The Diary

07 March 2004: Coventry: The Smell Of Fear

Remember the other night when I compared the current situation at the top of The First to the positions of both the US and USSR during the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis? As you no doubt know, while the world held its collective breath and wondered if it would ever see another sunrise, Kennedy and Kruschev both embarked on a game of ?brinkmanship?, in which each tried their darndest to ?stare the other out? from their deep bunkers on either side of the Atlantic. A nice game if you happen to be a child, in a school playground, but when it comes to control and mastery over enough radiological weaponry to bump off each and every one of us, with change to spare, then it?s not so nice. 42 years ago, Kennedy played that game, and Krushchev was the first to ?blink?; today, it?s clubs in the top three doing similar, and while the consequences of failure of nerve aren?t quite as (literally!) earth-shattering for the combatants, the end result?s the same. Blink and you?ve had it.

The other night, I pondered briefly upon the thorny subject of which gaffer would finally emulate Krushchev?s massive misjudgement by blowing some crucial game or another. Today, all was revealed: that man was Paul Jewell, Wigan?s head honcho. As you all know by now, they surprisingly lost 3-2 at home to Crewe, the Cheshire club?s welcome winner coming in the 90th minute. While that game was going full-blast, we managed to see Coventry off in high style, although I will argue elsewhere that our win wasn?t at all convincing. Additionally, ?Marshal? Pardew lost his own little game of ?chicken? by dropping two precious home points versus The Saddlers, who were desperate for a result themselves. Colin W? I reckon that awful four-game losing streak and the Cup run have done for their chances of going up automatically. Tomorrow sees yet another League confrontation of almost nuclear proportions, of course, and that?s between our opponents of Tuesday night, Norwich, and their tractor-driver neighbours. (Anyone know the megatonnage and lethal radius of a MIRVed mangel-wurzel missile, by the way?) A draw would be just peachy for us, and a home win even better; The Tractor Boys are around eleven points short of us right now, with a game in hand, but even if they do dent their local rivals? pride a little, unless we suffer an implosion of Dingle proportions, it?d be damned difficult to dent our precious points cushion to a worrying degree. Cry havoc and let loose the dogs of war, I say!

Another quick whooftie on my calculator tonight reveals we?re still averaging around 1.8 points, so we need to shift the ante a little; two per game or better will see us up, and we have only eleven games left to save the world, Flash! (Oops ? wrong film!) Crewe? Having sorted out our Northern friends in no uncertain manner today, and shifted themselves pretty much out of danger by doing so, it?s to their shunting-yard we go next weekend, and on the telly, as well. Again, this is another ?must-win?, because three days later, The Big One beckoneth. Succeed with that one, and that?ll be The Latics? antics well and truly settled, bar the shouting, of course. Even a draw would be handy. Yes, I know, last Sunday, I predicted sod-all for Tuesday night, but that we?d scoop the pot today, which we did, albeit tortuously. If we can defy expectations and get a result at Gresty Road, then my cup will runneth over muchly; should we repeat the dose midweek, then we?ll be a stonking three points ahead of target.

Today?s performance? I can be a bit of a superstitious sod at times, so bearing that in mind, I?ll attribute what happened to two factors. The first? The presence of The Noise?s youngest, Bethany, on the scene; although only 7 years of age, she still basks in the unenviable reputation of never, ever seeing us lose a game, Crystal Palace two years ago included, and she certainly didn?t buck the trend today. Another piece of good news; should we desperately need to bag three points versus Forest on the last day, she?s going to be there, with Baggie Bird for company, of course. The second? The presence of the Astle grandchildren. Told you lot young Matthew had his granddad?s eyes and mannerisms, didn?t I? And didn?t he put that ball in the Brummie Road net with all the aplomb of his famous granddad? I just hope I?ll be around to see him do it for real in about 12 years time ? I?ve got a really strong feeling in my water we will see him wearing the stripes, eventually. A kid who eats, sleeps and dreams football, has a role model like Jeff to look up to, plus, hopefully, more than a smidgen of the Kingly DNA in their body, should instinctively have all the necessary dedication and application it takes to succeed.

