Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

14 December 2025

A long, long time ago we can still remember how Marty used to make us smile, as we knew if he had a chance he could make the Pontoon dance. But our November has made us shiver, so what's December going to deliver?

A sharp day of clearness and clarity, the Mariner mood dampened by the regularity of their return leading to a certain overfamiliarity with these monochrome Midlanders. At least their travelling hordes seem happy to be beside the seaside, beside the sea having remembered to turn left at the Saxondale roundabout.

Town lined up in a 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Pym, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Staunton, McEachran, Burns, Green, Khouri, Vernam and Kabia. The substitutes were Casper, Warren, Walker, Turi, Oduor, Amaluzor, and Soonsup-Bell. With Tharme and Khouri back, at least we have some determined heft. Shame about the subs bench, so featherweight they needed strapping down so they don't float away in the billowing breeze.

Now then, County, this year's model. They look taller than usual and seem to have rid themselves of those dopey defenders that always dragged them down.

Turn off your mind, relax and float downstream, it is beginning.

1st half – A rumour from ground control
Town kicked off towards the Osmond, stuffed with 1,152 happy Christmas boppers.

Oi, foul throw!

County in a rush, the Pontoon in a hush as Iorpenda swept and surged and tickled right. Vernam twizzled by Tsaroulla, who spun and dinked delightfully but dangerously. The ball arced, Pym ached and the combined bonces of McJannet and Tharme grazed off the line, grazing off the crossbar and Bennetts blazed way, way over.

Let him hope for better things eh?

Iorpenda ploughing the field, Townites scattered, Bennetts swivelled and swayed and two Townites were sent to bed. Along came a spider, the sliding Green, to smother this bothersome moment.

Khouri was blasted behind the ears and kept off the pitch for precisely 34 seconds, and another green-eyed screamer buffled off black shorts. The corner fell and can you tell what happened next? Waves of green, not waves of Green, one-way traffic, Town holding on, literally Mr McJannet. A breathless quarter of an hour, a toothless Town overwhelmed and overridden, slipping and sliding away. Get longer studs, Mr Burns.

And then the tide turned, the sea wall had not been breached, the waters began to recede towards the Osmond as Town slowly began to wrestle the pestle from this alien vessel. McEachran here, there and everywhere, nobody can deny there's something there. Infiltrations on their left, a trio of Townites triangulating, Khouri swiping and sweeping, Staunton slapped and Roos shinned aside.

Moments here, movements there, something happening everywhere yet nowhere, that's where we're at. It's one way then another, up and down, end to end, side to side, who'll break on through to the other side? County all muscle, Town all bustle, a tremendous terrifically tight tussle.

A Town free kick shortened way out left. Staunton dripped, the ball dropped off green thighage dead centre. Kabia mumbled into the ground, Roos swayed right and batted left, McJannet stomached back, the ball bimbled and bumbled off the line, on the line, off the line and Roos emerged clutching the golden fleece. Off they ran and Rodgers, the last man standing, skated across the turf to clamp their wheels.

And every minute County squat in the bushes they get stronger. They're out there somewhere. We can hear them, we can feel them, one day we will see them. Bennetts. I remember him. He moved. So did the ball, like many a modern drama, it all fell apart for him in the final act.

Overhit crosses, underhit corners, underhit corners, overhit crosses. Thrusts be parried, visitors be harried. Way out left Staunton trundled and coiled, Kabia flicked on at the near post, Burns wiggled behind a tottering Trentsman and hoof-prodded vertically from four yards. Another nearly moment that was, yet again, not  converted into a moment.

McJannet hauled down a cantering Countyman as they leapt out of the bushes for a guerilla attack upon the home HQ. Must he? Needs must and that was needed. Alas our Special K, the marauding Mariner, took a touch, took a second and, fatally, had a thought. Green underwuffled wide with a whole vista of possibilities afore him. Slim Charles? The usual. Visiting socks blocked his daisy cutter after cutting infield. You know, the usual, you do know the usual don't you?

As two minutes were added Staunton slackery put McEachran in a muddle near the Police Box. Tsaroulla nicked and knocked pleasantly across the sprawling Pym and safely wide of the right post.

Though nothing much happened there was never a dull moment, the match poised, both teams on the brink of something. Technically a tip-top tussle, the second half an enticement, not merely a requirement.

Mmm, interesting.

2nd half – Get a message to the action man
Neither team made any change at half time.

Vernam curled well over. Or was it Green? Or was it a cross? Was it all a dream? What more can I say?

