Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Tuesday 11 June 2013

11 June 2013

It is a general rule of sports coverage that the more space the media devote to professional sportspeople, the blander that coverage becomes. In Middle-Aged Diary's youth, footballers were seldom asked to venture beyond "I hit the ball first time, and there it was in the back of the net... I'm over the moon". As the space available grew, so media relations became more important. The modern pro is likely to be able to string together a series of sports psychology clichés (which sound thoughtful, until you have heard them, sixteen times from thirteen different pairs of lips, relating to nine different situations) which coalesce to say exactly nothing.

It is not the close season I can't stand – there is plenty of cricket, a Lions tour and even quite a lot of activity to enjoy that has nothing to do with sport. It is the attempt to fill the close season with that nothing which is so painful. It browbeats us into thinking we are not 'proper fans' if we have not put our lives on hold until mid-August. To the extent that Cod Almighty is contributing to this problem, my apologies.

Part of the blandness, of course, arises from the fear of saying anything that might be "pinned up on the opposition dressing room wall". All due praise, then, to Rob Scott, who, in the midst of an interview suggesting he aims to complete the Mariners squad with two defenders, a central midfield player and a winger, comes out with an emphatic statement denying any interest in Exodus Geohaghon: "No – 100 per cent not. He is probably as far away as what we could be after as possible."

Now, were this a Hollywood romantic comedy (the viewing of which is not a recommended alternative to mooching around Blundell Park whining: "Are we nearly there yet?"), there could only be one possible final scene, with the Shouty one gazing lovingly into the eyes of the much-travelled six-foot-five, 28-year-old defender. Superstititious Town fans, if you will forgive the tautology, will however now be following Geohaghon's next career move only with a view to discovering the match in which Town's attack will founder on a rock-like defence.

What is the opposite of Geohaghon? Should we anticipate the arrival of a short, one-club striker, perhaps called Genesis or Joseph, who is either callow or past it? Answers on a postcard to the usual address.