Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

13 April 2025

Stood in line, watching the psychopathically overzealous security get lairy, but at least the vista is pretty. Do us a favour, open the doors and let us in before another stray ball knocks over us skittles in the queue for a shake down.

And making our entrance with our usual flair we're sure of our lines, but…there's no-one there. Do us a favour, open the doors and let some more in, kick-off's in ten minutes. We want a party with at least a bit of atmosphere.

By Grabthar's hammer via the son of Weaver, they shall be avenged! The hunt for some decent hot chocolate in a football ground continues. Harrogate, not the best and failed the Galaxy Quest test. Or perhaps they were all shook up by the brewing Bar Wars as there were too few pints for too many Pontoonites.

Powder blue Town lined up just about in some form of 3-5-2 formation as follows: Wright, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Svanthorsson, Green, McEachran, Khouri, Hume, Barrington and Rose. The substitutes were Eastwood, Warren, Thompson, Geza Turi, Davies, Vernam and Burns. Ah yes, the comforting blanket of the best players we've got left standing playing in the best position available whilst stocks last. The Triple Lock in midfield and defence; wheels will be clamped (so just watch where you park, their neighbours are watching YOU).

Harrogate. In yellow. Chunky blokes. Big blokes. Small blokes. Blokes. A bunch of blokes we've shown the door to. Is this the day when the immutable law of the ex-parrot comes home to roost? Don't count your parrots before they're hatched for too many old Town midfielders in the mix may spoil the broth.

And finally the annoying announcer finished reading out the names of every single Harrogate fan in attendance. At any game, ever.

Right, get your body moving, the game has just begun…

1st half – Do you believe in magic?
Town kicked off away from the Town fans as the sun sizzled and one very merry Mariner was already sozzled. The local SWAT squad sprung into action and bundled away this threat to national security. Ooh, exciting.

No, not exciting, distracting, there is a difference. How about a nice cup of tea?

What's going off out there? Nope, nothing. Some head hurts and some short spurts by the boys in blue shirts. Wee Janet hooked away a solitary, sad and lonely home visit and then went a-roaming to highly wallopocross across for…a throw-in.

Town, soporifically terrifically dominant. If you don't care for tea, you could at least make polite conversation.

A corner or two, somewhere out there, probably in a corner. Keepers punched and keepers pawed, frankly my dear we're all getting bored. The referee spiced things up with a freaky obsession with Wee Janet taking a throw from precisely the point he wished it to be taken, which bore no relation to basic laws of ballistics, which sent Big Dave ballistic.

I have an excellent idea, let's change the subject.

A chase or three, a bit of mild oomph and some minor home peril as Rodgers was ploughed by the haring March. A wall was unhastily deconstructed from some old straw and McEachran's swinger swung through the billowing bails and safely wide of Belshaw's left post.

Hooking, hoiking and the occasional choi-oiking as Bryn Morris chugged past. Now then, Ben Fox. I can see his hair bobbing as Townites were forever robbing the stranger in a strange land. We're looking and all we see is home hooking, are there any more bookings for ducking and diving?

And life just drifted wanly on towards summer. Geza's gaze wandered up towards the sky blue sky, where helicopters shuttled and passing pigeons dodged the ball on their way to their perch upon the uplighters they claim to be floodlights. The day, unlike the match, is warming nicely, but the strangely sluggish Khouri and McJannet are wilting like my tomato plants. Water their roots Dave!

Harrogate made a category one error, they tried to play football. Shocking. And then they were stunned, very stunned. A triangulation travelled straight to Green, ten yards outside the Town area, who dropped his shoulder and spun past the referee. A touch, a sneeky peek and the Pontoon Pele saw things you people wouldn't believe.

Far away, across the field, not realising a bell was tolling, Belshaw was minding his own business, perambulating through his periwinkles, sauntering past his snow drops and daffodils, butterflies and bees a flying by. Oh look, seagulls, aeroplanes and there's a hot air balloon in the sky. Suddenly the ball goes howling by and all in yellow begin to cry.

Ho, ho, ho, it's magic you know.

From fully ten yards inside the Town half Green shovelled and scooped a perfect seven iron not just onto the green, but straight into the hole. A silent moment of contemplation, a gathering of humans seeing but not quite believing. Let the laughter begin. Outrageous, yes, incredible, yes, and, yes, David Coleman's in my head: "Quite Remarkable!" Smiles we'll give and tears we'll cry, the whole world's going Green now.

Everyone wants to be in Greenland, it's the place to be.

And Harrogate awoke. A hopeful hook, a rumble, a stumble and Taylor bumbled across the plunging Wright against the left post. Out the ball came to March, on the penalty spot, who carefully sliced into the confectionary stall and out again. Another hook, another hope, and Wright emerged with the ball.

