Cod Almighty | Diary
Daydream believers
6 May 2020
It's May the Sith, Star Bores, and I come to you in peace as a member of The Science, that shadowy group of puppet masters finally exposed as really running the world. And you didn't realise that Cod Almighty was a front for The Science. Yep, we've all got ologies and ics up here in our isolated Ivory Tower. Yet, ironically, none of us is an ichthyologist. Typical yogurt reading Guardian eaters, eh?
Ichthyologist? Look that up in your Funk and Wagnalls.
Ah, The Science. A catch-all fig leaf of blame deflection that means nothing without context, for context is king and knowledge is power, unless you are a fridge magnet. So what is The Science?
It's like a Match of the Day panel made up of Hansen, laid-back-Lawro and Mad Marty Keown. They'll just tell you how bad the defending is and how a team need to be set up to stop goals being scored. Their solution is to stop everything. Or a top table of Shearer, Ian Wright-Wright-Wright and the boy Line-acre who will waffle on about the great striking and how to open up those defences. Their solution is a free for all.
The analysis, hypothesis and solutions to problems are governed by specialism and experience. An imbalance of expertise leads to Bignottian gay abandon or Sladian sludge. It's a question of who is making recommendations and on what basis: a question of balance. And, of course, politicians are there to choose from the options given to them by experts. If they didn't do that there would be no point in them.
Right, that's enough notional national nonsense. I'll take you where the real animals are playing, and people are real people, not just playing. It's been a quiet, quiet life in the dirty old shack that we called home. Ah, we want to be back there, but when? And how? What and how will it be beside the sea?
As Casual Diary reported yesterday, that great experiment in corporate anarcho-syndicalism has ended at Animal Farm and Town now have a figurehead to lead us through the murky misty miasma of Mariner life.
A new day is dawning for there is new leader: retired solicitor and part-time pet shop boy Philip Day as the Fridge Magnet's Superb New Official Beard. Oh such cynicism from Cod Almighty already! All we are saying is give the man in the fleece a chance. It is conceivable that he'll skilfully manoeuvre Town towards some common sense and common decency. Go on Phil, make our day.
And finally in virtual Townland Holloway is back atop the barricades with a one for all and all for one call to arms locally, and a rallying of the dispossessed exclusively from his West Country retreat for the wide-wide world: "How dare they say there's a game this week but it's not safe for fans to go – but the game has got to go on. Get lost. It doesn't make sense."
In Big Football the people in power are going stir crazier: Gorgon Taylor wants shorter games, Rockin' Ricky Parry is trailing an imminent decision to end the EFL and Gary Neville thinks the Ponceyship should play all its games in Australia. Yeah, bugger orf our land and don't come back around here no more.
It's obvious to all sentient fish that when we "get back" it'll be football, but not as we knew it. No-one knows what it will be, will be because we're living in a world of make believe, chasing after rainbows we may never find again.
Stevenage: may we never be rid of your pestilent presence!
This diary was brought to you in association with The Village Green Preservation Society and the Partridge family. We thank them for their continuing support in these troublingly weird times, though we'd thank you even more if you bought a few of our heritage T-shirts in the exciting and exclusive clearance sale arranged by the Wavy Gravy of Cod Almighty.