Cod Almighty | Diary
In defence of my friend it was uphill
18 October 2023
Not for the first time on these pages, Daubney Diary's opener for ten is to cite Retro Diary's Goldilocks Club theory. If that's a click too far, we're in the gutter looking up, big enough to pull ourselves out of it from time to time and give the stars a good kicking.
As evidenced by the last 16 months, this is both a blessing and a curse for Town fans. Football doesn't just uncork the pretty emotions. For every London Stadium or Southampton party there's always a chance of an Accy Stanley implosion. To an outsider, the reaction to the latter probably seemed disproptionate to the result. It wasn't our tenth loss on the bounce or 'owt. An outsider would need the context.
Even Paul Hurst's most ardent supporters will accept he has his foibles; the talking up of the opposition and a formation to counter them each week, one bloody striker, the absolute pig-faced stubborness in making no subs or formation changes even though we've been utter toss for 70 minutes.
To those less ardent, there is an uneasy truce in acceptance of the foibles in exchange for a winning team. The truce carries the type of unresolved malice you get between opposition players when the ref orders a post-handbags handshake. Grunting nods and eye contact that suggests that the little left back better watch himself for the rest of the game.
Just why did Accy provoke a studs-up tackle through the back of our favourite Yorkie? Groundhog day, that's why. We've seen it all before over Paul Hurst's two spells. Daubney's getting too old to call for a manager's head but he did put his foot through the telly on Saturday for the first time since March 2nd, 2021. Leyton Orient at home, a hopeless side that had lost about twenty-seven games in a row and we set up to defend against them. With one striker. At home. We were tripe. We lost 1-0. Groundhog day and another trip down to Radio Rentals for Daubney.
As a fanbase, we've moved on from the incandescent rage of Saturday to stage two of the 'get rid of the manager' grief cycle: self-pitying whimsy. Slough's win last night sets us up for a first round tie on November 4th and, if social media is a guide, already stinks of a 1-0 win for the Wernham Hogg XI. Daily tweets of "is he gone yet?" accompany Fishy posts proclaiming they'd take a couple of good hosings against Stockport and Colchester just to force the board's hand.
Just as it's a challenging time for the manager and his players, we fans end up asking some unpleasant questions of ourselves. Our ace match reporter upset a few people by referring to some fans as spineless at the weekend. This was in the context of "The first imperfection and they rouse to anger, the concession of a (world class) goal and they boo and start to leave. Grimsby till they cry"
As mentioned already, the situation has been building for a while. Blundell Park wasn't pretty on Saturday. The waiter forced the wafer-thin mint into the glutton with predictable and unpleasant results. You can see both sides and recognise that people don't always choose the most rational response when in the throes of raging hard. However the justification from some sounded a lot like they regarded themselves as customers rather than fans.
As the latter we can be unhappy and frustrated but also acknowledge that it's unlikely that the manager is getting the boot anytime soon. He will no doubt be given the opportunity to put things right. He can and it would be a lot simpler all round if he did. Until then, what choice but Grimsby till we die and all that. Although I am worried about that one; what happens then? Scunny in the after life?
Having started with Retro Diary, we will leave you with his very close relation, Bill Meek and a rather lovely piece, Home thoughts from abroad. Enjoy.
UTM.