Cod Almighty | Diary

Diary - Tuesday 18 June 2013

18 June 2013

19 April 1998. Even if you were not there, you know what it was like. With one flick, Wayne Burnett won the game and kept on running, pale and sweaty with flu and fatigue, leaping a hoarding behind the goal to be with us. His teammates caught him up, celebrating as close to the crowd as Wembley allowed. It was our moment, team and town together, shared by all to whom it belonged but almost private within that inclusiveness, considering the environment of an 80,000-seat stadium and a TV audience. It was special because it was spontaneous.

Compare and contrast. A month and five days later, the final whistle blew with all the players at the far end of the ground. By the time they were with us, the tannoy was blaring out 'The Only Way is Up' to provide a soundtrack for Sky as their pundits delivered their punditry and the cameras patronised us, picking out the most photogenic of the celebrations. Because of what rode on the match, the final whistle should have been an even finer moment than Wayne's golden goal. It has always rankled with Middle-Aged Diary; that moment was stolen from us.

I cannot quite say there is no place for music mid-match at any sporting occasion. At one time, cricketers chose the music played when they walked to the crease. The number 11 batsman who chose 'I Wish it Would Rain' raised a laugh around the Oval, uniting players and spectators. It was the exception that proves the rule: most music enlarges the gap between the crowd and the action. It is needlessly rude to the travelling support, the people who make the biggest sacrifice for the worst treatment in their pursuit of sport, and it harms genuine fan culture.

On Twitter, @officialgtfc is canvassing views on playing music after goals. You know what to do.

Meanwhile, in a not entirely unconnected part of the forest, Janusz Przeniczny has written to us about the requirement for supporters banned after the Burton disturbances to buy season tickets to gain admission to Blundell Park. He writes: "I notice that Mardy Diary of SSR Cod Almighty is using any opportunity to bash the ex-chairman, albeit he is a very easy, self-made target. It's alright pontificating 'they've done their "time" and repaid society' but the fact is three years is not enough for the Burton fans to 'forgive and forget' about us, the GTFC fans who never invaded and threatened, and yet are dragged into the mire by and with the morons. We don't get a statute of limitations, and we did nothing. So the yobs and morons are now whining and whinging to get public sympathy because they have been offered a way back, which is not to their liking? Pity that CA pitches in with them just to score points against the ex-chairman."

Personally (and to stress, CA does not have a party line although it is, naturally, put together by like-minded individuals), I agree with Jan insofar as the consolatory pride I was taking in hearing the chants of "Sing when we're fishing" through the radio as our League status was almost ended was another moment stolen from us by the scenes that followed. I too felt, still feel, tarnished. The estimable Too Good to Go Down, which broke the story, has also made clear its abhorrence of the disorder committed in our name.

However, the argument has ceased to be about the principle of whether those banned should be readmitted: it has become an issue of the terms on which they may do so. John Fenty's interview for the Telegraph does nothing to resolve this: the fan on a low wage who maybe got caught up in the moment to the extent of kicking a hoarding is to remain excluded, while the one who wrecked property, or assaulted persons, is welcome, providing they have the disposable income for an up-front payment. It smacks not of justice but of expediency. The attitude behind it is not even Tory – it is feudal.