As the fourth official waved his board showing two minutes of added time Wright sat down so Dave Moore could apply some more lacquer. Ooh, fly away hair, can't have that these days. Two Townites roamed the mean streets of Harrogate and mugged an unsuspecting opera buff. Barrington wiggled and wriggled down the right to crinkle a cross-shot just over the angle of post and bar. That'll do nicely. Isn't it time for half time, it's five o'clock, already!

In the fourth of those two added minutes Khouri bounded free down the left but his limbs were all torn as he was dredged towards Follifoot. Some soothing balm was applied as the ball was tossed to Duck Farm, who hurled flatly and farly. A yellow head nuddled out to the very edge of the penalty area where blue shirts lurked. And then a geyser erupted. Svanthorsson carefully set himself and swung a proper old-fashioned half-volley into the top rightish bit of the net behind the frantically flapping Belshaw.

Nothing happened, then it did. Far out, what a day, a year, a life it is! We're all dreamers now.

2nd half – Fool's gold
Town replaced Khouri with Davies and Harrogate replaced Cursons with Daly at half time.

La-di-da, la-di-da, Green skipped gaily through the keyhole, his shot boofling off stray Yorkshire flesh to swingle wide. Oh yeah, we'll have a good time, baby, don't you worry. We're still playing 'round them and that's just fine. We're so excited and some just can't hide it.

Wright snuffled off yellow toes, Fox muffled a volley scuttling through the penalty area. These things, they happened, but did they concern us? We're not concerned that they may harm us. The Suplhuriites are just runnin' through the long-abandoned ruins of their dreams. We just dream of the genie in the bottle, Svanthorsson gliding past them followed only by their heavy breathing.

Moments piling upon moments, as Town breaks floundered on fancy flickery and the occasional over-indulgent nonsense. Some experimental Icelandic ballet bamboozled three blind mice and the farmer's wife cut off this tale of carving through with a shin block. The ball ricocheted back into Svanthorsson's flightpath but Barrington guided a back pass to Belshaw with a big booming goal beckoning. Pump up the volume. A hoof and under and Barrington's homeopathic challenge twisted a lemon. Off he splunged, drifting left and bedraggingling lowly across the face of goal. Belshaw flew low and left to finger slip aside and, as Harrogaters waited for some elevation, Hume passed the ball shortly and Green's header plopped.

Ah, opportunities knocked, opportunities lost with frivolity, the chase for the perfect playground goal.

A single red kite began to swirl above the home stands. It's a sign, it's a sign!

Town began to sink towards Wright, happy to hook away and wait for an action replay. Fox and Daly, safely wide, safely high. Town are safe, but are they sound?

With quarter of an hour left Town made a triple substitution. Off came the hobbling Tharme, the fading force that was Green and the little boy that Brighton may have forgot; on came Warren, Thompson and Vernam.

Now, not very eco-friendly, we've replaced Green energy with the coal-powered Curtis.

Town retreated further, missing more moments to break with piffling wiffles. Hook, hook, hooking high, the Tharmless Town was a harmless Town. A corner swung out and headed driftingly wide. A punt, headed back and up, headed sideways and down. Hume retreated and watched Taylor tweak a charming dripper around him and Wright and into the top right corner.

Inevitably you could see both sets of players start to believe the same thing.

Higher, longer, faster! A long throw was half-headed out straight to Morris. Big Bryn brought out his big gun and bazookaed straight as an arrow. Wright, watched, waited and wrestled aside for a corner. A corner, the same corner, the same player with the same header that had drifted wide ten minutes before. Sims glanced on, the ball was drifting wide but Rose, in the centre of penalty area, diverted into the top right corner.

Listen lads, we can still lose this!

Six minutes were added.

Burns replaced Svanthorsson. Listen lads we can still win this!

Yellow men froze in fear of a lost point, bluesmen twanged a little. More moments of potential almostness that could have been. But weren't. Warren surged down the right, two defenders, three attackers, a simple pass and glory awaited. The last defender stood in the way and parried the ball away. The linesman, standing in front of the Town fans, standing a dozen yards away, put a telescope to his blind eye and pronounced an inability to see any ships, only seeing hips. Two Hume corners drooped poopingly into Belshaw's hands.

Don't you love farce. Our fault, I fear.

Should have been a lot better, could have, somehow, been a lot worse. Each change made Town weaker but Town should have been far, far away with heads up in the clouds way before the triple fault. A slackness, an easing off, an air of an exhibition match crept in after halftime. It was almost as though they thought they'd won it and just needed to fulfil the obligation to stand around for another 45 minutes. It's a shame they stood around for just five minutes, for that's all it took to turn Green's golden goal into fool's gold.

A lot to ponder as we wonder how this was the one that got away.