Cod Almighty | Diary

The card that is so high and wild we'll never need to play another

27 August 2024

I was set next to Retro Diary at our last home game, in the despondency that comes from having lost a 2-0 lead. We were awarded a free kick, just outside the Cheltenham penalty area, and Jordan Davies prepared to take it.

Retro Diary: "He's going to put this over the bar, isn't he?"
Newbegin Diary [in a tone of profound melancholy]: "Probably."

Seconds later, Davies curled his shot over the wall, neatly beyond the goalkeeper's grasp and into the net. There may be better moments later this season, but that one will do very nicely, until tonight. Sport is always a symphony of head and heart and now they are playing their tunes again.

Head says Sheffield Wednesday are two divisions higher than us and even though they'll send a string of reserves they are still better paid and more expensively prepared than our best XI. After a few minutes it will become clear they can win at a canter and the atmosphere dribbles up into the night sky. The Osmond will barely bother to gloat.

But the head needs only a little encouragement from the heart. From the moment Kieran Green wins a tackle, the Wednesday know they are in a battle. Khouri and Cass give them no joy down the flanks and McEachran is there to sweep up loose balls. Passes are played with pace and precision; they ought to be beyond the skill set of a fourth-flight footballer, and next Saturday they probably will be, but tonight they come off. Even if they don't, we applaud the intent and no heads drop.

As history is made, we step back in history. Imagine that the banks on the open corners complete a cauldron, and every time we win a corner, the slow low of "Maa - ree - nerrs" unites us. When the ball goes in your fist hits a girder and comes down smelling of iron. The Barrett Stand is shaking. When the roar of victory comes, it spreads out from the ground: vindication for our two battered, bruised but ebullient towns.

Everton. Wolves. Tottenham. Maybe you were too young or too far away to be at any of those games but the stories are still part of your soul. You have always promised yourself that one day you will be there, and tonight is that night.

We might put it over the bar. Then again, we might not.