Cod Almighty | Match Report

by Tony Butcher

9 August 2026

We like our football on a Saturday. Town playing Blackpool in the Carabao? S'alright to start off. It's a hot and still day, we're sitting in the open sunlight. You know, this is our club and we're never gonna leave it, even if we're always going to stay here.

Boy, it's a broiler, so people get together, hiding from the weather. Well, the Pontoon is a shady place.

Town lined up in a 4-2-3-1 formation as follows: Pym, Rodgers, Kacurri, McJannet, Sweeney, Turi, Amaluzor, Green, Walker, Vernam and Cook. The substitutes were Auton, Foulkes, Lavelle, Doyle, Catchpole, Brown, Smith, Morgan and Andrews.

Mmm, a starting XI that were all with us last season, it's either stability or stagnancy, stronger or weaker, season to taste. Mmmmorgan's a suitable case for treatment. He looks like a player from a higher division: taller, stronger, and exuding an inner confidence rather than diffidence. A man who expects rather than hopes. And as for Andrews…he's big, our Plan 19 from outer space.

Blackpool. Wigan. Apart from the shorts, what's the difference? Both are a collection of identikit athletes, with a couple of slightly smaller blondes thrown into the blender. They are the stereotype, the cliché of League One. It's the herd mentality where everyone afears looking different from their peers. How apt. Blackpool, Wigan, Cleethorpes. Apart from football, piers for souvenirs are all we're left with these days.

Hey-ho, let's go, they're forming in a straight line and we're all revved up and ready to go.

1st half – What about the Orange?

Town kicked off towards the Pontoon with a heave and a ho. Two sloppy striped slips later and Hamilton was a-bouncing and a-bounding into the Harveyless badlands. A twist and cross and Sweeney's fey flick from in front of some tentative Tangerine toes trickled out to the edge of the penalty area. With Walker and Turi trailing in his wake Ennis sauntered to steer a low coiler into the bottom right corner without fuss, thought or by your leave.

If there was any air, you'd say it had been sucked out of the stadium.

For a second.

Off we re-kicked, off we flew and on the off-beat the crowd began to clap and stamp their feet, rocking to a brand new beat. Ooh, don't you just know it, Amaluzoring and partial panic for the Seaside snorers. A cross, a block, a swing and a sway, three stripes approaching and Williams hooked away.

Town raids, Town triangles, Town pressure, Town corners. Walker's low squirtle carefully pushed aside by Peacock-Farrell. In and out, in and out, the bellows below, pumping up the volume of Mariners moments. Another corner cleared and Walker's big dripper was spectacularly finger flipped over by the spritely stopper.

More triangulating, more crosses but always a Tangerine toe to tipple away from a succession of Town toes. Stripes relentlessly squeezing the orange juice, but the pips don't squeak.

A Blackpuddle break, a Coulson curl, Pym sailed into the sun, slapped the tickle over and landed on a sea of green. The corner dripped farly, a Puddleman alone again, naturally. The header steered back and tapped in, but a far off flag fluttered, for nonchalant Niskanen was one step beyond.

Town Cooking and please remember the Green cross code, Charles! Homesters haring and racing down the right, Green's perfectly weighted cross-pass rolling invitingly into the centre and Vernam Devon-Loched as he afeared a keeper's dredging, though the Peacock hadn't even fluffed his feathers, let alone squawked his mating call. Dear reader, the Pontoon was looking deep into the Panther's eyes as he espied the keeper. We know.

Well listen Buster they're beginning to feel the heat. It's cooling time, take a break, don't have a Kit-Kat, swig that isotonic water and listen to what the man says.

The tactical tweaking and chitter-chatter dampened the spirits, the game settling into a chess match. Town side-saddling, Blackpool paddling about, waiting for a chance to counter attack. A chip and chase, blonde on blonde action and all fall down. Rodgers arose, but their Finn was finished, stretchered off for a seriously severe shoulder pop. And on lumbered blonde-topped Kouassi, a giant of a man.

And from the gathering gloopiness Amaluzor emerged, za-zooming down the middle, on and on he rolled. With the defenders retreating ad infinitum Jinkin'Justin crinkled lowly from 20 or so yards out. The slinger was parried out, but bounced over Cook and there is nothing more to the moment, for the Cookie monster turned to look but the ball was gone. Oh yeah, and finally a Town corner hit a Town head as Green flick-headed across the face of the left angle of post and bar. A pedant would chirp up and tell the world the ref told the Orange men he would have given a free kick if it had gone in. Get back in Pedants Corner. Or is it Pedants’ Corner?

