Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Friday 18 April 2003

18 April 2003

"Grimsby Town's First Division future is still uncertain. The fitness of one man could help determine the end of season outcome." Far from being promotional hype for the long overdue Hollywood blockbuster about the Mariners' epic tussles with relegation, this is in fact the rather grandiose manner chosen by BBC Humber Sport to inform us of the club's latest injury concern. So who is this pivotal figure upon whose presence the very future of the club depends? Rejuvenated player-manager Paul Groves? Towering centre-half Georges Santos? Ever-reliable captain John McDermott? No - it's, er, Simon Ford actually - the defender whose sporadic voyages into cosmic realms unknown have, if we're honest, cost Town a point or two over recent weeks. The young space cadet is carrying an achilles injury and is touch and go for tomorrow's do-and/or-die visit to Sheffield Wednesday. Steve Chettle stands by to deputise.

Elsewhere in the side, Santos has shaken off the hamstring injury that kept him out of the calamitous defeat by Crystal Palace last weekend; while Richard Hughes, Stuart Campbell, Tony Gallimore, Michael Keane and Steve Livingstone will all be in contention, having all recovered from their nasty digestive infection. One hopes that, having suffered from the runs, Livvo in particular will recall the meaning of the phrase in a football context.

Correspondence reaches the Diary inbox from two Wilsons, the first being Mr Cod Almighty himself, Simon, of Leeds, West Yorkshire, who observes: "Say the name of yesterday's featured trialist out loud. 'Billy Mehmet'. Sounds like too much like Billy Nomate to me." You'd think, with a job to hold down and a two-month-old baby to care for, that he wouldn't have that much time on his hands, wouldn't you?

Today's second Wilson with something to say is Mark, of Tring, Hertfordshire, who has a sad tale to share with us all. "Having forced a number of people to bear their souls about betting on Town I feel I should cleanse myself and be honest. It's all my fault, and it's not because of a bet...". Here, presumably, the reader is invited to imagine a swirly passage-of-time visual effect like they used to do on the telly. "A couple of years ago," continues Mark, "my in-laws bought me a Town baseball cap that was stylish, subtle and wearable (not always the case with Town gear). The first official outing for this piece of footy haute-couture was away at Palace on a Tuesday night where I arrived 15 minutes late for the kick-off due to the M25 and then had to sit through Town being hammered 5-0. I knew as I left Selhurst Park that the cap had to go, it was evil and it contained the spawn of the devil. But I didn't bin it, I kept it, it hangs on a door not ten feet from where I now sit. Malevolent, laughing at Town's plight...I'm sorry." Your baseball cap may be very naughty, Mark, but only those Burberry ones can be deemed truly evil.

And there's more! "There is another potential reason for Town's woes: Bill Shankly said that teams should wear red socks as it was easier for players to pick each other out when they were running with their heads down," reveals our man in Herts. "What Bill says goes in my book. You will recall that up until recently Town wore red socks. I rest my case. And apologies to my brother who has to hear this theory every time we talk about Town." As one who has often mourned the passing of red socks from the Mariners' kit (or stockings, as they were amusingly known at the time), the Diary is seriously grateful for that nugget.

And that's all for now, beloved readers. Tomorrow's Diary will appear as soon as I can find a computer after leaving Hillsborough; and Monday's will be another Saturday-style teatime Diary, in that fun-time Dukes of Hazzard slot, when I get round to my mum's after the Walsall game. Keep the emails coming in, keep watching the skies, and let me know if you see Simon Ford.