Cod Almighty | Diary
I'm a speed king
28 January 2022
Am I the only one who thinks Paul Hurst would make a great Health and Safety Officer? I ask because there has been a lot of speculation about the plucky little GTFC manager's job security in recent days, with even many of his former supporters now turning their coats and clamouring for his head on a pikestaff. As many have pointed out, his record since he left Shrewsbury three years ago is extremely poor, so it seems unlikely he will get a job anywhere else in the game. You have to feel sorry for him – he isn't a belligerent wobblebottom like Bromley's manager (whose name I have forgotten already, having learned it for ten minutes) or a thirsty pillock like Mike Newell or a long-ball lumper like Russell Slade. His former chippiness has subsided and he now seems a likeable man, in a low energy kind of way.
Having said that, it's hard to believe he wasn't trolling us a little with his substitutions during the Wrexham defeat. Lennell on in the 89th minute? What was that all about? I get the feeling that he's writing an imaginary comic strip in his head in which Lennell comes on, grabs an equaliser and both men are redeemed in the eyes of the fans who apologise for ever doubting them. In reality, Lennell is unlikely to score if he plays every game for the rest of the season, so the chances of him netting in injury time at Wrexham were pretty slim.
Last Saturday Coke got a bad injury in the first half, his slow recovery from which coincided with Bromley having their best spell of the match and during which time Coke presented them with a goal. Of course Coke finished the game, apparently getting slower by the second, and uninjured, willing battler Fox was the one taken off. I mean, this isn't Gary Neville-style complex analysis is it? It just baffles me.
And as if I haven't ranted about this incident for long enough, I must remind you of the 2015 play-off final at Wembley when we played Bristol Rovers. During extra time everyone on the pitch was knackered, some Town players virtually crawling around on their hands and knees. And, get this – we had an unused substitute. With the game at a crucial stage, a huge prize on the table, both teams knackered, and three potential substitutes desperate to get on and play at Wembley, Hurst left all of them on the bench. This was six and a half years ago and it still makes my jaw drop when I think of it.
So, tomorrow, Wealdstone. I can talk knowledgeably about Wealdstone because I used to live very close to there, in Harrow Weald. What kind of a place is it? Like many boroughs on the outskirts of London, it is a geographical stodgy pudding of moderate housing with occasional shopping centres and bleak parks full of dogshit. It has neither the spiritual and aesthetic appeal of the countryside or the arts, entertainment and bustle of a city centre. If you live in Wealdstone, your soul may well choose to leave your body several years before you actually die, leaving a hollow shell behind; but luckily no-one will notice. You will doubtless stand in your driveway with your new motor talking about brake pads with your neighbour because that is what Wealdstone blokes do. You will probably support Watford or Tottenham. You will vote Tory. If you have lived in Wealdstone for more than five years your life can have no meaning.
When I lived in Harrow Weald the thought of my beloved GTFC playing Wealdstone would have caused me no end of mirth. If you'd asked me where Wealdstone played I would have suggested one of the aforementioned local dogshit parks. It is fair to say that on a quiet Saturday afternoon I never thought "I know, I'll go and watch Wealdstone play." (Just as well because they left their ground in Wealdstone in 1991. Ed)
All of this is no reflection on the admirable football team who have done superbly to reach this level, and who hopefully won't be as cynical and unpleasant as horrid little Bromley were. On that point, how can a team have players pretending to be injured for five minutes in the second half (I timed them), and use all of their substitutes, and take 30 seconds over a throw-in on every occasion, and still find themselves only having to defend for four minutes of injury time? How incompetent can officials be? Again, this isn't top level difficult officiating is it? It's using a pissing stopwatch. FFS, as the kids say. Possibly.
I think we will beat Wealdstone, which will complicate things. If we were to lose I think Hurst's position would become untenable. If we win, the club will say that everything is back on track and lovely again and no new manager is needed.
Have I moaned enough about everything? Yes? Then I shall stop here.
UTM.