Faith, Hope and Charity
Its about faith. We keep it. We place it. Always in hope; and sometimes irresponsibly and unfairly.
We lay down an awful burden when we expect Peter Bore to carry the responsibility for the fulfilment of our hopes, the denial of our despair. Rodger burdens him enormously. The crowd do the same. Both, desperately expect the young to save us.
We lose it and abandon it. This is because we are afraid. We live in fear of the Conference. Long gone is re-election and the “old pals act” that for decades kept the door so firmly shut on upstart non-leaguers.
But Workington and Barrow, Southport and Bradford Park Avenue in their humility remind us of what the future could hold. Even Accrington Stanley’s resurrection offers no comfort, coming so long after the death. Those of us who survived the ignominy of 1968 know that we would not survive such a wait should relegation come our way.
Fenty’s faith is in the new stadium. In the dream of future revenue to breathe new life into what increasingly resembles an attenuated corpse. But what the cost? What of the Internal Revenue? Where do we stand? How close to administration are we?
Can we invest in a future that might break us? So what if planning permission is granted? How generous might sponsorship be if Football League status is lost. Sure, its unthinkable. But it is a blind faith that refuses to see the dangers ahead.
I have my faith. I believe in Ciaran Toner. I believe in Paul Bolland. I even believe in the Lazarus that is Gary Croft. I have hope for the wounded archangel Michael Reddy, in Gary Cohen and Isiah. But for how long? I have dreams. I dream of Gary Jones once again receiving the service he once enjoyed from Curtis Woodehouse.
Here’s the faith, here’s the hope. Please, of your charity, the soul of Grimsby Town Football Club 1878 - ?
We lay down an awful burden when we expect Peter Bore to carry the responsibility for the fulfilment of our hopes, the denial of our despair. Rodger burdens him enormously. The crowd do the same. Both, desperately expect the young to save us.
We lose it and abandon it. This is because we are afraid. We live in fear of the Conference. Long gone is re-election and the “old pals act” that for decades kept the door so firmly shut on upstart non-leaguers.
But Workington and Barrow, Southport and Bradford Park Avenue in their humility remind us of what the future could hold. Even Accrington Stanley’s resurrection offers no comfort, coming so long after the death. Those of us who survived the ignominy of 1968 know that we would not survive such a wait should relegation come our way.
Fenty’s faith is in the new stadium. In the dream of future revenue to breathe new life into what increasingly resembles an attenuated corpse. But what the cost? What of the Internal Revenue? Where do we stand? How close to administration are we?
Can we invest in a future that might break us? So what if planning permission is granted? How generous might sponsorship be if Football League status is lost. Sure, its unthinkable. But it is a blind faith that refuses to see the dangers ahead.
I have my faith. I believe in Ciaran Toner. I believe in Paul Bolland. I even believe in the Lazarus that is Gary Croft. I have hope for the wounded archangel Michael Reddy, in Gary Cohen and Isiah. But for how long? I have dreams. I dream of Gary Jones once again receiving the service he once enjoyed from Curtis Woodehouse.
Here’s the faith, here’s the hope. Please, of your charity, the soul of Grimsby Town Football Club 1878 - ?
posted by Gordon Wilson at 11:45 AM
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