Cod Almighty | Diary
Fxxx da police!
26 November 2021
Have you got any unpopular or controversial opinions? You know the ones – you feel free to express them to certain friends and family but not to others. One of mine is that running, swimming and cycling were invented so that people who are shit at sport can still get some exercise. I have to be careful with that one. Also, my views on the game of rugby need to be camouflaged when in the company of certain people. When it comes to football and much loved footballers, there's the issue of people taking things personally.
Take James McKeown. My regular reader (Hi Billy!) knows that I'm not a fan. Whenever we play a team whose main weapon is the long throw or the hoof into the box, for example, we struggle to contain them because JM rarely leaves his line and we end up playing Big Bloke Pinball in the six-yard box, which is risky. I think that's one of the reasons why we traditionally lose when we play in industrial estates down south against teams who get excited when a thousand fans turn up and have a substitute who is six foot nine.
People rave about his shot-stopping, but I don't think it is anything like it used to be; most of us have memories of match-winning performances from him in the past, but would struggle to name a game in the last few seasons in which he has excelled.
But here's the thing. Football is not a sentimental journey. It's the most brutal of meritocracies. JM seems like a personal friend to many of us because we have shared his work experiences with him for the last ten years. He was there when we failed to get promoted, when we were promoted, and when we were relegated again. We've seen him cry on the pitch and run, arms aloft, from one goalmouth to the other and shared his emotions. There's something comforting about having the same name on the teamsheet for ten years, a link to the past and a thread of continuity in a game now saturated with loanees and journeymen. But I don't think he's any good. I'm sorry, but I must stress that it isn't personal. It never is. As a person, I wish him all the best and would thank him sincerely for his efforts and commitments over the last decade. As a footballer, I'd rather he played for someone else. There. I've said it.
Whilst I'm purging myself, let's talk about John Tondeur. I love you man, it feels like you are an honorary part of the family and you've been the soundtrack to a thousand Saturday afternoon car journeys and fading winter afternoons in the BOTB house. You are a soothing, reassuring presence and as much part of the club's history as any player or manager. But, please, please remember to tell us which side has the ball. Cheers.
In my many years of following the Mighties, one incident stands out, even though it took place over 35 years ago. We were playing at Rotherham in a night match. I lived in Sheffield at the time and had gone by myself, knowing I'd find people I knew when I arrived. Sure enough, I saw my old school friend Tony (no, not that one - Ed), also alone, and spent an uneventful, goalless first half chatting away about football. The large terrace was sparsely populated and we sat down at half time and carried on chatting. A George Michael song came on the PA, and Tony expressed the opinion – widely held at the time – that George Michael was a wanker. A burly policeman walked fully 20 yards from the front of the terrace towards us and the following conversation took place.
Policeman: Did you call me a wanker?
Tony: What? No! I said George Michael was a wanker.
Policeman: Don't lie to me, sunshine. You called me a wanker.
Tony: No, I said George Michael was. They're playing him on the PA.
Policeman: (wagging his finger and looking threatening before leaving) You just watch your step, son. I've got my eye on you.
Luckily today's police force are a very different animal from the one that I encountered on that cold evening in the early nineties. Now, if the police find themselves employing an odious, officious, fat prick of a troublemaker, he wouldn't be allowed to go and police a football match. He'd be given a mobile speed camera and told to hide behind a bush in Barnoldly-le-Beck.
So, Boreham Wood. Another inconsequential little team financed by some moneyed bloke who doesn't realise you're going to eventually need a fan base if you are going to be successful in the long term. Their home attendance has only got over the 1,000 mark twice this season, but they are clearly doing very well in terms of performances. They could get promoted, and enjoy a nice little league adventure before moneyed bloke gets bored of wasting his cash and they once again get flushed down the football drainpipe and back to their natural level. Again, it's nothing personal. I'm sure everybody connected with the club is lovely. I just wish you were in the Conference South where you would be quite at home and happy. And at least you're not pissing Salford, so there is that in your favour.
Tomorrow is going to be very windy indeed so expect a farcical non-event. There is this myth that you can nullify the wind by playing the ball on the ground, but as all players know, it's still harder to control the ball because it moves erratically. A postponement would be lovely though I doubt we'll get one unless a crayfish vol-au-vent flies out of the fanzone and injures a steward. If you're in there and we are losing, it might be worth chucking a few about and hoping for the best.
Sigh. It's all gone a bit King Kong, hasn't it?
Never mind. Soon be Christmas, eh? Cuh dear.