The Diary

22 August 2004: Paul Crichton, Villa, And Me!

Salutations, all, after that awesome 6-day gap in my postings, and, to kick off my marathon with, an apology. Should this missive emerge from your PC shaking with mirth and giggling like crazy tonight, there is a reason, honest! And nothing to do with random power-surges, or similar, either. The truth is, earlier today, I had the good fortune to witness at a football ground one of the funniest sights I?ve clapped eyes on this side of 1980, and it?s all down to a very familiar former Baggie person. Hands up all those who remember the elegant, the lovely, but totally talentless Paul Crichton? You do? And you were wondering what happened to him once he left the environs of the Black Country for pastures new? Well, still your beating hearts, dear readers, because today, he and I came into close proximity once more, he being York City?s custodian versus Hereford United, and Bootham Cresecent being the venue for today?s Conference game between the two. Being Baggies of ancient vintage, of course, ?Im Indoors, The Fart and myself knew all too well what Crichton could be like, but it wasn?t until about 5 minutes into the second half (when Hereford were 2-0 in the lead, and cruising comfortably) before our hero?s ?talents? really began to come to the fore. And, it has to be said, what he did in the space of those few seconds certainly made up for the remainder of the time he?d merely merged into the background!

So what happened, then? Simple. Just after the restart, a Hereford attack broke down, and our man was left with the ball at his feet, which he then dribbled a tad further upfield, but out of the box. A fairly safe manoeuvre for most keepers, but we are talking Crichton, here, remember. Unfortunately for him, he failed to fully appreciate the full extent of the velocity of the by-now rapidly-approaching Hereford player ? he couldn?t pick the ball up of course! ? then, his assailant almost on him by now, he suddenly panicked, and belted the ball for all it was worth. Sadly, rather than soaring in a parabolic arc out of the York danger-zone, then bouncing nicely into Minster territory as intended, the wretched bladder dropped straight to the feet of the onrushing Bull instead ? and it was the simplest of tasks for the lad to bang the ball into what was by now an invitingly-empty net from about 25 yards! Oh whoops!

Mind you, Paul Crichton and goalkeeping disasters are pretty much hail-fellows-well-met, aren?t they? Hands up all those Baggies who remember the very first time his trail and ours crossed? Not when he actually wore the keeper?s jersey for us, of course, but some time earlier, in season 1993-94, if my memory serves me correctly, when he was a Grimsby-ite. As I recall, it was a midweek match, venue Blundell Park ? and The Fishermen were leading 2-1, seemingly-comfortably, with but a few minutes to go to the final whistle. Crichton was defending the goal where us Baggies were massed, but it was well before that stage of the contest we first encountered our hero?s fundamental psychological flaw ? he was extremely sensitive to abuse from away supporters! Mind you, having made that serendipitous discovery, we then proceeded to home in on his weakness like a dive-bomber, and laid it on with a trowel ? ?Boing, Boing, you fat b*****d!? was one of our more printable chanted insults! ? so intent was he on getting his revenge on his tormentors, he neglected to concentrate on his game and managed to let in our (very soft) equaliser, much to our delight! Needless to say, the abuse he got from us after that little gaffe was multiplied tenfold!

And that should have been that ? but not too long afterwards, we acquired Alan Buckley as manager, and him being ex-Grimsby and all that, it wasn?t long before goalkeeping?s answer to the Titanic followed in the direction of The Shrine. Sure, he could be ? erm ? ?eccentric? when between the sticks for us on occasions, but what really finished his Albion custodial career was his awful display versus The Dingles at Molineux about two seasons later; the more abuse he was given, the worse he got ? and the Dingles lapped it up, predictably, with equally-predictable results. To be fair, though, so bad was the defence in front of him, I think even Gordon Banks would have been hard-put to perform in a creditable manner, but you know how it is with our followers ? you can kick their dogs, ravish their sisters, and be totally forgiven, invited to birthday parties and christenings, even ? but put in an embarrassingly-inept performance against our hated local rivals, and you?re toast. Mr. Crichton was sent on his merry way not long afterwards, and also - surprise, surprise! ? was our very cuddly and personable manager!