Well, I could tell you Tharme stayed down holding his head or shoulder, or head and shoulders. Oh, I just have. Like The Saint and The Avengers he returned. Not quite the same were they. Everyone, everything has its time, isn't it time Town did something?

Green surged and crossed causing minor mayhem. Kabia intercepted a calamitous clearance but balked at a bash, passing the buck to Vernam who wiffled a waffle woefully weakly at Roos, who threw back out to a waiting greenster. Vernam was late to move and became a piggy-in-the-middle as the ball was smuggled up their right and trickled infield. Jatta laid the ball back for Dennis who rocked and rolled into the centre, crinkling a coil around Rodgers and lowly into the rightish cornerish. Pym, the ghostly keeper present, is really impressing this Panto season as the ghost of keepers past. Which one? Anthony Williams.

Nothing is impossible you know. Things are only inevitable if you believe they will be, that you have no power over your own destiny. Once fatalism sets in you're doomed because you believe you're doomed. It's all in the mind.

Yep, the inevitable happened. Nothing.

On the occasional County foray forward McJannet was twicely let off for brazen short pulls. Burns meandered and bedraggled across the face of the penalty area, slapping agin a selection box of green legs. He could have passed you know, and now we know he's had his chips as Khouri and Burns were replaced by Walker and Amaluzor. Khouri had been negatively efficient, simply getting in the way when needed.

With Town adding some theoretically positive perkery a Countyman was mugged in the middle and, with Roos barely off his line, Keiran Green saw his name in lights, saw the chance for history to repeat itself a third time and saw his one-in-a-million shot from a million miles drift a dozen or more miles wide as unmolested stripes awaited to his right.

Well, that's what we saw, you see. It's a question of perspective.

With 15 minutes left Staunton and Vernam were replaced by Oduor and Soonsup-Bell, and Town moved to a back three. If there was a shape to keep I would like to know what it was. I do know what this is though. Faffing about in the shadows, I see a little silhouetto of a man. Kelle Roos, Kelle Roos will he do the fandango? The County custardian was finally booked for outlandishly ostentatious dithering.

Nicking, knocking, Town tick-tocking, metronomically moving the bellows, fanning the dying embers. Do you see a spark? Will we have fire again? On the centre left, in the barest shadows of the Ramstand, Walker wriggled and wiggled, McEachran deliciously drinkled through the corridor of our uncertainty. Three stripes in the vicinity, two toes waggled and the ball went betwixt and between for a goal kick.

Green barundled and bundled over by the Police Box. Shoving and slapping, wrestles and mania and Kabia was trampled underfoot as all awaited the free kick. Soonsup-Bell crimpled into the very heart of the six-yard box. Many a striped head arose and Amaluzor had the honour of heading over. It's nice to mention the lad now and again. For a chaos engine he was very calming for County.

Six minutes were added, motions were gone through. Green men stood around waiting for the tips and taps, the hoiks and hoofs. Back and forth, forth and back, rotation, rotation, rotation, here we go round the mulberry bush again and into the fourth added minute.

Oh dear. Oduor, never knowingly passing forward, tapped back to Tharme, last man standing between Jatta and Pym, just inside the Town half. A visible plea for movement unmet, a turn and pass back to Pym, but Jatta the Giant stuck out a big toe and the ball perfectly spun into the netherlands between friend and foe. Pym retreated, Jatta jaunted, rolled past Pym and rolled into the empty net, turning to face empty stands.

What County were mopping up now hadn't even happened half an hour ago.

A dead cat appeared to bounce. Walker crossed and Clarke Ohdear softly headed at Roos. A Soonsup-Bell shot was blocked and Green freely headed wide. Town, racking up the stats, the opposition racking up the points.

Here were are again, the Bazballers of Blundell Park, setting out on the memory bliss of Moan Utd, powered by positivity, feel the vibes. In Bazball, in Artellball, the players feel trusted, empowered and unburdened by fear of failure, with a clear emphasis on enjoyment, self-expression, connection, mental freedom, reduced fear. This is our culture.

The current environment is extremely supportive, but high support without high challenge creates comfort, safety and enjoyment, but not necessarily excellence. Town speak a language of freedom, but look unable to adapt when conditions change… they cannot change their approach under pressure. The culture has converged on a single way of playing.

Yes, entertainment matters, but high performance requires consequence. This Grimsby sound like a team enjoying themselves more than a team striving to be the best. If players are too safe it can lead to blind spots and complacency.

Doing the same thing every week with the same players and hoping things change is so very Bazball. Maybe when the injured players get back there will be challenge and there will be consequence. Maybe. Without it there will be blood on the tracks.

Jam tomorrow? We're slowly getting in a jam today.