Cod Almighty | Diary

The parade has passed you by

28 October 2022

BOTB here, though I dare hardly say my name given what confessions are to come.

Forgive me father, for I have sinned; oh, My Lord, I repent, repent! But more than that, I beg for your forgiveness, dear reader. For on Tuesday night I did something I have done only once before in my wretched life, something so shameful I barely dare place the words in front of you. But, for the sake of my own absolution, I know I must.

I forgot Town were playing.

When one of my mates called Roy (they are pretty much all called Roy) texted me to say we had played badly and lost 1-0, my first thought was that we must have been playing in the Geoffrey Boycott Cup and I hadn't bothered checking the fixtures. I only found the terrible truth when I looked at the BBC website, and scrolled down to League Two. "Oh," I thought, "quite a lot of games in our division tonight." Then it struck me like a thunderbolt. Oh. My. God.

In retrospect it enabled me to have quite a nice Tuesday night rather than spend it listening to what sounded like a massive dropoff. Nonetheless, I have spent the rest of the week going through the textbook stages of grief. And yes, you at the back, I do know Town are playing Hartlepool tomorrow. It isn't going to happen again. Not on a Saturday at least.

Following a thrilling draw with the Bradfords in front of a sell-out crowd, the classic football cliché for the following dismal defeat to a team with a wall behind one goal would be 'after the Lord Mayor's show.' Now, I’ve only ever known one mayor – I used to play football with the mayor of Mablethorpe and Sutton-on-Sea – and, lovely chap though he was, he didn't really have anything worth showing. If he had tried to sell me tickets to one of his shows, I would have been washing my hair that night. I wonder, have any of our readers ever attended a Lord Mayor's Show? What was it like? Was it followed by something as anticlimactic as seeing a goal go in for the opposition in front of a wall?

So, tomorrow. Hartlepool. Bottom of the league. For the naturally pessimistic Town fan, there is a table of dread we use on occasions like this to work out the worst possible scenario.

OPPOSITION                  PREDICTED OUTCOME      

Top of the league              No chance. Too good for us.
Bottom of the league           No chance. Fighting for their lives
Mid-table                     No chance. Too good for us on the day.
Good run of form              No chance. They’re obviously unstoppable
Bad run of form               No chance.They are clearly due a win.
2 Divisions below (cup)          Massive banana skin. Humiliation ahoy
Local Under 7s                Youth on their side

Yes, it is exhausting thinking like this. But at least I'm never disappointed. Except I still am, often.

The hopeful side of me, the small, withered side, says that we still have a great away record and there is bound to be a reaction after Tuesday night's nonsense. And teams are usually bottom for a reason. Then I remind myself it's only a pissing game and I must have other more worthy things to think about. Then I realise I haven't. Then I begin to reassess my life. Then I remember I forgot Tuesday night's game. Then I feel hungry. Then I go to the fridge. Mmmmmmmm. Donuts.

As usual all the best to the quick-witted lightning-fingered foxes who managed to get a ticket to tomorrow's match – it's always a dash to get a precious ticket to watch a game in front of a half-empty stadium at the league's bottom club. Good luck, brave wanderers. Hey, I have an amusing anecdote about a visit I made to Hartlepool several years ago. Maybe one day, if you're not good, I'll share it with you.

UTM. Over and out.