Actually, that Hereford win rounded off nicely what had been a rather civilised day for us Dick Eds. After a pleasant stroll around the city, we parked up not far from York?s ground, and as we did so, giggled greatly at the comment from a couple of old dears nearby (The Fart was, as ever, wearing his Albion shirt), ?Oooh, I didn?t know West Brom were playing here today!? ?!3 admission ? still Football League prices ? to stand on an open terrace, but no charge to transfer to the stand. Just as well, really; as we went in, the heavens opened! To our left, from where we sat, was the David Longhurst Stand, so named in memory of a York City favourite who collapsed and died during a game some years ago ? the structure was paid for by the supporters themselves, via bucket collections and so forth. The unfortunate Crichton apart, there were oodles of Albion connections; Tucka Trewick, Tam Mkandawire, Jonathan Gould, Son Of The Lunatic, and Tony James; appearing for the home side was our old mucker Paul Groves. Not playing because of injury, sadly, were Danny Carey-Bertram (both barrels!), and Kevin Donovan. Thanks to Crichton?s superb gaffe, the final score was 3-0 to The Bulls, and a deserved win it was, too ? and, to be fair, the visitors could (and should) have managed six. As for York, oh dear!

?Welcome to the Conference!? sang the Hereford supporters, somewhat unkindly, during the second 45.

?That?s wicked!? commented a sympathetic Fart, watching Conference football for the first time today.

?It?s good, though!? replied this column, long-endowed with a sadistic streak! Oh, and one more treat for spectators at that game, albeit it unintentional; The Red Arrows, star-billing at a nearby air show, laid on a buckshee performance above the ground late in the second half!

Quite a lively few days it?s been for me, one way or another. Incidentally, how?s my policy of not posting except when there?s an Albion game in the offing, or recently played, going? Sure, it?s making for awfully long pieces on those weeks we don?t have a midweek game, or something happening on the Supporters Club/Reserves front (like tonight?s!) but rather that than just sticking in stuff for the hell of it? All views gratefully accepted, and to the usual address, please.

First off, on Monday, something occurred which had me seriously wondering as to whether the old brain cells were trying to seek early retirement in the manner of the late Ronald Reagan, or something. What happened? Well, it started like this?.. That morning, I set out for the Shrine in search of away tickets, but for some unknown reason, I?d got it firmly fixed in my head we had Everton ones in our hot little hands already, and just needed their Liverpool equivalents to keep us up to date in the away match stakes. Not only that, but when I alighted from my bus outside The Hawthorns Hotel, I bumped into Andy Bridge, our Sutton Branch chain-smoking good-buddie (who?d already picked up his Toffee tickets at the ground!) and managed to convince him also Liverpool tickets were on sale! Quite embarrassing, then, when I asked for same in the ticket office, only to be told the bleedin? obvious! Cursing richly, I ?moaned my bag off? (to use The Noise?s stock phrase!) by phone to ?Im Indoors when I got back home, only to be told by him (when he could get a word in edgeways, that is!) that I?d got it dead wrong ? and I?ll bet he was sniggering fit to bust as he informed me! Ever felt a right Nellie? Ooooops!

It was that day also some rather tragic news reached my PC; I was told via an email (many thanks to ?Banking Baggie? for the info, by the way) a good friend of ours from the early days of The Dick had recently died under very tragic circumstances indeed. Steve Hickman, also known as ?The Black Country Hibbee? (his other ?love? was Hibernian FC), aka ?Little Steve?, was an Albion supporter through and through, and on matchdays, the sight of him would have been very unremarkable indeed were it not for the fact that he suffered from the condition known in medical circles as achondroplasia, but his larger-than-life personality more than made up for his lack of size. In case you don?t know, that?s the condition ? normal sized head and torso, tiny limbs - commonly seen among very small people employed in the world of entertainment; indeed, the film ?Willow? could never have been made without their assistance.

