Cod Almighty | Diary

What Would Alan Do?

26 August 2015

Wicklow Diary writes: Middle-Aged Diary yesterday put a lid on Saturday's game but I'm for prising it off for one more day. It's his fault anyway for bringing up George Kerr's unorthodox response to a thumping defeat.

Paul Hurst is on the lookout for further reinforcements. Full of righteous self-importance and indignation since the weekend, I've been designing a handy cut-out-and-keep instruction guide for the gaffer to use in the event of a signing:

Although excited with your new player, please do not put him into the engine room of a team he has never seen play for his first start in five months. We cannot have passengers, remember. As well as making your new player a lightning rod for blame for the inevitable shit performance of the team, it also demoralises the previously excellent incumbent he has replaced. Aim your kicks to be up your players' arses and not in their teeth.

There, that should do it. I bet you'd never catch someone like Sir Alan Buckley messing about like that for an important match at the beginning of this season. (American evangelicals have "What Would Jesus Do?" and we have "What Would Alan Do?") But hang on – what about when he signed Neil Woods? Let's have a look at an excerpt from his book to find out (I'm getting all my ideas from Middle-Aged Diary today).

Going to Deepdale was a real boost for us, although we had some injury problems at the start of the season. So I remembered a 16-year-old who had played for Doncaster a few years before and who I had seen playing for Ipswich reserves more recently. Neil Woods was now at Bradford and their manager John Doherty was happy for us to have him on loan. Although I liked the look of Woodsy, some players just don't fit into systems and this was the situation at Bradford.

We did the deal on the Friday before the game and arranged to pick him up from some services on the M62 the next morning. Just as we were leaving I got a phone call from a subdued Woodsy.

'Gaffer,' came this meek voice, 'I'm sorry but I've got a bad back. I'm laid up in bed, I can't move.'

This is not the best news on the morning of the Big Kick Off but managed to persuade him to try and take his dog for a walk, see how he felt and then meet us at the services. I was fretting all the way to Huddersfield where we picked him up and as he got gingerly on board he gave me a nod to say he was okay to play.

A crock who no one has met before and they pick him on the way to the game? There you go. Sir Alan recruited Woodsy in the manner of my pub side when they're short of a couple of bodies. "If you can walk, you can play – just bring your boots, we've spare knicks and socks in lost property." Of course, the crock scored at Preston and was a general menace all game as Town won 3-1 and never looked back that season.

I can't remember how I greeted the Preston victory but I probably lauded Buckley's last-minute masterstroke of signing Woods. History may be written by the winners but Saturday evening tweets and internet forums are written by mugs like me who think they have all the answers… after the event. So in short, I'm no longer drowning in Saturday's glass of water. I've binned the instruction manual and, once again, in Hurst I trust.

Speaking of internet forums, The Fishy, no stranger to outrage, was yesterday faced with outage. Not a great time for it either, with the derby at the weekend and all those LINCSCUMBUMTITTY posts to write. But we shouldn't be so hard on The Fishy. Visit any internet forum or other social media and you'll find you are only a misspelt word or missing apostrophe from war. And for every baiter there are shoals of minnows ready to bite. Having said that, I imagine the Grimsby Telegraph and Matt Dannatt briefly felt the relief I did when our town's only 'nite' club lost its licence – no more shouting and bawling pissheads chucking kebabs at each other and falling over the garden wall at 4 o'clock every Sunday morning.

(Matt Dannatt, I learned from his Twitter feed this weekend, is a man who writes match reports and defuses GTFC social media rows on his day off. After serving as sports correspondent at the Telegraph, I assume most journalists retire and spend their remaining years in safer and less stressful positions such as an embedded reporter in a war zone.)

In the 90s I worked for a telecommunications company that had a visionary owner. He was excited by the potential of the internet. Geographic and cultural boundaries removed, leaving the purest communications and interaction between people across the planet. Information and knowledge shared for the benefit of all, leading to the end of spin and propaganda from traditional media. CD albums for just £3.99 including postage from Hong Kong (sorry, that last one was my vision, not his).

To his credit, he went a bit John Lennon on the whole thing. "Forget video conferencing," he declared. "Let's build a network capable of providing hologrammatic calls." His beautiful logic was that better communication was the key to a better world. He reasoned that there would be fewer wars if he could put people in the same virtual room to iron out their differences. Think of the Star Trek holodeck without the aliens but with all of the high-faluting ideas and values. Love, and a free broadband modem, is all you need.

What my old boss may have overlooked is that upgrading the paper cups and the bit of string doesn't automatically boost the IQ at either end. Forget world peace. I reckon that a primary use of this technology when it comes to pass will be for us football fans to make obscene gestures and moon our rivals after a victory. Frenzied roomfuls of abusive ghosts falling over their furniture as they throw shapes and haymakers at each other. Less Star Trek holodeck and more smeg-head Arnold J Rimmer on Red Dwarf.

Of course, there are a million positive social media stories, like the one I only noticed recently about Adam Richman sponsoring Broadley FC. Maybe I'm just bitter this morning. My latest 140-character masterpiece tweet – which combined commentary on Town's midfield with subtle 90s indie rock references and a twist of political satire and took 25 minutes and three spellchecks to create – got two favourites and a retweet. The next entry on my feed was one of 17,000 retweets of the latest classic from @lightyourfarts.

I probably need get over my bitterness and relax more. Like when at games or listening on the radio, it can be good for your sanity and pulse to let your mind wander. Our last two games fall into this category. When you can't see tankers on the Humber, the teamsheets are always useful. Robertson and Robinson? Weren't they a Wimbledon doubles pairing? Or am I just thinking of the drinks ads? Monkhouse and Mackreth – are they near enough to Monkfish and Mackerel to include in my next CA diary? Yes, I think they are. Altrincham have brought on Nicky Clee? We have to sign him. Then go get a Thorpe(s) from somewhere and pair them up.

Kev Drinkell was at the game last Saturday and he, along with Waters, Ford and Brolly, formed a line-up almost as soggy as some of the 70s and 80s pitches that they graced. Lately we've moved away from our roots and gone a bit golfy. Arnold and Palmer featured last season and Cleveland Taylor lined out with Wilson in 2013. Bradley Wood could also be included here but he gets his own local geography category. Of course, all Agent Wood's categories and his status among Town fans are subject to change and will be reviewed after the derby this weekend. Wood returned from injury for the Imps in their defeat against Forest Green, a game missed by Liam Hearn because he's saving up all his goals for Saturday.

Finally, as a CA reader I enjoyed the aspect of not knowing who each Diary was. Of course, I could do some digging and join the dots on the contributor page but I preferred to just enjoy the writing. No such anonymity for Wicklow Diary. Being found by mum on Twitter the other week was bad enough but it also led to my dad learning of me writing for CA. At the weekend I overheard him telling a half-deaf mate: "Our lad is the boss man at this Cod Almighty site he set up about Town." (My dad also thinks Al Gore and I cobbled together the internet itself.)

I think his mate misheard the Cod Almighty bit and now thinks I've found God and have joined some mad religious cult. If he ever finds my posts on The Fishy he'll realise he's not far off the truth.