Cod Almighty | Diary

Can we get Mardy Diary to do a one-off ball boy feature please?

27 April 2016

Wicklow Diary writes: Writing the diary is one of the many things that you probably shouldn't do while angry and held by impotent, door-slamming, cat-kicking rage. So I've tried to calm myself since seeing that the cowards and vile agenda-driven thugs at the Scum and the Times omitted the landmark Hillsborough verdicts from their front pages today.

I tried to explain to my kids the significance of yesterday. They wanted to know why their dad was moved to tears by something he heard on the radio about people he didn't know dying 27 years ago. We know that the events of the day will forever be devastating. Yesterday, however, I think I was moved by the heroic and unwinnable battle that the families actually won. Original/Regular Diary described this victory perfectly in terms of class and the establishment. The Murdoch press and its two fingers to the rest of us today remind us that with the battle won, the war the goes on. Don't buy the Sun. Don't buy the Times. Don't link to them online. Throw the Mail, the Express and the rest in while you're at it.

To Town. Podge will test Ryanair's new relaxed approach towards hand baggage to the limit after he picked up 9 (NINE) pots at the player of the year awards last night. Also notable was the sometimes unsung Richard Tait picking up a couple of awards and Jon Nolan collecting the Young Player award. Quite an achievement and a big upgrade from the 'Lincoln reject' tag he had just a few months ago. Well done Jon for grasping the chance that was presented in January.

One player who didn't feature last night but who I feel deserves a mention in today's diary is the Big Fat Goalie himself, James 'Not THE Macca' McKeown. Even if Hursty goes full FA Trophy on us at Tranmere, we can expect McKeown to start. The appearance will complete his third successive ever-present season. No wonder we don't bother naming a sub goalkeeper. (To double-bluff any fate tempting here, I predict that he is sent off in the Tranmere game or the play-offs.) Other than a couple of appearances by Jonathan Hedge, he hasn't missed a competitive game since he was rested a couple of times by Shouty/Shorty in 2013. Even this was primarily to give Greg Fleming a story to tell the grandchildren about playing three games for the mighty Mariners and never conceding a goal.

Paul Groves must be the last Town player to have had a run like this. Practically three seasons, with a bout of viral meningitis thrown in too. Added to that, he actually lives in the area. Too early to be called a legend? It's a word we have to be careful with, or it will get diluted. Just as awesome went from something that inspired awe like a star going supernova to the description of a borderline edible chicken leg at Nandos. We can't try and get down with the kids to describe him either. Players nowadays apparently have tekkers, and these tekkers, when good, are dirty or filthy or sick. These hip adjectives simply won't work:

McKeown's filthy: "Well, the goalmouths are quite muddy for the time of year"

McKeown's sick: "Crikey, the meningitis isn't back is it?"

I'm going for "legend-in-waiting" for now, but let's agree to meet back here in June when we're back in the League and Not THE Macca has signed a three-year deal.

We know we're good enough. We know we've been here long enough. We want this so badly it eats some of us up

On Monday Miss Guest Diary made the point that it's easier to be positive about Town if you don't actually get to Blundell Park very often. I tend to agree, and I've mentioned before that one benefit of exile is that all the other parts of a trip home can compensate somewhat for a poor performance on the pitch. Exiles have been known to get so excited at attending BP that they're found laughing off the 0-1 defeat and can already sniff the vinegar of a fish supper before they're back on Cleethorpe Road.

That tricky stadium question? Simple answer for an exile. Hurry up and whack it into Freemo or Garth Lane, will you, lads? This sound opinion should be weighted by the fact that I only get to five home matches a season and I haven't lived in the town since before Jack Lewis had a moustache. Sorry, my doctor says I can't mention the stadium – Boston are starting work on their new stadium. And a community stadium at that. Who's next to get one before us – Cleethorpes Town?

The sight of the Dock Tower and a stroll on the prom won't stop me being critical of performances like that in the second half against Chester, however. Pinging balls off the head of Andre the Giant for thirty minutes isn't a tactic: it's a surrender.

After the first match of the season at Kiddy, I wrote of patience. "Everything feels like it is in place but it is difficult to be patient – one kick from promotion, we now have 46 games ahead of us again." The expectation was that the title would follow, of course. It hasn't, and I think the fug of inevitability and doom that descends on home games like last weekend's is the result of this patience evaporating. We know we're good enough. We know we've been here long enough. We want this so badly it eats some of us up.

After this Saturday we can hit reset. The outcome of the season and the course of careers will boil down to three games. Three winnable games between us and promotion. I think we will see a different performance from the team and a different attitude from the fans. No need for patience – these are the results that will define our season, right here and right now. Every player will be up for it and we'll be raising the roof to get behind them.

I'm going to invent a Bill Shankly quote for what will happen if we get in a hole during the play-offs. Shanks is the football equivalent of Churchill for hoovering up the credit for every half-decent or witty thing ever uttered. Just swap being slightly or completely drunk in the parlour with crouching on one knee in the boot room. Unvalidated and unsubstantiated, it doesn't matter when it's floating around on social media overlaid on a silhouette of the great man.

So here's another one that I'm going to make up on the spot: "I loved it when we went two goals down. They thought they had us beaten but it was just the signal for my lads to wake up and for the crowd to sing even louder."