Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Monday 25 June 2012

25 June 2012

"We'll leave the grand unifying theory of footballers called Ashley for another day," opined your opinionated Deviant Diary just one deviant week ago. Today is that day. Are you ready? Are you ready for this? Are you hanging on the edge of the seat? Young. Fickling. Cole. Sestanovich. You just know a footballer called Ashley will let you down sometime. No, let us be fair to Ashley Fickling - all of the time.

So, they all get the ball and then they hack it? Yeah, that's the theory, beautifully illustrated last night.

Poor England? Poor, poor England indeed. Average Italy beat appalling England. That's all it was, pop-pickers. Let the heartaches begin: they can't help, they can't win. But in the end it's just the same: an old comforting island story of Albion's perfidious penalty penury. But at least Der Tommies avoided another Saxon stuffing. Just add water, stir and leave for 15 minutes before inserting some mixed hubris inside the headless poultry enumerators and half-bake every two years.

Yes, yes, we all saw the big Town flag at the end of the row. Somehow apt. Defiantly last in line.

Well, all that's over with now, we can get back to important non-League business. Business always comes first in the building, remember. The Pontoon's favourite perambulator and alleged forgetful caravanning enthusiast, Mr Steve Wraith, has come up with another wheeze to whip up enthusiasm for the next season. Ladies and gentleman, it's the Marin-O-Meter. Someone might get their season ticket back if they have a voucher from the Grimsby Telegraph. Ah, season ticket money, not the ticket itself. He's made you an offer you can't refuse.

There's talk on the street; it sounds so familiar. We have another player! There's great expectations of Sam Hatton, the new kid in Town's defence. A right-back, it is claimed, but the ominous message from Ron 'n' Ron is that Sam's a man who can do a job in midfield. Another multi-tasking Mariner in the making? But hey, Sam, everyone loves you at the moment, so don't let them down.

The real dilemma lies in Sam's soubriquet. Ricky or Garden? Will the man be a hit or a rough diamond? Where will Grimsby's leading paper-based moan sheet and corporate cowerer go with its strained punnery? Think of them as a local Lineker lite.

And finally, Squirrels, we must address the big issue: Louth's Olympic sausage woman. Using the Olympic torch for a political message? That's an insult to the noble ideals of a confected Nazi propaganda stunt and the dignity of a merry market town! One important detail is missing from this story: what about the accompanying Mr Mayor? Will he be (a) red sauce, (b) brown sauce, or (c) will there be no sauce at all?

I'm going for (c) no sauce - he'll be affronted by public spousal sausagery.