Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

30 December 2025

Into the long days of nothingness between the chores of Christmas and the bores of New Year comes this present, purchased in the sales and especially for you. It may come in useful, it may divert and even entertain. It might, it may, who can say, let the music play.

Motorhead and AC/DC? If that was a plea for some heavy metal football then that was overkill, though we are pining for a whole lot more of Danny Rose. C'mon Town, let's shoot to thrill. Ladies and Gentlemen, that concludes Tommy Vance's Rock Hour on Radio Blundell Park. Sorry if you're thunderstruck by that.

Town lined up in the usual 4-1-4-1 formation with an unusual midfield as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, Burns, Walker, Khouri, Vernam and Soonsup-Bell. The substitutes were Casper, Warren, Staunton, Green, McEachran, Amaluzor, and Kabia. Hells bells, a second string midfield and Mr Beast, Soonsup-Bell, upfront! Ding-dong, those bells will ring if Artell's wrong.

Shrewsbury turned up. I suppose they had to.

1st half – In the beginning
The day-trippers kicked off towards the Pontoon in pallid puce. How fitting, they were pallid, they made their 154 fans' faces turn puce. Less of them later. We have no time to stand and stare, there is no life in Appleton's bedraggled army, but we don't care.

Sorry, sorry, I'm having an acid flashback. How cutting, unlike Town. Within half of an English minute Burns dinked beyond the flapping follicles of Soonsup-Bell. Something that was nothing. It's a metaphor, it's a preview, it's just the way it is, will things ever change. Do you believe in them?

Turi ticked, Turi tricked, Turi knocked and Turi blocked. It's the little things that are important and it's important to see the little things that make up the big picture. Not every little thing he did was magic, but it was far from tragic, you better believe it's not so.

A wiggle, a waggle and wiffle straight to Brooks, the boy with the bouncing hair. Was this the standard-issue Slim Charles drift and driggle? Indeed it was. Urging and surging, swinging and swaying, Walker released Burns who rolled another one straight to Brooks. You know how it goes, all together now: one, two, three, four, can we have a little more?

Don't cry, we'll roll another one soon.

These tame Shrews? There's small choice in rotten apples.

A postprandial torpor with Town in training mode, the Salopian roobs blocked, waves gently lapping; one day we'll give someone a slapping. Vernam slunk and crinkled across the face of goal with Soonsup-Bell's toes potentially approaching closeness. Rodgers roamed and pulled a pass back through the existential crisis and behind the painted smiles of several stripes.

Walker blocked and Sweeney swept across, it's a bunfight not a gunfight. Town triangulations, Burns cut in and slashed high. Slash and Burns if you will, I wish he wouldn't.

Half way through the half Marquis had a little nap, for this turkey had trotted enough for now. And at that pink shorts were adjusted accordingly, they'd noticed all roads lead not to Rome but to the Pharoah. Turi was clamped, the evening became damp. Well, it did start raining. Even the weather couldn't be bothered to put the effort in and just simply gave up.

And so we drifted in the usual fashion, the same casual manner as has become normal, the ritual dismal descent into stodgeball between the centre-backs and a welly towards the belly of the beast. If it is one thing Shrewsbury have it is two tall towers.

Back and forth, back and forth, one day their ship will sail and our boat may rock. It's the law of averages, and there's not much more average than this lot. And what's the law? That Town's opponents will score with their first shot on target. A breakaway, a shot away as Sang's slapshot was blocked. A pink corner swingled through the humanity. No need to provoke by invoking the law just yet.

And a spacemen came travelling. It is said that the Wolds Panther escaped and frolicked afar. It is also said that Vernam drinkled wide, and possibly Drinkelled his thighs, the old pantomime slap of disappointment as another one bites the dust. And we all went la la la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la, la la la la la la la la la. What else is there to do, or say?

Oh here it comes, here comes the fright. Oh I just don't know where to begin but I do know 'twas in the lastest of minutes and that accidents will happen, for the Shrews only hit and run. Tharme's underhit boomer was intercepted and suddenly a pinkman be promenading up the middle. A flapjack slap bounced off a pink bottom and Tom Sang was out of tune. What a beautiful noise comin' up from the Park.

