Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

6 April 2025

All those happy people we meet - Grimsby on a sunny afternoon, I can't imagine anything that's better.

A cloudless and crisp day with 128 Shrimpers in the covered corner shrivelling in the scintillatingly sizzling shining sun. Oh the joys of spring with twigs on the Town wings and a double dose of double Town rejecters in the Morecambe team. So Andy Dallas, are these your salad says? Is this the "better" you were hoping for?

Town lined up loosely in a skew-whiff 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Wright, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Hume,Turi, Burns, Green, Khouri, Barrington and Rose. The substitutes were Eastwood, Warren, Thompson, Davies, McEachran, Svanthorsson and Vernam. Again the right side was a dark side with a hole for Harvey to fill, but who cares, Danny Boy has risen! We have a striker, we have a leader, we have hope, whereas Morecambe just have Hallam Hopeless.

Woah, hang on, pass me my eye-piece, do I espy the return of the one and only truly original Wolds Panther? Yes, I do! Well here he is the rinky-dink panther and it's as plain as your nose that Charles Vernam's back in stripes from his head to his toes.

Don't worry, be happy.

1st half – Salt 'n' shake
Ah yes, I remember it well, Town kicked off towards the Osmond. Bing-bong, the ball forever walloped long, it's all as random as a duck on a tandem. Nibbles were nobbled and Callum Jones, an old one-game wonder, dinked into the dead centre of the Town box.

A red head flicked, Wright superbly clawed off the line and some straying red socks bundled in.

Morecambe, ain't got no money and ain't got no style and they ain't got a goal because the linesman's flag will make you smile. Don't worry, be happy, when you worry your face will frown and that will just bring everyone down in Town.

Down the other end, nobbles and bobbles, nibbles with dribbles. Duck Farm's chuck looped into the messy merengue, Turi bumpled into the ground and the ball Betty-Booped over Red heads, across the face of goal and towards two lurking Townites. Rose reached out and was almost there, leaving the Pontoon filled with confusion, for happiness was just an illusion as he hook-hoiked against the underside of the bar.

Tickles and tackles and Khouri released the hound. Hume tied the ball to his nose, shouted "sausages" and slalomed through the long, long legs of Williams, the stolid stout legs of Stott and possibly the short fat hairy legs of Lewis. A shot deflected, a corner barely elevated and Green stooped before the nearest post to glance a glider though the static cockle-pickers and into the farthest, furtherest corner.

Cuddles and huddles, the game lost in a puddle of Shrimping desperation and Striped enervation.

Turi McDermotted a dripping free kick, defending without tackling, McJannet slice scooped a wifflingly woeful corner onto the roof of Wright's net. Triple cornering from the sad Shrimps. Triple jumping Townites head-thumping away. Less sturm und drang more the strum and twang of a hokey country and western ballad. Oh Lord it's hard for crustaceans not to grumble, but they're doing the best that they can.

A rumble and a bumble and the dice tumbling towards the Town goal as Turi's flick snicked back off Jones. A switcheroo, a buckaroo as Dallas, 20 or so yards out, shimmied and swayed and coiled around Rodgers on the right, around the plunging Wright into the top left corner. Darn it, you long-eared, flat-footed, bow-legged varmint!

Fouls and flops, slips and slops. Townite tutting at the striped stuttering, many a Mariner muttering at the mundane muddling in the middle of nowhere. The game reduced to a series of down endings as Morecambe whacked and walloped and chipped and chased, the ball forever seeking a gull to chat to. Turi, one man with a lonely platform, began to fade to grey.

Oh look, there's an aeroplane up in the sky. The flames are all long gone, but the pain lingers on. There's nothing but a rare Rodgers raid and a Green header plopping into the palms of their custardian.

Two minutes were added. What do you think of it so far? Morecambe have done a marvellous job to bring us down to their level. You can't see the join.

