Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

19 April 2026

On Tuesday our eyes were filled with pain, but on a sunny afternoon in dear old Kent we met some men from near Brussels, one of 'em six foot four and full of mussels after a stop off in The Three Tuns. Yes, the Belgian beerboys are back with Town and the permanently temporary seating was a rich tapestry of cultures intertwined, brimming with flavours of love and longing. Well, the queues for the bevvies were long.

Town lined up in black and white in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Staunton, Walker, Oduor, Amaluzor, Green, Kabia and Cook. The substitutes were Pym, Warren, Sweeney, Turi, Burns, Vernam and Booth. The tweaks from Tuesday were Walker for Turi and the human chaos engine for the boy with boots with a bright future. Is that good or bad? If it's bad, things could turn ugly.

Gillingham. Going nowhere slowly and the only question for Gareth Ainsworth is "Who killed Laura Palmer?"

It's now or never. Tomorrow will be too late.

1st half – The land of black and white gold
Town kicked off away from 600 or so scattered mariners and those Moules Marinières cheerily choi-oiking the chief bar steward, Michael van Gerwen, into a resigned retreat. They're from Belgium and they'll stand where they want.

There, there, that's nice and easy. The accommodating hosts had laid out a lovely spread and let Town have free run of the room. A Cook roll and precision tipple sent Kabia through, but Masterson's masterly block brought the home stands to their feet.

Staunton to the left of them, Rodgers to the right, Town in flight, Gillymen in fright of the frying pan. Sizzle! Sauntering Staunton swept to the bye line and swept lowly to the near post near Green. Roaming raiding on the right. Lovely lullabies on the left, keep going, practice makes perfect. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Odour crossed through the corridor of uncertainty, Morris plucked off lurking Town toes, Walker walloped way overly.

Oh, they've got a long throw. And little good it did 'em as Maldini, McJannet and McCookie Monster mashed away. Woah, a jingle-jangle warning as a Little miscue had McCleary following through and Smith smothered. And he was offside anyway, so what were you worried about?

Don't worry, be happy. In every game we have some trouble but when you worry you make it double. Town doubled down on the rock and roll as Green gambled and gambolled freely for Cook to shin widely at the near post.

Did I tell you about their long throw? I did. Hmm, there's not much to say about them. They opened the turnstiles, they watered the pitch and if you closed your eyes and squinted you could convince yourself they were here.

And all the while Town tried the same move again, again and again. Into Cook, out to a full-back, in for a midfielder to hit the bye-line and cross across the face of goal. Seconds became minutes became what felt like hours as the same thing didn't happen. Again, repeatedly.

Variations on a theme: the Bradford Bulldozer was blocked but wellied straight at the keeper some people call Mo-riss. He's a picker, he's grinner, but he's about to feel sicker.

Pinging pongs and it was about to go wrong again for the flaccid and failing homesters. With five or so minutes left of this placid half of training McJannet hooked high, Green arose to graze on, Cook barundled around his alleged marker and chiselled lowly across Morris into the bottom left corner. Oh yes, Dave, we've scored. As someone once said, what a gay day.

I could tell you that Amaluzor was booked for a hooking swipe to stop a counterattack. Mmm, I just did tell you Amaluzor was booked for a hooking swipe to stop a counterattack. Well, it fills the time.

Five minutes were added. Eight were played. Can we just stop this now, we're men of a certain age you know. What a lovely day for a pre-season kickabout.

2nd half – The secret of the unicorn
Neither team made any changes at half time.

They like chucking, they like chucking, they like chucking and they like to chuck but Hutton was rarely on the button with his throws merely mutton dressed as lamb. What a lot of flim-flam, that's no way to breach our dam.

Save me, save me, save me from this squeeze. They've got a small old winger trying to break free. Maldini slidled to block out the sun to a chorus of disapproval from the home end. You have to hand it to them, they see things you and I would not believe.

And off we go again with our precision-engineered triangulations. Green hit the bye-line and underscuffed to the awaiting old codger. And Town began to sink back. Fizzing bluesmen fluttering around and behind the full-backs. Stretching and straining, Gillingham gaining control, edging closer, closer to posting a poser.

A parry here, a thrust there and Little dropped a dripping diagonal dinker over Staunton right on to old blue shoes. A back-stabby prod and roll past the Spennymoor scuttler tempted Smith into no-man's land. The ball died between the sheets and McCleary passed past the static Smith and inside the near post.

Believe. They believe that though their season's gone astray someone will come to show them the way. Some bloke headed a free kick over. So maybe not that, eh?

Half way through the half Turi replaced Walker as Town sewed up their trousers. A clamp and cross and a scribbling scramble. Cook's crack ricocheted to Kabia half a dozen yards out with Morris laying down with the lamb. As at Chesterfield, Jayzee chose to chill and, as if by magic, a big blue boot appeared and the chance disappeared.

Uh-oh, so here it is, the season ends here. A chip and pin and McCleary hared behind and beyond Turi deep, deep and deeper still into the Town penalty area on the right. Smith sprawled, the tip was tapped and the ball crawled across and over the face of the open goal. Ah, their season ends here. Again.

From the goal kick Amaluzor, way out wide on the halfway line, swept a speculative punt deep towards the right corner of the Gillingham penalty area and…magic their Morris! Less goalkeeper, more performance artist, the old man diver hopped, skipped and thigh brushed into Kabia's thigh, who walked on to roll in then walk off without a care in the world as he and Amaluzor were swapped for Burns and Vernam.

We did crack a smile and it was now a laughing party.

Kentish capitulation, striped strangulation, a sumptuous symphony of sweet, sweet swings through the threadbare net curtains. Rolling, robbing, roister-doistering down the right. Green crossed across the face of goal and a blue toe diverted from Vernam's toes. Vernam underhit the corner to the near post, Rodgers' flick flickered up and away and Burns upended a fleeing local as they ran away crying into their armpits.

Ticks and tocks, a back-heel off blue socks and another corner down in a little corner of Gillingham that will foerever by Belgian. We said elevation, Charles. We know you heard us last time. WE SAID ELEVATION! The Wolds Panther listened to his people. Green swung around to the near post and flicked gracefully over and across flailing Morris into the top left corner. Classic Green, Town turning up the classical gas.

Vroom vroom, swishing and dishing out a lesson. Pass and move, Town in the groove, Rodgers rolled, Turi's googly sent Green rolling around their rear to roll across for the steaming Vernam to ram in from four yards.

And in the last dying breath of Ainsworth's artless artisans Smith punched a boomer back into space and Clark cracked straight back from 30 yards. The cramping custardian tip-toed back to tipple over then topple over into the net. Nurse!

As six minutes of added time were about to be added Warren replaced Oduor. Six minutes, six more minutes for the streets of Kent and the Kentish streets to clear of the disappointed and dejected and leave us to rave on. It's a crazy feelin' as Town tormented these frit furballs. Turi sashayed into the blue yonder and a stray, lonesome local leg distracted the ball on its way in to the bottom corner. Gillymen swamped by stripes dancing at will and Vernam rolled wide to preserve the holy grail of Town results, a 4-1 away win.

What a delightful day indeed. You can only beat what is in front of you and Town beat these eggs and made an omelette. We love to live so pleasantly, living a life of luxury, lazin' on a sunny afternoon.