Cod Almighty | Diary
All of creation's celebrating happiness and joy
30 December 2020
Oh good, it's me again. Bottom of the Barrel Diary with the big stories.
So, Jupiter and Saturn are in conjunction, creating a bright Christmas Star (Yes, I know that was over a week ago, but bear with me.) Fittingly, three wise men have come from the East, bringing gifts of gold, ...er...frankness, and Hurst. Despite JS Herod sending out a decree that all takeover bids should be drowned at birth, the club has survived his reign and is reborn this Christmastide. Although rebirth is, of course, more of an Easter thing. I'll level with you, this first paragraph might not have been a good idea.
This second one will be better. Fenty has actually gone, according to reports, and cannot return. The Good Ship GTFC has ditched its massive anchor and is now free to roam the oceans of the football world. Who knows what adventures lie in store? Well, probably a trip to King's Lynn Town next year, judging by our current form, but even if the disaster of relegation happens I'll still be able to feel proud of my club and optimistic about its future. GTFC over the last sixteen years has been like having a brother in jail; you love him because he's your brother, but it's hard to feel much pride.
Whilst I'm on, can I just have a word about the dwindling band of Fenty apologists who say things like 'at least, thanks to him, we are solvent' and 'at least we have a football club?' This seems very obvious to me, but the main function of a football club isn't in fact to have balanced books.
For example, I could find a bunch of lads down the park who would gladly play for Town for nothing. That would cut our wage bill. We could play at a local park for free with jumpers for goalposts and trees for stewards. We could run the football club for almost nowt, but the point is, we would be bloody awful. Would that be a well run club? Would it be a successful club? No it wouldn't, because the function of a football club is to BE ANY GOOD AT FOOTBALL.
On the scale of one to ten, if Bury are a 0 and Man City are a 10, being in existence but rubbish is more or less a 0.1. Being a division below Accrington Stanley is not a success. That - that, indeed - is a mahoosive failure of management. The fact that we are solvent despite being so awful for the last sixteen years, with barely a cup run and only one promotion, indicates that if we could actually achieve anything on the pitch we might be able to aim higher than mere existence and maybe even make money. Perhaps we could ascend to the glorylands of the top of the fourth division, which, incidentally, during the first thirty years of my life, was considered to be slumming it for a club of our size.
So, Paul Hurst. At the time of writing nothing has been confirmed, but The Interesting One looks set for a Blundell Park return. Paul Hurst is the footballing equivalent of a shrug of the shoulders, and whether or not you consider him a good appointment depends on many factors. If we were in 8th position, I'd bet on him to take us to 14th. If we were 3rd from botton, I'd bet on him to take us to 14th. That's why I won't be too disappointed if he returns. At least we will keep us shape, though hopefully that shape won't be a slapped jelly like it is at the moment.
His last reign did bring us a long overdue promotion and a solid defensive formation, but it also brought us the Parslow Point, Lenell John-Lewis's finishing and a haunted dugout presence with a skin so thin you could see his liver through it. I would rather have had Paul Cook, but then, I'd rather be twenty years younger and own a Lamborghini. You can't always get what you want. Mick Jagger told me that, which is ironic becuase he's one of the few poeple in the world who could get pretty much what he wanted most of the time.
I digress. This isn't the time for the quibblage; if Hurst is the man, we need to give him everything in terms of support and finances to get us away from the Vanarama Sword of Damocles. Come on, little dude. Work some magic.
Well done to the CA boys and everyone else whose copious research revealed a lot about the activities of our non-chairman, in fact non-anything now (hurray), and brought his housing estate of cards tumbling down. We are still in the soup, but at least we can see an approaching spoon. I'll be the first to admit that the last sentence wasn't some of my best work. I'm a writer you know. Cya.