Cod Almighty | Diary

Get on yer bike for the ninth best album of 1973

17 June 2020

Professional football in England: it feels like years since we've been here.

Yes, it's going to be a long hot and cold summer blowing through soccerball-land and your most Deviant of Diaries is simply sitting back in his rocking chair, whittling away at his ponderstick and posing a series of unanswerable questions. Such as: "What about the orange?" and "How can you have a beef with a vegetarian?" You know, Forest Green is never my scene, but I have watched Star Wars (ABC Freemo Street, one of the Fridays in March 1978).

Can you contain your excitement as we countdown to ecstasy? The showbiz kids, these kings of the world with their gold teeth, are having a kickabout in an old empty barn this evening. Yes, my fine fellows, with graded groans that make finer glowers, fishtank football is back, back, back and we shall lay prostrate before its gorgeousness, bathing in the healing powers of a bore draw in Birmingham.

Come on now, believe in the power of Ponceyship positivity – it cures baldness and piles!

Ah the inverted snobbery of the lower league football fan, eh? Gateshead in January? Luxury! A professional football game with no fans: well, that is so Gateshead in January.

Never judge a book by its assumed cover, for some of the gilded youth of today do remember where they came from and how lucky they are in life's lousy lottery. What a splendid young chap that Danny Rashford of The Manchester Wanderers Association Football Club in the north is. And remember that a U-turn a day helps your government work, rest and play. Is there life on Mars?

What a strange land we live in, where footballers are the Praetorian Guard in the culture wars (aka establishment distraction technique #2 – we hate the same people as you do because it's their fault we take all your money!). It's not something we ever expected of Kevin Jobling. The times they are a-changing.

Or are they?

Back home on the beautiful beaches of our home town, we'll be thinking about you in every step you take, every bond you break. Yes, we’ll be watching you as we wonder whether Darwin ever strolled along our prom-prom-prom. And there's a certain irony and wry humour to be extracted in the Mail on Sunday using the passive-aggressive teenage tantrum technique to imply that Town's elite decision makers were institutionally racist in appointing Mr Ian Holloway (gnome) as manager: "Just saying". Takes one to know one. Is the whole word run by teenagers?

Well, there is some solid Town related activity – you can donate or get your pro rata refund on your season ticket here.

I do hope it was worth the effort in queueing for that indispensable T-shirt/trainer/ potato peeler now we have reached VC day. For at the very pinnacle of the pyramid scheme of civilisation is shopping. After all, you don't see an aardvark in Argos and the Neanderthals never had a Next. It's what separates us from the animals.

Keep your eyes wide, the chance won't come again.