Cod Almighty | Diary

True Colours

6 February 2026

On Monday it will be two years since we lost Peter Handyside. Your A46 Diary often thanks my lucky stars that I got to watch Town in the 90s and that the decade coincided with my 20s. Back then, life wasn't much more than the weekend and the delights it brought: pubs, clubs and Grimsby Town made those three nights and two days shine with a brightness that can only be felt when you're young, maybe a little dumb and looking for more than a little fun.

We were all mad for it, hair swinging in curtains, indie pop and grunge echoing in our heads. And football was cool again, the players sexy stars in a new era of TV- and tabloid-driven celebrity. We even had an England team that had found some spirit in 90 and 96. Football was the dog's whatsits, baby, and Town topped off the 20th century with a decade that saw three promotions and their first ever trips to Wembley.

'Mr 1990s' was the curtain-haired, silky smooth, graceful Scot, Peter Handyside. What a player. Unassuming at times - he had a baby face that fronted a footballing maturity beyond his years – and yet always a cut above. For no real reason, I claim a personal connection with him. Perhaps it was his age – our birthdays are only a month apart. Perhaps it was because he looked like the people I would drink with. Perhaps it was because for the first time a footballer, especially a tough centre half, didn't seem like a distant thing, a man, a grownup.

It wasn't just talent. I know it doesn't feel like it sometimes, but we've had plenty of talent and none have got me in the feels like Handyside. He was adored by all, celebrated as special, right from his debut. The young were shown what football could be, the old were astounded; this isn't a Grimsby Town player. Maybe it is talent, then, but peculiar talent. He wasn't a player for the second tier. He was a genius.

And like many a genius, he had his flaws. But he will always be ours, always be mine.

Newport tomorrow. The dreaded 'we should be beating these' fixture. They've won one and lost four in their last five, sit second from bottom, have the worst defence in the league and a huge –25 goal difference. Former Mariners, Jordan Wright and Anthony Glennon add a little soupcon of hoodoo threat, but we haven't lost to the Exiles in five years (not since Amond's reign of terror over his former club) and if our current spectacular run ends at Rodney Parade, it will be a genuine surprise.

Artell has revealed he was in for another player in the window, but we couldn't get his club to let him go. He was full of praise for McJannet, claiming everyone's pleased as pink punch that his contract has been extended. His ceiling is high, DA tells us, and he hopes we rise with him, supping on Wonka pop and flying high before the future high-rollers in the squad high-roll away from us. The Thai terror is still under concussion protocols, so don't expect to see him tomorrow. Cook will, we assume, start again and Green is available after suspension.

It will be interesting to see who is chosen at left-back given Sweeney's assault on the tunnel last week after his early substitution. Maldini (will we ever use his surname?) has surprised a few with his combative approach to training; sounds like a combative cry for a place on the bench. Lavelle has slotted in well and would be unlucky to lose his place. A rare rest for McJannet? Unlikely. I'm expecting an appearance from our Albanian powerhouse on Wednesday. Gardner's still not ready and the giddy just-wanna-run Icelander is still under threat of an exploding knee, so can't run properly yet. Swimming just doesn't cut it for our blonde spaniel. As Cyndi Lauper so famously said: boys, they just wanna run. Here's to Town running away with three points tomorrow.