Drama, defiance, and a drenched night that ended with penalties at Vale Park.
Under the lights of Vale Park, with the November rain slicing through the floodlights, Port Vale and Fleetwood Town served up one of those EFL Trophy nights that refused to behave. It began like a routine group stage tie, a midweek match played to the echo of seats and the hum of commentary, but by full time it had transformed into a six goal storm of frustration, resilience, and redemption. The final score read 3–3. The penalty shootout handed Fleetwood the extra point, but the night belonged to the chaos itself.
A Fragile Start for Vale
From the opening whistle, Vale looked uncertain. Every second ball seemed to fall to a red shirt. Fleetwood pressed high, sharp and hungry, as though they had spotted weakness early. When Harrison Neal stood over a free kick just outside the box, there was a sense of inevitability about what came next. Vale’s defenders stood motionless, statues in the downpour, as the routine unfolded with surgical precision. Neal rolled it short to Mark Helm, who curved a teasing pass toward the back post. A tangle of legs, a faint deflection, and suddenly the ball was in the net.
It was a move straight from the training ground and a moment that left Vale staring at one another in disbelief. No one reacted, no one moved, and Fleetwood led 1–0.
Ojo’s Vision Sparks Life
For much of the first half, Vale’s attacks felt blunt, long balls and hopeful passes drifting harmlessly into the goalkeeper’s gloves. Yet football has a way of transforming in a flash. And for Vale, that moment came from Fúnso Ojo.
Standing in the center circle, Ojo shaped his body like a golfer reading a putt and then clipped a perfectly measured pass over the top. The ball arched through the rain and dropped onto the run of Jordan Shipley, who had timed his movement to perfection. Shipley barely broke stride. One touch to control, one glance at the keeper, one poke into the corner.
The stands erupted. A moment earlier, Vale had looked resigned. Now they were reborn. One pass, one finish, 1–1. The home side finally had the lift they needed.
Brown Turns the Tide
Momentum in football is invisible but powerful, and within two minutes it had swung fully in Vale’s favor. A scramble in midfield, a fierce challenge by Jesse Debrah, and suddenly the ball broke free. Connor Hall, newly introduced, lifted it over the top. Dejon Brown read it instantly, bursting between the centre halves and springing the offside trap. As the keeper rushed out, Brown stayed composed, sliding the ball in at the near post.
From 1–0 down to 2–1 up in the blink of an eye, it was the kind of turnaround that can define a side’s spirit. Brown’s calmness belied his age, the kind of finish that speaks of both instinct and composure. The celebrations told their own story, arms raised, fists clenched, a wave of belief rolling across the pitch.
Fleetwood Fight Back
But Fleetwood were far from done. Their equaliser came not from pressure but from persistence. As Vale began to tire, the visitors found space in the half channels, probing patiently. When a loose ball broke to Medley on the left edge of the area, he needed no invitation. One touch to set, another to drive, the shot rocketed past Amos at his near post.
It was 2–2, and Vale’s earlier composure evaporated. The cold rain didn’t help; defenders hesitated on slick turf, and Fleetwood sensed uncertainty. Within minutes, they had turned the screw again. Helm, once more at the heart of it, slipped the ball left to Bonds, who hammered home to put Fleetwood ahead 3–2.
The visitors celebrated wildly, knowing they had punished two lapses that Vale could ill afford. From the home dugout came anxious gestures, urgency, frustration, disbelief. Fleetwood now looked likely to leave with all three points.
Hall’s Heroics in the Rain
The clock ticked into the 87th minute. The pitch was heavy, legs weary, the air thick with tension. Vale pushed bodies forward. Every pass, every cross felt like a last roll of the dice. Ojo again became the architect, knitting play together on the edge of the box. He fed Headley on the right, who squared it cleverly back across the penalty area.
George Hall, who had been industrious all night, ghosted across his marker and met the ball from an impossible angle. Somehow, he managed to lift his shot across the face of goal and into the roof of the net. It was a stunning finish, technically outrageous, emotionally cathartic. Vale Park roared once more.
At 3–3, the floodlights seemed to glow brighter through the mist. Hall sprinted toward the corner flag, arms wide, soaking in the noise. Around him, teammates crashed into a jubilant huddle. Whatever the result to come, Vale had rediscovered their spirit.
The Lottery of Penalties
When the whistle blew, the players looked drained. Sixty minutes of football in heavy rain had given way to another kind of trial, the penalty shootout. The crowd hushed, breath hanging in the cold air.
Fleetwood’s Helm, who had opened the scoring in regulation time, stepped up first. Calmly, he placed it beyond Amos’s reach. 1–0 Fleetwood.
Vale’s Jaden Stockley followed. His evening had been one of frustration, isolated and starved of service. He struck cleanly enough, but the goalkeeper guessed right. Saved. Heads dropped.
Fleetwood’s Will Davis then made it 2–0, dispatching his kick low to the corner. The visitors sensed control. Vale’s Ronan Curtis, under the wind and pressure, responded. The ball even slipped slightly from the spot before he drove it hard, off the keeper’s palms and into the roof of the net. 2–1.
Ryan Graydon answered for Fleetwood, cool as you like. 3–1. Vale’s Rory Payton kept hope alive, sending Harrington the wrong way to make it 3–2.
But when Ennis converted Fleetwood’s fourth to move it to 4–2, the equation was clear. George Byers had to score. He walked slowly to the spot, wiping his hands on his shorts, rain dripping from his fringe. The referee’s whistle echoed through the night. Byers hit through the ball, too high, too heavy. It sailed over the bar.
Fleetwood players raced toward their goalkeeper in celebration. Vale’s slumped shoulders told the rest.
A Night of Lessons
In the end, both sides progressed from the group, but only one left with the extra point. For Fleetwood, this was a statement of resilience, three times behind yet relentless until the last whistle. For Vale, it was a night of mixed emotions: flashes of brilliance wrapped inside moments of fragility.
The story of the match wasn’t just six goals. It was how both sides revealed their character under pressure. Ojo’s creativity, Brown’s instinct, and Hall’s defiance all stood out, but so too did Fleetwood’s efficiency. Every time the game looked lost, they found a way back.
As the players trudged off under the dimming floodlights, applause rippled across the stands, not raucous but appreciative. The kind reserved for those who have left everything on a sodden pitch.
Vale will rue their lapses; Fleetwood will draw strength from their composure. Yet both can look back knowing that, for one cold November night in the EFL Trophy, they gave their fans something richer than a result: a reminder of why football endures, chaos, courage, and the unshakable pull of the game.
