Cod Almighty | Diary

Ollie the Blatherskite

20 November 2024

The VFTF crew has really embraced the Wednesday Diary slot. The recent contributions have felt like entries to a GTFC-based literary contest. Two weeks ago, we were treated to emotive, autumnal references to leaves resting on the ground as "we trudge through their burnt oranges and yellows," while last week's entry spoke straight to the heart of Gen Z with a lexicon I didn't even know existed. Did we really mean to call Neil Woods a GigaChad? I'm not sure. I looked it up and ended up more confused than when I started.

One person who could probably be described by more traditional means is our former and current Swindon Town manager, Ian Holloway. Good old blatherskite Ollie has been making headlines this week after claiming the Robins' bad luck with injuries is due to their training ground being haunted. Of course, he didn't just say it was haunted. He blathered on at length about all kinds of other nonsense as well. Luckily, his sage-wielding wife is coming along to perform some witchcraft to sort out the problem. Apparently, he has too much class and integrity to do a Barry Fry and piss in the corners to ward off the evil spirits himself.

Reading and listening to Ian Holloway interviews makes me feel a sense of self-loathing. I should follow the advice of yesterday's diary and just move on. But for me, it's like picking my nose or eating Nutella straight from the jar with a dessert spoon. I know I shouldn't be doing it; yet I can't seem to stop myself.

Swindon is the latest in a long line of clubs to be taken in by Holloway's apparent charm and media savviness while forgetting to factor in his actual managerial ability. He's a man who claims to espouse morals instilled in him by seasoned pros from his own footballing heyday yet has no problem at all cosying up to any old shyster owner to get a job. At least that provides him with a neat excuse when things start to go wrong. And they will. You don't have to spend long researching Swindon's ownership to see the echoes of our own recent history.

The dichotomy in my bitterness towards Ian Holloway is that, in a strange sort of way, we should be thankful. If he had been competent and maybe actually bothered to pump up the training balls, the well-documented series of events that led to the exit of our previous owner may not have happened. Without that who knows where we'd be. Probably still owned by Fenty floating around in the National League waiting for a slice of football fortune.

It's not that long now until we play Swindon, and when we do, I'll be in full Kevin Keegan mode. It's nothing against Swindon as a club but I will genuinely love it if we beat them. Actually, that's not entirely true. I will love it if we beat Holloway. I want him to see and feel firsthand that we are better now. He played a part in our downfall, he embarrassed us, yet we've come back stronger. You might say we've metaphorically pissed in the corners and expunged some of our own ghosts.

After all that self-indulgent venting it turns out we did actually have a game yesterday. If I'd known I would have bashed out 500 words on the history of the Lincs Senior Cup instead. Anyway, we played Scunthorpe in said competition in what appears on the highlights to be some kind of prison exercise yard. Jordan Davies bagged a goal in a 3-1 defeat for a youthful Mariners side. We'll have to wait at least another year for that 39th title.

UTM