the trolley of tosh. Reddy felled by Artell in the crudest fashion near the halfway line. Just a little finger wag from the increasingly weak referee.

Ten yards, ten yards, ten yards, chimed the Pontoon, faces contorted in anger; the referee held up two fingers, literally and metaphorically, happy that the wall was a couple of yards away.

…Artell wrestled Whittle away using all three of his elbows. No free kick given. Artell levered the ball back across the face of goal and Asamoah, the laughing gnome who was a constant menace, leapt up and softly nodded it goalwards. Williams drooped onto the ball at the foot of the post. The home crowd fuming even more at the pusillanimous poltroon in nominal charge of this game.

Crunch. Thud. Pinault crumpled as Murray tried to volley him over the Main Stand. Mansfield moans, Grimsby groans. Rather than list every Mansfield nobble, it would be easier to confirm that there were a couple of people in the Pontoon who weren't fouled by Mansfield players…Artell did a forearm smash into the back of Reddy's neck.

Finally the assassin was booked. And he still complained about it.

Oh Town, c'mon, score that goal. A drizzle of raspberry coulis in midfield saw Sestanovich put his marker on a train to Eastbourne. Advancing down the centre he espied the Reddymeister to his left. He flicked, Reddy raced, Pilkington stumbled. As Reddy shot, Artell slid across and blocked with a quite magnificent tackle."

Don't worry, Town won 2-0, succinctly summed up thusly:

"Mansfield marooned: the wind had whipped up and blown their dinghy away."

So that's where Big Dave got his love for silky ooh-la-la football from – when given the runaround by Reddy in Slade's brief Total Football phase.

These are the full versions of the Cod Almighty programme articles for the 2024/25 season. An edited version was published in The Mariner on 30 July 2024.