Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary - Friday 21 December 2007
21 December 2007
As I write this I am listening to the Mariners World video of the club's annual general meeting (part one). After a hesitant and slightly stumbling start by Mr Fenty the meeting bumbles along with the daft rituals of resignation by rotation and re-appointment of auditors. No mention of anything to do with either football or pie quality here, gentle reader. And then the killer question posed by a respectful Fenty fan named Clive. Yes, before we hear the answer, we know it: you can buy a directorship at Grimsby Town FC. Qualification criteria, as Positive John puts it. Cash for honours indeed.
Mr Fenty should know. He changed the rules of the game, didn't he, to make himself top dog with a mechanism to ensure he stays that way. But apparently he didn't think about life after this first step and Fenty had to agree with Clive, when Clive noted that the only director putting his hand in to his pocket of late to support the club was Mr Fenty himself.
The ridiculous similarity between Mr Fenty and Rod Stewart strikes me yet again. Rod built himself a full-sized football pitch in the gardens of his mansion, and then realised that he had to pay his 'mates' to come round in order to get a game. The same may be true of Mr Fenty and his dome in a few years time. The word Mr Fenty, for you to look up, is hamartia.
In fact of the other directors only "good ol'" Pete Furneaux could be arsed to turn up to the most important meeting of the year. Michael Chapman was watching his 150/1 shot Art of Being fall in the novice selling hurdle at Ludlow. And the other bloke was on holiday. This horse has a long way to go it would seem. It's record this season is UPP0F. That's unseated rider, pulled up in the next two, beaten 50 lengths and then fell. A long way, to go, and very slowly and unsteadily it would seem.
But I digress. So none of the other directors are supporting the club financially and there is no prospect of doing so. And Mr Fenty told the meeting there is neither any prospect of new blood entering the Town boardroom at the moment. But is that surprising really? The Chairman has allowed the club to sink deeper and deeper into debt without taking corrective action, whilst pursuing his reckless plans with regard to a new stadium which the club cannot possibly afford. And any new director will be expected to fall meekly in line with his plans while listening to Fenty's thin-skinned rants about how bad the situation is and that he will not continue to pump monies in forever. You couldn't make it up really. I don't think I'll bother with AGM (part two) today folks and spend the next paragraphs trying to instil some seasonal cheer instead, eh?
Anyhow the last few results have been much improved overall (there you go - start smiling folks!) and now Town face one of their many bogey teams in Stockport County away tomorrow. The management team have been quiet thus far (or perhaps Dale has too much of a festive hangover to do the interview) but the superbly seasonal official site has published the news that Danny North is poorly and that Sgt Whittle still has a sore ankle. So Lord Buckley potentially has an excuse to revert to a lone striker.
Cod Almighty reader Denby has been in touch with the Diary to enquire about testimonials. He can only name Sir John of McDermott and, "er, Bobby Cumming" as recipients. I know there are more but after all that horse racing research your Guest Diarist is too tired to even think. Let us know folks, and put Denby out of his apparent misery please.
These Norwegians run deep and long you know. Jostein has been in touch again to tell us that Mickey Speight, who temporarily seized the Town captaincy from Joey Waters in about 1982 (before fucking off again fairly sharpish with a flea in his ear), has got a new job. In Norway, naturally, where Jostein tells us he has a reputation as being the man behind Eric Bakke. And his new job title at Vålerenga is, ahem, 'offensive coach'. Definitely offensive, methinks.
I'm going to stop now so you can start to relax. The next step for me is in to oblivion: to a world where Town play bright incisive football; where the pies are hot and the beef tea not too salty; where the directors and shareholders realise they own and run a small club in a small backwater and that that is not so bad really; where Town win as many as they lose and I only have to pay a tenner to see 'em in my beloved Blundell park. Wake me up before kick off folks, and have a great Christmas. Whether we will get it together to do a diary on Christmas Eve remains to be seen but let's hope Town battle for at least a point tomorrow and the team stays fit over the holidays. See yer.