Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary - Monday 21 March 2005
21 March 2005
If you're still spitting blood about what happened on Saturday, first of all spit some of it on Rate The Ref, then take a leaf out of the Diary's Guide to Post-Match Injustice Therapy and spend some quality time laughing at those less literate than yourself. For Darlington may have emerged from the weekend's riot that never quite kicked off with the one goal, three points and twelve players, but if this effort is anything to go by then they're languishing 89 points adrift at the foot of the online fanzine match reporting league table. Want a taster? "Grimsby's Terry Fleming was sent off by the referee for deceit after being fouled by Jason St'Juste, this mint that the referee was a very unpopular person in the Cleethorpes Stadium." The message here is that if you can't write, and then you use a spellchecker, you still can't write. Get off the internet.
Speaking of the taking out of leaves from books, the Mariners' official website has been given a very good idea indeed by certain Cod Almighty contributors' habit of referring to their team's iconic, record-breaking right-back as "Sir" John McDermott. The idea is simply that he ought to be called Sir John McDermott for real, and right-minded individuals of all stripes can now record their assent to this proposition using an online petition set up by the club. And if 28,174 concerned citizens can find time to protest the possible cancellation of Spongebob Squarepants then I'm sure as sure can be that we Grimbarians can put our names to the campaign for Macca's knighthood. Email all your mates as well, and their mates. And people at work. And everyone.
Think of Grantham and you think of Margaret Thatcher. Think of Margaret Thatcher and you start planning the big party you'll be having on that glorious day when Satan snatches away her filthy soul to Hades and commences to perform upon it a sequence of unimaginably excruciating torments that will continue for all eternity. Let's just hold that thought for a moment. Mmmmm. Anyway, Grantham is also where Chris Hyam, who I think is one of several players on the blurred boundary between Town's youth team and reserve team, will be playing his football on the next few Saturdays - well, on the ones when Southern League Premier Division side Grantham Town are at home anyway, as the young, er, youngster has been loaned from one black and white striped GTFC to another in order, says the OS, "to improve the physical side of his game", for which read "to build up a bit of resistance to getting kicked six foot in the air".
In researching the Southern League, incidentally, the Diary has just discovered that Richard Pacquette - the forward who showed up for a kickabout at Blundell Park the other week considerably less quickly than he was shown the door again after Town actually saw him play - has just transferred from Fisher Athletic to Hemel Hempstead Town. And to think we still get excited about trialists.
What else, then? Town are doing the two kids in free thing again for next Monday's bank holiday derby against, er, Rushden & Diamonds (nice picture, by the way, chaps); despite the team's best performance for months, a few moaning Grimsby sods are still managing to convince themselves that Town were rubbish on Saturday; and the Mariners' former player-manager Paul Groves, now a key figure in central defence for non-League York City, may or may not retire from playing this summer at the age of 39. Not much of a story, that one, really.
Cheese and music. Sibbo suggests 'A Brie C' by the Jackson Five ("I know that effort's as bad as the ref's on Saturday"); Paul Thundercliffe offers "Edam (Wham! George Michael), Brie is Family (Dana Dawson), Air on a Cheese String (Bach)"; and BlackandWhiteBarmy continues the Diary's Queen riff with 'I Want to Make Brie', 'Leerdammer to fall', and the remarkable 'Seven Seas of Rye Bread Crackers with Stilton'. "That's the cheese, not an idea for a new column," adds BaWB about the latter. Thank you all. At least the CA team had the excuse of being drunkĀ