Cod Almighty | Diary

The heat is rising...slowly

3 June 2022

If you don't like having a Royal Family, they say, why don't you leave? No, why don't you leave? Piss off back to the 18th century where you belong. Bloody serfs.

Hello. It's the culmination of the season, the big match, the climax of the climactic, the highest peak of the football mountain, the final countdown. De de de durr. De de de der duh! Sadly, it so happens that your chronicler of this momentous occasion is BOTB Diary, a writer with the emotional range of The Chuckle Brothers Summer Roadshow, but with fewer jokes.

Look at the prize on the table! A return to the league after just one season! What a fabulous achievement that would be. After the first ten games it seemed almost inevitable, then for the rest of the season it seemed almost impossible. I wrote in a previous diary that Town fans were entering the play-offs more in a state of hope than expectation, and even with one game to go I would say that is still the case. After all, Solihull Bloody Moors have done the double over us this year, and are still a major obstacle to be overcome.

But they gave us little hope against Notts County! They said we would be beaten by Wrexham! They said we had no chance at Anfield in 2001! Yes, I'm stretching now. But Grimsby as a town has always thrived on its underdog status. It has to. When people from other places think of Grimsby, what do they see in their minds? Tree-lined boulevards, art galleries and dazzling architecture? No, they see grime and fish. But we know that Grimsby is in effect an island, and people from the mainland don't understand us, our pride or our togetherness, and underestimate us at their peril. Our pride is encapsulated in our football team. They are our representatives on the national stage. And their victory is our victory, their defeat is our defeat.

Many of our fans will have travelled to Nottingham, Wrexham and will shortly be heading to dat London within a two week period. That's a serious undertaking in terms of time and finances. You could get a tour of the Costa Rican coastal rainforest for the same outlay. Their dedication is awesome and admirable.

Much has already been written about the National League's organisation and administration of the final, leaving me with little to say except made-up swearwords. Cockwombles. Wankbadgers. Bumblytwats. Pinecones. But I'm sure I speak on behalf of all Town fans when I utter these harsh and unforgiving words. If we win on Sunday, we won't have to deal with these money-grabbing, brainless flobknoppers for a while, but Scunthorpe will. Hehe. As if we needed more motivation.

I'm too old and sensible to use words like 'warrior spirit' in relation to a football team, but I find myself tempted by our current squad. How else would you describe Luke Waterfall at both ends of the pitch? Mani throwing himself at a loose ball at Notts County like a man trying to save a puppy from drowning? Cropper hurling the ball the length of the pitch and risking dislocating a shoulder at the same time? Crocombe swatting a Wrexham bloke in the chops whilst somehow not managing to give away a penalty? Whatever happens on Sunday, this squad has done us proud and given us some great memories. And I've not even mentioned the Platinum J.McAtee, a man who has already brought more joy into my life than any dusty old monarch ever could. I love you guys.

Your diary is on elderly parent duty and will not be at the Monster Truck Stadium on Sunday, but he will be there in spirit. Imagine me waving you goodbye with a white handkerchief, as you ride off upon a mighty steed with barely a glance behind you. Bring back our victory, O mighty Lord!

I appear to have made myself the heroine in a Mills and Boon paperback. Quite a disturbing image. Yet also strangely exciting. Whoops. I've said too much. Where was I? Oh yes, have a great day out, and let's all cross everything we have. It's a football match. Anything could happen, and whatever does happen, you've got to love it, because this is what being a football fan is all about. These are the days we will remember all our lives. These are our lives.

Mind you, if we lose and I ever find myself in Solihull, I'm going to park in a one-hour parking bay, and return to the same bay WITHIN THE HOUR. That'll learn 'em not to mess with us. Oh yeah.