Cod Almighty | Diary
Harry's Dream
1 March 2023
Well this could be the last time, maybe the last time in many a Mariner's life that we get this far. All things must pass, none of life's strings of unfeasibly sweet victories can last, so we must be on our way.
Oh, I don't know…
Gotta dream boy, gotta sing, paint your wagon black and white and come along for the ride. What's up this magical Wednesday? The whole town is shut and either heading south by bus and by car or simply off to the nearest bar. All your Deviant Diary knows is that the CA crew are on our way to St Mary's and our knees are still trembly, but we know the Town fans are going to do it again. They can't stop us with our Harry Haddocks. Gertcha!
Yes, of course, Town are popping up all over the place as the media finally notices we exist and a shoal of old boys reminisce about their life in stripes. This is our moment in the sun, our 15 minutes of fame, where we get dim and dumb fishy puns by the dozen.
We've heard it all before, it's like water off a schmuck's back and we'll be back to normal life soon enough.
What about the last time? 1978. So long ago, was it all a dream? Well, I was there for the 0-0 draw. And I can't remember a darn thing about the game. We've occasionally swapped a few personalities since then with an awful imbalance in the flow of talent. We gave them Kev Moore and Gordon Hobson and what did we get in return? Tommy Widdrington and Tommy Forecast.
Your honour, I rest my case.
Who said Mark Whitlock? Well done, have 10 team points and a packet of crisps. I was accidentally at young Mark's engagement party in The Sub. I sat next to Mick Speight, who kept his coat on. Unlike the last Saintly cup match, I do remember that. I, aptly, if not coincidentally or ironically, had a packet of crisps and went home early. Too many moustaches for my liking. You think that's a flight of fancy, a flimsy soufflé of space-filling whimsy? I only deal in facts.
I know the question you're asking, I know what you really want to know. What flavour? Plain crisps, of course. I'm no fancy dan dandy; no prawn cocktail in our neck of the woods.
How the heck did I end up in the company of such soccer superstars? My dad worked with the fiancée's dad. It's a small town and we're all only six steps from someone who cut the bacon at Ramsden's in 1975.
Which reminds me: Frazzles! The perfect snack for lunch and snacking. It's what you've been lacking this lunchtime.
While you while away the hours waiting for Spud McCoist to chortle his way through an a capella appreciation of Big Luke's forehead, you can join our Old Nev on an amble, some say ramble, down memory lane, which will just have to serve as our tip-top preview.
Don't come around here looking for tittle-tattle and hot team news – we're not here, we're there.
We know it won't be easy, we know how hard it will be. You know, they don't even give us a chance…