The Diary

23 April 2003: Lasting Fame For Steve - No Bull!

A great big happy St. George's day to everyone out there! I'm sure he was a jolly nice chap who was kind to his gran and small children, and all that, but I never could understand how he got to be our patron saint, as being Roman, and a soldier in their legions, he had about as much to do with this country as I have with Wolverhampton - contemporary accounts certainly don't mention him being posted here, but that's by the bye. What I do wish to discuss, though, is something I spotted in the E and S early this morning, after I'd written yesterday's piece. Had I seen it before, I most certainly would have included it in the content of my previous posting, as it concerned former Baggie gone over to the Dark Side, one Stephen Bull MBE. Apparently, after a long-running campaign by their supporters, our near-neighbours are now planning to rename what was the John Ireland tand - that's The Gobbing Gallery to you and me - after this gentleman.

Amazing, isn't it? Talk about 'a tale of two players': on the one hand, I give you a much-loved senior professional who scored many crucial goals for his club in their hour of greatest need, helped propel them back to the big-time, and, following his retirement from the game, is about to be given a lasting honour by the club he served so well. Meanwhile, back at The Hawthorns - I think you know what's coming, but what the hell, I'm going to say it anyway, and sod all those who believe I've done this particular subject to death - there's yet another senior player, who's also served his club above and beyond the call of duty, but instead of being feted by a grateful Board and club officials, after his testimonial, he's being shown the door, given the bum's rush, out on his ear, call it what you will, without any sort of lasting memorial whatsoever to mark his ten-year sojourn at our place. So long Bob, and thanks for all the fish; here's your P45, now sod off?

Bloody disgraceful, isn't it? Sure, there are other former Baggies out there who may have achieved more in the way of international honours, Cup Final appearances, goals in the old First Division and so forth, but we're talking here of a guy who came to the club when it was on its (old) Third Division uppers - Barmy Bobby Gould, in one of his rare lucid moments signed Bob Taylor to head off supporter unrest at the pass shortly after we lost 3-2 at home to Swansea City - then went on to score many vital goals for us, to put us up and keep us up. Had it not been for all those goals from Supes, we might still be in the bargain basement now, and possibly waiting for the arrival of the administrators. Although we've made an absolute pig's ear of it, we're still in the Premiership - just - and will be for another three weeks or so, but whose last-day goal versus Palace got us there in the first place? No crafty coughing from the audience, please? Any Baggies supporter with half a grain of common sense will realise that we owe Bob a huge debt of gratitude for what he's done, and I still can't believe we're letting him go without marking his contribution in some permanent manner or another. If The Dingles can do it, so can we. It's still not too late to correct this appalling injustice to a player who really does deserve better, and I would ask our Board to at least consider my proposal. I'm sure they won't want to go down in Albion's history as vindictive curmudgeons; dismiss this totally out of hand and they deserve everything they've got coming to them?

On to other things, then. Having seen Meggo's best wishes to West Ham manager Glenn Roeder on the official website - they both played together at Newcastle, apparently - I must say that the only thing that surprises me about his collapse from a stroke after Saturday's game against Bolton is that this sort of thing doesn't occur more frequently. Let's face it, the lifestyle of the average League and/or Prem manager - no formal management training, rapidly increasing financial constraints, a crippling working week, snatched meals, lack of exercise, stratospheric stress-levels, and so forth - is a coronary or stroke just waiting to happen, and, in Roeder's case, it did happen. Even though he comes across as one of the more laid back members of his profession, that didn't help him one little bit this time. Of course, he's not the first one to wind up in intensive care; only last season, Gerard Houllier (aneurysm, a 'blow-out' of one of the major blood vessels) was lucky to get away with it, as were Graeme Souness, Barry Fry, and Joe Kinnear (coronary heart disease later needing bypass surgery) before him. As you know, poor Jock Stein didn't. According to today's Guardian, recently, the League Managers' Association - the gaffers' union, if you like - established a research programme based in Stockport to evaluate its members' health. Over 40 of the 92 League managers (not Roeder) have been taking part over the last 18 months, and what this involves is regular blood testing, heart-rate and cholesterol level checks, coupled with blood-pressure monitoring. Of that number, no less than 14 have been found to have early stage heart disease, which really does beg the question as to the physical state of the other 50 per cent who aren't part of the programme. For some of them, the writing really is on the wall.

Recently, as part of that research, two managers - Sam Allardyce (Bolton) and Dave Bassett (Leicester City) - were wired up during a game to see what effect the stress of management had on their heart. When the results were analysed, they were somewhat disturbing; Allardyce's heart-rate at the start was 87 beats per minute, but at one point, it reached an astonishing 190, which can be downright dangerous, when not part of a proper exercise programme. Provided you're properly fit, such activity's good for the heart, but when you're stressed and unfit, a whole lot of different factors come into play; the blood chemistry's different for a start, and this puts strain on the arteries, irritates the heart, and causes mechanical problems to that organ. The doctor in charge described Allardyce's results as "the equivalent of being in a serious car crash..twice a week." Add that to the effects of, say, an unsuitable, cholesterol-packed diet, and you've got problems.

According to the quack, unlike managers in industry and those in other physically or mentally-demanding jobs, the risks arise mainly because all that stress is compressed into a weekly, or bi-weekly 90 minutes. Worry about a run of bad results, pressure from the boardroom, the (sometimes unrealistic) expectation levels of supporters, frustration caused by below-par players' performances: it can all mount up very, very quickly, and, as in Roeder's case - when he collapsed, it was shortly after the finish of a crucial clash with fellow strugglers Bolton - when something finally blows, the results can be catastrophic. With that in mind, the doctor in charge of the research put together some suggestions for managers as to how they could reduce the risk to themselves; these involve looking at issues surrounding rest, diet and fitness and providing managers take the advice offered to them, it should go a long way towards minimising the risk of future problems. Even so, I would imagine that for a very long time to come, football management will remain one occupation the declaration of which will send life-insurance actuaries into an immediate fit of the vapours?.

And finally? One Not strictly to do with the beautiful game, this, but while waiting for the bus to take me to my Villa-supporting GP this morning, I saw a delivery. Nothing remarkable about that, I suppose, businesses get goods delivered every day of the week, but it was what was being delivered that really made me sit up and take notice. There's a funeral directors' premises about twenty or thirty yards away from the bus stop, and while I was there, a medium-sized lorry pulled up outside. The back door then opened, and much to my surprise, out came two of their black-clad employees, who then began unloading the biggest job-lot of coffins I've ever seen in my life. No - revise that last statement, never in my life have I seen coffins delivered before. Sure, I know that undertakers have to get coffins from somewhere, but you don't expect to see a bloody great lorry-load arrive on their doorstep in broad daylight! Oh well - it could have been worse. When I lived in Oldbury years ago, Mr. Hamer, the owner of a similar establishment in Freeth Street, used to stand on his doorstep every day, tape-measure around his shoulders, watching the passers-by - and mentally measuring with his eyes?

Two? With the spread of the SARS epidemic, and the ban on travel to certain areas, do you think our government could be persuaded to similarly proscribe attendance at football matches? After all, there's crowds at games, and we all know what a pivotal role great numbers of people in a confined space play in the spread of disease. Even better, can we just call a halt to Premiership games, please? OK - I admit it's clutching at straws, but you have to try, don't you?

 - Glynis Wright

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