Cod Almighty | Diary

You can't park the bus if you've only got a moped

10 March 2021

My regular reader may remember that in last week's BOTB Diary I vented some serious spleen about Paul Hurst's negativity. Last week, that is, before we lost 2-1 to the Trees** and endured last night's 93rd minute sickener on the Isle they're all calling Carl. Both came in games in which we were taking at least a point and looking decent value. Both the crucial goals we conceded came after he had taken off attacking players and replaced them with defensive ones.

I was considering a sort of avant-garde diary in which I just repeated the words "when will he learn?" over and over like a man writing a diary and banging his head against the wall at the same time. I could even have photoshopped in some bloodstains for effect.

Now of course, the thing about football, as in life, is that most of the time you have no actual proof of how alternatives would have played out. We don't know that we wouldn't have conceded last night's equaliser if he had not brought Waterfall on. We don't know if we would still have lost to the Trees after he decided that having two left backs was the best way to win a tight match. On the latter point, however, I refer you to CA's excellent football analysist who showed in a Tweet how these full backs were marking each other rather than a Tree when the ball came in for their winning goal.

We can't say for sure what would have happened in a different world. But we can make an educated guess.

Last night, Carlisle did not have a great game. Their commentator stated repeatedly that the only way that they had a chance would be if the Mariners sat back and tried to defend their lead. Well called, that man. You will have noticed that most teams, if hanging on for a desperately needed 1-0 victory, may try and get the ball in the vicinity of your opposition’s corner flag. Paul Hurst believes the best place to defend a lead is in your own penalty box. Always has, always will. Nothing, including 10 years of contrary experience as a football manager, seems to be able to persuade him otherwise.

Now I'm not The Great Memorando, Memory Man – indeed no-one is, because I just made him up – but I have recollections throughout our non-League sojourn of walking back along Grimsby Road furious that another defensive Paul Hurst substitution had cost us points. Young people with better memories than me mention the Chester and Welling games as particularly egregious examples of where routine victories were turned into draws by sitting back and allowing weaker opposition to attack us at will. The inevitable negative substitution even had a name – the Parslow Point – named after a defensive midfielder who would be brought on with 20 minutes to go, replacing someone dangerous and inevitably handing the initiative to the opposition.

I think of football as a boxing match. Most league games are between teams who are fairly well matched in terms of ability and skill, as in weight divisions. If Paul Hurst were a boxer, his tactic – even in a fight in which he was clearly superior – would be to take off his gloves in the 12th round, put his hands in front of his face and hope his opponent didn't manage to land a knockout blow. There would be no thought of pressing his advantage home, finishing his rival off, glorying in his superiority. It's all about getting in a single punch, then rolling into a ball and hoping for the best.

This isn't just his Achilles Heel as a football manager – it's bigger than that. It's his Achilles Leg. This man could be great at what he does. He can pick players and organise teams. He performed wonders at Shrewsbury, taking them to the top of the table the year after they looked certainties for relegation. By all accounts their promotion charge was only halted when Hurst's negative tendencies took over and he started trying to grind out draws instead of aiming for the victories his team was clearly capable of.

I'm no doctor, but I suspect an analysis of Hurst's DNA would show not a sign of positivity. Indeed, in his case it stands for Defensive, Negative and... er... Attacking (not). Just got away with that one I think.

We're four points clear at the bottom of the Football League and looking doomed. We need wins. We showed last night that, in a non-defensive formation and players in their correct positions, we aren't a bad side. This last message is to Chris Doig – next time Hurst suggests taking off an attacker and replacing him with a defender, slap him round the chops with a magic sponge until he comes to his senses. We'd love you for it, and it might be our only hope. These are serious times. I feel a sense of dread, and we need a hero.

**Those who didn't read my diary two weeks ago – and if you didn't, then shame on you – may recall I didn't know what Forest Green's nickname was so I decided to call them the "Trees". This proved to be inappropriate as trees don't generally fall over when you lean on them. Neither have I seen a bunch of grown-ass trees surround a referee and whine like shrubs about how one of them has a poorly twig because of that nasty football player in the stripes. if I need to refer to them in future diaries – which is unlikely – they will be referred to as The Pissoffbacktoyourstupidvillageandnevercomebackers.