Cod Almighty | Diary

The Myth of Sisyphus

16 December 2015

Wicklow Diary writes: There are things that need doing at work this morning. I'd planned to cheat by getting some of the diary written last night. I couldn't. I love the cup and I hate losing. I should have taken strength from the travelling fans who backed their team all the way and were still singing after the 93rd-minute punchline. I doff my cap to you all and especially to the kind and frozen-fingered periscopers among you.

So let's do some therapy together. Which one of the rotten tomatoes flung at us last night still smarts and smells the most this morning? Let's take the opposition first. We were simply better than Shrewsbury in both games. A side two divisions above us. Not by being a bullying, long-ball underdog stereotype either. We were better all over the pitch and in all aspects except one. It was like one of those sickening 0-1 hammerings that Buckley sides would dish out to teams.

Injury-prone or unlucky, the result is the same. Poor JP's latest crockery will have him miss a couple of months. So more cap-doffing here for Paul Hurst for getting Big Unit Alabi in as a fifth fourth third striker. With the loan window closed, I'm sure you want to know the pressing matters Alex Jones was recalled to attend to? Well, he played for the Brum under-21 team on Monday and they won 1-0 – bully for them. 

At least we can break out the old chestnut of concentrating on the league. We should concentrate especially hard on 9 January. This will help us ignore the merry Scunny fans off to that London for their day out at Stamford Bridge. After last night we'll be on the opposite side of the city and grandeur scale at Welling.

Added to all this, the winning goal was scored by a man named Ogogo for a team managed by Mickey Mellon. That translates on Irish playgrounds as Todger Boob. Sorry Mickey, I know it's childish and you've heard them all by now but we need some relief.

I don't watch much TV but have been pointed towards some great series over the past few years. One of these is Fargo, inspired by the brilliant film of the same name. A habit of shows such as this is to give the episode a cryptic title that is an obscure reference to the plot. Rather like the CA diary. Just beware – about 75 per cent of mine (like 75 per cent of all statistics) are made up in a frantic rush to finish the diary and get back to work.

'The Myth of Sisyphus' was one of the titles lately. Not being familiar with the name and being the obsessive I am, I looked it up. Put it this way – they've evolved well beyond Friends and 'The One Where Rachel Brushes her Hair'.

Of course I'd heard of the philosopher Albert Camus but, typically for me, only because he'd been a goalkeeper. The thousands of philosophers reading this will no doubt be tsk-ing at my lack of knowledge (and at mentioning Friends, which is the pits). In 'The Myth of Sisyphus', Camus tells the story of the Greek mythological figure Sisyphus who was condemned by the gods to play a never-ending game of helter-skelter with a boulder on a mountain – push the rock to the top, watch it fall to the bottom and repeat. 

I am sure there are many levels to interpret this on. One is that the gods are a right shower. If it's not krakens squashing countless screaming argonauts, it's the pointless shifting of giant stones. Camus seems to suggest that Sisyphus, the sap, gets pleasure from the constant struggle with his rock. The one I'm taking is Town are that bloody rock and one day we're going to see them – albeit briefly – at the top of the pile again.

Alright, Camus is no Retro Diary when it comes to explaining the essence of being a Town supporter but he's none too shabby either. Ignore last night's solid thwack in the Mickey Mellons from the Retro stick. Defeats on the way up the mountain are different. They are still unpleasant but they feel different to those suffered on the way down. That's why the Town fans were singing after the final whistle last night. That's why I'm looking forward to, not dreading the weekend visit of Dover. Operation Promotion is still on and this is the season when we're going to put the stick down. 

Right, I'm off to do those work things that need doing. Occupying my mind will be the magnificent prospect of Chelsea being relegated. You know it'll probably never happen, like when you buy a lottery ticket or hear Town have plans for a new stadium. But you can enjoy the fantasy for a couple of moments nonetheless. Maybe the gods are intervening at Chelsea. Imagine poor old Sisyphus's horror if a wealthy investor arrived with an expensive hundred-tonne crane (didn't we have one of those at centre-half a few years back?) and just plonked the stone on the summit. What would he do then – just sit and watch the rock at the top of the hill? There's no fun in that.