The Diary

Gunpowder potatoes, please

20 May 2016

Retro Diary writes: What? You want me to write something about football? You'll have to get me off the ceiling first. Occasionally this week I've momentarily forgotten what I'm grinning inanely about. But then I remember again. Woohoo!

I've been so preoccupied by football for so long now that coming out of Wembley felt like being released from jail. The London air smelled of spring, which had arrived while I hadn't been looking. The drive back up the A1 occasionally swung westwards into an exquisite lilac and apricot-coloured sunset, and the hawthorn blossom sat on the hedgerows like cream-coloured foam. However many times the radio news mentioned our game, we always won and got promoted.

The future suddenly seemed a big place full of possibilities. The non-League era was at an end, and I was driving back to the self-confident town where I'd grown up. It's been six years, and I didn't realise how much I'd missed it. Actually, if anything, it seemed a little better than before.

What a perfect day Sunday was. Actually the second half of the game was mostly hell, but I've forgotten all about that now. That was the game that you secretly celebrate in the deep recesses of your mind on a winter Tuesday night in a freezing Main Stand. It's always there, tucked away. And when it finally comes it totally blows away the everyday world of domestic antagonism, aches and pains, petty frustrations, wrong life decisions and drudgery. It was, quite possibly, the best day ever.

I found the atmosphere in Wembley slightly strange this time round, with effectively only one set of fans in there. Trying to find a Forest Green fan was a bit like 'where's Wally', although their yucky colour scheme helped them to stand out a bit. One Bristol Rovers fan looked at the pictures and asked whether it had been Wembley, and not Old Trafford, that had been evacuated.

But of course an individual Forest Green fan doesn't feel the misery any less acutely than would one of our own. The fact that we're surrounded by people with the same crazy obsession just makes us lucky, not clever. There were a few ten-year-olds in green scarves in there who thought it was the end of the world, being consoled by their parents. Of course they'll find out as time goes by, as we have had to do, that defeats are what make victories special.

Do we agree with everything Hursty does? No. But it would be churlish not to acknowledge that his brilliant permanent signings and the spirit they have all created together were what won us promotion

A few of the older Forest Green fans wore the black and white scarves of the old regime, which is possibly why we couldn't spot them outside. For them, seeing how few of their fans turned out for the very pinnacle of their club's existence must have thrown a lot of harsh daylight on their dreams. Still, we didn't get where we are today by worrying about the opposition's problems. The right team won, for so many reasons (no-one mention that they finished above us at this point, please).

I do regret that the day was slightly soured by the little sub-plot between Hursty and the fans. The way you view the whole messy business depends on many things – such as the point at which criticism, which is the privilege of paying customers everywhere, becomes abuse, which is not. And importantly, whether you think the club is the servant of the fans, or the other way round.

Do we agree with everything Hursty does? No. But it would be churlish not to acknowledge that his brilliant permanent signings and the spirit they have all created together were what won us promotion. Does any of this mean we don't fully support him and the team? Again, of course not. It's really not that hard to get your head round, I don't think.

The world is full of people who receive abuse just for doing their job to the best of their ability, like traffic wardens and tax inspectors. But they generally don't also have fifteen thousand people travelling the length of the country to chant their names as though they're gods. So the situation isn't simple, and like everything in life, the more you try to get to the bottom of it, the more complicated it seems.

When it came to it, Hursty, in his post-match interviews with JT and Matt Dean, was pretty calm about it all, and appeared to soften even further at the civic reception, which was good news all round. It's no use trying to please everyone. The bottom line is that if you've put everything you've got into a job, and done right by everybody as far as you could, you can sleep at night without worrying about what people think. And that goes for all of us. If someone doesn't like it, then just be thankful it's not the boss with your P45 in their pocket.

And now, this special week, we're chuffed, for Paul and for ourselves. Sunday's support at Wembley would have been the envy of any club. It was arguably the happiest day for Grimsby Town in living memory, and being part of that should surely be enough to put any grievance temporarily, or even better, permanently, aside. Actually, I'm pretty sure that's what we did. Now let's all get on and piss Division Four.

On the subject of which, it wasn't until after we'd won that I allowed myself a little peep at who we can expect to see in the fixture list on 22 June. Carlisle, Exeter, Crewe – we could never have imagined how glad we would be to see them again. That's proper oblivion, we're in now. We were johnny-big-pants in non-League, and now we're nowt again. Fantastic. That's the kind of oblivion you can touch. It's oblivion you can find on the map. It's oblivion with enough seats for everyone that wants one. It's oblivion that plays in the first round of the League Cup. It's Oblivion with a capital nil.

Sunday's will be that rarest of things, a relaxed Wembley final involving Town – something which we can say with little fear of contradiction will never happen again. We should savour every fabulous second

And we even have a novel fixture to look forward to – indeed, there is only one left out of football's 92. If you're old enough to have seen Town play Manchester United, the Stevenage game could leave you having seen Town play every other team in the top four divisions. As a mere stripling myself, Stevenage will only be number 91 for me. Come on out, United, yer chickens – time's moving on.

That's if "the top four divisions" will mean anything in a few years' time, with another one of those tedious restructurings being mooted. Hopefully it will be a load of old bollocks and everyone will vote it down. I'm not worrying about it now, but hopefully Town will be well clear of the business end of it by then.

So on Sunday we meet Halifax at Wembley in what amounts to the first of next year's pre-season friendlies. And indeed, you may also meet Hereford and Morpeth if you're going early for a football megadose. Morpeth play in black and yellow stripes, by the way (I know you were wondering), and rather amazingly, Hereford have sold a whisker short of 20,000 tickets and have apparently asked permission to walk a flippin' great bull round the Wembley pitch.

Indeed, over 50,000 people will warm a Wembley seat on Sunday, but not, of course, all at the same time.

Halifax will be airing their new kit, replacing the classy two-tone number of the regular season which was very stylish, but which will now, sadly, forever be associated with relegation. I would have much rather the rubbish and cynical Guiseley had suffered the drop than our old friends from the Shay, but there you go. Hursty has pledged to give a Wembley run-out to some squad members who missed out last week, with Shaun Pearson first among those.

I say I don't care about the result now, but when it kicks off I most definitely will. You always do. But Sunday's will be that rarest of things, a relaxed Wembley final involving Town – something which we can say with little fear of contradiction will never happen again. We should savour every fabulous second.

How poetic that we should sign off from non-League with the epitome of all that pissed us off about it – the bad old, incomparably irritating FA Trophy. But what a week. What a week. Breathe in, smile and feel the joy. Sleep and dream of nothing. And watch this again and again. Go on, do it now. Full screen and volume to the max. UTM.