Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

26 April 2026

Well, here we are, this is it. We know what we want, do we know how to get it?

A fine and glorious day in the Costa Del Cleethorpes, not a breath of wind…until you move your dancing feet. Walking down the Grimsby Road and there was something in the air, that intangible feeling, a feeling deep inside. Oh yeah.

Town lined up 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, Sweeney, Warren, Walker, Burns, Vernam and Soonsup-Bell. Sometimes a change is not as good as a rest, let's rest with the good times and keep the Abbey habit.

If there's a smile on his face, he's only trying to fool the public. Hey, it's not about him, let's change the subject. Kirstie, what are they wearing? They've probably convinced themselves they're clad in gold but after too many spins in the washing machine; like their season, it has all turned to fading beige. Oily Palmer falling further under the spell of the four horsemen of a footballer's apocalypse: older, greyer, slower, wider.

One, two three, wahey! Smith can-canned the crossbar again and we can't kick the can down the road any longer. One more coffee for the road, one more pond for the toad. Hey, we said don't goad the toad, let's seize the day

1st half – Tears of a clown
Town kicked off towards the Osmond in a roiling, boiling day of noise and colours. An up, an under and Green swingled a non-cross into the red zone.

Long chucks and burly-balling always towards push-me-pull-me Palmer but the ref and linesmen guessed wrongly. Do not be concerned, they will not harm us, they only had a minute to win it. The beige corner glided past Smith followed close by heavy breathin'. There's nothing more to them than heaving. Ooh look, stripes be a-weaving. Turi took a trip and was tripped by Wright as the Géza from the Freezer briefly flew across the furtherest smidgeon of the outermost corner of the penalty area. Whose turn is it to miss today? No-one. He takes his time and doesn't feel he needs to hurry, for Ripley, believe it or not, dived right as Kabia passed into the other side. And like Town's play-off possibilities, he's alive.

Whack-a-doodle do, the ball flew off bare flesh and bumbled into the flightpath of Palmer. Call security, code red! Maldini, hanging around by the old swings chatting with his mates, caught a fleeting glimpse of someone's fading shadow and slid across from Sussex Rec.

You may see the floating motion of a distant pair of wingers, but you could definitely hear the hoof beats pound as Town raced across the ground. You might have seen Greeny runnin' through the long-abandoned ruins of the dreams they left behind in Wiltshire, but you certainly saw a Green cross divvled aside, a Staunton cross wiffled away and an Amaluzor flicker trickling off surprised shins. One of these towns was always on the edge of a nervous breakdown.

Robbing and roaming, Kabia upended half way out, half way in, half way inside their half. Staunton swung the free kick into the huddled mass of humans gathered in the 'D' and Maldini arose to air-launch a precision glide-bomb that cruised across Cleethorpes and drifted silently past and over roly-poly Ripley, against the top left post and down and along and behind the line as Kabia followed through to welly further in.

Well they've fallen off the edge. They've gone, gone, gone, woah-oah, gone and lost that loving feeling for the Pied Piper now.

Is it too early to party? Four to draw is the local by-law. Keep calm and carry on. Town kept calm and carried on carrying the game to these flustered busted flushes. A Rodgers slapper shimmered across the turf and shivered off some beige slacks. Well, it is a lovely sunny day, one has to dress for the occasion. It's nice to see day trippers appropriately attired as they sat back in their deck chairs soaking up the sun. Put the radio on, you may enjoy the football commentary from a local game. Staunton's corner was flapped from under the bar. A sneaky short corner to Kabia was blocked and Cook noodled wide. Maybe they won't enjoy the commentary, Radio Two's more up their alley.

Maldini by name, Maldini by nature. A chip'n'chase, Palmer pinned, man-wrangled, wrapped around his littlest finger and twisted into a novelty corn dolly. You can buy it at the Laceby Church Fair, all in a good cause.

