The Diary

10 April 2004: Mackems, Norwich Win - It's Getting Sweaty Out There, Folks!

Oh dear, what an awful let-down on a day when this column became a year older. It?s all down to today?s results, of course, but of those, more anon. The first part started out so brightly; birthday pressies and a card from ?Im Indoors, not to mention The Fart ? those mint choccies are rather scrummy, Tel, thanks, mate - and a ?mystery trip? to some destination or another, cunningly pre-planned by my ?other half?, thrown in for good measure, the precise location of which he refused to reveal, even when I threatened to remove his toenails one by one. Or tickle him unmercifully, which was probably an even greater threat knowing how sensitive he is to such things. Anyway, to cut a long story short, the destination in question just happened to be the National Space Centre, on the outskirts of Leicester, where the local University, in conjunction with several commercial bodies, have an excellent visitors centre there. Great fun, too, with lots of interactive exhibits, and just right for kids (of any age!). I?d always thought I was pretty well up on what?s hot and what?s not in the astronomical/astronautics fields, but I certainly came away with more than a few more additional facts and figures about the universe filed away inside my bijou bonce. There?s a tremendous amount of stuff there, too, about the recently-failed Beagle 2 Mars Lander; Leicester University were the brains behind the project, and so well-designed was the whole thing (and on a shoestring: typically British!), it really did deserve better than the near-certain crash-landing it finally received.

That was the best part of the day, then, and from then on in, it just got worse and worse. We left Leicester around half-three, but nervous about what we?d find tuning in to Sunderland-Sheffield United , we desisted from turning on our car radio, electing for a dose of The Beautiful South instead. Once home, though, we finally succumbed to temptation ? AARGH! With but ten minutes to go before the final whistle, the score stood at a miserable 2-0 to The Mackems, which for the pair of us, was depression personified. Having seen other posts on the mailing-list since then, I?m given to understand that Colin?s lot were a tad unlucky to be on the wrong end of that one, but from what I could see on the screen before me, it seemed Sheff Utd. had simply curled up and died. I?d genuinely expected to see far more of a cutting-edge from The Blades, and what really capped it for me was seeing the home side make it three and out just before the final whistle. As the French would say, and loudly, ?Merde!?

Unfortunately for my nervous system, it didn?t get any better; hard on the heels of that first game came Norwich-Wigan, and as Paul Jewell?s lot had quite a bit riding on this one as well, I honestly expected them to give the League leaders something to remember them by. Trouble was, Wigan were attacking OK during that first half, but they weren?t really hurting the home side, and losing possession too damn often for my liking; for their part, Norwich were looking extremely dangerous, especially down the flanks and Huckerby seemed to be firing on all cylinders, drat those little yellow-clad legs of his. When the ball finally dropped for him, unmarked, more or less, to blast in their first, you just knew where it was going to land; again, earlier in the game, when Jason Robert was put in a similar position, he should have bust the net, but hit the side-netting instead. Personally, I?d thought it was easier to plonk it over the line and be done with it, but that?s the way the mop flops sometimes.

It didn?t help, either, to see what should have been a dead cert Norwich yellow card (and, some would argue, a possible red) given naught but the bloody free kick. Jason Robert? Yes, he should have been awarded a penalty for that bit of crafty Canary manhandling that went on just inside the box, but equally, had it not been for him losing his rag and lashing out at a Norwich defender (again, in the box), then The Latics might well have got an equaliser; as things were, the effort was ruled out because of our former striker?s sudden rush of blood to the head. Pretty soon after that, it was well and truly ?game over? as Norwich hammered in their second. Bloody marvellous, isn?t it? These last few days, I?d genuinely thought that one or the other would have come a cropper by now. Had it been anyone else, the sheer numbers of games played in that short space of time would have well and truly blown their promotion efforts sky-high, but it wasn?t, and they haven?t, so it?s now down to us to win once more tomorrow. Keep doing that, and it?s the best insurance policy anyone can have.

