Cod Almighty | Diary

Summertime, and the livin' is easy

24 June 2022

I have the same routine before the start of the season when the fixtures come out. I get excited, I look at them in detail, and then a strange sense of ennui overtakes me. Why was I excited by these again? Ooh, look, we're away at Crewe on the 4th February.

There are, of course, landmarks in the season that always catch the attention. Our first home game is against Ben Fox's Northampton on the 6th August. Now the Fox has left us, I can point out what a terrible haircut he has. Having a shocker there, mate. Then of course there is Boxing Day, on which thousands of Town fans are supposed to somehow fit into Harrogate Town's shitty little ground. Local derbies are rare indeed, though we have Donny at home on the 12th November and away on the 10th April. At least they'll be able to fit our fans in. Bradford and Mansfield are always good for a laugh, so plenty to look forward to. Doubtless Harrogate will bring a car full to BP as well, so make sure to leave them a parking space.

Sadly Salford are still in our orbit, at least until their Sky Sports pundits get bored and let them drift back into obscurity like Joe Dolce. Same with Stevenage and their bra-bothering stewards. Most of the division is bog-standard fourth-tier fare. Colchester, Walsall, Northampton, Hartlepool. It’s like a Who's Who of mediocre football teams. Oh, blimey, Barrow. Are they still clogging up the league like hair in a plughole? Still, mustn't grumble. With over 4,000 season tickets sold (soon, hopefully) it could be a cracker of a season. We'll have fun whatever happens, because that's how we roll.

Love Island. That's what I want to talk to you about. I was mocking the fact that such banal bollocks is now considered mainstream entertainment, despite never having seen it. A group of four friends, two male and two female, who watch it religiously insisted I take in a segment of the show. I encountered the following.

Some women, who I think were wearing faces under their make-up, having monosyllabic conversations about some herberts. Some herberts, all of whom think 'gym' is a personality, discussing the make-up ladies, even more monosyllabically. Then the blokes stripped down to their pants and washed a car whilst the women made whooping noises. The whole thing was like the elaborate mating ritual of a gibbon troop. At an early stage in the proceedings, I thanked my friends for their consideration in bringing this programme to my attention, then went home and cried.

On the bright side, even if we are nil-nil with Barrow on a cold, wet Tuesday night, and we have yet to have a shot on goal, I will take solace in the fact that I am not watching Love Island. Remember, kids, there is always someone worse off than yourself.