Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary diary quite contriary
13 May 2022
Who will win the WAG war? My money is on the vacuous one.
If John McAtee needs a shoulder operation, I must need an entire body transplant. He hurled himself about on Tuesday like a Wrestlemania contestant who had eaten too many jelly babies. When he scored, Harry Clifton jumped onto his shoulders and the two twirled round like a circus act for a few seconds. I wouldn't have been surprised if McAtee had leapt onto a passing galloping horse then stood on its back, juggling. He also managed to collect every POTY award going and haul them back to his car in a big sack. Fair to say I'm not worried about his fitness for the first play-off game.
Before we take on the County they are all calling Notts, we have to finish the regular boring old season with a visit to Eastleigh, which is down there somewhere on the map. I bet even the bloke with the posh voice on my Sat Nav wouldn't be sure. "Take a left turn towards Southampton, then you are on your own. It is down there somewhere." I’m not going, which is a good job as I would have probably have gone tomorrow instead of Sunday when it is actually being played. If there is anyone out there as stupid as me – and scientists still cannot agree on this point – I’m going to put EASTLEIGH MATCH SUNDAY in capital letters to draw your attention to it. Otherwise you could be stuck in Eastleigh for a whole day. Mind you, I can think of a lot worse places to be. Like down in the sewer, or even on the end of a skewer.
Eastleigh aren't going down, so well done to them. Presumably plucky little Grimsby manager Paul Hurst will use the match to play some of the more dispensable members of his squad whilst wrapping the superstars in cotton-wool blankets and sending them to bed early with Calpol. There was a kid in the half-time game against Maidenhead I'd like to see get a chance to play. He was a bit more circular than the other lads and never got a kick, but he had a likeable face and never stopped trying. Go on, Hursty. Give youth a chance.
When we were first relegated to non-League all those years ago I thought of the smaller teams as being plucky tryers, plumbers and mechanics with huge hearts living out their football dreams on a Saturday afternoon. Doubtless the romanticising of such clubs on FA Cup Grandstand led me to this way of thinking. The harsh reality is that the smaller the team, the more shithousery and the less professionalism one tends to encounter.
Boreham Wood were okay and played the game in a good spirit, but what an absolute bunch of arseclowns Maidenhead were. Cheltenham, of course, have managed to climb the leagues by taking tosspottery to a whole new level. I've said this before, but I think it is worth reiterating: very, very few footballers want to feign injury, hurt fellow pros, get other players sent-off or do anything except play football. All this bullshit comes from the bench. One wonders if recent rancid revelations about John Yems or James Rowe will be repeated. I suspect the culture around non-League and lower league football has become more toxic as the competition has grown fiercer.
On a lighter note, my mate Dean tells me he once played football with Motorhead in the Winter Gardens car park. Fast Eddie and Philthy Phil played their hearts out but apparently Lemmy refused to join in, possibly because he had a wart injury (unconfirmed). This made me think: have any other CA readers played football with heavy metal bands? Maybe you played five-a-side with Def Leppard, or three and you're in with Megadeth. Or maybe you played netball with Stryker. Either way, drop us a line on the following email address:
codalmighty/ifwegetasingleresponsetothisoneIwilleatmyownfeet@hotmail.com.
Feel free to add random umlauts to metal it up a bit.
To those going to Eastleigh tomorrow, whoops I mean Sunday, have fun and don't get lost – it's down there somewhere, I promise. UTM.