Cod Almighty | Diary
Alright darling?
12 June 2026
Caps were doffed, forelocks tugged, Charles III replica strips handed over. The king was in town, in Blundell Park, in the hearts and minds of rain-soaked Grimbarians. The king accepted the proles' cheers and ignored a scatter of boos. He was charming, he was lovely, he was here, putting Grimsby on an evening news map, which is something difficult to complain about. In the systems in which we exist, the town has had a boost and that's never a bad thing.
Radio Humberside shared a long interview with Artell yesterday. The boss of bosses was in chipper mood. He's never met a royal before, except for Charles Vernam, of course. Naked flattery of players is going to be a thread of this week's A46 Diary, by the way. Artell was not quite as excited about the visit of the king as one woman's yelled "Long lives" and "Three cheers fors" that screeched across the YouTube video I sat through, but he is convinced Grimsby is a place and club on the rise and the visit is the least we deserve. Three cheers to that.
Our head coach of head coaches was also excited about a trip to Atlanta through the LMA to check out some fab facilities and American football. Just to clarify that, Artell isn't off to see some fridge-packing, green-baying, GI Joe red-skinning, but some football that is played in America. In Atlanta, to be precise. Using the word soccer would've been a quicker way of saying that.
Artell is also taking in a couple of World Cup games while he's there. It would be rude not to, I suppose. He'll be watching Spain v Saudi Arabia and Morocco v Haiti with, I'm sure, a scout's eye. So, I will take the opportunity to be the first to say "Announce Hakimi!" And if he decides against, then it's time to "Announce Yamal!" No, swap that around; Rodgers would keep Hakimi on the bench, but Yamal would just nudge ahead of Burns.
DA went on to eulogise the players now dead to us. "That's football," he said of Khouri, adding, a little sceptically, I thought, that he wished the young man all the best in his pursuit of better pay. McEachran was praised for his pre-Christmas honesty about his intentions this summer. Artell couldn't offer much beyond "It happens," to explain McEachran's lesser impact this season. He was very quick, however, to express genuine sadness over Svanthorsson even while admitting the club was too ambitious now to carry players preoccupied with carrying their injuries. Brutal.
At least, that was the brutal-sounding bit until he got to Soonsup-Bell. The Thai Terror's ears must've been burning as Artell said that the club not renewing his contract when it was so easy for them to do so would hopefully be "the kick up backside he needs." He has one P word, that's potential. The other P word, progress, was conspicuous by its absence. Brutal.
The Gilsenan wasn't mentioned. Understandably so, I suppose. It feels strange to have so much regret for a player we saw so little of. A lot of sos in this tiny paragraph. Very Kurt Vonnegut. So it goes.
Players we saw plenty of are still on Artell's radar. Cook is in Dubai, the Town boss tells us, "heading bombs away." Such naked flattery surely means communications will be resumed imminently. And Smith? Artell has been on the phone to offer his congratulations after the Barnsley keeper proposed to his girlfriend. She said yes! And Artell couldn't stop telling us how possible a deal for him could be. Barnsley are happy to let him go. Smith would be happy to be here. Such naked talk of a player’s movements must surely mean the deal is already signed? Or he's already destined for somewhere else? So it goes.
Last week, I complained about my lack of anticipation ahead of the World Cup. Well, I'll admit to a build-up of excitement as the week wore on. Forget about pricing, corruption, Nazi border policies, new rules, ridiculous temperatures and the potential for Blundell-busting monsoons to disrupt timings. Forget all that. There's still a feast of football that's long been my favourite outside of Blundell Park.
The group games are the best. A melange of matches that can easily turn into showboating melées of samba flicks and tricks, Asian and African running and European arrogance. We can slide from the sublime to the ridiculous and back again and back again in just a few minutes of a tasty tie.
The mids and the minnows are the guys who are here for a good time, not a long time. When the Norways, Colombias, Ivory Coasts and Japans take on the Slovakias, Ecuadors, Cape Verdes and Jordans. These are games where players make promises to themselves that they can get something, a point, a win, a faint sniff of crawling out of the group on the tips of their fiery fingernails. These are the games that ignite the tournament.
Mexico and South Africa, first game and first mid v minnow, gave us a taste of... I'm struggling here. A taste of not a lot, football-wise. Mexico weren't good enough to suggest longevity in the tournament against a very poor South Africa. The Azteca looks awesome. That was a good bit. But, of course, the referee and VAR stole the show. Those who run football don't like football. So it goes.