Cod Almighty | Diary
Grimsby by example
10 April 2025
My son was born at Leeds General Infirmary about seven years ago. The Mariners had been gliding effortlessly down the fourth division table like Brits in the luge at the Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, and the non-chairman had just sacked Russell Slade for not sorting it.
It was a dark and cold February that was about to get even darker and even colder with the imminent arrival of the Beast from the East. My son, bald and clueless, just like Slade, couldn’t tell night from day, and I’d have completely lost my mind had I not had Clare Balding (who, it must be said, has a very good head of hair) with me through the small hours reporting live on the icy endeavours of our athletes in South Korea.
My son’s arrival was sandwiched between a shoddy defeat at Crawley and a shoddy defeat at Cambridge United — the twelfth and thirteenth games in a twenty-match winless run that began in December and ended in April. After such a turgid slog through those barren winter months, the end of the season was quite Jolley, if I remember correctly.
Today, your West Yorkshire Diary’s son attends a school where all the other kids support Leeds. The other parents support Leeds. The staff support Leeds. On non-uniform day, the full kit wankers are out in force, for Leeds. When any of them talk, they all sound very Leeds.
The reason he’s been able to shun Leeds United so far is because he’s generally shunned football. I took him to a few Grimsby games last season, but they were so interminably dull that none of them made an impression on him. You know what it's like when you're a kid; you just want to see goals, controversy, end-to-end action. His first ever game finished 0-0, and there followed a succession of pedestrian 1-1 draws in which we’d lose the lead late on and so we'd leave the ground feeling a little deflated. No swishing and swaying, no rocking and rollicking, no twisting, turning, sprinting, surging, or shooting. None of that. It was mostly flaccid and flat. He didn’t get the bug, as I’d have hoped.
However, last summer he decided to join a local under-7s team who play like they’re managed by Russell Slade, and he’s enjoying it. I just needed the Mariners to bookend his growing enthusiasm for football by not being crap. I didn’t mind us not winning; I just needed entertainment that wasn’t at Wealdstone levels.
Last Saturday’s match against Morecambe was the first I’d taken him to since the slop we served up at home to Colchester. It was the first time we’d headed to Blundell Park together (we’d always had company before), and it was his first time in the Pontoon. In short, it was the performance I’d been praying for.
An early disallowed goal for the opposition. Rose rattling the bar, then us taking the lead. Morecambe equalising. It injected the right amount of peril to make each little moment matter just that little bit more. So, when Luca Barrington slammed in our second to put us back in front — what with the play-off race being so tight and all — it was met with an extra loud chorus of cheers.
The third, and our second right in front of us, was the moment we knew we had the game in the bag. It was a different kind of celebration; one that carried just a smidge of relief. Then there was joyous singing that carried us on a wave of happiness through to the final whistle.
Yellow cards, corners, free kicks, disallowed goals, real goals (two in front of the Pontoon), delicious Dairylea football... and even a victory! It was everything a Grimsby-exile parent of a Leeds-born child needed to raise his interest in the Mariners (short of using any cheat-mode tactic, like being a mascot or flag bearer to sweeten the deal. I wanted to do this as organically as possible).
The players are pros. They go out to win for their own pride. But to me, last weekend’s win wasn’t just any ordinary win; it was the kind of performance that potentially wins the club another fan for life. Each time Town put in a top performance, it’ll always matter just that little bit more to someone, somewhere, for reasons the current group of players might not necessarily see.
UTM!