The vagaries of Fate aside, I must say I was pretty worried about the outcome pre-kick-off. Striding into The Throstle Club as per usual ? incidentally, it, like the Woodman, is now living on borrowed time; both close their doors for good come the end of the current season ? we took our places in what used to be the games room. No Noise, and no Fart either, so we grabbed our drinks from the nice lady behind the bar counter and waited. And read the programme, which, unusually, carried an appeal to football supporters from those of Brighton And Hove Albion. As you may know, they need to move to a new stadium, the plans have been drawn up, etc. and the council initially approved them, but the scheme was then opposed ? and the whole thing has now gone to John Prescott for review. Scuttlebutt is he?s minded to turn the whole thing down flat, and if that happens, it?s bye-bye Seagulls, so their followers are urging all supporters of other clubs to protest to the Deputy Prime Minister. Hence all the lobbying and leaflet distribution outside our ground today. The general idea is to ?do? all the Premiership and Nationwide grounds this week, then move on to the lower divisions over the next 14 days. We wish them well.

By the way, as far as the drinks were concerned, at least the person that served me could speak English this time; in fact, she spoke it much better than I do, trouble was, she had no idea whatsoever about the prices of various beverages, and certainly couldn?t add up ? and I thought my mental arithmetic was bad! In the end, I had to reckon the whole lot up in my head myself, then tell the poor lady; just as well I?d served behind a bar myself during my mis-spent youth, wasn?t it?

It wasn?t long before our tranquil pre-match idyll was irrevocably shattered; around 15 minutes later, the dulcet tones of The Noise and his younger daughter could be heard in the main drinking area, so we waved ?em into our little lair. While The Noise sorted out the refills, young Carly endeavoured to teach me a harmless little ?mind-reading? thingy that?s currently going the rounds at her school. It?s all to do with writing down numbers and letters pertaining to the subject you want to be nosey about ? in this case, our favourite football club, drawing a little swirly spiral on the paper, going around each group of letters and numbers and knocking ?em out according to the number of swirls drawn; once you?ve done that, you end up with around four words and numbers. In our case, we were going to finish second, four points clear of 3rd place, and Rob Hulse was going to end up leading goalscorer; there were another couple of refinements, but unfortunately, I?ve lost the bit of paper with all the instructions etc. on! Sorry, Carly.

The Fart having finally arrived, it was off to flog our new issue. Not so many people outside the ground ? it was only half-one ? but even at that early hour, a sizeable sprinkling of Coventry supporters circumnavigating the ground, and generally batting the breeze. And, courtesy of the Express and Star, a banner headline that had me in absolute stitches: ?Boss Says: Come On Feel The Noise!? As that?s what my other half calls me ? ?The Boss? ? I had to put up with no end of ribaldry from the others apropos the merits (or otherwise) of heavy-duty fumbling in the murkier recesses of our Gatling Gob co-editor?s trousers. Yeah, it?s a nice thought, but I don?t think his missus, Jane, would be best-pleased about that one, somehow. And I can?t run all that fast when pursued by someone wielding a rolling-pin with malice aforethought, either. And, as it?s Stoke, talking a lot.

To my continuing delight, once more I clapped eyes on our police sergeant friend; in charge of a van-load of much younger coppers, this time. A brief moment of wonderment for me: did their mothers know they were out? After he?d gone, up rolled our tame egg-head, Bryn Jones, bless his little magna cum laude, mortar board and gown. It?s not that often I see Bryn at games these days as he?s usually submerged in a whole morass of academic verbal diarrhoea, but there he was, large as life and twice as bad. And protesting most strongly about the penalty we should have had versus Norwich! That?s my boy!

After that, all was peace and tranquillity - until yet another coachload of Coventry supporters disgorged itself just around the corner, that was. As this little group made its way towards the away end, one particularly obnoxious individual strode purposefully towards where I was selling, thrust his pudgy and drink-sodden nose to within about an inch of mine, then bawled in tones that would have been heard in Smethwick, ?Lee Hughes ? MURDERER!? And off he went once more. He must have been checking with the stewards precisely where he was (in the State Of Inebria?) because just a couple of minutes later, the whole thing happened again, leaving behind a most puzzled Dick Ed to work out what it was all in aid of. Whatever happened to the principle, enshrined in English law hundreds of years ago, that a man or woman is presumed innocent until proven guilty beyond all reasonable doubt by a jury of their peers? Lee wasn?t playing today, or on the bench, even; a wise decision, it seems to me now, especially in view of all the verbal flak he got from their lot inside the ground.

