Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Tuesday 15 May 2012

15 May 2012

Technology. It's changed our lives in ways we couldn't imagine just a couple of decades ago. We can use social media to communicate with our mums. We can use smartphone technology to find out when our next bus is due. And your original/regular Diary can spend lunchtimes clicking links on web pages that say things like "Engraved Bricks Update".

If you're lucky enough to have a little spare cash after two years of the Coalition's slash-and-burn economic policy, you could spend it on an engraved brick outside Blundell Park, to help support Town's embattled youth system. Or you could put a quid of it on the turnstile tonight. There's a charity match afoot, kicking off at 7, between teams called GBA Allstars and Grimsby Town Legends. The cash raised will support research into leukaemia and lymphoma, in memory of the late Richard Broadley and Matty Dawson.

And that's about that - so what a good thing it is that literally three of you have emailed on the subject of Town's worst ever player. Those of you with reasonable medium-term memories and nothing much to do will recall that Mardy Diary asked that very question here last Friday. Phil Watson suggests the infamous Mickael Antoine-Curier, "unless you meant worst person, when we have to mention Ashley Sestanovich". Rich Mills controversially suggests Tony Gallimore and Straight Peter Bore - "both obviously talented but squandered their talents so therefore for me our worst players. Worse than some of the truly talentless players that have been through the doors lately, of which there are many."

And finally, Charles Lumley has penned a 250-word epitaph on Poor Serge Makofo. I won't reproduce it all here, partly because long emails can tend to overwhelm the Diary. But mostly because I regard any criticism of Poor Serge, however justified, as a form of bullying. And no, PSM wasn't really signed by accident after Town scouted his fellow Kettering forward Jean-Paul Marna. That was just a messageboard myth.

"This wastrel who can trap a ball further than I kick one is sat on a nice three-year deal," fumes Charles, "and is destined to be here for the duration as no bugger else will take him off our hands. Even Lincoln said no." You see? Gratuitous is the word. But as cruel as I deem Charles's outburst to be, he's got a super suggestion at this point. "There must be some use we can put the poor man to for the remainder of his contract. We still don't have a chairman in place do we?"