Not quite the scenario I?d envisaged for tomorrow?s game; sure, Gillingham are poised at the very edge of the precipice and are bloody awful away from home, but tonight, my other half chose to remind me of something that chilled me to the marrow, and quite frankly, I wished he?d never let it slip. In 2001-02, our promotion season, when we played Wimbledon at their place (Selhurst Park, it was, then, of course) and won the game 1-0, who were The Dingles up against, at The Custard Bowl? Yep, that?s right, bloody Gillingham ? and they won. Cue for massed conga-lines around the South Bank and cerebrally-challenged cries of ?We are going up, we are going up!?.? At the time, I believe they were about 11 points in front of us; the only difference lies in the dates. We played The Franchise on the 2nd of March 2002, and today is the 9th of April 2004. Because of today?s win, Sunderland pulled three points back on us, shrinking that deficit to a blood-curdling five. Norwich are in pole position once more, so the Wearside club?s 100 per cent record this week now turns a Baggies win tomorrow from what you might term an ?optional extra? into something that?s eminently desirable, if not absolutely essential. Will we go at them from the start, throw caution to the wind by giving them the 4-4-2 treatment in spades? I sincerely hope so, because if we choose to take the opposite tack and defend at all costs, then I reckon we?re in trouble. The Gills are desperate right now, and desperate sides (and people!) tend to lash out when they?re up against it.

Houlty seems to think he?ll be OK for tomorrow, which is all fine and dandy, but I still wonder whether it?s really wise. That was one hell of a whack he took at Portman Road last Sunday. Yes, Georges Santos, I mean you! Presumably, we?ll stick to what we know in central defence (unless we do choose to give ?em hell, in which case Greegs will move to midfield) and this time round, Scouse Jase might get a start, as reward for his sterling service at Portman Road. If that happens, then Sakiri will have to content himself with getting numerous bum splinters from our bench. Not to mention poor Kinsella getting his obligatory subbing on sixty minutes gone. There?s been some worry about AJ?s fitness (he has a niggling groin problem, apparently), but it seems he?ll be raring to go tomorrow. As far as the right flank is concerned, will he go for Bernt Hass, or will Chambo get the job? I reckon the main armament will sort itself out; it?ll be The Horse and The Ginger One up front, no contest. Lloyd Dyer, of course, still remains our secret weapon, and should our manager choose to unleash him onto The Gills, then it might well be they?ll find they have an excellent cure for constipation on their hands. Please. Pretty please.

As I said to The Fart tonight (anyone hear him on Radio WM?s Sports Forum tonight, by the way?) because of those blasted results, we?re going to be returning to full ?Cuban Missile Crisis? mode tomorrow afternoon, and it?s one where we have to make damn sure we?re not the first to blink. If we can do that, and get something at The New Den on Monday ? not a very happy hunting ground for us, overall, I have to admit ? then it could be our turn to look those Wearsiders full in the face and say, metaphorically, at least, ?Come on, if you think you?re hard enough?.? Should it come down to that, then that?s the time you need scrappers, bustlers, in your side, and of those, we?ve got plenty. If they want to mix it, we can, and with change given, as well. I?m also hoping like hell that Ipswich can stop their tap next week; we didn?t find it at all easy there last Sunday, so I?m pretty sure they won?t, either. Surely they can?t be looking towards getting their full ration from all three games, can they?

Of course, today wasn?t the first time I sat cussing in front of a TV screen this week; I was similarly-engaged on Tuesday night, and hoping like hell that Sunderland would drop a whoopsy versus Wimbledon at their place. An audible groan escaped both our lips when we checked Ceefax and discovered the home side had conceded, but when we next looked, The Franchise had managed to pull one back, making it 1-1. Rejoice! Rejoice! There and then I vowed never to say a rude thing about them ever again provided that score remained the same until the final whistle. For a few brief moments the thought entered my head that their players might well have come to the collective conclusion that if they were going to go down in flames, then they might as well take somebody else with them, the ?somebody? being the Wearsiders. Shame that scoreline didn?t last for very long, then; by the time we next perused Page 304, Sunderland had banged another one in the old onion-bag, and gone on to grab all three points. And, just to really rub it in, that defeat relegated Wimbledon; I haven?t looked in the reference books, but that?s got to be one of the earliest, if not the earliest, drop in the entire history of our division. Oh well, not really expecting The Franchise to succeed, I?d not bothered to factor a possible upset into my calculations for Sunderland?s coming seven days worth of games ? so no surprise there, then!

That same day, it was reported in the press that Lee Marshall is to have an operation on his fractured leg, poor sod. As I?d suspected, he?d broken both lower leg bones more than once, so the surgery will probably involve inserting a pin, or pins, into those shattered bones to keep everything together and aid the healing process. I remember my sister having the same done after a nasty car accident some years ago, which did a deal of damage to her legs also. I believe there?s far more emphasis on getting people mobile quicker, now, so Mr. Marshall?s stay in hospital will probably be substantially less than that of my elder sibling, who suffered a good six weeks of ?durance vile? in what was then West Bromwich District Hospital.

