Cod Almighty | Diary

Yes I can hear you Clem Fandango

19 April 2024

BOTB diary here. Trigger warning: I am very grumpy.

FFS. Down to the last two games of the season and we are still not mathematically safe. Favourites to stay up, admittedly, but the fact that a friend of mine managed to find odds of a thousand to one (max bet £1) on us getting relegated shows what a crazy world it is. All it would take is a couple of 0-2 for us and a couple of 2-0 for Sutton and we are going down.

I was in such a good mood after Crewe as well. I didn't see Tuesday's Colchester debacle, but I prefer to take Retro Diary's assessment (none of our players should be paid, and the forwards should actually be fined) over Our Tel's verdict (we were marvellous, brilliant, top team, so proud, etc) any day.

Tomorrow we face Swindon, or the Great Rock'N'Roll as they like to be known, in the last home game of the season. Yes, you heard me right. The season that never really started is about to end. Normally the end of the season produces a sort of existential angst in my bosom about the passing of time, the tragedy of an empty Saturday afternoon and all that kind of rot. This time I'm just contemplating the potential joy of a weekend without that bunch of idiots ruining it for me.

We do of course have two ways to survive tomorrow. Either we get a point against the GRNR, or Creepy Crawley get at least a point against Sutton. Crawley have 20-goal striker Daniel Orsi playing for them – he looks a decent prospect – yet they have the air of a team who will always let you down. They must be delighted that their last two games are against two of the division's no-hopers, and will doubtless lose 0-3 to Sutton and beat us 3-0 just to prove what a weird and untrustworthy team they are.

Which means, just to be safe, we need a point tomorrow. The GRNR were in a terrible run of form that took them from Potential Playoff Peter Perfects to Pitiful Penelope Pitstops in the space of a couple of months but, natch, have improved a fair bit just before they are due to play us. If we do stay up – which seems likely but certainly not 1000-1 against – there will be pitch invasions and unbridled joy, which rather shows how low our expectations have become.

Whilst I'm having a good old beal, FA Cup replays have been replaced by the bigger team automatically going through in the event of a draw, and ceremoniously kicking the arses of the smaller team as they leave the pitch. Seems fair. And it's freezing cold and intermittently raining. And my leg hurts. But I'd like to end on a brighter note.

Yes, it's been a shit season. Yes, we are still in with an outside chance of relegation. Yes, my leg hurts. But football is cyclical. Recently promoted Stockport were, a few years ago, in the Eric Olthwaite Northern Rainfall and Shovels league, playing Barnstoneworth United amongst others. Recently promoted Wrexham were stuck in the non-leagues for what seems a lifetime and are now media darlings due to being taken over by two Hollywood superstars I'd never heard of. Things change. Past performance is no indicator of future performance, or whatever it is they say when you lose money on the Stock Market.

In other words, there's always next season. But not for John Tondeur's dulcet tones. It's Mr T's last home game and a last chance to hear a familiar voice that's either soothed or alarmed us across the airwaves for 40 years. Barry Davies, Brian Moore, Martyn Tyler and now dear-dear Johnnie are iconic voices that will become just You Tube found footage for future generations. We're lucky, they were ours.

C'mon lads, you can still do this - do it for John, St George and England!

Thanks John, thanks for the memories.