Cod Almighty | Diary
Re-issue, repackage, repackage
8 May 2015
Retro Diary writes: Bristol Rovers versus Grimsby was the first televised Conference match of the season, and fittingly it will also be the last. These were the two teams supposed to escape the division this year, as BT Sport realised when it showed that first game back in August. These are the only two with any hope, between them, of making Wembley look half full. These are the two old institutions with the most to lose from the gnawing down of their infrastructure by continued deprivation, and their fan base by humiliating new lows.
Bristol made a very mediocre start to life in the non-League. Having recovered, they conceded a catastrophic goal to Dover two minutes from time in the second to last game – if they hadn't done that they would be up now.
Town, meanwhile, can blame their plight on an inability to set up for home games with enough positivity, choosing to play one up front until late November (and arguably after that), and deal with slender leads by packing their own box instead of attacking and killing off inferior opposition. We fought hard against victory on so many occasions. Long after I have forgotten all the rest I will still be irritated by those away games at Lincoln and Chester.
And after all that, both Town and Rovers are still only one game from promotion. Neutrals could well find themselves supporting Bristol Rovers in this match. They are the bigger club, but the underdogs in their own city. They only fell into the drop zone in the very last game of last season. They finished second, which is enough to deserve promotion on its own, let's be honest. And they took four points off us in the league – indeed Town didn't score in either game. They probably deserve it more than we do; slightly.
But one of football's deep and mysterious truths strongly favours Town – that Bristol were two minutes from promotion and blew it. It shouldn't make any difference, but of course it does.
Both teams have good defences – I can easily see it being 0-0 after 120 minutes. If it's penalties, we're goners – we might be able to score them but we tend to be poor at keeping them out. I hope we're all practising the wretched things, but I bet we're not.
Like London Diary on Wednesday, I am upset that the first bad refereeing decision of the final has already been made – namely the appointment of the only Conference ref so awful that we know him by name. He is, or looks at least, about 15. He is the sort of ref of whom my dad would say: "Thinks we've all come to watch 'im." His reaction to baying crowds is to give free kicks the wrong way to show them who's the boss. Just think how many people he can upset at Wembley. If he makes bad decisions close enough together he could cause a Mexican wave. It'll be the best day of his life.
The celebrations after the Eastleigh game were all very jolly, and the first time I have ever seen a pitch invasion to a backdrop of lightning. The dark, muggy conditions, and the fact that we were acting like we'd achieved promotion already, gave the whole thing a slightly weird, soft-focus feel. But it is to Wembley we go.
When one emerges from the concourse into the bowl of Wembley for the first time it is without doubt a wow moment. Your sense of balance is slightly challenged in such a 'vertical' environment with no horizon. But win or lose, it will seem a remote and impersonal end to a season during which the fans and players have been more connected than at any time in living memory. Especially so without all the diehard-but-poor folks out there who just couldn't find nearly 100 quid to spend on a football match, much of which comprises spurious fees.
Those of us who can stretch to it will applaud distantly as we get blasted with victory-themed pop music with the bass turned up to Spinal Tap 11 and cavernous reverb, in austere, anonymous surroundings, before filing back into north London's miserable outer sprawl for the long ride home. It won't feel quite real, I expect, for several days afterwards.
With no match this weekend, we can turn our eyes elsewhere. The Conference North and South finals are tomorrow – and sadly Boston aren't involved, having lost 5-4 to Chorley on penalties. Boston went out having played 390 minutes of football against Chorley this season without ever being behind. Their opponents needed a goal in the fourth minute of injury time to equalise the tie and take it to penalties – an overhead kick. Chorley now play Guiseley in the final. With all those Boshells involved, they should breeze it.
Whitehawk play Boreham Wood in the other final. Whitehawk have Serge Makofo and Scotty Neilson, as well as Christian Nanetti – the kid with the bog brush on his head and unfeasibly low centre of gravity who cost us two points on his own in the home game with Dover. Whitehawk could be quite good, despite sounding like a pub team.
Higher up, the play-offs at the top of the Championship have made us break the habit of a lifetime and look towards East Anglia with interest, as the two lots of village idiots tussle for the keys to the tractor. To the rest of the world this just looks like a battle for which set of muppets we can take less seriously. In 1997, this became the only fixture I've ever seen in which the referee gave a penalty (which would have brought Ipswich level in the last minute) and then changed his mind. It just goes to show what every team who ever won the Conference already knows – that intimidating the ref can and does work.
In the other tie, wouldn't it be nice if Brentford overcame Middlesbrough and went on to win at Wembley? It would mean that all three teams promoted to the Premiership this year have, within my lifetime, been decidedly smaller than Town, and could possibly even be described as cannon fodder. The fact that things can stand on their head like that is actually a good thing for Town at the moment, because frankly we need it to happen again, but the other way round.
Mansfield have taken advantage of the fact that Ollie Palmer is under 24 to offer him a contract, which means they can demand a fee for him when he leaves, whether he is out of contract, and whether they want him, or not. This rule is not as unfair as it sounds – it's really there to stop big clubs from poaching the brightest teenagers from smaller clubs who have painstakingly brought them up since they were in nappies.
And like your North-West Diary yesterday, I was surprised to see the precocious arrival of our new kit. Not only did I wonder how any designer could make a simple prescription of 'stripes' into something so inelegant, but also what it will be like to start next season's campaign against Bromley in a kit that is already associated with failure of the most painful kind.
Right I'd better go and rob a bank – I've got Ticketmaster's foundless add-ons to pay for. Did I tell you? A bank robbed me once. Nothing happened. UTM.