The Diary

Cod Almighty | Diary

Block that kick! Block that kick!

13 August 2021

BOTB Diary writes: Diaries are funny old things – except mine, obvs, which has never been funny – when it comes to news reporting. Unless a NEWSBANG (copyright BOTB 2021) occurs while you are actually on the writing pot, by the time the diary is printed everybody knows about everything and you run the risk of being considered old hat.

By now the signings of fluffy owlet Alex Hunt and Coventry cublet William Bapaga have been so thoroughly assimilated and analysed by the Fishy intelligentsia that any further comment now seems superfluous to requirement. But I’m going to anyway, since I’m here and my computer is switched on.

I was interested to see that young William already has a highlights reel, despite being 18 years of age and only having played three League games. When one notices the first scene is him scoring from the penalty spot and the second seems to have taken place on a school playing field, the viewer's brow may become furrowed, but it is clear from the rest of the action that he is quick, skilful, loves to be on his right foot and has a very low-key goal celebration. What else are we supposed to say? Welcome, young Bapster, and I hope you turn out to be a GTFC soccer superstar.

I thought Alex Hunt looked like Sid Vicious when I first saw a picture of him, but then I realised from other pictures that he doesn't really. Any planned Sex Pistols references were therefore shelved, so never mind that bollocks.

He does, however, have the Youth Team Haircut of Failure, which he will have to jettison before footballing success will deign to embrace him. I've judged GTFC kids using this criterion for years, and I've never been proved wrong. As soon as they get subbed on in a pre-season unfriendly with that short-above-the-ears-blob-on-top-like-a-hair-hat barnet you know that the Cleethorpes Town scouts will be getting out their notebooks and chewing their pencils eagerly. Let's hope the first thing Hurst does with the Sid Vicious Non-lookalike is to send him to the Turkish barbers to get rid of the YTHOF, and get Something Else.

Number 9. Number 9. Number 9.

Chesterfield tomorrow! Are you going? I'm not. Having braved Boston last Saturday – and discovered that the front garden of choice for the Boston resident is a large area of grey gravel that looks like the bullying area of a school playground in 1973 – my expectations of the season ahead have been suitably lowered. As a nameless friend said at the final whistle: "I think we will finish eleventh" and it was hard to disagree (He does have a name, but I'm not telling you what it is. Indeed, most of the people I know have names, except for that one chap. You know, him!) Some may find this a little negative, which reminds me of a marvellous Dilbert cartoon in which Alice is told off by her boss for being negative and the following conversation ensues (roughly):

Alice: So you want me to be positive about negative things?
Boss: Yes!
Alice: So why can't you be positive about my negativity?

That, there, is inarguable logic.

I will just finish by offering my greatest condolences to the family and friends of those pointlessly killed in Plymouth last night because some pointless, odious, inadequate little arsecandle decided to try and make a name for himself. Let's hope history has already forgotten his sorry ass.

A really sad day for us all. Goodbye for now.