Seven minutes were added.

All Town, prodding and probing, Blackpuddlers blocking with their stockings. Fancy free kicking going nowhere, then somewhere. A flick, the ball dropped and Rodgers volleyed low down and dirty. The Peacock sprawled sensationally then fluffed out his feathers to scoop away from Town toes.

Town should have scored three, Blackpool could have scored two. What's the difference? Their goalkeeper keeps making saves. We haven't come here to see that sort of nonsense. You've had your fun, Bailey, now go off down the prom and have an ice cream.

2nd half – Keeping schtum

No changes were made by either team at half time.

Except there was a change in the footballing weather. Ooh, a storm is threatening and we're gonna fade away.

It's a drudge, a sludgefest of arm wrestling as the Tangerine schemers upped their intensity, outfoxed and boxed Townites into corners, to force long punts into the ether to smother Stripers. Thrusts and parries, nothing of great note, nothing to get your goat or float your boat. I'll get me coat.

Oof, a twinkle and winkle across the face of the penalty area as Bowler cut in from their right and coiled against the top of the crossbar. Another something or other sometime or other, the ball being in the air and then in the Pontoon. Yeah, it was that close, I'll never forget it.

A right old ramraid down the right. Was it Harvey, was it Amaluzor, was it worth it? A pull back, a McJannet thwack and a flying parry by the not so little stick of Blackpool Rock. The ball flew beyond and Cook was aerially outmuscled as the ball tantalised by the farthest post.

Longer and longer Town lingered. Longer and longer Town punted. Ah yes, Cook with an invisible touch. Well, any touch he got was invisible. Shall we try some of the short stuff? Piddling and faffing at a goal kick and Pym rolled towards Sweeney, 20 or so yards out. A diddle and dawdle and Bowler mugged our man to stroll off and roll past the plunging Pym. The game's gone.

On this and on the hour Morgan replaced the perky and probing Amaluzor. The lad's got something, immediately hassling and haring away, barging and charging and doing exactly what he said on the tin. This tyro tries.

The sneaky Seasiders began to snap into tackles, tripping and snipping at the ref. The sneaky Seasiders squatted in the bush, getting stronger as Town went longer. A break on the left, a break on the right, Ennis dragged into the side net through Kacurri's legs. Town on the cusp of collapse. Morgan marauding but those doubled- and tripled-up Blackpuddlers kept blocking the way. A corner, a cross, a corner again. McJannet arose but Peacock-Farrell block-snickled aside for another corner, another chip that fell flat on the floor. Town couldn't open the door, lacking perception or deception

Woah Wee Cam, what are you doing? Pay attention.

With a quarter of an hour left Doyle and Andrews came on for Walker and Green with Town moving to a 4-4-2 formation. I say move, there was little to no actual movement from two slow centre-forwards with ropey first touches. They were meat and potato pies to be munched at leisure by the Blackpool defenders. A Turi drive or two was halted by the absence of activity in front. He simply had no one to pass to.

As these sirens lured Town on to the Blackpool rocks, holes appeared. Off they shimmered. Who will save us? As if by magic Sweeney appeared, diverting danger with an extended leg, but the ball rolled perfectly into the path of Bowler, who happily caressed over the bar. Well, maybe he wasn't happy. We were, and that's all that counts.

Six minutes were added as Town at last applied some pressure. Doyle's wobbler dipped and swerved and the keeper swooped to scoop. Blackpool made a fatal error – they tried to pass their way up the pitch. Doyle and Turi double tapped and Turi drove on towards the penalty area, veering right as he hit an orange wall. A hook across to some friendly shorts and Rodgers steadied himself, set his sights and carefully passed into the bottom left corner

After one final tackle Catchpole replaced the hopping Turi.

Knock, knock, knocking on Blackpool's door, but balls be punted. McJannet retrieved and passed back to the inattentive Pym, who wandered over to his left and scooped a fly kick towards the Police Box. A Tango man thighed as striped men sighed. A give and go around static caravans, the flying but not floating Pymster dropped the cross at the feet of Kouassi, who tapped in.

And that really was that.

This was still that game. That game we kept watching before last Christmas, that game against a team that had done its homework, that game against that type. New season, old problems. There were some positive moments but also reinforcement of some old issues. We aren't ready for League One yet. Lucky were not in it then.

Roll on Exeter.