It?s pretty fair to say that Steve?s contributions to the Dick in its early days were a huge part of our organ?s initial success. His articulately-written articles and letters about the club in the days of Saunders, Talbot, Gould and Buckley were always humorous, always passionate, sometimes thoughtful, and my overwhelming memory of Steve was after that awful Bristol Rovers 1991 epitaph to our (then) Division Two existence, at the wheel of his Mini, and looking very close to tears indeed. Steve also sat about three rows back and to the right of us in the Halfords Lane Stand around that time, so his wry comments on the game and those taking part in it were never all that far away.

His wicked sense of humour is illustrated well by two tales our correspondent had to tell about Steve; the first was about the time, at Hull ? it was the occasion of one of the first Beach Parties, around 1989, I reckon ? when Boothferry Park Baggies were treated to the distinctly-surreal sight of Steve, dressed in suitably-psychedelic surf gear, of course, draped across a surfboard which took up about three seats, inviting all and sundry to take pictures of his bijou recumbent and grinning form! The second? Blackburn, and that Fenhurst pub once more; this time, Steve quite deliberately plonked himself on an oversize chair in the bar and just waited for the heads to turn with machine-gun rapidity ? apparently, the almighty disparity between the two caused more than one regular to do a quick ?double-take? (and, possibly, a rapid signing of the ?pledge?, as well!).

Such was Steve?s popularity, locally, that the turnout for his funeral at Stourbridge Crem was absolutely astonishing; the place was jam-packed to the gunnels, and some at the back had to stand on seats for a better view, even, something Steve would have found particularly mirth-making, given his condition. It goes without saying that the sympathies of all who edit The Dick go to his family at what must have been a particularly distressing time for them. RIP.

On Tuesday, after making a second journey to The Shrine to pick up those blasted Everton tickets ? without mishap this time, I?m relieved to say! - both ?Im Indoors and myself made the long trek to Crawley to watch Hereford United play there. This was that club?s first season ever in the Conference ? and it showed! See below for details. A 1-1 draw for the visitors, though, and wasn?t it good to see former Baggie youth coach Tucka Trewick doing what he does best once more ? and also former Baggie Tam Mkandawire, one of Tucka?s former prot?g?s, now most definitely a Bull. The hair?s much tidier now, though, thank goodness. Much the better side for most of the game, Hereford took the lead just before the break, with much assistance from some shocking marking from the home side, and really should have made it more. Unfortunately, they fell victim to some god-awful defending of a Crawley free-kick right on the edge of the box about 7 minutes from time. That?s not what you?d really expect to see from a club hotly-tipped to return to the Football League this time round, is it?

Mind you, we nearly didn?t make it. Hearing the game was all-ticket for away supporters, ?Im Indoors duly sent off for tickets by post to Hereford the week before - but come Monday, 24 hours before the game, still no tickets, and yonks after sending off for them, as well! Mass-panic in the Wright household - what on earth was going on? Then, that same afternoon, we discovered why. Hereford rang me to say they?d only just received our application, despite it being posted 9 days previously! Lucky for us, the police had changed their mind about it being all-ticket at the last minute, so The Bulls agreed to rip up the cheque! A ?gold star? to them for exemplary customer care in taking the trouble to contact us ? even with the best will in the world, I can?t imagine Albion doing that - but a nasty black one express-delivery to the Royal Mail for taking that length of time to deliver a letter to a destination only 50 miles from the place of posting! In view of the above, plus other well-publicised incidents recently, perhaps they should consider changing their name to ?Royal Snail??

