Cod Almighty | Diary

Hold a haddock in the air

3 March 2023

Bloody Nora. We're in the quarter finals of the FA Cup. We're headline news. A team that 18 months ago were losing 1-0 at Wealdstone are now preparing to play premiership Brighton for a place in the semi-finals.

For Town fans born in the last 25 years, who have been brought up to think an away draw at Eastleigh is a decent result, this must be the footballing equivalent of an electric shock to the eyeballs. Even we oldies who remember when teams like Brighton, Fulham and Brentford were our peers and not our lofty superiors are feeling slightly queasy with excitement.

This week has illustrated why teams like Grimsby add so much to the league that other Johnny-come-lately teams cannot. Do you think Forest Green would have taken 4,000 fans to Southampton, each carrying an inflatable veggieburger? Would the press be full of videos of a packed stand full of ecstatic Salford fans, each waving an inflatable bent ref? Nope. Because, unlike these newcomers, we have tradition, we have history and we have pride. We are Grimsby, a place that others love to patronise, to ridicule and to dismiss.

It's like the Radio 4 presenter asking Kristine Green to perform the fish chant, as though she was a performing monkey, and quite rightly being treated with contempt by our worthy SLO. It's like every sentence beginning with the line "No disrespect to the likes of Grimsby, but..." It's like teams sacking their manager after a 13-match losing streak ends with a point against us, because, you know, silly little Grimsby should be three points with a ribbon around it. It's like the word 'Grimsby' has the word 'Grim' in it so it must be awful. I mean, can you imagine having to live there and not somewhere cool and happening like Reading? If you think of all the Harry Haddocks as inflatable middle fingers raised to the world it somehow makes more sense.

Man, our fans are beautiful. They take the infantile fish jokes and throw them back at the lazy witless idiots who resort to them with chants like 'Sing When We're Fishing'. Men from Grimsby performed acts of incredible bravery and often lost their lives in appalling conditions to provide food for their families. They lived out tough lives in a tough town, just so their children and grandchildren could be treated like the punchline to a music hall joke. When I phoned Talksport to try and win a prize 20 years ago, the first thing the presenter said to me was "So, is it true in Grimsby the streets are paved with fish?" "Oh fuck off, you horribly unfunny, patronising twat," I should have replied. I didn't though, because we're well brought up in Grimsby. Most of us.

Myself and Retro have always risked the ire of our fellow fans for pointing out that league tables are often decided more by referees than by players. Has there ever been a better example of that than Wednesday night? Without VAR we would have lost that game due to errors by the officials. You may as well render every match and every cup tie void up to the point VAR was invented. Town may never have been out of the league in the first place if a referee or linesman hadn't chosen to ignore a Lincoln player thumping the ball out of his own penalty area. Refereeing decisions change football history. Actually, best not mention that in regards to the World Cup in 1966. Forget everything I've just said. As you were.

Tomorrow we play at Carlisle, because that's the perfect place to go after Southampton on a Wednesday night. Can't see us winning that one, but I don't think people will care too much. Newport on Tuesday is the biggie.

As long as we are fit and rested and focused on that one we should be okay.
In the meantime, wave your haddock in the air like you just don't care. Our team, our town, our history, our pride. We're great, us. Bloody marvellous.

UTFM.