The game? My God, the stench of fear pervaded every nook and cranny of the place today, also, high on the heady fumes generated as a result of four away wins on the bounce, those Sky Blues were certainly giving it big licks in that away end. As for our side, just before going in, we?d briefly bumped into The Noise as he headed for the Smethwick; in, still, were Chambo (good), Rob Hulse (was that wise?), while out were Hughsie (see above), also Bernt Hass (did not impress at Norwich). On the bench was long, lanky Skoubo.

Today?s game was quite a departure from the state of affairs that normally prevails when the two clubs meet at The Shrine; in times gone by, the accepted form has been for Coventry to curl up and die, but this time round, their recent away successes gave them ideas beyond their station, consequently right from the kick-off, they sought to make life very difficult for us indeed. Because Hulse was a tad slow on the uptake at times, he came in for some pretty savage treatment from our crowd, especially some of the ?travel rug and flask merchants? in The Halfords. What didn?t help at all either was that awful miss of his, with around ten minutes gone. After being in receipt of a pin-point pass, there he was, hurtling towards the sticks, and only their keeper to beat ? but the ball ended up straight into his arms instead. Oh, whoops. I suppose what happened then set the tone for the rest of the proceedings; needing a breakthrough, we sought the opener, but more often than not, ended up giving the ball away cheaply instead. It was clear what was wrong; our lot were afraid, pure and simple. Afraid of losing the ball and getting a rollicking from that bouncy ginger-haired figure in the home dug-out. Afraid of showing creativity, initiative, even. Sure, we were getting set-pieces and so forth, but no-one could find the elusive key to turning opportunities and half-chances into palpable strikes.

As for the ?other end?, Coventry tried to take advantage of our imbroglio of a midfield, and our seemingly-hesitant defence. To the casual observer, it would have seemed as though our lot genuinely believed the ball to be full of high-explosive, and to be avoided at all costs ? and the same seemed to apply to our dealings with the opposition midfield and strikeforce. Many was the time their surges reached the outer limits of the box, a state of affairs that had several of us chewing our knuckles to the very bone; the danger was usually negated, but such was our kamikaze instinct today, no sooner had we shifted the bladder to more innocuous parts of the pitch, we?d lose it once more, and the whole sorry process would begin anew.

Just as well, then, that The Horse managed to draw first whinny with around 25 minutes gone. A very hirsute AJ was the provider, and using his brute strength (well, he is an ex-Bluenose, isn?t he?) to good purpose in the box, he managed to dissuade his pursuers to such an extent, the final planting of the ball in the hole was made to look quite easy. Having broken the deadlock in our favour, finally, within minutes, it was made abundantly clear that the visitors didn?t take at all kindly to such antics; trying to restore normality, they managed to get a free-kick on the edge of the box. Hearts in mouths as it was taken; luckily, the ball was quickly cleared by one of our lot.

By this time, it was pretty clear both the players and ourselves really needed that half-time break. For starters, our nerves were absolutely shredded watching the game, which had by now descended into something of a comedy of errors. If anything, it was Coventry playing the better, more settled football; at times, they skinned us alive, especially on the flanks, but still, all their good work came to naught when up against the almost-impenetrable barrier provided by our rearguard. Just as well, really. Especially once you realised the ginger fireball pacing angrily around our technical area was not so far short of completely blowing his stack. I have to say that I?ve never, ever seen our leader in so foul a mood. Never one to hang back when it comes to verbally disciplining our finest, today, he was practically frothing at the mouth, and far less tolerant of errors than normal. At one point, I did see Meggo chuck what I assumed were a couple of aspirins or the like into that cavernous gob of his, closely followed by a darned big swig from that bottle he always carries. Was he suffering a little, today, I wonder?

