Cod Almighty | Diary

I put a spell on you

13 November 2015

Retro Diary writes: When people from 'away' pass comment on our town or its football club, we tend to become extremely thin-skinned; ultra-sensitive to any hint of criticism or unfairness. If people aren't nice about us, we tend to get defensive and think they're just wrong, but still feel bad anyway. Conversely, listening to visitors talk about us can affirm what it is we like about our little corner of the globe, and some deep-seated myths can be busted.

At school there were always those kids with Liverpool or Man United bags, who, when you asked them why they didn't support Town, would say because they're crap and Blundell Park is a dump. So naturally, that is what we believed. But we were well up the leagues then – strangely, now we really aren't that good, the done thing among the teens seems to be to support Town. Quite right too, and well done to some of those parents along the way.

Nowadays we know that the only people who think Blundell Park is a dump are those who live here and have a downer on the place, those who have never been anywhere else, and incurable glory-seekers. Basically, those same kids but as adults. Much more reliable are the responses of hardened football connoisseurs and groundhoppers.

Last week, original/regular Diary pointed us in the direction of Matt Harrison, who, along with mates Aaron, Joe and Gibbo attended ground number 200 when he graced our sacred patch for the Cheltenham match, before undertaking a pub-crawl in Grimsby. It was the floodlights at night that seemed to impress him, along with the imposing Findus Stand. He was, of course, dead right – a full Blundell Park at night is a purist's dream.

The lads' account of their visit sent me scurrying to re-read John Aizlewood's marvellous Playing at Home. Aizlewood, a Sheffield Wednesday fan, set out in the 1997-98 season to watch football at all 92 grounds in one season, and compiled the results into a withering and cynical destruction of late 1990s Britain, which is still a wonderful read, if slightly bleak in places. There are few teams in there he doesn't upset. This, surprisingly, is what he says about Blundell Park:

“My seat is in row T of the Findus, the back row. I yelp for joy. Not only is my view unobscured and the wind blowing elsewhere, but I can see the estuary sprawling before me and it's trawler rush hour. I'm higher than the seagulls and plumes of smoke billowing from the terraced houses. I want a season ticket here. Dozens of trawlers go by so slowly that all my tension evaporates like condensed milk."

And his final words, after a walk up into Cleethorpes:

"I could spend the rest of my life here, I really could."

Also impressed, apparently, were the delightful Malcolm and Lorna, whose journey was brought to our attention by Middle-Aged Diary last week. They started attending the FA Cup in the extra preliminary round at Harrogate Railway Athletic near their home, with the intention of following the winners of each match they attend – right up to the final, wherever that may take them. To get as far as Grimsby v St Albans, they had already seen Spennymoor, Burscough and both Harrogate clubs bite the dust. At Blundell Park last Saturday they seem to have been looked after royally by the club's top brass. Again, the Findus stand, with its view of the sea, was singled out for praise. As indeed it should be, for this is the finest view in the whole of English football.

In their entertaining blog, our two likeable guests reproduce Cod Almighty's brief history of Town, and in doing so provide more information on the place than most of us know ourselves. I'm not sure about us once being the "third largest port landing and processing fish in the world"… well, yes, twice perhaps: once on the way up and once on the way down. (I know, I'm so polite.)

On the subject of how our town got its funny name, it's always nice to see people acquainting themselves with that old cobblers about the Viking farmer saving young Prince Havelock. Sadly, there is an alternative explanation, much more straightforward. Here it is, courtesy of Google Translate.

We assume that Malcolm and Lorna are hoping their allegiances change frequently, so they can keep visiting new venues. Having visited Blundell Park already, our home tie with Shrewsbury will have come as a disappointment to them. Of course we hope they're heartily fed up of visiting Blundell Park by the time they're finished with us – but having found a way of watching football where their team never loses, we can have little sympathy: their dose of pain has to come from somewhere.

The FA Cup threw up its magic as usual. What happened on the terraces was just as interesting as some of those minnows' scrambled winners. At Blundell Park, I particularly enjoyed the St Albans fans' attempt at unrolling a banner which was evidently in three pieces. After about ten minutes of watching them struggle, I was laughing so much I had all but forgotten the game.

They got as far as unrolling the word 'STOP', something that looked like 'pray', and something that looked a little like a swastika, but I'm guessing wasn't. When their fans realised we were laughing at them they quickly screwed up the offending paper and slung it on the pitch. So whether it was a call for the chairman's resignation, an invocation to errant fascists to find God, or an offer of a free holiday in Hertfordshire with spending money, we shall never know.

Marginally funnier still was the dustbin that flew on the pitch from the Lincoln end after Whitehawk, complete with Scott Neilson, scored their fifth with three minutes to go. I can tell the Lincoln fans what they can put in their dustbin for free, if his arse will fit. Whitehawk is a suburb of Brighton, by the way. Yes, Lincoln fans – I know you know that now.

Tomorrow we are at home to Welling – the perennial Conference survivors from the anonymous borough. We know them well now, with their away end with its scenic screen of trees. Anything less than a victory won't go down well.

For us, JP and Bogle are missing, leaving Saint Podge up front, along with newbie Alex Jones or someone shuffled across, probably Arnold or Marshall. With Hursty, expect something designed to give Welling a chance, with a confusing substitution on 70 minutes.

Any past or present member of the armed forces can get in for a quid tomorrow on production of any sort of personal military accoutrement. This might not work if the said item clearly belongs to someone else.

Having talked a lot about how others see us, tonight we finally get to find out how we see ourselves, as We Are Town is launched. We also get to find out who completes the Great Grimsby XI, and even meet one or two of these, now official, heroes. There's still time to decide to go. UTM.