Cod Almighty | Diary

Actually, do meet your heroes

16 November 2015

I suppose if Town had a chairman, it might be interesting if he were planning to sell up and buy into Blackpool. But we don't have a chairman, so it's not. Probably not worth mentioning really.

Fourth place, then. Fourth place! Of course, Town now seem to have been fourth place in the Conference since the time Pitt the Younger was in Downing Street. And we're still seven points behind the league leaders. But seven points behind in fourth place makes the league table a whole lot easier on the eye than seven points behind in ninth place. And that win over Welling United somehow seemed as wonderfully wholesome and warming as a nice big bowl of soup.

Of course, that could just have been the lovely, cosy afterglow that your original/regular Diary was feeling from Friday's We Are Town launch event at McMenemy's. And when I say lovely, cosy afterglow, I mean I was probably still drunk. But even when Welling's first goal went in, I just shrugged and said, it doesn't matter, we'll score four. To the visitors' credit, it wasn't anything like as simple as that. But this just made the game all the more satisfying.

Unlike these enjoyable but ultimately rather processional thrapings the Mariners now regularly dole out to the back-markers of this league, Saturday's meeting with Welling turned out to be a proper contest. And Town bloody won it. Which is somehow better than than seeing us stick six or seven past Alfreton Town. Whipping the whipping boys is both necessary and fun, in much the same way as chucking the glass bottles into the recycling bin so that they loudly smash, or laughing like a drain at the abject saps who contest The Apprentice. But winning a proper contest feels altogether more satiating unto one's very bones and soul.

Back to Friday night, though, and the book launch. This was my first time in McMenemy's, so in the first instance I was relieved not to be ejected from the venue for wearing the wrong kind of shirt collar, or whatever nonsense criteria comprise the smart casual dress code. As the evening continued I was equally chuffed by how pleasant the manager and players from the Great Grimsby XI seemed to be.

One of the nice surprises about Sir Alan Buckley's 2013 autobiography Pass and Move, given the great man's sometimes irascible public persona, was his readiness to admit his own weaknesses or mistakes. Similarly, on Friday night AB displayed a familiar, humorous bluff self-assurance when addressing the crowd, but a charming humility and openness when speaking one-to-one. Then there were Tony Ford's intelligence, Kevin Drinkell's full-blooded honesty, and Gary Croft's remarkably well-behaved kids.

I could go on and on about what an unforgettable evening it was. Meeting writers like Ron Counte and Bill Brewster, whose stuff I grew up reading in Sing When We're Fishing, was as exciting as meeting the players. Hell, the McMenemy's people even managed to do us a veggie pie, and there aren't many football-related places that happens outside of Nailsworth. But since a poorly Baby Diary 2 decided I should only have about 90 minutes' sleep last night, my lyric wax is a little dull today. Tell you what – watch Conor Townsend's goal one more time, and then if you haven't already, get yersen a copy of the book. T'ra for now!