Cod Almighty | Diary
The wheels on the bus go round and round, and then they fall off
18 November 2022
Morning all. Did you read West Yorkshire Diary's diary yesterday? It was really good, and if you haven’t read it yet, go back and do it now. It tells you all about Stevenage (the football team and its associated creepy stewarding) but, slightly disappointingly, nothing about the soul of Stevenage. What is the beating heart of this home counties town? What makes it tick? If we journey inwards into the character, culture and history of Stevenage, what do we find? Well, I've been a few times, and it's a kind of Lego hell designed by a blind architect with a grudge against humanity. And now, as if the Gods hadn't been cruel enough to the people who live there, they have a football team managed by sweaty Scottish dodge-merchant Steve Evans.
But get this. They are doing very well. Since the eye-linered tool took over they have been pretty much unbeatable and now sit in second place. Oh shit. Just what you need when you've lost your last three. What can we do, though, except turn up, support the team and hope for the best?
Talking of dodgy stuff, we have recently been the victim of an elaborate hoax wherein Plymouth Argyle sent the Doncaster Rovers team to play us and Doncaster sent the Plymouth Argyle team, with hilarious consequences. Talking of the Doncaster game, I had to do something I absolutely hate last Saturday evening, and I'm not talking about eating a healthy meal. Like many town fanatics I become the unofficial source of insider knowledge about the match to the non-believers and non-attenders, who immediately ask me what that particular result was all about.
Normally the answer is easy. The ref was shit. We had a Parslow point. Their keeper made a lucky save. We should have had a penalty. But after last Saturday's game, I had to say the thing all Town fans dread saying.
They were better than us.
Oh god, even writing it down makes me squirm. I'm going to go and wash my typing fingers. Back in a moment.
I'm back. Cleansed. Incidentally, reader, are you the kind of person who would applaud a goal scored by the opposition? I've never done it, because I'm not that virtuous, mature, sensible or creepy. I've seen some belters as well over the years. Did someone say Muzzy Izzet? Oh hang on, no, that was just a passing mosquito.
A weird thing about writing a diary is that you get to look back at your previous comments and predictions with the benefit of hindsight. I'm quite proud that I told my adoring public that Doncaster was going to be a much tougher game than Plymouth, like I'm some fat Grimsby Nostradamus or something. I also notice how many of my perfectly reasonable queries go unanswered. Why are the fish in a kettle? Why is there a tractor parked in Blundell Avenue? Is there anybody out there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?
Macatee is back. And there is hope, sayeth the Lord. UTM