Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

23 March 2025

Some love Grimsby in the winter when it drizzles, some love Cleethorpes in the summer when it sizzles. Grey skies, I see those clouds again. Through the mist and murk we see mizzle approaching. Should have brought your brolly and worn some proper shoes shouldn't you.

Town lined up in a 3-4-2-1-Rose formation as follows: Wright, Rodgers, Tharme, Warren, Svanthorsson, McEachran, Khouri, Hume, Green, Barrington and Rose. The substitutes were Eastwood, Carson, Thompson, Ainley, Davies, Burns and Luker. Ah-ha, now then, a sneaky tweak that didn't leak to the local media: Warren and Rodgers switched sides, with Bunny on the left and Buck Rodgers back home on the range. And Barrington for Luker. Like for like, but are you liking it too? Well, we do like the way they run their fingers through their hair.

Newport turned up with a bunch of kids in an old Portugal kit with an old friend in tow, silently sharing the same fears.

Ah poor old Ringo, not the best left-back in the division. Not even the best left-back in Newport. Glennon was wide out left in their midfield, a looming ex lurking at the edge of our peripheral vision, perfectly placed to hear the reheated grumbles from his Grimsby days.

A black cat walked along the front of the Pontoon, crossing many paths. I know what you're thinking, has the Wolds Panther missed five months or six? Will he be back in five months or six? Will he back at all? We have what we have, we are where we are, do we feel lucky?

1st half – Misty misses
Town kicked off towards the Osmond by passing back to Wright, so he could kick it towards the Osmond. Well, we got there in the end, there's more than one way to skin a Newport wing-back.

Hustling, hassling, passing and movement. Stripes surging through the lollipops, home stand exhilaration as the Exiles evaporated like milk. Khouri clamped, McEeachran tippled and Barrington blazed through, alone, down the very, very centre. Townsend waddled forward, waved his arms and wafted the dink away. Green raced through and rumpled into the Turquoise Tarzan's arms off Rose's midiff. Little Luca through on goal? Don't stand up, we won't get fooled again.

Hassling and hustling, the day trippers brushed aside. Hume turned a whiter shade of pale after cartwheeling across the back of a poor lad in red. The crowd was humming harder and the crowd called for more. Although their defence was wide open, it might as well have been closed for Svanthorsson, at pace, was ghostly as he turned the Welsh defence. A pull back from the by-line, Barrington swept and Townsend windmilled his arms as he strummed the power chord over.

Hey, Town are going mobile. McEachran manoeuvring and manacled. Keep on moving. Khouri's slapshot smothered. Keep on grooving. A noddle on and Rodgers successfully avoided scoring by scraping over. Keep on moving, yeah, yeah. A delightful dink-cross drumpled down off the crossbar causing minor pandemonium that the police couldn't control.

And lo, they kept the ball low. They, that is them, the boys from Rodney Parade, had their moment as Town remembered to wibble. A break, a shot wide, a couple more blocked and head tennis noodled nowhere near Wright's goal, mostly through Glennon, their galloping gourmet of thin gruel. Ah Ringo the Postman: always late, sometimes delivers what you want. Well, he made us happy today. We wish you no ill, but the Blundell Park bell tolled for thee at Notts County.

On the half hour Townsend descended upon the turf clutching his ego, perhaps felled by the jaunty jeers and jibes from the juveniles behind. Or maybe it's the bat signal from the bench for a fake tan whilst they rearrange the deckchairs on their Titanic.

Their tactical talk worked a treat for Town. Roaming on the right and Green bundled around in the boondocks. Khouri stretched and scraped over the lateral lawnmowerman and a Red head casually leaned on the bar and walked the ball away from near the line with stripes notionally near, I hear. Crosses and short corners, all leading back to square one with a procession of almostness. Twinkleteeth Danny, the cheery cheeky chap, hid behind Townsend and headed the ball out of his hand as it lay there like a doughnut, a comic twist on George Best in 1971. Hey, don't get us started on the 1970s, it's something to do whilst Town think up strange new ways to avoid scoring. I know we're watching them watching us watching them miss but Game for a Laugh was the 1980s. It is out of scope, and a Green roam and cross was just out of reach for the Icelandic Glider as Glennon confounded and astounded with a bit of defending.

