Cod Almighty | Diary

Inarticulate Swearing of the Heart

28 November 2025

Why not write Friday's diary, they said? You'll have a match to talk about! First on the scene. How exciting! Little did I know I'd be documenting what would come to be known as the Tranmere Horror.

The terrible thing is I don't really want to talk about it, because it was depressing enough watching it in real time without picking the bones clean like a diarist vulture. Tranmere were, as someone on the Fishy pointed out, highly reminiscent of those part-time teams we used to play in the Conference, having no discernible football talent but being quite big and well organised. But all it took was one daisycutter and a bit of last second tomfoolery and it was enough to beat us. I can't remember them putting more than two passes together all night, whereas we played some lovely football at times. For the several people watching on Sky Sports, every piece of actual football they saw came from us. But that's not the point. The point is we lost again. 

Watching town over the last few weeks has not been a nice experience, as we keep on trying new and inventive ways to throw away points in games we've  dominated. Christopher Pymley suddenly forgetting how to use his hands in the Barrow game, Dammit McJannet having a massive brain wobble against Chesterfield, Mr Burns deflecting the ball to a fat incompetent buffoon of a substitute centre-forward in injury time last night, conceding early against Swindon by basically allowing a long throw to bobble acrossd our goalmouth like a slinky on a stairwell, Dammit McJ again playing a 20-yard backpass off his shin against Crewe. FFS. In fact those three letters sum up the situation at the moment. FFS. 

Van Morrison had an album called Inarticulate Speech of the Heart. Being a diarist for the illustrious Cod Almighty should mean I have the ability to articulate that  speech, but I can't. I'm just going to say FFS several times. In fact the next paragraph will just be the letters FFS over and over again. 

FFS. FFS. FFS. FFS. FFS. FFS. 

And that's really all you need to know.