Two minutes were added.

A flick, a trick, a nick, a knock and amidst and amongst several sliding Salopians Walker's slip-shot slithered inchlets past the left post. And Soonsup-Bell gracefully flicked the corner to Brook. And…is a three letter word, which is often followed by a few four letter words these days.

Against the feeblest of foes Town were frequently on the brink. But of what?

2nd half – Three moods
Neither team made any change at half time.

To tick, to tock, to Sweeney to Vernam to Sweeney and the flying Khouri's glancing header gently arced away.

McJannet launched the ball downfield. Tharme launched the ball downfield. And again. And again. And again. Practice doesn't make perfect when the plan is imperfect as this triple bluff failed, failed and failed again.

And again.

Tharme was booked for diverting their tiny Kabia as he scuttled free. George Lloyd came on. He ran around, now and again. We have no need to think of him again.

Boom, boom, our hearts did not zoom as suddenly the ball was on the moon. Stop this nonsense!

On the hour Green replaced the rather fey and sloppy Walker. Khouri slashed and Burns fell over a pink foot as Soonsup-Bell heard the call of the far off fishmonger and dummied. An isolated moment of momentary football in a murky mizzle whilst messing about by the water.

We're sat here waiting for the punchline. Time goes so fast when you're having fun. What a drag this is.

A Town throw-in half way inside our half under the Ramstand and a pink boot nicked off Turi's toes. A twist, a turn and Sang's clipper floated into the centre of the Town penalty area. Marquis tapped Tharme lightly upon the shoulder, arose alone and thwonkled goalwards. We can't escape the long arm of the law any longer, here it is, here it comes. Smith re-adjusted his pants, flung up a left hand, spun around and plucked the ball off the line. And in a bound he was free. Now that would be a signing.

Is this a sign? Has our luck turned full circle back to those carefree crazy, hazy days of summer?

Khouri the Karate Kid collided with a Marquis farly from the Town goal. Chugging and mugging into the doldrums and Turi's block tackle spun infield. A pink plonker careered off unidentified standing legs and the ball slowly arced around the plunging Smith and against the foot of his right post and out to... who cares. Offside. Shrewsbury are no more, they are so poor they couldn't score when that was the fundamental underpinning law of all nature.

With twentyish minutes left Town made a triple change, Turi, Burns and Soonsup-Bell being replaced by McEachran, Amaluzor and Kabia. You can't say this weakened us. Well you could, but you'd be daft.

Town got their mojo back, finally stopping the endless straight punts directly to Brooks.

Infiltrations powered by Green energy, the revitalised Vernam Vernamed into the Pontoon. It's traditional. Special K draggled back from the bye-line and Kabia toe-poked straight at the keeper's head. A corner was finally elevated and drifted through the six-yard box unmolested, a cross to the near post buffled off many shins. Town pumping up the pressure, the home stands holding their breath, holding their tongues, the Blundell Park bottle nearly fit to burst.

Town a-rolling on, Rodgers a-roaming on the right. A cross half bombled away from socks of many colours out, out darn spot towards the Ramstand, Vernam chased and cutely dissected to the unmarked Khouri. A stumble, a bumble to Green and return to the whirling dervishes on the left. Sweeney tickled, Khouri stretchy-crossed and the ball deflected off a stray Shrew and out beyond the penalty spot. Amaluzor swept in, swept through the detritus and under the keeper off the daintiest of pink toes.

Lift off, we have lift off. Three and a half roofs lifted off as the UK experienced its 310th earthquake in 2025, whereupon a dam burst and there was thunder in every ear. A moment of relief, of catharsis, an exorcism of the dark soul of doubt.

Nah, don't worry, those Shropshire turkeys are stuffed.

Five minutes were added and chuckling Chucks Aneke was chucked on. They needn't have bothered, he didn't, marvellously wasting time by kicking the ball away as he was flagged offside.

And after six further minutes of time that ticked we had lift off as the roof lifted off again. With relief there is belief that we'll finish above that shower at least.

As Town were the least worst team on the pitch they at least ensured Shrewsbury didn't get what they didn't deserve. Not a classic, put it in the attic and don't bring this picture down again.