Cod Almighty | Article

by Alistair Wilkinson

15 June 2007

Can I say that Macca gave me wood?

In a footie style, just once in a while!

This is the end,

No. 2 is through.

I wanna look back.

Look forward, but not like Shim; slowly, 'case the
memories dim. Not sideways, that common fear; just
as many hold wingers dear – and what are they
without support? Look forward. Like he did. I'm not
wishing, not even fishing.

Move on, carry on, no time to mourn, no wish to
scorn. Let's join hands we black and white fans, and
cheer the new number two. 'New'. Sounds weird, big
shoes to fill, need someone big as a hill. Does Bennett
fit the bill? Yes, no; a delightful caper, trust to our
balding prestidigitator.

We can do it, push through it, build to it, sing to it.
We all need it. Said I wouldn't look back. Said I'd
keep on track. We won't re-know Jack, and I'm a dull
boy, wanting joy, for me, my boy – my boys. We're no-
one's toys. Are we more real, do we get to feel? Bit
tangential, I'm wanting things in my own spatial.
Feels like I'm getting them too!

The end of the beginning, I can't stop grinning, won't
stop believing. Call a dentist! There's already a
midfield tryst, our little demigod filling the carious
squad. Bennett needed in the middle? Wishes and
dreams in the griddle; see Bad Santa for shits and
wishes, 'cause I'm believing in three fishes!