Cod Almighty | Diary

Never cared for it. It insists upon itself.

25 March 2026

Firstly I must apologise. In my diary of Friday the 13th of March, fittingly, I used the following words. 

"The Oldhams, eh? They're in a bit of form! Across the globe, influencers and pundits are saying it's not too late for them to make a late bid for the play offs! (It is though.)"

These words acted as a spell, or incantation if you prefer, to release what is coming to be known as the Oldham Horror. Since I uttered these foul oaths Oldham have beaten us, Harrogate, Chesterfield and Notts County, all without conceding a goal, and are now sitting one point behind us looking all menacing and dangerous. Oldham, stop it! You were in the National League last year, you're supposed to be consolidating! That's what all the sensible people tell me is the best way!

Last night they were helped along by Notts County midfielder Oliver Norburn, or Oliver Norbrain as he is known in places in Yorkshire that pronounce 'no' as 'nor', who managed to get himself sent off with the game still anybody's at 0-1. You may remember two weeks ago the same player was dismissed for throwing away an opponent's boot therefore helping them to lose to Chesterfield. There are two choices here – either Oliver is a complete clownshoe, or he is some sort of special agent sent by a top-of-the-table rival to scupper the Notts County's promotion ambitions. Since professional footballers are notorious brainboxes famed for their brilliant decision making both on and off the pitch I can only assume it's the latter. Vile deeds are afoot here. 

I watched the Barrow game from just behind the goal again, having failed a late fitness test for the steps. As a consequence Cooky's goal seemed almost visceral in its impact but I had to watch the highlights to find out what happened in the last three.

I also had an experience I hadn't had a for a while, which is best described as 'Sitting Near An Arsehole'. The lad behind and to my left spent the entire game talking very loudly about every incident that had happened in his drinking week, including demeaning every woman even peripherally involved in his circle, and throwing in a liberal quantity of 'c' words, 'f' words and 'b' words without once using more civilised phrases such as 'By Timothy' or 'What the Dickens!' He was actually about eight seats from me and I could hear clearly, so what the people closer made of it, including a couple with three girls under 10, I'm not sure (I am sure). Did anyone say anything? No, of course not, we're English. And he had his idiot mates with him. But it made me wonder, presumably there are season ticket holders who find themselves near arseholes on a weekly basis. How do you deal with them? Technically he wasn't starting trouble, he wasn't having a go at anyone else in the crowd and he was just talking to his mates. If he'd turned down the volume button 75% hardly anyone would have noticed. Is that a crime? Where do you draw the line?

At the back of the Pontoon, during quiet moments in play, we often discuss the English Romantic Poets and the influence of Stravinsky on twentieth century music. Then we scream at the ref, calling him a 'fxxxxxx wxxxxx, and go home. Much more civilised. Am I being hypocritical? Why have I started asterisking words rather than just writing 'fucking wanker' like I normally do? All good questions.

Enjoy the break. Normal service will be resumed on Good Friday. UTBCFM