Cod Almighty | Diary

Don't knock commitment, but don't limit yourself to it either

1 September 2021

Commitment. Let's not underestimate it. Middle-Aged Diary just ducked the challenge of typing in six digits in the three seconds before the secure ID I need to access my work files changed, so I can only applaud young men prepared to fly into a 50-50 ball knowing they could get hurt, or to put their body in the way of a goal-bound shot.

Last night at Stockport it was enough to earn a good draw. Two teams with decent players, neither of which is quite yet a decent team. Stockport perhaps looked a bit closer to gelling, but at the end we had the players who looked like they wanted more than a point. Running around and always being in the right place was enough to make you man of the match, even if on the terrace there were affectionate groans at the passes which followed when he got on the ball.

Commitment in the stands too. We were there in numbers, there was a smattering of pre-emptive applause for the taking of the knee and even when the game threatened to turn against us in the first half the mood remained supportive. The exchange of applause between players and fans at the end was no empty gesture: we'd all gone through the wringer and come out intact on the other side.

We are still in the honeymoon period, for football and for the club's new leadership. The anecdotes we remember are the nice ones, like Debbie Cook, our new CEO, arranging to drop off tickets for two Manchester-based Town fans who had bought them too late to be posted. There were always individual acts of kindness from club staff who were able to remember even under John Fenty that they were human, but now they seem to go with the grain.

The honeymoon will end. There'll be an afternoon when we huff and we puff but we can't blow a defence of part-timers down, and then we'll demand a bit more than just effort. Our own commitment will be tested, and we'll need to remember that for three more years, the blood we give to the Mariners is still being sucked back out by the repayment of Fenty's malignant loans. It may be a time before we get the quality we are paying for.

That day will come, but it did not come yesterday. On the way into the ground, we ran into the guy who did some plastering for us last year, a keen football enthusiast whose grand-daughter is now going out with a Town fan. Tony was there, of course, and you'll be able to read his report later, with Miss Guest Diary, and Geoff, who I only know through them but with whom I've enjoyed several post-match dissections on the train back from the inevitable defeat at Crewe Alexandra. Also sitting with them was Retro Diary and for those of you who go back a long way with Cod Almighty I sat next to Mystic Mick. Nearby was Carl, who used to so some scouting for my local (even noner) non-League club. Later, I got a text from Mike - who 13 years ago rescued our day when I took my son to his first ever Grimsby game - regretting we'd not had the chance to say hello. Friendships of many kinds, bound by the common cause of supporting the Mariners. All around me, there was the sound, the spirit, of similar relationships been reaffirmed after a 16-month hiatus.   

Yesterday was about getting our game back, and about getting our club back. If it had been on telly it would have been a lousy advert for non-League footy but it was wonderful to be there. A forgettable match, a night I'll never forget.