Cod Almighty | Diary

Anyone at home, Brian

4 November 2022

Why is there a tractor parked in Blundell Avenue?

We're in the FA Cup tomorrow! Yay! Is everyone excited? The answer to that seems to be a shrug of the shoulders. The last thing you want in the FA Cup is a non-glamourous team who will bring hardly any fans and beat you. In the olden, golden days (not) the manager of a small team, asked who he wanted in the next round, would traditionally reply "anyone at home, Brian". (Note to younger readers. In the olden golden days every single football commentator was called Brian.)

Now we are all so spoiled with the world providing what we want on a plate that we are only satisfied with opponents who are rubbish, or a team big enough to make it into An Event with the capital letters and everything. Plymouth are obviously very good, they will probably bring a few hardy Plym souls and they will be favourites. Our main hope is that they sent a scout to Hartlepool and send out their reserve team against us, thinking that will suffice.

Which brings us neatly onto the Hartlepool Horror. If the Plymouth game had come straight after Bradford I suspect enthusiasm would be much greater. Losing to Barrow and their stand-which-is-actually-a-wall will always sap the spirit, but Hartlepool was something else.

I was watching with my mate Roy – my regular reader will know what few friends I have are all called Roy – and the Hartlepool commentator said with about half an hour to go that there was still time for the home side to get back into the game. Roy and I looked at each other and laughed. Hartlepool were such a dazzlingly incompetent outfit it seemed that even if we had five men sent off the remaining six should see the game out easily. Even though at that stage of the game the Town players had given up passing to each other and seemed to be having a competition to see who could kick the ball the furthest down the pitch, they looked so in control of the game, so carefree and so lackadaisical, you always thought we could go up another three gears in an emergency.

Then, of course, off came the forward and on came the midfielder. We've seen that substitution before, haven't we, children? The rest was predictable and involved the irritation and frustration we have become accustomed to down the years. Shall I talk about John McAtee now, to cheer everyone up? That's a good idea.

So, young McAtee, or YMcA as I shall now cleverly refer to him, played a game for Luton's 'development squad' for the other day. Is that their reserve team under a fancy new name? Beats me. Anyway, YMcA scored a couple and his shoulder stayed in its socket. Plucky little Grimsby Town manager Paul Hurst says that YMcA won't be available for a few games, and he might be telling the truth or he might not. Of our 22 goals this season a grand total of four have been scored by forwards, so it is fair to say that YMcA has been missed. I really believe that with a forward line fit for purpose we could be top of this league. I really do. And I'm saying that after watching the Hartlepool Horror through my fingers, from behind the sofa.

We might do ourselves proud tomorrow and we might get a result. The weather forecast is drizzle. Those softy South Devonites won't like a bit of cold east coast drizzle. Erm, probably. And they play in green which is unlucky or something. Plus, good players don't become bad players overnight. If you can't keep the faith, keep the hope. As the Hartlepool commentator might say, Up the Marinas.