Cod Almighty | Diary

I know when to go out. I know when to stay in

28 October 2020

Football fans are much nicer than they used to be, aren't they? Town fans with at least one grey hair will no doubt remember left-sided midfielder Bobby Mitchell, who, according to Wikipedia, played a key role in our promotion in 1980. Those of us who witnessed his performances know that that the key role he played in our promotion was to delay it by a few weeks. One-paced and seemingly incapable of passing the ball in the direction of a team mate even though he had a 50-50 chance of doing so every time he had it, his constant inclusion in the team mystified 99 per cent of the crowd. Of course, being football, one per cent of the fans claimed they could see some sort of invisible magical work he was doing. This made them morally superior to the mob, who didn't understand the finer points of the game, and didn't realise that a slow, non-tackling ball donator was exactly what the team needed.

At the end of his Town career Mitchell was unlucky enough to get injured in front of the Lower Findus, as it was probably called at that time. The journey back to the dressing room must have been the longest three minutes of his life as the crowd rushed to the hoardings to hurl dog's abuse at the unfortunate man. Apart from thinking that the phrase 'insult to injury' had never been so keenly illustrated, the child BOTB Diary felt little sympathy for poor Bobby. What I actually thought was "Surely we can now drop him and get someone decent in."

The thing is, though, the abuse was not personal. It was a way of making feelings known. If any of those fans met Mitchell off the pitch, they would be in awe. After all, he played for Grimsby Town. He was a professional footballer. If he'd turned up to play for their Sunday league team the next day he would be the best player on the pitch. He just wasn't good enough to play for Town at that time. There's nothing wrong with that. The vast majority of us weren't.

Which brings me neatly onto vicars. Someone close to me once had dealings with the Church of England and had insider knowledge of their machinations. There was a problem with a vicar somewhere in Lincolnshire. He had started well and keenly but had clearly lost interest in his job, or even lost his faith. His sermons grew more and more bizarre, as though he was making them up as he went along. He stopped doing his job effectively. Weddings became stale. Christenings became joyless. Funerals lost their sparkle.

How did the C of E deal with this situation? Well, they didn't. Their first concern was to be nice and Christian and lovely and uncritical, so nothing happened. They had a few polite meetings with the errant vicar. He was getting paid, so he just ignored their heeding and stayed where he was, vicaring incompetently away and no-one had the strength of character to get rid of him. His congregation dwindled and his church ended up closing. In effect, he had caused a great deal of harm to the organisation he worked for, but it was so important to them to be nice and virtuous and sweet and lovely and Christian that they just let him do it.

On a completely unrelated note, James McKeown, eh? Although we were poor last night, James wasn't to blame. He didn't kick one into his own net, let one through his hands, fall over, pass to their forwards or go wandering to the far corners of the pitch while the ball was in play. The small army of the virtuous, for whom no player can ever be criticised, will take this as evidence that his doubters were wrong and he has returned to form, or something.

Well, the thing about keepers is that there is a control group. I have seen McKeown play exactly the same number of games as I have seen opposing keepers play. How many times have I seen opposition keepers concede goals that were exclusively down to their own mistakes? Four of five, perhaps? With McKeown I would guess, 20? 30?

My Lincoln City-supporting mate (don't judge me!) watches our highlights on Sky Sports and sends me laughing face emojis by the ton, usually followed by the words "Your keeper again!" He is constantly amused by our goalkeeper. That's not good. His fans will point out the many superb saves Macca has made. He has indeed. Good goalkeepers do that. His performance at Wembley several years ago was utterly magnificent. In other words, he did a good sermon, once. They will point out his loyalty, ignoring the fact that on the one occasion he was dropped he handed in a transfer request. They will ignore the hundreds of occasions he has stood rooted to his line while someone nods in a looping cross from one yard out.

Football is a game of opinions. You are allowed to think McKeown is a great keeper. I am allowed to think he isn't a great keeper and his presence and constant mistakes undermine the fragile psychology of the team. It can't be an accident that the few weeks we spent with Dean Henderson in goal were the only few weeks we seriously looked like getting out of this division in the right direction.

I'm certainly not advocating he should be abused, or screamed at, or given the Mitchell treatment. It's good that society has become a nicer, gentler, place. I'm all for it. McKeown is a decent keeper in many ways. Great at one-on-ones. Some great reflex saves. I just don't think he is good enough for us at the moment. It's not personal. Football is the ultimate meritocracy, and everyone in the game knows that. He knows that. Someone needs to have the strength to acknowledge that our little church is failing, and action is needed.