Cod Almighty | Article

by Simon Wilson

16 September 2005

I thought it was all a joke. On holiday my mobile phone had been dead for a week. I wasn't even that arsed about turning it on. Turning it on would produce only the expected slew of text messages, missed call alerts, and a return to the on-demand nature of life. Nothing that couldn't wait until my hiatus was over.

My phone finally gets recharged, the day before the season kicks off. It slowly wakes from its prolonged siesta in the Devon heat. CLICK! Five messages. Yeah, yeah... "Croft on trial. In team for Blackburn game." Croft? Croft? Neh, can't be the Croft. Must be another. There's that lad who was at Oldham last season. Must be him. CLICK! "Croft played ok."

I thought I could leave it. The thought hung around the back of my mind. Five minutes later I had to contact someone else, someone who could confirm whether there was truth in this return of the prodigal son.

Run down the stairs into the backyard and cancel the next day's plans. Wifey! We're going to Grimsby tomorrow!

That's how I felt when the news arrived. Defy all logic and practicality! The Croftster was finally back home! His return, an eternal myth on Town messageboards for years, going back to the first Buckley era. And here it was. Dream made real.

He was a sexy little thing, with distinguished footballing gifts: he stroked the ball about, played anywhere on the pitch, had energy, even the occasional under-used guile. A full-back of some ability, or a balanced wide midfielder who could dedicate equal and well-judged time defending or attacking. He has it all, our Gary. His first spell with us was evidently limited: he was too good for Town, especially once those four England u21 caps were bestowed upon him.

At 22 tender years old, and with 149 appearances in four seasons at Town under his floppy hair, Ray Harford fancied a bit of him for Blackburn Rovers - in exchange for a million quid of Jack Walker's money (these being the days when a million quid was still too much for any second division team to turn down).

Eleven years have elapsed with only 253 run-outs. Injuries played their part, sure, and there's that electronic tag which made our Gaz a piece of footballing trivia. But how was he ever so far down the pecking order at Ewood Park, Ipswich and Cardiff? Those imbecile managers! Did they not know who or what they had? Our Crofty! If they weren't going to use him, why not bloody well give him back? It's no good crying over spilt milk. Time to forget. He's back home now.

There was that time a couple of years back his company sponsored the youth team. Thinking about it, he was always going to return. That was a sign. He was showing where his heart was. Playing in Cardiff, but still wanting to support his team. It was inevitable. And now he's back. And he's still only 31. Only! Just the fillip Town fans have been waiting for.

Gary Croft, we love you, baby.