Cod Almighty | Diary

The Force Awakens

8 April 2022

You've come here for your fill of Friday flippancy and frivolity tangentially related to Town and what do you find? Your Covid-infected emergency Deviant Diary spluttering behind a keyboard, filling in for the unavoidably absent BOTB. There are swings, there are roundabouts, there may be trouble ahead, let's face the music and dance through the Important Stuff.

Joel Grant. Were you ever really here?

Town eh, it's all so lovely and calm. All is well in Mariners world as Hurst's Heroes prepare for the assault on the Pirate Coast, me hearties. There'll be shivering timbers in Great Limber come three o'clock tomorrow as the Great Grimsby rock and roll show hits Wahaymouth. Everyone is fit, except Efete. There you are: facts, hot off the interpress. You never get that from BOTB.

Town eh, it's all so marvellous. Chuckling Paul Hurst is even indulging the sensitive lad passing through the GT's revolving door, ruminating on the essence of Amos and the esprit de corps. Yes, young Elliot, perhaps unkindly referred to as the Jar-Jar Binks to Geoff Ford's Yoda, is rumoured to be off to seek his football fortune way out west and we wish him well in his personal journey, moving from hack content assembler to the next David Lacey. Lose that Stars Wars poster, lad, or you'll get snippy comments about Ewoks to Ewood.

With the over-population and inflation and starvation and the crazy politicians, we have the wacky world of football to keep the masses distracted. Whoah, hold on, here come the wackos and weirdos. First we had John Terry's apeman and now those Creepy-Crawleys have been seduced by the South Sea Bubble.

The perennially dodgy Gatwick gatehouse have been bought by that bunch of dreamers and schemers who tried to nab Bradford, the whole kit and caboodle to be funded by those fashionable NFTs (Non-Football Tosh). Why? To "empower fans to take a personal stake in telling their team's story and shaping its future". Nebulous nonsense, what a load of football and financial tosh. Football has always been a honey trap for farming the gullible with promises of magic money from tulips and alpacas and ostrich burgers and Alex May.

Oh hang on, there's Mariners money news. Youngs aren't going to be shirt sponsor anymore. And? Let's wait and see what follows. As long as it's real money from a real company that isn't ethically compromised, then there's little scope for grumbling. Stockits and Petwood are proving to be annoyingly non-useless. Competence doesn't create narrative, there's no bait to click. C'mon, do something daft, we need content.

And finally, Cyril, oh the irony that at the point we're about let ours go it's fashionable to have a Lennie in your top team. Michail Antonio is the current leader of the slack, but Lukaku is making a late amble to take the crown of Britain's Next Top Lennie.