But, enough of that, back to Crawley. Oh dear, have they a lot to learn about what is, to them, big-time football. Arrival revealed a lovely modern ground, small ? it could have only just met Conference regulations regarding capacity and number of seats, etc ? but adequate for their immediate needs. There was a social club there, these places being bog-standard at that level, and a valuable income-generator they are, too, but Crawley missed the point a little by designating theirs for home season-ticket holders only! Sod. Never mind, after some puzzlement and aimless wanderings, we finally came across a pub we knew to be close by. At that point, I could have murdered for a bite to eat, but they?d stopped serving meals, sadly. Blimey, they didn?t half miss a trick by not laying on catering for travelling support! I suspect the police had a lot to do with it by grossly over-reacting; as we supped much-needed cool drinkipoos outside, the humid evening still was quickly shattered by the arrival of police cars, dog vehicles and riot vans in quantity ? and not being content with a passive presence outside, said plods then proceeded to explore the interior at length. Precisely what they were seeking, heaven only knows. The Holy Grail, perhaps? David Blunkett?s bit of extra-Parliamentary activities, maybe? No problem, except: a) There was no trouble whatsoever to be seen, either within or without the pub premises, unless you wish to count the presence of many away supporters, all supping ale and quietly batting the breeze in a most law-abiding manner as ?trouble?, and: b) It being midweek and the venue somewhat distant from Hereford, only about 500 Bulls, considerably below ?normal? for them, had made the long journey to Sussex anyway. If ever there was a job-creation scheme in action that night, that constabulary (over)presence surely had to be it! Weekend breaks to Barcelona all round, officers ? whoopee!

Having slaked our considerable thirst to our mutual satisfaction, we then headed back to the ranch, about 200 yards down the road. First priority, though, was to obtain tickets, and on reaching the turnstiles, this is precisely what we tried to do, but for some reason, the club seemed entirely incapable of giving us seats together. This, well before the kick-off, at a ground where most tickets were on open sale, and in any case, Hereford had returned their entire seating allocation because of lack of interest on the part of Bulls-followers? (We ?solved? the problem by sitting with the Hereford lot anyway, and as Crawley?s organisation was so chaotic, we got away with it!) Clearly, Crawley weren?t used to away supporters in numbers; they hadn?t got the faintest clue about ticketing procedures, and this was confirmed much later, during the game, in fact, when we discovered they?d over-sold some stand seats. Oh, and their catering buckled under the strain as well; not a steak and kidney pie to be had, despite the fact there was still around 30 minutes before the ?off?! Newcomers to the Conference they may be, but oh boy, have they (and the local plods) got an awful lot to learn!

A quiet-ish sort of Wednesday, and a chance to catch up on this diary, among other things. Good to see our finest strutting their stuff on the international stage that night, including Jason Koumas, who appeared for Wales (suspensions don?t apply internationally, it would seem), and whose free-kick made possible their first goal, also The Great Zoltan, turning out for Hungary as he did. And was instrumental in getting them a penalty towards the end of the first half of their game, so I understand. Wonder if he saw it coming? Well done also to Artim Sakiri, who found the net for Macedonia; clearly they rate him, even if The Dear Leader doesn?t!

Talking of congratulations, it appears that the same is now in order for Darren Moore, who has been given the job of club captain, and deservedly so, in my opinion. If ever a Baggie should be up for sainthood right now, it?s Big Dave. Not only is he an excellent role-model for players on the pitch, he?s a superb ambassador for the club off it ? which makes Albion?s current partial embargo on his off-pitch Church activities all the more puzzling. Surely that?s the sort of positive image of West Bromwich Albion we ought to be encouraging like crazy, right now, especially in view of recent unsavoury events? I really do despair, sometimes. Another fragment of news, and in similar vein was the news that in future, team captains would be voted for by our players on a match-to-match basis! Being the cynic that I am, that announcement simply suggests to me that the role of team captain isn?t regarded all that highly by our manager. Mind you, who needs encouragement from the field of play when you?ve got the eardrum-splitting alternative giving it big licks from the touchline? I?m now wondering as to whether ?footballers? humour? ? frighteningly similar in style to ?screws? humour?, really! ? will assert itself, and our finest impishly elect someone totally-unlikely, like Russell Hoult, say, to the much-cherished post!

