Cod Almighty | Diary

Cry havoc, and let slip the Doigs of war!

27 August 2021

BOTB Diary writes: Is it really going to happen? Is today really the day before Grimsby Town take to the rolling hills of Blundell Park to start their season? Will they play in front of actual fans and not just multi-monikered conmen and their gullible fuckwit minders? My natural Grimsby pessimism predicts a lockdown announced at two o'clock tomorrow, or a Taliban surge along Grimsby Road, or an unforecasted plague of newts.

I've got my dinky little plastic season ticket ready, though I’'ve no idea how to use it. Perhaps you just insert it in a slot or wave it at a computer or show it to a steward. Perhaps I'll do what I frequently did with the old paper season ticket and leave it in a drawer by the front door. The possibilities are endless.

We are (hopefully) playing Weymouth. Nice nature reserve near Weymouth, Radipole Lake it’s called. I'd recommend it. That's all I have to say about Weymouth [though Rich Mills has quite a lot more to say in our Rough Guide - ed]. If a single fan manages to travel from there to Grimsby to watch the match tomorrow he or she should be given the freedom of Freeman Street, followed possibly by an intervention on behalf of their family. A few Weymouthulcers, as they are affectionately known, will doubtless shimmy down from their more northerly domiciles to check us out, and bless them.

Before I saw us play at Boston I would have imagined an easy home victory was on the cards – whatever the cards may be in that particular expression – but now I travel in the spirit of hope and not expectation. Whatever the result, it is certain the occasion of a return to the Park will be enough to squeeze out a tear or two in the more emotional fans. Not me though, obviously. Far too butch. Grrrr.

Even if the Town do let us down on the pitch, one person who won't is the lead singer of PhD who had a hit in 1982 with I Won’t Let You Down Again. You can watch the video on You Tube, which I urge you to do, because you’ll never see anything as weird, cheap, creepy and thoroughly cringeworthy in your life again. Perhaps Mike Newell's team should have run out to it. 

This week we've had it confirmed that basically any money our club makes from Dembele, Grist, selling hot dogs or dealing Pokemon cards in the playground will still be going into the pocket of a certain Mr John Fenty, who of course has the best interests of the club at heart. How lucky we were to have him, and what a blessing that he still has his friendly hands around the football club's neck. When I spoke to a certain ex-player in the summer he told me that Fenty’s slimy tentacles run deep into the club and its assets, and that getting rid of him would be like getting mealy bugs off cacti. (You know what I'm talkin' about, cactus growers.) Sadly his words, little heeded at the time, may prove their truth with time. This particular stain runs deep.

For a much more educated and detailed take on the Grimsby Ghoul's finances read Tony Butcher's article on the topic. This man knows his onions, and often puts them in a tasty curry. Yum.

But less of that. Lockdowns, Taliban and newts notwithstanding, we're back. We've been waiting for this moment for a long time, and the fans, the beating heart of our club, the mighty black and white army, is ready to raise the roof and the spirits of whoever wears the shirt. And although chairmen, players, managers and others have let us down many times in the past, and doubtless will again, we will never do so. And you don't need a PhD to know that.

UTFM. Football's coming home, and it wants its tea ready on the table. And no, that doesn't mean anything. Never mind. Let's goooo!