Cod Almighty | Diary
Diary - Friday 16 July 2010
16 July 2010
This weekend is your chance to see Town twice in 24 hours. A Friday night game at Boston, followed by a home friendly against Sheffield Wednesday the following afternoon, is the frenetic, expensive and possibly-slightly-pointless for-anyone-but-the-players schedule of events. Your Guest Diarist can report that tonight's team, as widely trailed, will feature a lot of yoof. Manager Woods explained that he doesn't want anyone getting on the bus to Scotland next week unless they have at least 70 minutes' continuous play notched up. This came up in his weekly chat with the SNOS for its paid-for service to explain to us what's happening at our beloved club.
Before that Woodses had opened the interview with a cold, clinical account of the present stage in the pre-season fitness training regime. It's all about power, folks; power, endurance, hills and running. Woods mentioned power several times almost menacingly - moving the interviewer to bleat in a weak and frightened voice: "And when will the running stop?" No more flippant questions about 'getting a beasting'. No, this week is training for real - all uphill with no down Dale.
As for the Saturday game, Woods would have liked to have played some semblance of his physically exhausted first team, augmented by trialists. But Atkinson might be a victim of Gilmore's groin (which is a type of hernia suffered by sporting gentlemen from time to time). So he may need an operation. Kempson and Ademeno have little pre-season muscle strains, and Coulson and Gobern will have to see whether their assorted niggles also preclude them from having a go against the Owls.
But fans attending on Saturday will get the chance to have a look at Ross County ex-starlet and former Chelsea player Steven Watt. Watt played for Chelsea once when they beat Scunny in the cup, moving Mourinho to utter his name in a sentence that contained vaguely complimentary terms: "I didn't have a very strong defensive line-up. Only Glen Johnson was a regular as a right-back. It was the first game for centre-half Steven Watt and [some other no-marks]. But I am very happy with their performances." So the myth about Johnson being a defender goes back a long way indeed, gentle reader.
Watt is a big, strapping Scots lad without a club. Let's hope he plays well enough to be taken on the Scottish tour where his knowledge of the local culture may be very helpful. I should point out of course that other trialists exist and may be available to play in some or all matches.
Anyway, to the much delayed Diary postbag. Matt Pakes has been talking about Kenny Arthur's sideline: "Quite some time back you made reference to KA gloves - 'More than just a pair of gloves' and all that nonsense. Well, as an amateur goalkeeper, I looked at the site, and scoffed at the prices. However recently, I dislocated the tip of my ring finger playing cricket. Immediately I was recommended a pair of 'KA Fused Finger' gloves by a chap who knows nothing of Grimsby or Mr Kenny 'KA' Arthur. On this recommendation, I will be purchasing myself a pair in the not too distant future and will let you know if it makes me play like Mildenhall... or (heaven forbid) Williams."
And here is another tale from the youth of the redoubtable Felix Oliver-Tasker: "On reading yesterday's diary I remember my reasons for not wanting to be striker, or centre-forward as it was called in my day, were very similar to those of Richard Lord. Mine stem from reading a story in the Rover. The story featured Nick Smith, an England international, and his sidekick Arnold Tabbs. Arnold Tabbs was an ex-iron puddler turned half-back who must have had neck muscles very similar to the iron he had once puddled. In this particular instalment they were playing against a team and the ball was kicked into the air. Arnold stood firm, with his legs apart and waited for the ball. He just stood there without moving and with a flick of his head passed the ball to Nick who scored the winning goal just before the whistle blew.
"It was a cold, wet day, the pitch was like a minor swamp and the ball like lead when I foolishly attempted to do the same. The ball hit me on the head and flattened me. To say I saw stars was an understatement. I was carried off the pitch and that was the end of my game. The outcome was that I became a moderately successful winger, cancelled the Rover and bought the Adventure instead, in which the football story featured the far more sensible Baldy Hogan. Ah, the naivety of youth." I know that feeling, Felix - heavy ball lace-downwards, from a great height onto the top of your bonce. Now forbidden by the Geneva Convention, thank God. See yer.