On to thoughts about tomorrow?s game versus ?them?, then. I must admit that ?Cows? logo ? well, it looks awfully similar on their replica shirts, doesn?t it? ? has given me no end of a-moo-sement recently, so I?m going to ?milk? it for all it?s worth! Unless you want me to cover an ?udder? topic, of course? With any luck, we?ll give them a ?tanning? tomorrow, thrash the ?hide? off them, in fact. No ?bull? that one, but you must have ?herd? it before! Any chance of ?You must have come in a trailer!? chants tomorrow, I wonder? Or, ?Where?s your milkmaid gone?? OK ? Enough, enough!

Despite impressing in midweek, The Great Zoltan isn?t yet considered ?ready? by our leader, and by that, I can only assume he means ?Megson-fit?, as opposed to ?match-fit? ? there is a difference, honest. Our lot should be as per Blackburn; Scouse Jase is still suspended, sadly. A shame, as seeing him work his midfield magic in tandem with striker Kanu would be exciting, to put it mildly. All together, now: ?WHO?S A SILLY BOY, THEN!? For the Seals? ? er, sorry, cows? ? part, chief udder-swinger Carlton Cole reckons he?s got the expertise of former Baggie Cyrille Regis to call upon. Failing that, more reliably, they do have Solano back from suspension, and, despite this column sticking pins into wax images, etc. like there?s no tomorrow, Angel will probably be back from injury also. Strange, that; the last I?d heard, there was no chance whatsoever of him wearing the claret-and-spew for a few weeks yet. I guess it just goes to show David O?Leary?s equally as good as our leader at playing mind-games with the opposition. My prediction for tomorrow? Well, I?ve forecast on the Boing prediction competition ? rashly, maybe ? a 2-1 win for our finest. Don?t mock, I did get the Blackburn result right. Much to the fury of ?Im Indoors, who didn?t, of course.

Whatever happens, I hope it doesn?t end in a similar manner to the away fixture some two seasons ago; as some of you may recall, we were 1-1, and in injury time, when bloody Hitzlsperger managed to blast one in from a free-kick just outside the box. Aargh! That strike proved to be an insult too far for The Fart; no sooner had the ref pointed to the centre circle, he was off at a rate of knots, out of the ground, and was last seen heading at a rate of knots in the general direction of Stirchley! In fact, as I discovered later, he?d run most of the way into Brum before employing a more conventional form of transport. But that wasn?t the end of it, oh dearie me no. Most people assuage their match-day frustrations by punching the wall, kicking the cat, or, in some equally-reprehensible instances, their nearest and dearest ? but Terry? None of these: he simply rushed home - and proceeded to clean his house from top to bottom! Bearing that in mind then, Tel, should the worst come to the worst tomorrow, why not come to our place instead ? it?s only about 2 miles from The Shrine, after all, and should you feel tempted, mate, here?s a list of some cleaning jobs we need doing as a matter of urgency! The back of the fridge (in view of recent utterings from that bloke from UKIP, a point of principle for me, leaving that one well alone!); hoovering the living-room carpet; the interior of our oven (prospective Channel-swimmers could get very interested indeed in the volume of gunk currently adorning the walls!); our toilet and shower; and, last, but not least, sorting out the contents of our pantry ? rumour has it there?s a Japanese soldier that doesn?t know the war?s over currently residing in it!

And finally?.. Here?s another take on Private Eye?s current cartoon series, ?Scenes You Seldom See??.. Before kick-off at Bootham Crescent this afternoon, I went and purchased a cup of coffee from the catering point for ?Im Indoors ? and was most astonished to hear, within milliseconds of handing over said beverage to my beloved, some rather choice language from him along the lines of, ?Flip me, this blinking coffee?s dashed hot!? issuing forth from his anguished mouth! Hot? That wasn?t the word for it ? scalding, more like - and it took a good 15 minutes before the injured party finally deemed the stuff cool enough to drink! I could only assume York City had a tame boiling-hot geyser (on the lines of ?Old Faithful? in Yellowstone National Park) cunningly-hidden within the depths of their main stand, or something. Now think ? when was the last time you had occasion to say that about football ground fare? I rest my case, M?Lud.

 - Glynis Wright

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