Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

18 January 2026

A day with weather in a month with days. Where are we now? Halfway through the season and both teams halfway up the stairs. We're not at the bottom, we're not at the top, but this is the stair where neither wants to stop

Town lined in the usual 4-1-4-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Tharme, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, Burns, Green, Khouri, Vernam and Soonsup-Bell. The substitutes were Staunton, McEachran, Walker, Amaluzor, Sellars-Fleming, Cook and Kabia.

No keeper, one defender and a bunch of old Bantams. That's four in hand with three on the bench before they hatch. Oh darn it, I've just counted them all in. Andy Cook. Yes, Andy Cook, get excited if you wish. Some of us ancient Mariners remember him from his youth, his first stint here in 1926. Long shorts, heavy leather balls, brylcream and dubbin. He looked just the same then.

Barnet: still big blokes in big shorts and a small crowd of day-trippers. What more is there to say? Nothing, let's get on with it. For some our dinner destination depends on the next 90 minutes, for others there's a train to catch.

1st half – Pantomime season
Town kicked off towards the Pontoon and away from the 137 intrepid explorers from the Deep South.

Into 'em, up and at 'em, bang-bang. Green muscled and bustled, Kizzi stretched his toes to divert out for a corner. The referee raised his hand marching towards the bye-line, causing the traffic to stop. Phew, that was a close one. A crisis was averted as he moved one of the ball cones.

Slim Charles's shallow coil slurped away and off they jolly well ran and ran. Mr Gloverman danced through the shimmering, shivering stripes and pulled back into a blob of Barneteers. Slaps and tickles, the ball trickled and someone, somewhere crinkled away from near the line.

Up and down, back and forth, and in the third minute back Town roared. A corner drooped, Slicker the slacker stood on the line and fumbled against Soonsup-Bell. The ball bumbled back into his hands and the little lad fell over the line for the goal that never was but should have been. It was just a good old-fashioned whoopsie from the dozy daisy in green.

Down and up, forth and back and in the fifth minute Burns bumped a Barneteer. I would say up went the big lads, but they were already up there. A dink, a wink and the ball sailed on to fly high and glide wide.

Turi ticking, Vernam va-vooming and Dizzy Mr Kizzy diverted at the nearest post. Breaking right, breaking left, breaking Barnet up is hard to do.

Now then, now then, what's going off here then?

A Town break down the left, bodies scattered to the winds as Vernam chased the dream. Behind you! On the halfway line the haring Khouri was wrestled groundwards by Kizzi, arose and encountered the passing Kanu's elbow. Half the ground in uproar as the attack fizzled away, the Town bench in tumult, Artell assaulting the nearest official ears. Or the officials with the nearest ears, which ever was the closer. Or closest.

The man believed to be in charge of affairs eventually realised something was up after turning around to see the prostrate Khouri. Dazed and confused the turqouise twerp sought sanctuary and wandered over to the fourthest of the officials, the furthest away.

If you didn't see it, you can't give it. Who saw what? We saw Khouri getting floored, but did anyone with a flag see what we saw? The linesman under the Rammstand, the man with the clearest view, shrank behind a cone.

Shoulders shrugged as some continental handbags were exchanged between opponents. Pointing left, pointing right and then pointing at Kizzi, a decision had been made. The right one, but the wrong one, and that's what you get when you drink Martinis at mid-day.

At this Brennan self-combusted and was busted, off with your head, off to the team bus and listening to the rest of the match on Radio Humberside.

Every hour, every minute, man, every second, them call him Mr Gloverman. The pesky kid skipped gaily through the standing stones, passing back into a void and watched Ofaborh's slap-shot balloondle off black and white, parabolating pleasingly over the white cliffs of Dover. The corner? You just wait and see…nothing.

Revved up and raring to go, Rodgers be racing and roaming, with a barrage of Barnies blocking Soonsup-Bell at the near post. Slicker plucked the looseness before striped boots could scoot and shoot. Flickery and trickery and Burns tapped past the keeper. Sit down, the sad flag is fluttering sadly, 'twas all in vain.

Kanu dredged Khouri and Vernam, Kanu was booked and Kanu pushed his luck further than he pushed Khouri, again.

