Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

7 December 2025

We cannot well repeat how there we entered, so full were we of slumber at the moment the turnstiles clicked: Wealdstone again. Boy, we've carried that weight a long time.

Town lined up in a 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Pym, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Staunton, McEachran, Burns, Green, Walker, Vernam and Kabia. The substitutes were Casper, Warren, Khouri, Turi, Oduor, Amaluzor, Gilsenan, Smith and Rose. A new contract and newly restored to the heart of Grimsby, ah, everything seems a little calmer with the Cerebral Scouser around.

Wealdstone. I dunno, do you? Big Dave says they are much, much better than last year. I suppose we'll find out soon enough.

Enough is enough, let's boogie.

1st half – Getting in tune
Town kicked off towards the Osmond, towards the 332 Stoners cuddling and carousing in the corner. Keep on moving, keep on groovin'. Green barundled down the right and volley-crossed through six-yard box.

Come on, move now, movin', keep on movin', yeah! Wealdstone stared up upon the hill of difficulty and saw the Panther, the Lion and the Wolf awaiting, licking their lips.

Tharme clumped and a blue head bumped back into a void. Burns loitering with intent, waited for the ball to drop and tickled through a crumbling gap. Vernam, the urbane spaceman, glided serenely across the sodden sods, waited for Baptiste, their Big Red One, and Kabia completed the triangulation. It's easy, as easy as a Saturday morning drive through the Wolds.

Yum, yum.

Keep on movin', keep movin', movin', movin'. Staunton swept and Green, stood next to the furthest post, tapped in. The little linesman that Santa Clause forgot was flagging. A blue corner, is it a blue day? No. Pym plopped as the ball dropped to block a blue sock and avoid another shock.

Town forever pressing, forever probing, forever running, forever and ever and ever and ever, c'mon take us to our land of dreams with some inspiration. Under the Police Box a bluesman did pass back to Dante the keeperman, way out to the left of his penalty area. Kabia prowled, then pounced and the Big Bapper flounced a fly kick straight to a striped shirt 30-odd yards out. No, not any old stripe but O Muses, O high genius, 'tis he. A cushion and clip and Green's low skimmer slinked straight down the middle. Green has never been greener and so was the Big Bapper. What does it say in the programme? "His shot stopping ability is matched by impressive distribution". Well, he does get three points for the assist, a perfect pitch to our Special K. Dante: divine comedy, for us.

The earthquake and the swoon, the avaricious and the prodigal! Unmissable, untouchable, and irresistible. Oh yeah, it's amazing, really cool. One-touch triangulation, wowser, wowser, wowser, fire up your browser and watch now! Staunton. Green. Vernam. And Walker back-heeled at the near post. Get in there. Get in to that hat.

What are we going to do for the next hour?

A bit of Christmas shopping on the phone? Everyone else is, judging by the empty roads.

Ooh hello Charles. The Wolds Panther, set free to gambol through the fields, toe-tickle-poked past Baptiste and then far out past the far post.

We could go home and watch the snooker. We're watching an exercise in exercise as men wandered around, merely keeping fit. They had a shot, Pym held the shot. It was not a hot shot, but it is a surprisingly warm afternoon. As warm as the cockles of our hearts.

And McEachran's slapdash slap shot slipped wide.

And one minute was added. And there we have it. Town simply did a Brentford on Wealdstone's passes.

2nd half – The song is over
Neither team made any changes at half time.

They had some kind of something, possibly a shot. Yes it was a shot and this thing they call a shot wiffed wide. Wibbly-wobbly-woo and Staunton's crisp cracker swept across the face of goal and the face of the farthest post. La-di-da, la-di-da.

Pressing, passing, and McEachran's Cheapside chip landed on the end of Green's biggest toe way out west. A pass to Rodgers, a pass into the centre of the six-yard box and Kabia passed into the net. What shall we do to pass the time, there's over half an hour left?

There shall, in this time, be rumours of things going astray and there shall be a great confusion as to where things really are. Turi and Waren replaced Green and Tharme and now nobody will really know where lieth those little things with the sort of raffia-work base that has an attachment.

Piddling about inside the Town penalty area. By them, by us, by us and them, just ordinary men wandering around in a field waiting for the end. At this time, a friend shall lose his friend's hammer and the referee shall book Kabia for kicking the ball aftereth his whistle shall blow because a sheep wandered across his path. Or something. There's nothing in the way anyone moves that distracts me from considering the lillies.

Rodgers, errming almostly. A Warren header flimpled straight to Baptiste. Pym slightly dropped a cross. Twiggy Gilsenan came on and had many a moaner pining for the machismo of Charles Vernam. Khouri replaced Rodgers at right-back and no-one noticed, perhaps we were only sleeping.

And all the while time ticked on and one by one they left to go home to their tomatoes. With five minutes left Young Elliott Smith replaced Vernam. That's nice.

Four minutes were added. A dink and Smith flumbled a free header straight to the keeper. That's all there was.

Wealdstone's lights went out before the lights came on. It was all so very simple, so very comfortable as Town were not dragged down by the Stones this time.

OK, who's next?