Wednesday morning saw me idly flicking through various footie-related websites ? and while I was doing that, what did I find? When I tuned into the Reading supporters? site, I discovered that having got wind of our Vikings-themed day out, they were planning to have a fancy-dress end-of-season party all of their very own, and in response to ours, it seemed. At the moment, they?re at the stage of asking supporters what the theme should be, but don?t get too excited, you lot from the Thames Valley region. After all, we were doing this sort of thing when Reading were just a Third Division backwater! Should you need any advice about organising it, chaps, just come to us, or, more specifically, to our old mate Deano. Although he?s taken a back seat this time round, I can confirm he does that sort of thing in his sleep. Incidentally, before we take our carcasses to The Shrine tomorrow, we?ll be calling in on ?Fantasia?, the place Jean and Michelle recommended to me earlier in the week, to sort out our Reading horny-helmet wants. I gave out the details in a previous post, but anyone wanting them again, let me know, and I?ll shove ?em on for you. I?m nice like that.

Come the evening, we then took ourselves to the flicks, in Quinton, where the ?attraction? if you could call it that, was ?Dawn Of The Living Dead?, depicting a world in which the newly-deceased, covered in blood and dribbling bucket-loads of O positive all over the place, howling ferociously, walk the streets looking for specimens of their ?normal? counterparts to sink their crimson-stained teeth into. Lots of tomato ketchup, gore, gratuitous violence, and all the rest of it, in just about every frame ? about par for the course on an average weekend in Wolverhampton, I?d say. As most of the action takes place in a very large shopping-mall, I can now confirm I won?t be seeing Merry Hill in the same light ever again! Having watched that, we then headed home to find out how Millwall-Cardiff had panned out. The result, a highly-satisfactory goalless draw, must just about put the pair of them out of the ?automatic? running, and make things rather dicky all round for the play-offs as well. Clearly, the effort of getting into the final must - erm ? ?finally? be getting to The Lions. Yesterday, a little bird told me Kevin Muscat would be out of next Monday?s game ? and not only that, out for the rest of the season as well, including the Cup Final. Damaged ligaments, apparently. Nice to see him getting a taste of his own medicine for once. Oh, and it looks as though they?ll also be missing player-manager Denis Wise come Monday next. The rotten way things panned out for us this afternoon and evening, we need all the help we can get.

Returning to today?s disappointments once more, it?s all looking very much as though next weekend?s encounter with The Mackems will be the one that decides the eventual League fates of both clubs. A win would be just peachy, and I?d snatch your arms off for a draw as well, as it would knacker them just as much as it would us, but a defeat might well prove to be bloody bad news all round. It?s when you sit down and mentally run through every possible permutation that you realise just how sensible (not to mention prescient!) it was for our favourite football club (or, should I say, Jeremy Peace?) to endeavour to get as many Baggie bodies as possible packed into The Stadium of Light next weekend; forty coachloads of supporters, all travelling buckshee, is the aim of the exercise, and I would think they?re getting very close indeed to that target by now. What with all that little lot toddling up the A1 at a rate of knots, not to mention those who are making their own arrangements, I would think you?re looking at in excess of 4,000 peripatetic Baggies for that one. And, boy, are we going to need them; that sticky-hot opening day of the season apart, when they lost to Millwall, would you believe, they haven?t been beaten on their own turf once this campaign. Yet.

And finally?.. Yesterday, we finally took delivery of our very last Dick of the present season ? boo, hoo! As per usual, Paul, our very eccentric Welsh printer, was rather late delivering the goods, but it was a very feeble excuse we got from him this time round. Too much traffic on the motorway, apparently. What? No Force Ten gale? No ambush by a lost race of Celtic pygmies, all hell-bent on slaughter? No onslaught from marauding ICBM?s, all packing multiple-megaton hydrogen warheads in their payload? Come on, mate, you can do much better than that! Joking apart, our last mighty organ of 2003-04 will be on sale outside the ground tomorrow, and in all the usual places. Please note also, there?s a renewal form inside, plus info for the benefit of new subbers ? oh, and a short questionnaire to complete, as well. Should you not wish to disfigure your Dick, there?s also a copy on the Boing website for your delectation. Have fun, keep everything crossed for good luck ? and with any luck, we?ll all be wondering what the fuss was all about come the final whistle.

 - Glynis Wright

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