The Diary

05 May 2004: Surprise Surrender At Stoke

Well, as that famous striker Will Shakespeare once said when putting some creativity into a mediocre Third Division side called Hamlet, ?The wheel is turned full circle?? In other words, when we first set out on that dusty road marked ?The Premiership? last August, we collected a 4-1 drubbing at The Bescot Stadium for our pains; tonight, we headed on out for Stoke City and our away Nationwide swan-song, and got yet another 4-1 tanking to take home as a souvenir of our visit. Something?s wrong, here; this wasn?t how it was meant to happen, was it? With the job done, and the pressure off, both Saturday?s encounter and tonight?s should have been a joyous celebration of all things Baggie; instead, all we?ve had are two miserable defeats, the second of which, tonight?s, was an embarrassment, pretty much. Not much to celebrate there, I have to say, and it is to be hoped that the laxity that was evident for both away fixtures will be well and truly AWOL for our final game of the season, come Sunday. Come on, these last few games were meant to be a celebration, a jollification, even ? so what?s gone wrong?

What with tonight?s abysmal performance and last Saturday?s, it?s pretty much taken the shine off the end of our season. Let?s not mince words about tonight?s display; when those Stokies sang ?4-1, get used to it!? at the final whistle, I reckon they put their clay-covered fingers right on what will happen next season should we dare play as badly or as ineptly as we did tonight. Sure, I know we put out a side much depleted by injury, but hell; according to The Noise, before the game, their side was in an even worse state than ours, which meant them drafting in youngsters to cover the gaps. A bit embarrassing, therefore, that not only did those kids hold their own, they damn near gave us a master-class in how to attack and look bloody dangerous while doing it.

All things considered, I?m minded to write tonight off as a complete and utter Albion disaster all-round, because from the moment we left our house to the moment we arrived back, absolutely nothing went right for us Dick Eds. First off, this afternoon, The Fart arrived at our place an hour early; a breakdown in communication, seemingly, but not half as big a one as our somewhat porous defence had tonight! Still, when he got there, we then had the spiffing wheeze that with our co-editor?s early arrival, we could leave around 20 minutes earlier, and by doing that, steal a march on the rush-hour traffic piling up on the M6. How wrong can you be? Despite the fact we set out at around half-four, not only did we get stuck on the approach to the M5 junction by The Shrine, when we did finally negotiate that island and get onto the motorway proper, we then discovered the traffic tailed back for miles on the northbound carriageway, and was practically stationary, just to rub the sodium chloride crystals right into the wound. The same sort of tailbacks, in fact, the M6 Toll was supposed to sort out when it opened in that almighty fanfare of publicity, late last year.

The upshot of it all was that it took us about an hour (not to mention a huge dollop of frustration) to negotiate the three or so miles from the West Brom junction to where the M5 joins the M6, near Walsall, and my having to ring The Noise on our mobile and tell him to make his own way to the ground, as we were going to be late. But not as late as some who travelled to the game by coach, apparently; according to The Fart, tuned in to local radio during the game, as per usual, the commentator reported our coaches were still arriving some 15 minutes after kick-off. And here was me thinking we?d had a frustrating journey!

Eventually, we managed to give the congestion the slip, finally arriving in the Land Of Much Loquaciousness around an hour before kick-off. Just as well that car-park pass we?d purchased for the scheduled fixture was still valid, then. Once we?d parked up, it was but a quick journey on foot to the away end, or, to be more specific, the gate leading to where our coaches would park outside it ? now rather empty, owing to the aforementioned ?other circumstances? prevailing on the M6 motorway. Never mind, though, there were still a trickle of Baggies making their way around to the turnstiles, so we spent a steady half an hour or so flogging to them in the freezing cold. Plus quite a few Stokies, I?m pleased to say.

By that time, The Noise had joined us, therefore it was quite amusing when, with around 30 minutes to go before kick-off, one of his Wedgwoods workmates spotted us and decided to have a natter with his mucker, and while he was at it, do the decent thing and delve into the old trouser pockets for a Dick. It was while we were serving this gentleman with his wants that the ?million-dollar question? occurred to me; was The Noise?s Gatling?gun verbal delivery in the workplace really as bad as we?d been led to believe? The answer? ?He spends one hour working, and the next seven talking about it!? And, when asked whether our hero with the friction-burned tongue would be telling people about tonight?s game at great length tomorrow, what was the answer? ?Is the Pope a Catholic?? Members of the jury, I rest my case!