2nd half – Shake 'n' vac
McEachran replaced Turi at half time. It's a different ball game.

Town less languid, fiddling and faddling about, with zesty pestery atop. Burns deflected after faffing about, crawling along the edge of the penalty area. A shortened free kick under the Police Box with Hume faffing about, crawling along the edge of the penalty area. A toe poke to Barrington, who, in precisely the position from which Dallas had coiled, took one touch and flambloozled straight into the top right corner.

Now that spring is in the air trippy goals are everywhere. What a joy in the sun, there are reasons this is fun. There's no whines, just some songs, all the bleatings have gone; tricks and flicks, ooh-la-la, sweeps and swoops, nothing can go wrong now.

Something can go wrong now. Rose fell, clutching his head as a Red arm slapped. Ah, rest easy, rest assured, the man with the golden smile is alive and kicking.

Flicks and tricks, backheels and spring heels. A dink from a free kick header almosted almostly. Hume hit the byeline, Stott stretched away. McJannet roamed and roared through the savannah and willowy Williams wrenched away with monochromers lurking beyond and behind.

Shrimps shaking, Mariners mugging and breaking their jelly mould. Wibbly-wobbly, bibbly-bobbly, Green headed on into a vast void on their left. Burns stepped over some carrots, passed through the advancing sockery and Burgoyne plunged low to claw aside from the nearest post. Ah young Darragh, he used to be indecisive now he's not so sure, but one thing is certain: Svanthorsson replaced him and Town finally reverted to the safety position of 5-3-2.

Ain't no stopping us now, we're on the move, we've got the groove. Vroom-vroom.

Yeah, yeah a couple of corners for them, blah-blah. One from a break brilliantly volleyed over by Wee Janet. And that is it from them. The tide had turned a long, long time ago and they were stranded on a sand dune. Waiting. Hoping. Sinking. Praying. All that planning and dreaming for another missed opportunity.

McEachran and Rodgers way out by the Police Box, tippy-tappy shortly, teasing the last, lonesome Redster out of his discomfort zone. Rodgers lowly crinkle coiled around the wearily wafted lazy leg of the last man standing, Barrington wafted his twiglets at the near post and Green sauntered into the centre and deflected into the centre of the emptied net.

Job done.

Town decided to save some Green energy with Davies immediately coming on for another little cameo.

Let's have a ball. Let's not let them have the ball. They did not have the ball. We did, we did.

Tremendous triangulations up the left and Barrington tackled Khouri to save Shrimping blushes. Roaming raids, sumptuous sweeps and a little bit of experimental Icelandic ballet. Svanthorsson glided around some tree stumps, drivelled along the edge of the penalty area, bedraggled lowly and Burgoyne flipped away from the near post. Duck Farm headed the corner over. Svanthorsson fizzled a high flying cross across the face of goal,
Davies scribbled sneakily using the divots to discombobulate Burgoyne, who spluttered away.

It's samba soccer by the seaside! The wheels just turn to keep the flow, sway to the rhythm, work to the rhythm. Keep it up, keep it up, never stop the action. McEachran took a step to the right, took a step to the left and scooped a wedge against the crumbling sea wall. Burgoyne sat motionless upon his chair and watched the ball loop and droop over angle of post and bar. And Burgoyne stood motionless and batted aside Rodgers' header from the corner.

As four minutes were added the bloodied Tharme ran off for a nose wipe and new shirt, Morecambe not making the best of the situation before they finally go and get the train home. I think I'll have to say they'll never find a way for their hoofs have all been in vain.

We've got them on their knees and we're begging, please, can we see the Wolds Panther today? Alas, alack, Artell replaced Barrington with Warren and in the seventh minute of the four the bell tolled for thee, Morecambe. Town? Can you feel it comin' closer, day by day? Life could be ecstasy if we carry on grooving like this.

Though scorned and covered in scars we're still striving. We're held together with string but we're holding on to the impossible dream.