[Cod Almighty](ca.php) | Article
by [Alistair Wilkinson](ca.php?author=3)
----------------------------------------
### 3 September 2025
_It's the power you feel when you get a taste of the glory. Al Wilkinson, the Pontoon's poet in residence, feels thunder in his heart and the hand of history on his pen as those magnificent Mariners act as his muse again, to amuse again._
**Town 2 United 2**
**Town win 12-11 after penalties**
**Ruben Amorim: "We look completely lost. I’m sorry." (27/08/2025)**
After Manchester UnitedWe're not dreaming anymore.Hard head stirs on a soft pillow,Body stretches,Feet sliding over warm sheets,Catching the soft fleece of the blanket,Feeling the sweet aches - young memories,old knees - of the night before.
Remembering.
From the bedroom window: the sun shines,Traffic rolls sedately.Pedestrians, kids and bikes, dogs, pad the paths.There is no breath of wind.The weather app says storms later,But now it's quiet, blanket smooth and warm,
_Toy Story_ clouds watch the town below;
A unicorn calm after last night’s storm.
Impossible.
A clock ticks. How does it not know?Time and light, the only constants,Are constant now, but how? The handOf eternity pointed to that moment andMoved on, swept away a million sensations,2ps cascading in an arcade coinfall. FistfulsOf memories grabbed at, stuffed into pocketsAnd held tight even as time and light moved on.
Ridiculous.
Last night, Time called the stormTo come see the Town.It came, black clouds rolling, boiling,White eyes flashing, teeth grinning,Saw the scoreboard, asked who scored,Black clouds rolling, boiling again,White eyes and teeth flashing again,As he laughed deep in his throat,A growl of pleasure, a release of rainCome to drown the Devils' summer,Come to deliver the trawler's steel kiss.
Outrageous.
The storm raged against Time.More! he demanded, and,Like a poor guest orThe impetuous son of an immortal,He drove recklessly across the sky, crashingTo earth on the Humber bank, smashingInto Blundell Park, roaring, tippingHis rain as if he would yoke TimeAnd hold it in cloud-black, lightning-white embrace.And that flicker of impedimentStretched Time to kick after kick. 12-11.
Unthinkable.
Exhausted, the storm fell into us, thrilledMain, Osmond, Findus and Pontoon.Time, relieved that his guest was gone,Opened four sides of an east coast squareAnd we poured onto that green, floodlit field,Thousands of fans with four shadows each,Thousands of shadows reaching aroundBlundell Park, out into the town andAcross the world, an embrace for all,All holding to this team, this club, thisMoment, the warmth of our limbs' shadowsA sweet touch for the world.
Marvellous.
From the bedroom window: the leavesAre already yellowing after this dry summer.They hang limp as if waiting for more,Or just waiting to hear again last night's score.They're yellow and green and the sky is so blue,A perfect frame for the black of the roof slates,And the skylights, the white of the eaves,The fascias. Black and white, shadow and light
In vivid colour.
There is no breath of wind. Time and light move on.
The weather app tells me there are storms later.