Finally striking our tents and stealing away into the rapidly-gathering evening gloom with about 15 minutes to go before the ?off?, it was but the work of seconds to get through the away turnstiles. And, as I remarked earlier, there were an awful lot of ?regulars? missing from our ranks, as indicated by all those bloody great gaps in the coach-park where our vehicles should have been parked, by then. And, once in our seats, it was immediately evident we?d filled our allocation, pretty much, apart from the latecomers, of course, but when you turned to look at the home end opposite, it was plain to see there would be many absentees from this one. Gaps everywhere else in the ground, or so it seemed; as for the ones who had elected to turn out, judging from the noise they were making, they really wanted their favourites to get a result tonight. Considering there was naught on this one for The Potties save pride, they weren?t slow in letting their favourites know about it; a shame our players didn?t respond in similar fashion to theirs, then.

To be fair to our finest, there were many changes from Saturday?s side; out were The Horse, Chambo, and James O?Connor, and in were Scouse Jase, back from suspension (ironic, in view of what subsequently happened!), Bernt Hass and Dobes. Another peculiar twist; we went for a 4-4-2, while the home side opted for playing with just one up front, at first. During those opening moments, the tempo of the game seemed to indicate that this would be treated by both sets of combatants as a typical end-of-season affair, a mutual non-aggression pact ensuring a diplomatic draw, and honour saved all round, but things then began to take a different turn when both sides went close, then our lad Kinsella had to go off, injured, presumably, with Clem replacing him. As far as the rest of the half was concerned, of the two, it was Albion that looked far and away the more likely to score, but just before the break, we had an absolute disaster; for their part, Stoke must have thought it was their birthday come early. What happened? Perhaps we ought to ask Paul Robinson that very question. It was Stokie Russell?s shot that belted towards our goal, and it seemed for all the world that everyone had it covered ? but for the fact it then struck the ex-Watford man?s leg, and from there, into the left hand corner of the net. Houlty, having positioned himself on the far post so as to gather up what he?d thought would be an easy stop, was taken quite unawares ? in fact, he dived, instinctively, in anticipation of the strike heading his way, which it would have done had it not been impeded in flight - and could do nothing to prevent it from counting. A flukey goal, sure, but nothing to panic about. Presumably a few ?pertinent words? in the dressing-room would sort it out at half-time?

Judging by the positive way in which we set out our stall come the start of the second 45 (Hughsie was most unlucky not to see his scrambled effort shifted over the line) the equaliser could only be a matter of time. And, just as we?d thought, score we did, and quickly, courtesy of a pretty unlikely source ? Scott Dobie. The strike came from a corner, with little time elapsed since Hughsie?s attempt, and it really was a textbook headed finish. I don?t think Stoke could have marked him up properly on the edge of the box, when we were about to take the corner. And, had we then applied our minds to the job properly and not gone off into some Black Country version of La-La Land, then I reckon we?d have gone on to win that game in a walk, but Fate had other ideas for us stashed in the innermost recesses of her twangy knicker-elastic.

Having seen Mr. Dobie nearly make it a brace, his final attempt being denied by ex-Baggie keeper Neil Cutler, not long afterwards, we conceded a free-kick about 35-40 yards from Houlty?s goal. Nowhere near the distance to make us worry, or so I?d thought. In fact, around the time the kick was taken, I was far more interested in watching some of the Stoke stewards attempting to cart The Belly away from the scene of the action. I was engaged in speculation with The Noise and ?Im Indoors as to what had precipitated his ejection, and had just commented, ?Well, that?s his season in the Premiership stuffed up before it?s started, then?.?, when an almighty bellow from the other end made me shift my gaze sharpish to what was going on down there. A bunch of Stoke players hugging and congratulating each other like crazy ? Christ, they?d scored, but how?

