Cod Almighty | Diary

Two bald men fighting over a chocolate bar

4 August 2024

Hello, hello to you, yes you, reading this, yes this, yet more diversionary dribblings from your off-season Deviant Diary. Just think of this as the Cod Almighty version of a Charles Vernam surge. It has all the trimmings of something substantial, setting off spectacularly with scintillating swizzles, with hope in your heart but in the end all there is a man staring at his shoes and sighing.

The Mansfield match passed by with colours and noise. What noise? That'd be the Staggerpeople getting their snickers in a twix over the stuff of nonsense, a man from their field plunging over Wright's lunging. Meanwhile deep, deep in the Pontoon, two brothers argued over a Snickers bar.

Saturday was a lark, a lovely day, a stroll in the sun and fun for everyone with a little bit of this and a lot of bits of that as Town became increasingly less incoherent and disorganised. Things are getting better because they aren't getting worse. But we're still very small. The corner flags are taller than our midfield.

You see what you want to see in pre-season, the full-backs who aren't playing are always better than the ones who are. Danny-Danny Rose isn't fit, but is getting fitter, Khouri is getting better all the time at getting in the way, the winger formerly known as Bejam occasionally sweeps with a threshing oar and Wee Janet McCameron is presently our little secret. Well, he isn't very tall.

The Grimsby reality is that, with grim inevitability, keeping possession just means the ball will eventually arrive at Kieran Green's feet. Gawd bless 'im and all who sail in him, but our G-man is not so much Messi as messy. There is a G-spot somewhere, but no-one has yet found it.

He does his best, anyone thinking of grizzling at Green just remember that. He's playing because we haven't yet signed anyone better and may end up starting the season with a midfield made up from those who couldn't get in last season's version. Now there's a Grim reality.

Jordan Davies, you say. Well, someone, somewhere says. Perhaps simple Simon says? Put your hands in the air Matt and ask Big Dave. Word up from Big Dave? Err, ooh look a pigeon. The Rotherham Rambler was as opaquely transparent as usual, confirming by barely denying some possible interest, definitely, in many ways, probably, but who knows and of that he is certain. Oh all right, yes, we've asked and we're waiting on a friend. I know you want to know when we're signing players. Don't worry (nods head), he gets it. Unlike a midfielder, so far.

Can't we just all wait a week before the meltdown begins, a week is a long time in the politics of Town.

Burnsy? Remember him, erstwhile Fishy Favourite? Well don't you just know we've had a chat and that chat will emerge sometime soon. As will Big Dave B, who's on the roster to commentate on some of those thar' Sky games. Let's hope he's not forgotten the old dance tunes like "Town are gonna lose this". He wasn't wrong, was he.

We haven't mentioned it yet, but we all know: Craig Shakespeare, an original Buckley Babe from his Walsall days, is another one of the squad of 1993/94 who has died young. Paul Futcher was 63, Peter Handyside was 49 and Craig Shakespeare was 60. He may not have been a 'Town Player', in the eternal legend sense, but he certainly played for Town, filling the Dobbin role of unheralded bag carrier and caretaker, allowing Golden Groves to roam the land for a while. Shakey played for Town for four seasons in a team that finally failed only after Sir Alan's temporary adventures in Baggieland. He was an unfussy pro who did his job conscientiously and, latterly, became a trusted, conscientious assistant to top managers. A worthy career from a worthy man and worth every second of the minute's applause on Saturday. Pity it wasn't a real game.

My name is Deviant Diary and I approve of this message: hope not hate, in life, in football.