Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 8 May 2003

8 May 2003

North Thoresby-born Darren Wrack could be set to join the Hull revolution if Tigers boss Peter Taylor gets his way. The Walsall winger is high on the Norman Wisdom impersonator's wanted list and may make a summer switch to whatever that new ground is called that Hull council built for their football team with the gajillions of pounds they made from selling off Kingston Communications. Kingston Communications Stadium, that's it. Wrack joined the Black Country outfit in 1998 after two seasons with the Mariners, and later exacted his revenge for his lack of first-team opportunities at Blundell Park by flicking the Vs at Town fans after his new mates scored against GTFC. Like, yeah, dead mature.

Meanwhile Bradley Allen - whose striking partnership with Michael Boulding was the decisive factor in Town staying up in 2002 - has been released by third division Bristol Rovers. The talented striker spent some time with Peterborough after the Mariners' surprising decision last summer not to keep him, but was forced to drop another division in the search for a livelihood. Now, with clubs still devastated after their ruthless pillage by the unscrupulous bandits of Carlton and Granada TV, Allen's future in the professional game hangs in the balance.

As does - much to the Diary's amusement - that of Junior Lewis, the Leicester midfielder who as recently as January considered himself far too good to go out on loan to the likes of Grimsby, only to discover that paying someone 15 grand a week for being pants was a luxury the Foxes could no longer afford. His club having made its position clear, Lewis swiftly reviewed his, and went out on loan to the likes of Swindon; but the Lineker-backed debt defaulters have now confirmed that J-Lew is out on his booty. Satisfying, isn't it? Add some amusing names and tiresome description and you could almost be reading Dickens.

Speaking of great literary works, the Diary is pleased to receive an email from Cod Almighty poet Alistair Wilkinson. Al has been pondering the subject of Town kits down the years, and writes: "Town's best strip was almost certainly the '96/'97 rather dashing outfit which unfortunately saw us relegated, but then saw us win many a game in our 'phoenix' season the following year, before Dixons usurped the frozen food umbrella of a sponsor that was Europe's Food Town. It had a simplicity of design that was pleasing to the eye and the sponsor lacked the garish Mars bar theme of Dixons and the Speak And Spell button design of our latest pimps. Apparently it was designed with Ivano Bonetti in mind and so had an Italian feel (Lotto were the manufacturers), but I think grandmaster psycho Laws had already worked his iron-fisted magic on the foppish maestro and he never got to wear it. Another plus point, for all you beer guzzlers out there, was that the well-defined black and white stripes were very slimming. They covered my lard and hops-infested tits and belly for a while anyway."

That charming image now lodged in your consciousness forever, we turn to Paul Thundercliffe, a name, like those of certain other Diary correspondents, that whisks me back to the olde days of Sing When We're Fishing. Paul opines: "The new Town shirt (almost an anagram of 'went in own shite') is indeed vulgar. The best Town shirt was the 1984 'Hobbot' effort resplendent with two red stripes from v-necked collar to sleeve. The worst? Possibly Admiral's dire pinstripe effort of '94 (although the yellow away kit was quite smart)." Sceptical readers may recall that Paul was once renowned in the pages of SWWF as a proud glasses-wearer; though the intervening period has represented ample time for laser correction. He adds: "The bad thing about the new shirt is that it isn't so much a copy of Juve's shirt - more a photocopy. And a bad one at that, like the toner's nearly run out or the lid wasn't kept down." Sounds like most of the Diary's wardrobe, actually...

The Diary's readership, on the other hand, remains razor-sharp, as an email proves explaining the superstition about GTFC keepers wearing green. "Way back in the 1901/02 season," writes F Fancy, "Grimsby's keeper at the time - one Walter Whittaker - was mistaken for a small scotch pine by two visiting Canadian lumberjacks. During a particularly dull patch of play, they leapt out of the Main Stand and sliced through his legs just below the knee with one of those double-ended saw things. Whittaker was then sold as a Christmas tree to an unsuspecting myopic housewife on Harrington Street. Since then, Town keepers have been reluctant to wear green, lest the same thing should happen. As a footnote, despite the agonising pain, Whittaker was pleased to learn later that his dismembered feet actually saved two penalties."

Keep 'em coming! codalmightydiary@yahoo.co.uk is the road to salvation.