Cod Almighty | Diary

Class acts everywhere, enlightened self-interest and a trustworthy manager

8 June 2022

The parade is over. There is serious work to do.

But not yet.

"2022 is not 2016" I wrote last week. Middle-Aged Diary's actual, on the day, memories of the 2016 final have long since been replaced by the footage I've watched many times since of Nathan Arnold's goal viewed from the opposite side of the pitch from where I was sitting. This time I've not, so far, indulged in an orgy of YouTube trawling, and my impressions remain first-hand.

High among them, Jason Stockwood and Andrew Pettit unobtrusively walking to the edge of the pitch, to applaud us more than to receive applause. Then shyly joining the players in their celebrations, taking the trophy only when they were invited. Not for them to muscle in on a goalscorer's broadcast interview.

There were class acts everywhere on Sunday: in the directors' seats, in the stands and on the pitch. Our win over Notts County left me feeling for their manager, who handled their defeat with dignity (and soon got a new job higher up the league pyramid). I felt for the fans of Wrexham, who have proved themselves yet again to be at least equal first as the most decent set of supporters in the game. In the final I felt for the players of Solihull, prostrate on the pitch as ours danced, the best team of the three we have beaten in this miraculous fortnight.

2016 was driven, emotionally if not financially, by Operation Promotion, the fan-led initiative to give Paul Hust the resources he needed to finish the job we fell just short of in 2015. This year's big financial drive was to get fans to London, despite the costs of travel and tickets. Once again it was led by the Mariners Trust, and yesterday we read on Twitter that many players themselves chipped in.

As James Howes implied here last Thursday, it is partly enlightened self-interest: better for all of us - players and fans - the bigger our following. Self-interest but still enlightened. Troubled times often make us selfish and insular, unable to recognise how by joining together in a common cause we help ourselves and everyone, the kind of socialism that Bill Shankly believed in.

From one great Town manager to another. Of course Paul Hurst has his foibles - every manager does - but no one any longer can question his ability to assemble a group of players who will work for each other and to get the best out of them. He is the manager we need.

He is more relaxed nowadays: I idly wondered if he'd dare cup his ear on Sunday, a grin on his face to show he was laughing not at us but with us, and at himself. He might joke, but if he were appearing on national radio to talk about football, and about one of his old teams, unlike Ian Holloway, he would surely have done his homework. (Thanks to Mike Worden for bringing the story to my attention.)

Hurst, we know, will already be at work getting ready for next season. With it starting so early, and with this one having finished so late, we are at a disadvantage, but we've spent the last two weeks overcoming disadvantages. The parade is over, and the Grimsby Telegraph's photographs suggest an occasion of unfeigned and unforced joy. It is time to move on, and the early demand for season tickets says we are looking forward to it,

We've had a great time and, win or lose, together we are going to have more of them.