Cod Almighty | Diary

Fighting in the captain's tower while calypso singers laugh and fishermen hold flowers

15 June 2021

This has no relevance to anything, but if Middle-Aged Diary could write anything a tenth as rich as the lyrics to Desolation Row, I'd be a happy man.

Our postcards of the hanging - the DVD of season highlights from 2020-21 - aren't on sale yet. Or ever. What we are selling is season tickets.

As an exile, I guess I'm one of the targets for the 1878 club. For £25 I'll get a sixth ticket if I buy five, and a discount at the club shop. It isn't especially appealing as a monetary transaction, but I guess what I'm buying is a sense of belonging. Do I need to pay for that? Churning out a diary devoted to Grimsby Town every week seems to me to confirm that I'm a fan, but then what good does me being a fan do the club if they can't monetise it? These are deep waters, waters we have waded in before, and I don't have any more answers now than I did last time.

As someone raised in Wales, big international tournaments used to be something I came at from a tangent: I looked forward to them, but was rarely rooting for anyone. During the 1994 World Cup, I amused myself spotting the Town connections among the teams: the neat South Korea were clearly being coached by Alan Buckley, Brazil's excellent attacking full backs were obviously McDermott and Croft, and Ronald Koeman was Neil Woods in a blond wig.

Last night I persuaded my family to watch Spain v Sweden, a match that would have been a waste of an evening if it hadn't been for the most wonderful resurrection. With a name barely disguised, Alexander Isak's ability to lose and win the ball three times in as many seconds marked him out: Keith Alexander is among us once more.

Craig Disley is still with us, but on Friday he announced he was bringing his 22-year playing career to an end. Let's hope he remains available to impart some wisdom to the players who will aim to emulate him by getting us out of the Conference next year.

One of my happier memories from our brief spell in the Football League was an end-of-season romp over Yeovil Town. The sun was shining, there was nothing to worry about, Town were playing well and Jamey Osborne scored the greatest of goals. For a week or two, it was possible to imagine that Russell Slade would retain the baby of some good players while throwing out the bathwater of Marcus Bignot's bizarre experimentations. It was a mirage did not survive the alienation of Osborne, Shaun Pearson being treated as a "nice to have" and Disley himself being released. But that afternoon, Craig Disley was an intangible and irrefutable demonstration of class.

We might not see him play again, but we'll never forget him.