It was left to The Fart to fill me in on the details, and once he?d done so, I immediately wished he hadn?t. It turned out that when the kick was taken, Houlty had gone down for the shot OK, but for some reason unfathomable to Man, he?d then let the bloody thing slip right through his fingers and into the back of the net! And no, before you ask me, I don?t know why either, a mullock of that magnitude is quite out of character for our keeper. It?s a long shot, sure, but I?m now wondering as to whether it?s connected with the many back problems he?s had recently. If that is the case, then maybe someone should be asking why, now the job?s done, we haven?t given Murph the chance to take a little of the weight off Houlty?s shoulders, instead of letting his lumbar chickens come home to roost in such an embarrassing fashion?

Sure, thanks to Clem, we nearly equalised once more ? Cutler had to shift pretty quickly to stick his shot over the bar ? but after a clear warning when one of theirs narrowly shot wide after catching our defence on the hop, we conceded yet again. This time, it was down to Stoke?s Common, who belted home after connecting with a killer ball lobbed in from the right. Game over ? but it did get worse. About 5 minutes from the end, Noel-Williams headed one in for four and most definitely out. And, as if that wasn?t enough, Scouse Jase got his marching-orders with around three minutes left on the clock. I didn?t see anything amiss, and neither did the rest of us Dick Eds, but it later transpired that the dismissal was for ?violent conduct? ? apparently, Koumas kicked out at a passing Stokie, so the referee adjudged he had to walk. Personally, I thought the dismissal a tad mean; as far as I could tell, the blow hadn?t resulted in damage for the wronged party ? if ?wronged? he is; as I said none of us saw anything amiss ? so why give our man a red card so late on in the game? The trouble is, though, that sending-off means we won?t have the services of Koumas for our opening Prem games; three of ?em, if what happened is deemed ?violent conduct? by the man in black?s report to the FA. I?m given to understand there may be an appeal in the offing, but as to whether tonight?s official will smile benevolently on such questioning of his judgment, ask me one on sport.

Add to that little lot an absolute deluge that poured down on both sets of players (and those supporters at the front, no doubt!) for most of the second half, freezing-cold temperatures, and what you have is a graphic account of a complete and utter disaster. It?s been 22 years since we last had any sort of success against the Potties on their own muck-heap (we won by three clear goals that day) and from tonight?s showing, I don?t think their record will be in much danger when we play them in that pre-season friendly come the end of July. Oh, and after the final whistle, getting out of the car-park wasn?t exactly a bundle of laughs, either. The first problem was locating the Dickmobile; what with it being dark and everything, it was awfully difficult to spot our jalopy among rows and rows of identical-looking vehicles. Eventually, we did locate the whereabouts of the blasted thing, but having found it, finally, the next problem was shifting ourselves out of the place. Three exits, and all converging on the same road, which meant that traffic flow was still greatly impeded. What with that and everything, it must have been around half-ten by the time we headed out into the highway once more, and half-eleven by the time we?d dropped The Fart outside his Birmingham stately pile. What a way to finish a season?s away fixtures.

Thoughts? Many has been the time when I?ve employed the Latin phrase ?Semper Te Fallant? to describe occasions when we?ve underachieved badly, and I never thought I?d ever have occasion to describe an Albion side that had just won promotion to the top flight in those scabrous terms, but tonight?s imbroglio certainly gave me ample excuse to do precisely that. Just what were our lot thinking of, out there? Malaga? Marbella? And, come to think about it, just what is it with our manager that we currently seem to have no option but to play between the sticks a guy who is held together by pain-killing injections, pretty much? It has been suggested in some quarters that tonight?s display was primarily a means of persuading (blackmailing?) our board to splash the cash to buy in better quality players, the inference being that without such a large financial outlay, such scorelines would be seen with monotonous regularity next season, but I hesitate to buy into that particular conspiracy theory at the moment. It?s been stated publicly already that our board are quite aware of the need to dip into the old cash-tin under the mattress before the new season starts, so deliberately playing badly just to prove a point doesn?t sound quite right, somehow. But - that?s one for the close season. What does concern me, though, is whether we?ll get an improvement come Sunday, and after tonight?s lousy showing, I reckon we?re owed one, with compound interest attached. Surely none of our players could have been happy, or satisfied, by what happened out there tonight? Can they? And surely, none of our players (or our manager?) really wants to finish the season next Sunday by churning out such garbage in front of their own supporters? For everyone?s sakes, I sincerely hope not.

 - Glynis Wright

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