Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

22 April 2026

A tranquil evening by Coldham's Brook, which sparkles out amongst the Fens and bickers down the valleys as 1,032 travelling Townites come and go and duck and dive and bob and weave into the secret car parking spaces. We've been here before, we know what to do. Pull your wing mirrors in, the buses'll have 'em for dinner.

Town lined up in red and blue in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Smith, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Staunton, Turi, Oduor, Amaluzor, Green, Kabia and Cook. The substitutes were Pym, Warren, Sweeney, Walker, Burns, Vernam and Soonsup-Bell. Never change a winning team midstream they say. They say a lot, don't they. I say, I say, I say, those at the back in the dark, listen hard, Turi for Walker the only change from the cakewalk in Kent, where Town were jive talking in Gillingham.

Right, if you combine your vouchers you can get two hot chocolates and a Twix. Does life get any better? Is this the pinnacle, is it all downhill from here? In the featureless Fenland flatlands are there any hills to be up and down in? Do your research, don't be agog at the Gog Magog hills. Cambridge, no man mountains, but some surprising hillocks.

I can hear the sound of gentle words of encouragement. I just love the colours of the clothes Town wear. It's a must-win free hit. They're giving off good vibrations.

1st half – With a little luck
It's fast, we're furious as Town kicked off away from the massed Mariners mentoring the trainee linesman. An offside or three missed, a corner taken nearer Newmarket than the designated, authorised quadrant, but within ten minutes we had him on the straight and narrow, back meeting the quarterly targets in his PDP.

Here comes the hurly-burly man. Mayor hurled hugely into the boiling cauldron of shoving pushes. The ball flicked off a forensically untraceable forehead, sneaked into the twilight zone, edging eggs and queuing cumbers all thanks to Kaikai's golden slumbers. Only our smiles await you when you rise back to your feet.

Boom-bang-a-bang, pounding away, this way and that, right to left, left to right, us and them, up and down, at both ends it's round and round we go again. Green grazed and Cook was unimpeded on the centre left with an unobstructed view. Look at the man go: it's like trying to stop a water buffalo with a pea-shooter. With Eastwood firmly in his headlights The Cookie Monster bundled into the penalty area and bedraggled wide of the nearest post. Punts and shots as Town curtsied under the bridges, scattering the gawky centre-backs. A wallop, a graze and Amaluzor slipped past the funky Gibbons. Oh feel the rhythm, what a move, Town in the groove. A tinkly winkle sent Green scampering freely down the middle. Jake jolted out to smother and the ball buffled back to another Amberite.

They slip, they slide, some gloom, some side-glance at half-lit chances skimming in the shadows. Zipping and whipping, but Town heads staying above water. Ahoy there, pirates at 8 o'clock. Staunton was lightly toasted and a cross lowly pulled back behind the last line of defence. Rodgers hopping and hoping whilst caught short and, I cannot lie, Kaikai shied and skied into the jury box behind the goal. It looked like they'd reached their verdict already.

Another long throw, surely not, surely you're a pony with more than one trick? Don't call them surely; at least they aren't surly, though they are quite burly. Hurly-burly, hurly-burly, hurly-burly they sang.

Half way through the half and all sorts of funny thoughts ran through our head as Town tickled up the left, easing with teasing and vaguely pleasing. A throw most foul was licked back by Oduor and Staunton swayed infield and swung a cross. Oh, my, my, what a sensation. Oh, my, my, what elevation. Green Groved into the heart of the penalty area to flick-noddle across and over ersatz Eastwood. They're giving us excitations.

Cambridge opened the throttle, heading at full speed into the corners, looking for corners, hoping for a chance to hurl, perchance to dream of a long-range drone attack. Watt powered uply and flicked on a leftist corner towards the farthest post. A lonely home leg stretched but two yards out, diverting the ball onto the post. They'll need to be patient with Jobe. He tried his best.

Heavy metal thundering, enter stage right their little sandman. A wallop and roll and Appéré released the hound. Mayor motored up their left and dinked a drooper over McJannet where Knight sidled in to side foot back across Smith from six yards out with Staunton inattentively watching. Sad but true.

Come on everybody it's Gibbons time. Another Cambridge break and Turi legged up a passing motorist. Flanking flakery and Ball took a swing and a miss as the ball was laid back. Relax, we're laid back and supercool about life in the fast lane with McJannet the harvester of sorrow, Maldini sent out to seek and destroy before they reached dry land.

It's rock and roll football, furiously fast arm wrestling, all played to a percussive beat, and no-one can bleat about not keeping a clean sheet. It could be any score to either team, two light-heavyweights slugging it out in a punchathon. Reet good value.

2nd half – Knight fever
Neither team made any changes at half time. Exit light, enter night.