Back after the interval, we tried to put matters beyond all doubt very early in the proceedings; Rob Hulse was the unlucky guy on the other end of a Koumas free-kick, but couldn?t make contact, so the moment was wasted. Still, we managed to add a second not long after, though, and it must be the easiest one our ex-Crewe striker has ever notched up. Cov?s woes began when Chambo chucked a throw in the general direction of The Horse, lurking, as usual, in positions where he was most likely to do damage. And he nearly did: the resultant shot was saved brilliantly by the keeper ? but the ball only went as far as Mr. Hulse, who stood in regal splendour, surrounded by enough space to park a 78 bus in. With the keeper ?otherwise engaged? it was simplicity itself to consign the sphere to the back of the net via a gentle tap to see it on its way.

It?s at this point that most students of the game would surmise that now they were faced with this serious deficit, Coventry would capitulate completely. Unfortunately, they hadn?t read the script properly this season; instead, and helped enormously by our continuing lamentable tendency to lose possession at inappropriate times and places (how does right in the middle of our own area suit you?), they tried to salvage something from the wreckage instead, which caused us more than a few anxious moments, punctuated, at intervals, by the Bloke In Front bawling in exasperated tones ?EE?S BLUDDY USELESS ? GERRIM OFF - NOW!?, or, ?WHAT THE BLEEDIN? ELL AM THEY PLAYIN? AT? LOOKATIT, LOOKATIT!? As I remarked to my other half following one particularly-fraught encounter, ?Two seasons ago, we?d have gone one-nil up, and we?d rest safe in the knowledge that the other side hadn?t got a hope in hell of getting it back. This time round, not even a two-goal lead seems secure!? Clearly, our game needed an injection of revivifying pazzaz from somewhere, before it hit the skids ? and it was duly supplied by a certain young man who goes by the name of Lloyd Dyer! Incidentally, the subbing was made at the expense of Jason Koumas, who was most certainly not a happy bunny to be brought off; no lingering in the dug-out for him, off down the tunnel, it was, and barely a word to either Meggo, or Frank, for that matter. I wonder what rattled his cage?

As we?d seen before, the overall effect of Lloyd?s appearance was akin to that of a powerful stimulant being given to a rapidly-fading patient. Once away on those jet-heels of his, there was little The Sky Blues could do to stop him; within seconds of coming on, he tried to cause havoc down the left ? and nearly succeeded, then he was unlucky not to score himself, leaving two opposition players for dead, then whanging in the long-range shot. Luckily for the visitors, it missed. Just. It was round about that time also that Hulse was replaced by Facey, which would give us more speed and strength when it counted.

Come ten minutes from time, it was Kinsella?s turn to get some of the action, courtesy of some awful opposition defending; having made a right pig?s ear of the clearance, our lad was on the errant ball like a dive-bomber. 3-0, and both The Brummie and Smethwick rocked. Those lovely Coventry fans that chose to make mock of our Black Country dialect earlier in the proceedings? They were headed for the exits, and far, far away.

The final whistle, then, and some good news in the way of scores concerning other promotion aspirants. As I commented earlier, most seemed to drop quite nicely for us, so we?re now level on points with Norwich, and hoping like hell they drop a bloody big clanger tomorrow. Mind you, all we wanted to do was to negotiate the traffic outside in super-speed time, so we could procure a celebratory takeaway from our local Chinese. Much to our surprise, none of the usual problems to dog us happened today. Twenty minutes to get back to GD Towers. Luxury! Is it coincidence, or has the welcome improvement in post-match traffic management occurred since I submitted that letter of complaint to our local plods?

And finally?. While we were waiting for our nosh there, we were privileged to witness the actions of what had to be the thickest bloke in town tonight. There he was, ostentatiously getting out of a top-of-the-range Mercedes convertible, all the gadgets you could think of ? plus a few you couldn?t ? then showing off his pride and joy to his mates before disappearing with them into a nearby shop. Enter what used to be called The Yellow Peril, who had, minutes before, warned the same bloke about parking in that particular spot, which had bloody great double yellows right across it ? a dead giveaway in anyone?s book. Chummy didn?t return to move the thing, so what happened? Yep, you?ve got it, booked, and totally bang to rights as well. My conclusion? You don?t have to practice to be as daft as that guy: with some people, it truly is a gift!

 - Glynis Wright

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