Cod Almighty | Diary

Not the talk of Oxford

4 November 2016

Retro Diary writes: So – the clocks have gone back and the ship is rudderless. But let’s not talk about Brexit now.

Town started a new, Hurst-less era last week at Yeovil with super Dave Moore at the helm. What a bloke. His after-match interview sounded like an awards ceremony as he ran through the whole team and every manager he’s worked under, giving them all credit whilst trying not to miss anybody out. He doesn’t, he says, want the manager’s job. I’m not surprised – he’s as Grimsby as haddock-flavoured spoggy, and he wants to still be at the club in five years’ time, thank you very much.

With Hursty now firmly ensconced down in leafy, pastoral Shropshire, the pro/anti split among Town fans continues to fester up here in bleak, windswept Lincolnshire, despite it mattering not a jot. Fans are still arguing about whether Hursty was the Messiah or a very naughty boy, despite the question "what did he ever do for us?" being rather easy to answer.

The 'pros' cite the vastly better situation when he left than when he arrived. From where we are now - the position he’s left us in - quite a lot could go wrong and we’d still be substantially up on the deal. That is a feat indeed, for which we can only offer profoundest thanks.

The 'antis' won’t miss the narkiness he so incongruously directed at our extraordinary fans. Those niggly interviews whenever his tactics were questioned. That frisson of stress which rippled through the home crowd on seventy minutes when you felt a lead-sacrificing substitution coming on.

Built into the chorus at Yeovil of "who needs Mourinho, we’ve got our physio", was, for some, a new-found freedom from the tyranny of the cupped ear. It doesn’t mean they didn’t support, or even like, Hursty as a person – he was family, and families, as we know, are devilishly complicated things. But he divorced us, not the other way round, so it's clearly time to move on and turn this into the best thing that ever happened to us. Which is a sentiment, of course, with which you should kid yourself after any divorce. Sometimes, of course, it will actually work out that way.

I’m writing these words from a service station south of Oxford, and I can’t get to Bolton tomorrow because I’m at work – so football-wise, for me, this week hasn’t worked out very well. Funnily enough, people down here among the dreaming spires seem not at all bothered by some northern football team without a manager, but much more so about the bombing of Aleppo, global ecological collapse, and the fact that our country’s leadership drifts further and further towards overt racism. They perked up slightly when they heard that Marcus Brigstocke might have been offered the job, which shows how irrelevant it all really is to most people (although it might be an idea?)

So being away from home puts the whole thing in perspective a bit. But it is the continued freedom to enjoy life’s trivial pleasures free from fear, famine and fascism which is the very point of fighting to keep the planet a functioning, tolerant place. As someone whose identity was shaped in a town amongst whose rather meagre list of trivial pleasures football ranks extremely highly, I make no apology for being extremely interested in the identity of the new manager, despite a focus round here on higher things.

With the appointment of a successor fairly imminent, this diary could pass into history faster even than usual, and things may be wildly different by the time you read this. At the time of writing, we haven’t appointed anyone, although the Telegraph seems pretty sure, which is always a big clue. Whoever it is, it’s looking increasingly like they’ll be an up-and-comer, and therefore a shot in the dark. There may be trouble ahead, or everything may come up roses – in fact it will almost certainly be a mixture of the two. But it will be an adventure, and a new chapter in all of our lives. Let’s all get behind… erm… new bloke. Woohoo.

Tomorrow it’s Bolton, a club who have been beautifully introduced to us here, here and here. Have a great day if you’re going; the FA Cup represents football in its purest form, and I’m very jealous. Now let’s win it and get Shrewsbury at home in the second round, although to achieve that potential privilege, Hursty’s league-proppers must first overcome the mighty Barnet.

For us, Ben Davies still isn't right but a healed Ashley Chambers may be OK for a cameo.

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