Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 12 November 2009

12 November 2009

Stay away from the ball boys! The Tinytot Towners have flu-like symptoms after beating Rotherham. Surely it's shock at a Town team winning: pass the smelling salts from the left-hand side.

Now then, when was the Battle of Wonky Tie? It's nearly a month since the lovers' terrible tiff at closing time and the Dear Leader has finally gotten around to doing a sift of applicants. Behold the news! Chairman Jong-Fen-Ti has a shortlist of six people he wants to speak with. Behold the news! Mr Sort-It-Slade isn't on it: he doesn't need to interview him, he knows all about him.

This is Thursday. This is Grimsby. This is Deviant Diary.

And this is no way to select an employee. If Slade is your man, why go through this farrago, this fandango, this fugazi? Is it Mr Shoo-in-Slade or Mr Stewing Slade, the backstop candidate chosen eventually because he'll do?

The expected return of the Slade is filling many with inertia, or almost as much inertia as Town's midfield. Ah Russell Slade, the man who bored us to not being promoted, but with the added thrill of a 12-hour round trip to Cardiff. Russell Slade, the man who succeeds in getting employment contracts for himself. Russell Slade, the man who thought Junior Mendes and Ben Futcher were the icing on his cake. It's pronounced cackckckckck. Does even he remember Marc Goodfellow? Who hasn't forgotten Glennnn Downey, Terry Bar-wick, and whirlwind romances with 'Frenchmen' that end in tears. Au revoir Monsieur Ak-Ak. That's your baguette and butter for the Sladeable future.

And all the while the ship in a state sails on, picking up waifs and strays along the way.

The Enigmatic Woods is continuing his trolley dash around Lidl with further loans sought, and the expected arrival of Mark Hudson, who's perambulated east from Rotherham, via Blackpool and Gainsborough (aka Southport), an unholy trinity of northern clubs. Isn't this all so reminiscent of the Watkiss weeks - loans chucked in, then chucked out immediately when a new manager is appointed. Still, at least we're not pinning our hopes on Tomi Ameobi this time.

But we were pinning our hopes on the Pooperscoopers from 'Ull. Featherstone and Atkinson, two Premiership ponces from the Dark Side of the Humber, turned their noses up at the chance of an escape to the country. Perhaps the lure of watching Mad Bad Brown's imaginary lifesaving was too strong.

We started on a high, let's end on a high. The reserves played yesterday at Bradford. Jones the Limp scored, presumably off his deadly backside again, in a 1-1 draw. Thought you'd like to know of another Town team not losing. One day the first team will succeed in not failing.

One day.