Cod Almighty | Diary

Just don't

25 March 2016

Retro Diary writes: Well, hoorah and three cheers for the FA Trophy. What a super competition it is, haven't we always said. All arguments are off, as we've seen the thing right the way through to the end unscathed. The Trexit campaign is looking sheepish and waiting for the last minute of Wembley ticket sales to see how they feel about the whole thing. Hey, don't look at me, I always liked it. Ahem.

We can say now what a great experience it has all been, because our league form didn't dip, and at no point did any Town player get his leg broken by a clumsy carpet fitter from Kent whose shirt didn't fit. Also, because it didn't snow for two months solid, leaving us playing Saturday-Tuesday-Thursday right up to the start of the play-offs, with the emergency loan window shut.

So to take the Trophy seriously and try to win it was absolutely the right thing to do, in the same way that walking straight out into the road without looking is the right thing to do, once you haven't been run over.

As someone on the cynical side of Trophy agnosticism, even at the semi-final stage I admit I was still fine with letting Bognor get through to give their fans the romance-loaded Wembley date they so craved. Yes, I do feel patronised by the FA thinking they have to put four sets of fans in Wembley to make it look half-full, when one of them is us. I would happily have let Bognor struggle to fill a quarter of Wembley in order to grant them a day those few would never forget.

But I took a distinct dislike to their players during Saturday's match, and that altruistic urge faded quickly. Yes, they plugged away gamely, kept the ball on the ground and had their chances. But they were more whiney and cynical than I was expecting, and by half time I just thought "sod 'em". As soon as their short, fat but handy number 2 went off injured in the first minute you just thought it wasn't going to be their day. And it wasn't.

In stark contrast, their fans were magnificent. I almost applauded them – but in the end it was too much of a break with tradition, and despite a subtle movement of the hands I just couldn't quite make them meet in the middle. Football isn't about feeling sorry for the opposition. It's about pain – the opposition's, if at all possible. Come on, you knew that.

To take the Trophy seriously and try to win it was absolutely the right thing to do, in the same way that walking straight out into the road without looking is the right thing to do, once you haven't been run over

A full 15 minutes after the end of the match the 'green army' were still there, on a wooden hill by a cold brown estuary, singing their hearts out, expressing that curious mixture of pride and futility which we recognise so well. It was a golden failure – they'll maybe never flop so gloriously again. In their entire 133-year history, before last Saturday Bognor had never played a match any further north than Rushden. So for them, the left side of the Osmond was their corner of a foreign field. We wish them well, and hope it doesn't take them another 133 years to pass Watford Gap for a second time.

Our success in the Trophy has had another happy corollary. Especially with Cheltenham and Forest Green failing to win last week, it has allowed us to fantasise about finishing top for much longer than had we already played our games in hand and drawn them – an inevitable disappointment sure to follow.

So, this week we've let Hursty and the boys enjoy their glory, and temporarily put on hold arguments about whether Hurst has pushed us skilfully up into third by great player acquisition and creation of team spirit, or dragged us down into third by bloody-minded team selection and over-cautiousness. Both are of course true. It doesn't really matter – he's ours, and it's who he is.

Having been spoilt by all these visitations from the inhabitants of Britain's neglected footballing backwaters, the Bognors, the St Albanses, the Weston-super-Mares and the Solihulls, we return tomorrow to a veritable heritage fixture. It's a coupon staple – a national monument, or at the very least an undemolished outside loo. It's Town v Wrexham.

In the away game back in September, Wrexham pummelled us but couldn't score, and the game ended 0-0. Despite not winning, so good was the home team's display that it made Gary Mills, in his own words, "quite emotional".

Last Saturday, Wrexham fired themselves up for their visit to Blundell Park by beating fierce rivals Chester 3-0 at the Racecourse, and they have talked, thought, eaten, slept and bragged about nothing else since. Hapless Chester spent most of the second half with ten men, the red card incident also giving away a penalty from which the opening goal was scored. The foul was clearly outside the box, but a humbled Steve Burr, rather nobly, didn't dwell on it.

Wrexham haven't lost in nine, and haven't conceded in six, so they must be doing something right. But the day we're scared of Wrexham, we're scared of life. Actually, I'm scared of them playing in that horrid green again – they looked like a whole team of goalkeepers.

Lastly, we welcome Belfast-born Jordan Stewart to the club from Swindon Town, a last-minute loan signing until the end of the season. He's a young striker and looks very handy, but suffered homesickness at his last club. Don't worry, Jordan - that happens to everybody who goes to Swindon.

The first thought was presumably that he could provide some width, missing due to the continued absence through injury of Monkhouse and Marshall, but they say he can play anywhere across the front line. JP is still out too, but Nolan and Bogle are pretty much ready to go again. UTM.