Cod Almighty | Diary

"Things are never good, they just go from bad to weird" (Lou Reed)

30 September 2020

BOTB Diary writes: Sigh. The only way to begin a diary these days is with a sigh. Indeed, the one I used earlier failed to convey the full extent of my fatigue and world-weariness. Siiiiiggghhh. That's better. So, where do we go from here? Is it down to the lake I fear? Earlier this year I went 100 days without a haircut. But I digress.

Do you get the impression that GTFC as a club have pretty much given up on this season already, and are just going to stamp their feet until the season is abandoned? I mean, I haven't looked at the table yet, but I wouldn't imagine we're amongst the early play-off contenders. In our defence, this season has already become a farce, though without the amusement of a vicar climbing through a french window with his trousers around his ankles.

The idea that clubs will be relegated out of the League on the back of this particular circus is ridiculous. What happens if a club had players testing positive for the next nine or ten matches and beyond? And then there's a big freeze? And spring brings an invasion of sub-Saharan murder hornets? We could end up with a club having 37 games in hand. The best bet is to freeze all relegation and promotion places for a year and just play games as and when we can. People might fear a season of slow-paced friendlies in which there is no atmosphere, no passion and no skill, but, judging by the Salford game, we've already crossed that particular rubicon.

Saturday nights are funny now, aren't they? (Incidentally, can you imagine Elton John fighting anyone on any night? I think even Kiki Dee would have given him a hiding. Or Whigfield.) There isn't the sense of elation that a last-minute winner against Cheltenham can elicit, but equally there isn't the soul-draining despair of being outplayed by Morecambe to contend with. Since I've had these two imposters clogging up my weekends for almost half a century, my brain has started manufacturing its own psychological states from boredom to replace the drama. Oh No! She's got more chips than me! Yay! A tomato has ripened! Aaaaargh, a tractor has just driven past! Get in there! I've found a teabag.

I'm beginning to get into the mindset of the man or woman who takes no notice of football. I always wondered what their weekends were like and know I know. Bloody hell! there's a squirrel on the bird table. Bugger! But this is the kicker: I can't decide if I like it or not. I really can't work out whether I prefer the rollercoaster or the tearoom.

As Shaggy might once have said - yoinks. Is my addiction... over?