Cod Almighty | Diary

Bother that cat

26 April 2018

History defines us. It makes us who we are. Where would we be without it? How would we feel about the future if we had no past? We'd have no way of knowing which direction we're travelling in. We'd have no way of knowing whether we're on the way up, or on the way down. We'd have nothing to be proud of, nothing to be ashamed of, and nothing to learn from.

History says that Grimsby Town are a Football League club. We've spent the vast majority of our existence in the English Football League – sometimes over-performing, sometimes underperforming and very rarely doing anything in the middle. History is important. A football club without history is Bastard Franchise Scum FC. They'll take their place in the fourth tier of English football next season but their short history tells us that their rightful place in English football is the bin.

New things need time to create their own history, but MK Dons tried to buy history. History isn't a toy that can be bought or played with. History is everything – warts and all.

Some modern-day football fans will say Blundell Park is the biggest wart on Grimsby Town's face. We've heard it from billy-big-bollocks away fans down the years, and we even hear it from our own fans today in the context of the promise of a big grey concrete out-of-town box that has yet to be delivered on.

For many years now – well, decades – your West Yorkshire Diary has had mixed emotions on a new stadium. The sentimental value of Blundell Park surged earlier in the week when I read that stirring and emotional portrayal of our spiritual home by Hans Henrik Appel. It's one of the best things I've read this year and the inspiration behind today's diary (and clearly it inspired your original/regular Diary yesterday. And because we write independently, you're getting the same topic on consecutive days. Soz about that).

Blundell Park is an old football ground, so we shouldn't be surprised that the steps in the Main Stand squeak under the weight of an average person, or that the pillars get in the way, or that there's bird shit falling from the rafters, or that there are visible bends in some of the wooden posts, or that you can see seven layers of paint flaking off the wooden seats in the press box, or that the baths in the dressing room look like they're from the 1950s, or that the manager's office looks like the cold, uninsulated wooden cabin it really is.

How can we love all these failing things? Well, there's a dating advert on the telly at the moment which talks about loving each other's imperfections. No-one is perfect. Contrary to popular belief, nice, shiny new stadiums are far from perfect. Chairmen might tell you they're better, from a commercial point of view, but I've yet to meet a fan that watches their team play in their brand-spanking new stadium and say they love the place. Can a Donny fan really love the Keepmoat?

Give me the old Wembley any day of the week. Give me Layer Road over whatever Colchester's horrible ground is called today. Give me Gay Meadow over that uncharacteristic, charmless facility Paul Hurst felt so enamoured by. We might get nicer toilets and more room for our knees and feet, but am I willing to trade a football ground oozing in character, history and atmosphere for a bit of extra comfort? Since when has going to a football match been about comfort, anyway? You go to stand and shout, and drink and be sociable. Football grounds should be for the fans first and foremost. Grounds like Colchester and Donny's try to be more, for everyone, yet end up feeling like they're for no one.

I enjoy Blundell Park because I get to stand in the very same ground my grandad did – and his dad before him. It's heritage. It keeps me close to some family members I never met. It keeps me close to some of our greatest players I never watched. Blundell Park is a living museum. There are so many memories and so much history contained in one small corner of a large town that the thought of Blundell Park being razed to the ground and wiped from all those aerial shots of Cleethorpes actually hurts my heart. It's too ingrained in the community, and my life, to just be tossed away now that it's apparently served its purpose.

I can't say I've ever gone to Derby, or Coventry, or Chester and been impressed by their out-of-town stadia. I loved being at Crewe, though. Gresty Road's away stand feels just like our Main Stand – it's just less wooden, so ours is better. Visiting old grounds, and admiring the ramshackle nature of them as they'd been pieced together over the years as circumstances dictated, gave me some pleasure during our spell in non-League.

I'm not sure I want to trade Blundell Park for a Fentydome, even if someone promised me right now that it'd guarantee us a place back in the second tier. If winning games and playing in the top division are all that matters then you can support Manchester City or Arsenal. The reason I support Grimsby is because that's where I'm from. That's more important. Identity. History. Success doesn't determine whether I support the Mariners. Of course, I want us to be successful – but there are certain things I'm not prepared to trade off.

When you're inside Blundell Park, you're in Cleethorpes. You're watching Grimsby. Unmistakably. When you're inside the Ricoh Arena or the Colchester Community Stadium, you could be anywhere. And what's the point in turning home advantage into something so bland?

Call me misguided, controversial, foolish or even selfish, but I feel we have too much history at Blundell Park to just give up. It makes Grimsby Town, Grimsby Town. History is important. It defines us. It makes us who we are.

Now, who remembers the final day of the 2003–04 season? Losing at Tranmere while Chesterfield dig out a late winner to relegate us to the fourth division. And then two years later Leyton Orient denied us promotion (well, we also denied ourselves by conceding a 94th-minute equaliser to Northampton, but bear with me here). And then, eight years ago, Barnet stayed up at our expense.

Tranmere, Chesterfield, Leyton Orient and Barnet. It's very likely that all four of those teams will be playing non-League football next season. The only question mark is against Barnet, and after Morecambe's draw at home to Cambridge on Tuesday night their home tie against the Bees this Saturday takes on extra significance. I don't like being in a position where we become obsessed with other teams' results but it's difficult to totally ignore.

One other thing that we'll all find difficult to ignore in our game against Notts County is the referee: Carl Boyeson. This guy has shown an average of nearly five yellow cards in each of his 19 games this season, plus a red every other game. We, of course, know him from those times when he reduced us to nine men on two occasions – once in the League Cup against Donny, and once in the league against Darlington (when he also gave the visitors a late penalty). He's been allowed to officiate games involving us again this season – although with him being from Hull, I'm not sure how. There are rules that prevent referees taking charge of games that feature teams that are local to the one they support.

To give him some credit, Boyeson gave us a penalty and sent off an opposing player in our home win over Forest Green this season (the game before we embarked on that ridiculous winless run). The fact that those decisions went in our favour isn't the point here. The point is that Carl Boyeson is a wholly untrustworthy and overly officious referee. He will take centre stage at some point, and in such a potentially pivotal game I feel rather unsettled that Boyeson will be in charge of it.