Thrusts and parries, soccer squashball. Cook mishit a bumbler with many a Mariner massed, Green ram-raided and Kabia slinky-spun and snapped just over. Moments in a simmering match, merely moments when the potatoes boiled over.

A welly-up dropped and Appéré rolled into the space behind Kacurri and Rodgers. Listen to the ground, there is movement all around, someone's goin' down. Kaikai felt the hand of history on his shoulder, tumbling under the influence of the menacing Maldini. The referee pointed sadly and flashed a yellow card Kacurri's way. Knight placed the ball on the spot and prepared himself for his date with destiny. So where's he going to put it? The question is does he know how not to show it? Smith waved and jumped and flapped and stood still in a game of chicken. Knight cracked, Smith stayed upright, stuck out a right boot and diverted the central slap. Trust the process, trust the data, trust the management.

There is dancing out there.

Cambridge turned up the oven to Gas Mark 6, they're cooking now. In or out, there is never a doubt just who's pulling the strings for Cambridge. Not a dumbbell, nor a dumb ball, tall and tanned it's action man, it’s Dom Ball, always ready to fall.

Crosses, blocks, blocks and crosses, Fenland fiddling as they pumped the bellows, but Town refused to hide below decks. Block upon block by those lovely blue socks. A wiggle and waggle and Mayor whackled overly. Mpanzu smackerooed, others boo-hooed as wibbles wobbled wide, crosses died in Smith's arms tonight. It may have been something he said.

It's strange but it's true, now and again, once in a while, Town broke free. Cook, a puppet-on-a-string dithered and was diverted when a surfeit of stripes were in attendance, a small collection of moments of almostness lost, like tears in the rain. A Vernam corner whipped its way towards the far post and Cook plopped down and outside the post.

Vernam! Yes, Charles Vernam, you remember the name, after all, it's gonna last forever. Half way through the half Vernam and Walker replaced Turi and Green with Jay-Z moving into the Green zone.

Town edging closer and closer to Eastwood. Breaks broken, crosses blocked, infiltrations diverted, a series of throw-ins advancing up the right. Harvey chucked, Amaluzor rolled his marker, drifted across the face of the penalty area and dragged a sizzler that riffled the outer strands of the near post side netting. Well worth an "Ooh" on the Mohs scale.

The amber wind was blustering, they were clearly flustered by the lack of fruity crumbling in front of our custardian. There may have been fruity language but who can tell from the stalls and the boxes in the balcony? A fling and some flam, Rodgers caught full in the face blocking a blaster. Off he went and in the space between his retreat and return there was just the usual up and under Kabaddi ball.

With a minute left Warren came on for Oduor. You want to know who played where? There were five at the back and the home fans said please roll over.

Eight minutes were announced as the time to be added. EIGHT?

Have they run out of steam? Shall we change the team? Are you still watching on that dodgy stream? Three minutes into this 12-inch dance version Sweeney replaced Staunton. Are we swinging or dodging? Wahey. It's a corner, Mr Walker, it's a corner. Remember what we told you at Gillingham Charlie – elevation! Mmm, well a bit, we'll let him off given this was in the Green Zone of interest. A big home bonce bonked away at the near post with Walker the last man standing between Smith and the Iceni hordes. The moustachioed mini-man tickled back to the Wolds Panther, who shimmied and shammied on to his left foot to swing low into the huddled masses. Kabia lifted a left and lofted the ball on into a corridor of uncertainty, at least for Jinking Jake. Eastwood, possessed by the spirit of Onana, raced off his line flapping in the fens as Big Bad Ball arose before him to nudge on. The ball collided with one of McJannet's fleshier parts and bumbled goalwards pursued by stumbling, crumbling Amberites, and crawled across the line. The Town stand rumbled as Cam the Man lost his marbles, heading vaguely towards us pursued by the entire team roaring around like he'd just scored the third goal in the 1982 World Cup final. No Cam, this is far more important, and with so much more style too. This was the Mona Lisa of League Two. This was sheer poetry in emotion and I'll ask my little sister to choreograph the ballet.

Off they kicked, back they came, up and up and up again. In and out, the ball bouncing off the blue and red wall, the impregnable earthworks surrounded by a moat of marauding Mariners. Oof, a magnificent Maldini clearance, Smith punch, Warren graze, a block, a block, our kingdom for another block. A home corner, Eastwood advanced and Rodgers fell as he felt a cold presence, the ghost of Town keepers past.

And in the tenth minute a scientist in Ecuador was puzzled by a little spike on his seismograph. For Cambridge the earth had moved under their feet, the sky had tumbled down. A preposterous ending to a stupendous match of blood-and-thunder duelling. Town quelled and repelled intensely incessant cyborgs to pick-pocket a couple of points back.

It's that 94th minute again. Last Tuesday Town threw away a point they didn't deserve, this week they stole two more points than would have been fair. We're up on the deal. What a difference a week makes.