Cod Almighty | Diary
18 March 2024
No match report? What kind of service is this? Any more slackness and we'll end up as the Fine Fare of fanzines, a distant, half-remembered memory for the grey pound generation, a 40-second feature on The Footage Detectives. That bloke's a Town fan you know – no not Mike-Read-275-and-285-National-Radio-1, the other one.
In Britain you're never more than six miles from another Town fan, especially in Grimsby.
Yes, yet again your Deviant Diary was unattending a Town game in the Deep South and we're distracting you with tosh. So what's the excuse this time – a yoghurt reader's metropolitan aversion to the redneck cotton pickers of Kent? Nah, there's moths in my carpet, what amma gonna do? That's a true story Kate, unlike her photo.
Incidentally one of our diarists has just revealed a hinterland of hillbilly hogwash that may, or may not, have involved duelling banjos deep in the heart of Dixie. Well, Lincolnshire. Or he may have been grey pounding on about the Bardney Pop Festival again. Stand by for a new feature: Out of Town with Guest Diary, very much the Jack Hargreaves of Cod Almighty. We know you miss your weekly fix of tractor watch.
Oh, okay, you didn't come here for a lunchtime of Talking Black and White Pictures from the past. The future is now, has only just begun and is also our children. Town kept their teeth nice and clean down in murky Medway, the Fruity Foresters lost to Dead Sutton and the Cowleywobblers avoided victory, so everyone's feeling all right. A cracking goal and cracks in the Artell edifice: he's smiling, he's joshing with John and he's pumping those fists.
If you know your history then you would know where he's coming from and you wouldn't have to ask who the heck does he think Curtis Thompson am. Big Dave, our chortling chieftain, was a lyrical waxman to Mr T, our local radio legend, when it came to the impact of our newish midfield man. Yes, our new space cowboy is "a buffalo, a bison, a tank, the destroyer who puts out fires". And if Big Broadcasting John had probed further he'd have found out that Thommo's a picker, a grinner, a lover and a sinner too. Well, the Curtman does keep getting booked.
So it's official then: Curtis Thompson fighting on arrival, fighting for survival.
We can all put our feet up and relax for a few days now, there's no slogging up and down the highways and byways of England, dodging roadworks and baffling traffic jams, seeking safe havens for a pie and a pint or a tea and a slice. It's Hollywood next, so plenty of scope for the weekly diarists to fill their boots gently picking at the sores on the prickly Celts egos. Your absent match reporter even made a special guest reappearance on Fearless in Devotion last night just to mess with their minds again.
Right, is the panic over? We told you the season doesn't start until March. It's March, so the season is just starting over. We have grown, we have grown.
Mariners are sometimes masters of their own fate.