Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary - Wednesday 10 September 2003
10 September 2003
Like a dumped boyfriend on the rebound, Laurens Ten Heuvel is hoping to find solace in the arms of De Graafschap back in his native Holland. That's a football club, not a lass. Town's official site announces that the player is seeking a new club after failing to earn a permanent contract during the loan spell with the Mariners that expired last weekend and will be hoping to make a better impression on his return home; but after Larry 10's league appearances for GTFC failed to live up his form in pre-season, the Diary would advise any prospective new employer to follow Town's lead and have to sign him on loan after missing the deadline to sign him permanently. Isn't it funny how things turn out.
As Town's deafening silence continues over the issue of a replacement for Ten Heuvel, the Diary has been urged to pay public tribute to the cricketers of Lincolnshire, who have just secured the Minor Counties championship with a tremendous England-style fightback against Devon in the final in Cleethorpes last weekend. After a torrid first day for the Lincs bowlers, the Eastern Division winners closed on 92-2 in reply to Devon's 371-3; but the flat county overturned a first-innings deficit by dismissing their opponents for just 97 and knocking off the 202 runs required for victory with an impressive eight wickets in hand. Lincs are not, however, thought to be applying for first-class status.
Back to the winter game, then, and as if supporting the Mariners did not carry sufficient stigma already, one soulless chain pub in Grimsby has allegedly banned customers from wearing the club's replica shirts. The Grimsby Telegraph today carries details of a case being heard by Grimsby magistrates in which a local man is charged with using threatening, abusive or insulting words or behaviour after being refused entry to the Walkabout Bar. "They won't let you in if you are wearing a striped shirt," the prosecutor has told the court. The bar's manager, meanwhile, insists that the policy is just one aspect of its dress code. "It also depends on how drunk somebody is when they go up to the door, and if their clothes are in good repair," he explains. "If you look scruffy, then you are not coming in my place." And there I was thinking what horrible fascists they were.
Paul Thundercliffe, for one, won't be drinking in the Walkabout, if his email to the Diary is anything to go by. In response to yesterday's appeal for suggestions as to what nifty items of merchandise should be added to the stock at Town's club shop, he writes: "They should sell decent tops like the old Scoreline one. Failing that, just a decent Town top." Miles Moss disagrees. "Everyone does replica shirts," he argues. "Been there, done that, bought the erm...replica shirt. What GTFC should do is start selling replica players. Cloning has come on in leaps and bounds these past few years, so it shouldn't be too difficult to offer the discerning fan the chance to buy their very own Michael Boulding or John McDermott, and use them to do chores around the house or do the gardening or something. Of course, they'd need to issue a warranty with all the cloned Poutons. An additional benefit is that when the squad is suffering from its usual injury crises, Grovesie can pop into the club shop and ask them to pop another Iain Anderson in the oven."
Al Wilkinson is another who believes customers at the club shop may have sentient beings on their shopping lists. "Cats," he says. Riiight. Go on. "Just a few, black and white obviously. Then a few more, then more and more until all cats are sold at Blundell Park, all the breeds, colours, shapes, ages, all the strays gathered in a widening net until every feline in the world comes with "GTFC" stamped on its arse." Where's this going, then, Al? "Think about it - everyone wants a cat. Sell 'em at Town and we're laughing all the way to footballing world domination. Picture the scene when Real Madrid come to BP and the whole crowd spins round on the new revolving seats (paid for with purring profits) with a white fluffy specimen perched on their knees. You can hear the chant now: 'Yes, Mr Zidane'. Then after we've beaten them 5-0 we can sell them all a cat, they'd be bound to want one 'coz we'd be the richest, therefore the coolest club in the world. Mwa ha ha ha!!"
On Tuesday there was nothing to put in the Diary. On balance I think I preferred it that way.