Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary - Wednesday 2 July 2003
2 July 2003
Ooooh, exciting! Town are about to sign a proper left winger - namely Glasgow-born Iain Anderson, who began his career with Dundee, spent a season with Toulouse and then made a key contribution to Preston's success under David Moyes after the then Lilywhites boss paid £500,000 to bring him back to Britain. The player found it difficult to hold down a place under Moyes' unsuccessful successor Craig Brown, though, and is set to pen a two-year deal with the Mariners today following a medical. Though not the world's biggest baddest player - or even the second biggest baddest after Georges Santos - Anderson can take players on, and is understood to be strong and quick and capable at set pieces, with a very respectable goalscoring record. Cor!
Danny Coyne, meanwhile, is set to take his career forward by becoming a Premiership bench-warmer at big bad Leicester. Wales' fourth-choice number one has been nurturing a deadly aversion to Division Two all summer - and has probably been dreaming of a move since halfway through last season when he gave up on Town's chances of staying up - and his fairy godmother is the underrated Micky Adams, master of crisps, who will take Dan to the midlands as back-up for first-choice Foxes stopper and occasional England international Ian Walker. So long, then, Danny, and thanks for everything; it was good while it lasted, which was until a year ago. Paul Groves is already in talks with a replacement, according to reports.
And if all of that were not enough to have whipped you into some kind of rabid frenzy, Stacy Coldicott has put his name to a new two-year contract with the Town. The Destroyer is still recovering from the broken leg sustained during the Mariners' visit to Burnley in March, just as he looked like he was back to his best, and will not travel with the squad for this month's triangular tournament in Ibiza. "I will stay behind and work hard on my recovery," Stace says on Town's official site. His voting intentions regarding Big Brother are not reported.
Clive Mendonca, the only decent striker Town have had since Kevin Drinkell, is to be honoured following his recent forced retirement from the game by his final club Charlton, who have arranged a pre-season friendly "in the name of" him. Addicks fans remember Clive most fondly for firing their side into the Premiership with his amazing hat-trick in the 1998 play-off final against Sunderland, and will be given a chance to say thank you and goodbye at a benefit match at the Valley against Dutch side NEC Nijmegen on 9 August. Hmmm...London's nearer than Plymouth...
"The reason for the 2 home friendlies been played behind closed doors is on the say so of the police," writes Jamie O'Neill in an email to the Diary. In a kinky sort of way, I prefer my own explanation, but thanks for putting us straight on that, Jamie. Can't quite see how a couple of inconsequential pre-season friendlies would mean the biggest ruck in Grimsby since Havelock and Matthew Humberstone made it onto the national BBC news, but I suppose the police know best, don't they.
There are two other subjects the Diary would like to hear from you about; one being the vexed issue of mobile telephony, and specifically which network I should switch to. I want a pay-as-you-talk set-up, cos I only spend about 10 quid a month on calls and stuff, and your recommendations are invited. I would also like to learn how optimistic or otherwise you are feeling about next season, because these new signings are looking a bit tasty if you ask me. Where do you think we'll finish? Email codalmightydiary@yahoo.co.uk with your take on these matters and anything else, for that matters. Matter.
In just a few minutes' time Tim Henman will be doing that unconvincing clenched fist thing and losing service games on double faults, which reminds the Diary that it's time for another Reason I Hate Wimbledon. Number six in our recent daily series is that not only is it sport for people who don't like football; it is sport for people who don't like sport. There are vast swathes of the British public who like to think their carefully nurtured aversion to sport makes them seem somehow pleasantly and likeably quirky; and yet they all come out of the woodwork at this time of year, furtively channel-hopping to see how "Tim" or "Greg" are getting on. In fact, given that most of its spectators invariably neglect to follow the other Grand Slam tournaments, Wimbledon could even be described as tennis for people who don't like tennis.