Out of scope, can they cope, Geoff Cope was not related to Kenneth Cope. You need distracting watching Town sometimes. How are we going to avoid winning this one?

A Mariners' mugging and off Green went a-chugging, straight down the middle of the middle of the middle of the road. Townsend tiptoed towards our tulips and toe-ended away the eventual shot for an actual corner. Actually, factually, nothing happened beyond the usual nonsense of niddles and nurdles that curdled on contact with footballers. Stick it in the mixer and see who salutes it.

Two minutes were added and down came the drizzle, soft and warm continuing, tapping on the roof and walls but the fact is Town were napping when they came gently rapping. Sleepy hollowness in the middle, messing about and in a muddle. Wright crept out of his box to swipe from Spelman's toes. Fluffing and scruffing, Hume muffing to a Red shirt. A twinkle over the top and Wright swept across to sweep off Ajiboye's big toe.

And don't you know, that's your lot for now. Wright still hadn't saved a shot and Town had still succeeded in avoiding scoring despite the best efforts of Newport's touring party of waifs and strays. Town should be four up, but could have been two down to a bunch of rag dolls.

Two balding teams asking "Where's the comb?"

2nd half – Between the drizzle and the drop
Neither team made any changes at half time.

Nothing changed, everything remained the same, please don't write to Points of View to complain about all the repeats on TV. Hubbling, bubbling and into the cauldron boil and bake. A corner shortened on the left, Hume's drimple was fancy flicked by Bunny Warren through the twigs, across the face of goal and flashing past the farthest post.

Now, like that Newport player, I'm going to ignore Barrington's effort to stop a break.

Now, unlike the Newport defence, I'm not going to ignore Barrington's wizardy and wingery under the Police Box. A cross and Rose's flash volley passed the near post with Townsend static, some say stationary.

The Mariners' metronome ticked and tocked, with the occasional Red block. Wright, a distant memory, an occasional plucker of crosses and eyebrows, occasionally leaving his paperback on the occasional table, keeping an eye on the world going by his window. Town taking their time, waiting for a sleepy feeling from Newport.

Wakey-wakey. For the crime of the cynical slaying of Harvey Rodgers a yellow card and free kick were the punishment. A parting on the left and a parting on the right and McEachran's crinkle spindled off the parted Red seawall as Townsend got on his knees and prayed that the ball would spin past the off stump. It didn't. A free kick ain't so bad if you deflect it in off the wall.

About bloomin' time.

One-two-three-four, shall we have a little more? Tharme's long chuck boofled out to the 'D' and Barrington volley-sliced wide of the keeper's left post. Black, white, green, red have we put this game to bed?

Oops. A slackness of stripes, a roving in Red and Wright spectacularly sprung left to parry-punch away one handed. And that's them done. Bye. Jordan Wright, a goalkeeper, goalkeeping, catching crosses, scooping scuttlers, kicking long, kicking high and kicking accurately.

Five-six-seven-eight, will those Redmen take the bait? Icelandic gliding and sliding and Khouri's sweep was blocked by a barrage balloon. A sniggle, a snuggle and a corner cleared. Barrington pickled Ringo's baggy pockets and chipped into the centre of the penalty area, where Khouri arose in front of flailing fists to graze over.

With a quarter of an hour left Luker replaced Barrington. Newport had a cross. Newport had a corner. Settle down, I've told you, Wright was a goalkeeper today.

Settle down, Luker walloped way over. Time's playing out for time's sake, a football match continuing simply because it must. Nothing's gonna happen to rock your world. They are very polite these young visitors.

Five minutes were added as Thompson replaced McEachran for a little bit of timely tumbling. Each to his own, horses for courses. Corners in the corner, wasting time, even Rodgers' silly twisting couldn't shiver our timbers.

Game, set and match over. Anyone for tennis, wouldn't that be nice.

Well, that was nice, and just what the doctor ordered for the patient and what was demanded by the impatient. Newport were so lucky they came up against this Town, this day. Town were so lucky that, this day, they came up against some crepe paper offcuts wrapped around some balsa wood bobbins.

No matter how hard they tried, in the end even Town failed in failing to score against some very limp biscuits. That's nice.