Cod Almighty | Diary

They troid to contaact me beyoind my baack!

17 February 2021

In the early days of BOTB diary, when elite footballers (like Luke Waterfall) were not permitted to ply their trade, there was a bit of a news vacuum and filling a diary was tough. In the middle of February during one of the most turbulent, distressing, surreal, and, let's face it, shit seasons in Town's history, you would think there would be a news tsunami. But things seem to have gone rather quiet, partially due to a bunch of Eastbeasty postponements stopping us dead in our march to the play-offs. There are other reasons for this quietude: our new manager isn't a "personality" like the last one; Our soon-to-be new owners aren't prone to bizarre statements delivered from snooker rooms in rolltop jumpers, and the transfer window closure has led to the terrible realisation that Bogle isn't coming back. What we basically seem to have is a bunch of decent people with shovels trying to dig a football team out of a manure pile. There's not much to say about that, is there?

Now, Retro Diary asked me a question last year during the CA annual works holiday in the Caribbean. "BOTB," he asked, sipping on a pina colada, as Trinidad hoved into view. "What would you think of Grimsby if it wasn't your home town?"

The question stayed with me. Because we are Grimsby it is surprisingly hard to force yourself not to be, although some of my wife's poshest friends have spent an entire lifetime trying to do just that. So, if I was from, say, Shrewsbury, what would I think of Grimsby? I'd imagine it to be Grim, because people from Shrewsbury are very literal. I'd think of it as tough, full of salt-of-the-earth people with a great sense of humour and stoicism. I'd think of it as ugly, cold, industrial, struggling. The football team? I'd think of them as lower-league stalwarts with occasional forays up to the second flight and down to the Vanaramanana.

Would I want to live there? Good god no. I would imagine low educational standards and social issues involving drugs and alcohol to be rife. I'd imagine the suburbs to be full of people who put purple shale in their gardens and call their houses "Hisnhers". I would imagine - actually this is a true story - that a local businessman would say in a meeting that he didn't see why we needed to preserve different species of birds, as long as there was still a few flying around people would be happy. In short, I'd put it in the same category as Hartlepool.

Another true story - I've just had to stop this diary for a few moments to receive a phone call from my doctor, who told me that my MRI scans were back and I'd fractured my shoulder a few years ago without noticing. I thought it was hurting a bit.

This imagined outsider's view of Grimsby misses out the tremendous, weird magnetism of the place. Any exile (except for my wife's poshest friends) will tell you the powerful sense of belonging the sight of the Dock Tower engenders on the train-bound traveller. There is a sense of being outsiders, a separate species, as though our town stands apart from the rest of Britain, like an independent state with its own customs and laws. Community and togetherness are strong here. Even when we aren't in our town, our town will always be inside us. Our town is part of our family.

Ultimately, despite our current footy nightmares, this is why I am sure Grimsby Town won't become another Macclesfield or another Bury. We aren't a part of a bigger city, we aren't an addendum to anywhere or anything. We stand alone and strong. Now, bring on the Exeter, the dirty suspension-hit southern softies!