Cod Almighty | Diary

A bungee jump of emotions

19 November 2021

BOTB Diary writes: So, tonight we play Southend. Anyone familiar with the work of the ultra-hip, achingly soulful and moving San Francisco band American Music Club will know that their lead singer is Mark Eitzel. Anyone familiar with me knows that Mark Eitzel is my lyrical hero. And anyone familiar with Mark Eitzel will know he wrote a song called Southend on Sea which contains the curious line "If I were drowning would you save me from Southend on Sea?" Also, did you know that Amanda Palmer wrote a song called Leeds United? I've never forgiven her. I'll be honest with you, I've forgotten where I was going with this.

Having supported Town for approximately two John McAtee lifetimes, I've known some seasons that were, to use a well-aired cliché, emotional rollercoasters. So far this season has been an emotional bungee jump out of a manure heap. We're out! We've left the manure behind and we are flying! We can see the sky and the stars and the sun and we are as free as birds, weightless spirits floating within the eternal arc of the heavens. Oh, hang on, the rope has tightened. It's over. Back we go. Can you smell something? Oh yes, we are knee deep in horseshit again. Well, it was fun while it lasted.

Perhaps a Friday night game with the crackling electricity of a near sell-out crowd can get us back on track. Southend are yet to jump out of the manure heap this season but with Stanley Collymore back as Senior Football Strategist there is always a chance they will be transformed into Barca by Christmas.

I've actually read Stan Collymore's autobiography. The impression I got was of a sensitive and intelligent man rather brutalised by his upbringing and surroundings. The middle class part of me was rather horrified by the casual use of violence. "I was going out with this lovely girl called Debbie, but her brother and me didn't get on so I'd had to deck him a couple of times" isn't an exact quote but this sort of thing pops up frequently. He also despises Gareth Southgate for reasons that sound entirely understandable, and talks of going dogging as though it is an inevitable consequence of being a heterosexual man with a sense of adventure. Perhaps his strategy at Southend will be to deck anyone, male or female, that disagrees with him, followed by opening up a new car park around the back of the stand for nocturnal purposes. We can only wait and see.

So, plucky little GTFC manager Paul Hurst, eh? Years of acquaintance with the petit Yorkshireman have shown the same patterns emerging again and again. A great eye for a player, a good organiser, a facilitator of team spirit and generally a safe but unspectacular pair of hands. He doesn't stink of booze like Mike Newell, he isn't a long ball loon like Russell Slade and he isn't a twat like Ian Holloway. A good lad. The problems come when he overthinks. If we could only stop Paul Hurst from thinking quite so much we could have a top class manager in the dugout. As soon as I see the teamsheet I know if Hurst has been thinking, and it never ends well when he has.

I could play three centre halves against Kiddermister, he thinks. I could play two teenagers on the left together against Aldershot, he thinks. I could bring on a sub with 20 seconds to go when we are losing, he thinks. I could not bring on all three subs in a Wembley final even though it’s gone to extra-time and half my players can barely stand. I can rest Podge/McAtee. I can bring on a defender. I can bring on two defenders. Goddamit, I'm the manager, I can bring on three defenders. All these thoughts, clouding his mental horizons, obscuring the simple truths of football.

So here's my suggestion. We get Paul Hurst to build us a team, organise it and get everybody in it to be best chums. Then we send him away for a gap year in the Himalayas, working for a yak charity, and leave Chris Doig in charge. I might be completely wrong about Chris Doig, and apologies if I am, but he doesn't strike me as one of nature's overthinkers. We'd play our best players in a simple formation and only change it when we were forced to. Can you imagine?

No-one who has read this diary could accuse me of overthinking either, to be fair. Anyone who knows me will recognise that underthinking is more my jam. Football is sometimes about emotions more than rationale anyway, and my emotional response to tonight is this. We are drowning, and we need someone to save us from Southend-on-Sea. I want that man to be Joel Grant, for reasons I find hard to explain. Three points for the Mariners and they could be tightening the harnesses ready for us to take another exciting leap into the unknown. Another defeat and I can see Neddy on the horizon. He's been grazing in a field of chillies and there's a look of urgency in his eye.

Urghh. Made myself feel sick now. Sorry 'bout that.