Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Thursday 22 November 2012

22 November 2012

Grimsby is gearing up for a big cup weekend, and this morning the Kidderminster Shuttle has published a report on its local team's win over the Mariners in the FA Cup one month ago.

Happy Thursday! It's that time of the week when your original/regular Diary returns to the helm like a big helmy-returny thing. In this I bear no resemblance to, say, Jack Lester, whose rumoured GTFC comeback the shorter manager has apparently deemed it necessary to deny. The Diary never used to bother commenting on bollocks rumours from messageboards, of course. But perhaps this sort of aloofness is no longer in order if the team management feels obliged to make a public statement every time some spotty herbert who can't find his own arse with both hands transcribes his greasy daydreams through a keyboard tragically bespeckled with dried Pot Noodle drips and despair.

On that pleasant thought, let us look ahead to Saturday's first-round FA Trophy tie against Buxton. Actually, let's not, because nothing being said about it has any more value than a messageboard rumour. The visitors' manager has declared that his team - two steps below Town in the Northern Premier League - "won't be daunted" by the trip to Blundell Park. Obviously, he'd say the same thing if his players failed to appear for training, turned off their phones and were found on Saturday morning curled up in a foetal position under their duvets whimpering about nightmares involving giant turbot1 with faces like William Hague.

Sorry, I've gone off on one again. So I'm not even going to watch James McKeown say "oooh I hope we win, I like winning, it's good". Tomorrow Cod Almighty will have a full match preview (yay!) so come back again then for a proper look at the match.

I've no idea where the CA team and I will go for a pre-match pint next time I'm at a home game. The Rutland Arms has bears a remarkable similarity to Grimsby Town Football Club over the past decade. One, they get through more managers than Chelsea. And two, every time you've thought things can't possibly get any worse, they do. On my last visit, earlier this month, the person who served me failed to say please or thankyou and deposited the fiver from my change into a patch of spilt beer on the bar. Let's be fair and balanced, though. The sour stench of body odour that permeated the Rutland may - may - not have been his. And at least it took my mind off the taste of the beer.

Enjoy your weekend and I'll see you next Thursday.