Oh it's so sweet that they look so sour. An Oduor fizz and whizz in the middle of a trigonometry lesson and Wright shin-shanked for a corner. Are they listening, are they paying attention? Elevation at the appropriate level, Mr Staunton. He elevated at the appropriate level. No-one moved as the ball dropped into the near post and Kabia hopped slightly to plop a header firmly in from six yards out.

Three minutes were added.

Oh wow, what a horrible dream they just had. Swindon, were they ever even here? A hook by Palmer not worth the hole in your shoe and a casually chipped free kick scooped by Smith. That's it. That's all there was to them, stuck a million miles from home in a land where the crowd were singing incredibly loudly and everyone was really happy and having a really good time. Except them, trapped for another hour in a nightmare on Neville Street.

Town got rhythm, who could ask for anything more. Why shouldn't we sing along given we're half way to paradise?

2nd half – Surf city
Swindon made four changes at half time, taking off four young men paid money to appear to be moving and being replaced by four more young men receiving similar amounts of cash to give the public the illusion of activity. Think of them less as a professional football team, more a modern recreation of Morton Fraser's Harmonica Gang. They'd be good for panto or a summer season on Eastbourne Pier.

Woo-hoo. Amaluzor wiggled and wafted overly from 30 yards. After passing and, indeed, movement Green bedraggled a most fine shot wide. McJannet's bicycle kick at a bouncy ball ended up in the hands of the jolly and jovial Ripley, a man sharing in the Pontoon's enjoyment of the day. These things happened. In between the things that happened things didn't happen.

Swindon Town have lost their crown, they're going down wearing a frown. Swindon Town are inept, how many of this lot will be kept? Passing out of play, passing out of play, passing, passing, passing out of play. And once, just once, on the hour, they simply mishit a shot straight out of play. And from the goal kick wellied well upfield. Nudge-nudge, wink-wink, say no more squire. The Cookie Monster subtly swayed near a wilting flower and the ball bounced on. Kabia gambled and gambolled unmolested into the emptiness 20 yards out, swung his left boot and volleyed lowly into Ripley's nearest, rightest post. Well, I'll stick me neck out and suggest, very strongly, we've got that point sewn up now.

And immediately Vernam, Walker and Warren replaced Kabia, Odour and Rodgers. It's catwalk time, so swing those pants, throw your head back and pout for the camera.

What you looking at? Strike a pose! Cheese! Smile! Let your bodies move to the music. All you need is your own imagination. Clap, clap, clap-clap-clap-clap. Miss!

And later, way later, when the sun was at its highest Green and Amaluzor were replaced by Soonsup-Bell and Burns. Ah, at last some talent from Mr Ripley. Jinking and dinking from Burns and Walker arose alone farly, steering a header towards the top right corner. Ripley levered his legs and flapped his wings to fabtastically flip up, up and away from under the bar. More dinking and jinking from Mr Orange and Vernam retrieved as the ball flibbled across the face of goal. Slim Charles huffed and puffed, wriggled and wriggled and pulled the ball back. And Dazzling Darragh befuddled and bedraggled, failing to blow their house down.

Did I mention Vernam's Vernam into the party section of the Pontoon? No, I didn't, but then again, you didn't ask. As a final treat, Batty, the worst of the worst of a bad lot, passed to no-one and Cook lumbered forward, falling over Mabate's thigh inside the 'D', vainly in search of the penalty area. A booking, a free kick and a Staunton cracker was whackered aside from the toppish right corner by the sailing Ripley.

Six minutes were added and the game was padded out so the shareholder could just keep on hurting. Don't let his expression give you the wrong impression. He's sad, he's sadder than sad, he's hurt that they were so bad. We're not.

What a beautiful day in a beautiful place for playing beautifully assertive football. Town were ruthlessly efficient and effective with no quarter given for the hour it took to seal the victory. The rest was history, not entertainment, merely letting the ref's watch tick on to the designated end point.

Those play offs ain't big enough for the both of us. And it ain't us who's gonna leave. Marvellous, magnificent, we're in the mood.