Infiltrations, no celebrations as Hairboys intercepted, near post left, near post right. Soonsup-Bell fly-flicked a volley wide here and there. Tic-tac-triangulation and Soonsup-Bell's horizontal hook hit Slicker's static boots, Green retrieved and Burns wiffled a waffle straight to the keeper. On we rode and on their luck they rode. Vernam drinkled over the leaping Green, bibbles were bobbled and bobbles were bibbled as Burns dribbled into an orange fence. Ricobounds and rebochets and the ball popped up with Burns in the centre of the penalty area. Slicker raced out and star-flapped as Burns lightly lapped against the leaping Leprechaun.

A long time ago in a land far away, a long ball, a long chase and Ndlovu wrestled with his conscience, tussling with Tharme. Down Duck Farm stayed, motionless upon the turf. Town down to ten again, Smith suddenly Crocramping and Staunton finally readied. After three score years and ten hobbling Doug was replaced as Rodgers sidled to the centre and Sweeney moved to right-back.

There is a vague memory of a moment far away when colours moved.

Eight were added in minutes. Two eggs were hard boiled and it's hard to think of anything meaningful occurring whilst we were buttering and cutting our soldiers.

Despite everything there is nothing to declare but our collective genius for not scoring. Could have scored plenty, could have conceded a few and that goes for us and them. The officials are both making and breaking this game, aspiring to the heights of haphazadry, hitting 11 on the slapstick scale.

Not uneventful.

2nd half – Keep your hair on
Kabia replaced Soonsup-Bell at half time.

Barnet running harder, running longer, flinging big booms high and longer. Chipping and chasing, home hearts racing as Glover's long loopy chuck panicked through the penalty area and Collinge hooked over.

Who's got ten men?

Vernam lobbed down the line and an Orangeman awaited the bounding ball. Kabia bumpled the Barnetter aside and sniggled sneakily across to Burns, who awaited the cavalry. Sweeney bounded up the right, cut in, bedraggling through a bunch of blokes and the ball scuttled inside the keeper's left post.

Boom, from the off a Barnet punt dropped inside the Town area direct from Mars, amidst barging and charging. McJannet scruffed against Ndlovu, the ball rolled to Kanu ten yards out, but Smith stood tall and booted away.

Some Town pressure, Green did something, they say, and a save too. Sweeney swooped and swept but Kabia's head was squeezed at the near post. Back we come and Burns' cracked cross collided with the solitary Kabia at the near post, biffling wide.

Vernam emerged from behind his toadstool, passing directly to a Barneteer. A tinkle and Glover strolled down the centre as Turi's entirely subtle attempted leg up failed. Rodgers neared and Mr Gloverman satisfyingly passed to Smith, followed by a pantomime hand slap, which was even more satisfying. We haven't seen one of those since Kevin Drinkell's celebrated Widow Twankey at the Caxton Players.

And here comes Hawkins, a reduced-fat Matt Rhead, replacing the rather fearsome and effective Ndlovu. No messing about now, oof, 'ave it, up and under. Almost immediately Turi was replaced by McEachran.

Barnet abandoned their direct play and went the full monty – big booming balls to Hawkins' head. Hoof, hoof, hoof, hump, hump, hump to the lump, lump, lump. Smith slipped at a goal kick. Nothing happened. Much messing inside the Town penalty area and wally over by them. Something almost happened. Kanu plunged and the referee gave Town a free kick for what could only have been diving. Has this cat runout of lives yet?

Now we're cooking! The wanderer returned replacing Burns, as Sellars-Fleming replaced the invisible touch of Charles Vernam. McEachran drumbled wide near Kabia's toes, a Sci-Fi cross was plucked off Cook's toes by Slicker. Kabia careered away and it was Cook's turn to swish and miss thin air.

Those who have seen his pace draw back in fear for the phantom of the opera is here inside our ground. The masked winger, Assombalonga replaced Kanu, a man who should have been sent off. Twice.

A Sellars-Fleming shot was hook-volley-blocked as it za-zoomed goalwards and eight minutes were added. The game went to end to end. From one end of the Town penalty area to the other. In and out, Barnet permanently camped with always an extra man free. Faffing about, miskicks and miscommunications, a couple of headers headed into the Pontoon and so endeth a game whistled by an idiot, full of sound and fury, but we don't need to go to a jury. The verdict is in, it's a win. And a win's a win no matter how thin.