Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Saturday 12 April 2003

12 April 2003

I'm not entirely sure what a death knell sounds like, but it probably shares something of the mournful timbre of Town's 4-1 drubbing at the hands of Crystal Palace this afternoon, watched by 4,707 people. Paul Groves springs a surprise by reverting to a 4-4-2 formation, only for his side to effectively relinquish first division status by shipping three first-half goals. Steve Chettle, on his return to the side, pulls one back soon after the break but a late strike from Dougie Freedman brings it all to an end. The result sees the Mariners crash to the bottom of the league, and although other scores mean the distance from safety remains at four points, there is little in today's outcome to suggest that Town will take enough from their remaining four matches to stand a chance.

Diary reader Bob Scaramanga, though (well, that's what it says here), reckons it's not all bad. "I think playing in Division Two next season would be better than being in Division One because Division One is rapidly disappearing up its own arse in a pathetic attempt to become the Premiershit," he writes in an email to the Diary. "We want to be down there where the real football takes place, unencumbered by all that money that's ruining the beautiful game." Quite a valid perspective, you might think. "In fact," he continues, "sod Division Two - let's get this team back into Sunday League. Yes!" Oh well.

Thanks to Miles, anyway, for writing yesterday's Diary, and doing it so well once again. The National Space Centre was dead skill, as we used to say when I was a little 'un caked with the mud of Grant Thorald Park; and I have to admit not knowing until now that the rings of Saturn are only 100 metres thick - almost exactly the same distance as the length of the pitch at Blundell Park. Which sounds like a cue for some witticism about Tony Gallimore or something, but I can't really be arsed today.

For those who are wondering, by the way, Irthlingborough is in Northamptonshire, about five miles east-north-east of Wellingborough, close to the junction of the A6 with the A45. It is also the smallest town in England to host a league football club. The Diary once spent a night there, some time around 1990, and visited the building site that was soon to become Nene Park, little suspecting that its then Dr Martens side Rushden & Diamonds might one day host a league fixture against Grimsby Town. Ah, football. In the immortal words of Peter Cook's pretend Scunny manager Alan Latchley, "She's a cruel mistress. She's more than a mistress - she's a wife, she's a daughter, she's an errant child!"

I don't know about you, but I could use a drink.