Cod Almighty | Diary

Shorty's, not Shouty's, Laugh-In

9 September 2013

Where to begin, where to end? Where, why, what, when, how and who? It's a Mobius strip of exasperation. It's déjà vu all over again, again. What is it? It's GrimsbyTown.

After Friday's multiple mysteries and Saturday's damp shambling squib, your baffled Bonus Track Diary socks it to you baby, one more time.

Did he jump, was he pushed? What information has been flushed out about the defenestration of Shouty? He's neither here nor there, for something that was or wasn't done or said by or to him at some point. He may or may not return, but probably not and all because a lady loves Milk Tray, with a lead pipe in the boardroom. Should we dust down the obituary? There's no way back is there, so let's get the ball rolling. A peevish public persona or straight-talking guy? Bullying or bullish? Season to your salty taste. There are more questions than answers, but the answer is good riddance.

So just where is Wally, sorry, Shouty? Ah. The world's largest volcano has been found off the coast of Japan. Next question.

The big question remains: is a Shoutyless Shorty still simply Shorty? Whatever shall be the Shorty's soubriquet, his existential epithet? The Lonesome Cowboy, Napoleon Solo, the Sad Sweet Dreamer? Or simply Lonely? Scott Kerr reveals they call him Little Gaffer. Your new postbag editor, Robert Scott, awaits.

Hot on the heels of The Disappearance, we had Town being typically typo within Aswad's balloon joke of an apology, which is officially in no way related to the mysterious disappearance of the latest new stadium plans. What new stadium was that, Captain Haddock? It's simple, Simons say put your hands on your head and surrender to the void at the heart of the matter.

Look that up in your Funk and Wagnall's and emit a Munchian scream as Town's media machine is manned by Shakespeare's infinite monkeys. Eventually something coherent will emerge, at which point we can give them the Flying Fickle Finger of Fate Award. It's easy for you to say.

What do you say? What about the orange? Ah yes, the Luton game. "Grimsby have been semi-threatening... at times". You bet your sweet bippy, David Pleat. Here's some simple mathematics: 4-3-3 X 2 = 0. Shotless and mirthless, both teams proved that simply standing in the right places is enough to rebuff the trendy formation du jour. Lonely seems happy enough and is prepared to fly solo. Watch out for the wind beneath your wings.

Here comes the big finish, folks...

The Thundercliffe chats with Sir Alan of Buckley, a man who weeps with us. It's in the Town manager tradition: no punches pulled.