Cod Almighty | Article

by Dave Chambers

3 September 2006

It's not long since we felt deflated in Macclesfield. Since those final minutes of the regular season that damned us to the play-offs. And thinking on both occasions: "We've blown it". But the gutsy performances in the Lincoln games buoyed me. Even the players' failure to take advantage of their redemption by winning the play-off final couldn't dissuade me. They'd just frozen in an empty arena, I told myself. They weren't expecting this. They just missed the intimacy of home to bring out the passion, the beast in them. I was still buoyed.

The departure of Slade with his tactics, oh his boring tactics, buoyed me. Slade's team won games but it wasn't fun to watch. No no. We scored belting headers, but that was all it seemed. And not conceding, getting everyone behind the ball: it just wasn't fun, was it? Rodger's promise of attractive, attacking football, especially at home, buoyed me.

When the fixture list was announced I yelped with joy. The opening six weeks are a dream for a north-west-based Mariner. The chance to see the Rodger era swing in to full effect. Wrexham. Bury. Rochdale, Chester. And the bizarre decision to have no home game between Christmas and New Year works out fine for me, Stockport being a 20-minute ride away. Sorry, Mum and Dad - I'll put up with you this year. And the final two away games, Accrington and Shrewsbury, are both within striking distance. I could witness as much of a season as I ever have. I want to be a part of this season! I want to witness the Rodger revolution! I am buoyed!

So buoyed, in fact, that I decided to I dig deep for a season ticket, for the first time in my life. Yes, I've left the motherland. Left years ago. Fled to seek an education elsewhere, to university, and ended up staying there, never to return 'home'. Other side of the Pennines. It's not easy getting back for every home game. It will take planning. Putting off work. Working late into the evening, working from very early in the morning. Attempts were made to put me off. "You'll wear yourself out!" My ability to do impromptu work will suffer. The commitment will be like being 15 stone and training for the London Marathon. Except I did the marathon three years ago. I did it then. I want to be in it for the long run as it were, ha ha.

And it's not just the season ticket. There's the petrol. The snacks. The rickety car which probably won't last out the season. But I was buoyed.

I didn't even mind the moves to Friday night. It might be unfashionable, and it might be a tiring journey back. And I'll need to plead for a lie-in the next morning. Like a hangover, though, I don't get any mercy - "you've only yourself to blame". But driving along the M62 and M180 with old Ride, Wedding Present, and Bob Mould tapes to keep me company: a joy in itself.

I've seen four games so far this season. Despite the performances at Wrexham and Bury I am still buoyed. I sit there wondering why I didn't do something else instead. But it's too late. I've done it. We've lost. We could have won those games. Football's about one of three outcomes. Those games might be the making of us. Those games might be the hubris of us. And then there's the times at Blundell Park. The thrilling victory against Boston. The gripping game against Mansfield. Those are what I paid for when I bought my season ticket. I am still buoyed.