The Diary

23 August 2004: Crazy Sunday Afternoon!

Two down, 36 to go ? and, thus far, what a stark contrast to our previous Premiership incarnation! Two seasons ago, our top-flight fortunes couldn?t have looked more desperate: a narrow opening-day loss at Man U, followed by a 3-1 Hawthorns defeat at the (vastly-overpriced) hands of Leeds, then a midweek 5-2 Highbury stonking, the first 45 of which The Arse gave us a master-class in how Premiership football should be played, the end result, of course, being zilch points on the board at roughly the same stage of the season. Although the patient rallied slightly later, our condition looked pretty-much terminal, even then, and so it proved some nine long months later, when we dropped like a stone.

This time round, the awesomely-steep learning curve necessary to stand any chance whatsoever of survival seems to have been negotiated very quickly indeed by our finest; today, we showed our classy display at Blackburn was no fluke at all by holding our upwardly-aspirational fishy/bovine neighbours to a very creditable one-all draw. Hang on a minute, though what am I saying here? ?Holding our neighbours??..? Let me quickly rephrase that one; there were times towards the end of that first half (and for most of the second) when those claret-and-spew defenders, rocking something rotten, were really finding it hard going to stop us scoring. V***a, remember, finished last season just outside qualification for Europe, and are hotly-tipped to do better this term; bearing all that in mind, watching their early-afternoon discomfiture was deliciously-satisfying, especially given the early arrogance ? ?Premiership, you?re havin? a laugh!? ?You?re even worse than The Dingles? - of their surf-and-turf loving followers. (Both insults we turned back on them after we?d equalised, of course.) Had they won, they would have gone top, and wasn?t it satisfying seeing them denied that pleasure?

Was the ball over the line when Robinson booted it away for all it was worth during ?that? first-half incident? Not sitting close enough to the Brummie enough to make a valid judgement, I wouldn?t like to stand in a court of law and swear on oath about it, but Supporters Club committee member John Homer, who sits in front of me, told me at half-time he saw the replayed incident on one of Albion?s TV screens in the main bar, and yes ? as far as he could judge, it did cross the line. The lino, stuck over the far corner, couldn?t see what happened, so couldn?t give anything. I did try to ascertain the truth via the Beeb?s replay show tonight, but after seeing the incident several times and from several viewpoints, I really wouldn?t like to call it one way or another. It sure as hell looked over from one angle, but when viewed again from another ? hmm, I?m not so sure. My argument is simple; even if it did go over, so what? As far as I?m concerned, it?s payback time for the awful decisions that went against us last time round ? and, no, I don?t want to list them all again, to do so would be too depressing for words. In any case, you?re all Baggies out there, and I?m sure you, too, gritted your teeth to the point of complete enamel destruction at the time in question.

Fast-rewind, now, to around 11.15 am, when we Dick Eds collectively put on our best ?flogging hats? for our inaugural Premiership home game. Not many humans around at that time of day, but loads of wasps, unfortunately ? zillions of the bloody things, in fact. Blimey, if they were all seeking The Noise and painful revenge for wrecking their home, they only had to ask! I?d have directed them to the old Woodman side quite willingly, anything to shift those buzzy buggers away from my neck of the woods! Talking (now there?s a Freudian slip for you) of our chatty co-editor, I wasn?t half startled this lunchtime when I first clapped eyes on his daughter Carly, whom I hadn?t seen for over three months. Would you believe, she?s now taller than ?Im Indoors, who, lining up at 5?10? in his little woolly socks as he does, is no midget, believe you me.(Yes, size really does matter!) Doesn?t time fly? It seems not so long ago she was just seven years of age, grossly hyperactive, and waltzing around the Throstle Club loudly criticising then-manager Alan Buckley for the gross eccentricity of his team selections!

After the departure of The Noise and Junior Ruckus to their selling pitches, life then descended into normal first-hour torpidity, assisted greatly by the blue skies and gentle sun, but it wasn?t to last, unfortunately. My peace was shattered by the arrival of the opposition; very quickly, every claret-and-blue in creation descended upon the players? entrance to greet their favourites, as did our followers. Trust our lot to throw a spanner in the works; when their players finally emerged from their transport, was it a ?BOO!? or a ?MOOOO!? I heard issuing from the lips of our mocking faithful?

As the crowds increased, so did our Dick sales ? and our visitors! Lots of folkies called in to generally bat the breeze with this column, one of whom was Dave Baxendale. Why have I singled him out for special mention, then? Simple, he?s going to Iceland tomorrow. No, you silly Baggie, not the freezer people to do the weekly shop, the country ? which means he?ll miss the Spurs game on Wednesday night. When I berated him for his lack of foresight, he did proffer an excuse, though. It?s his wife?s belated Christmas treat, apparently; he would have gone sooner, but was suddenly taken into hospital (he tells me the docs still haven?t completely got to the bottom of what was wrong!), so plans had to be rapidly altered. He did mollify my horror at his missing the game somewhat by promising to do a write-up for the Dick of an Icelandic League encounter he plans to attend whilst over there.

Into the ground, then ? and, oh dear, those all-singing, all-dancing turnstiles didn?t take too kindly to our newly-elevated status, did they? By the time we finally got to the entrance, the new technology had seemingly given up the ghost, and the stewards overridden the electronics instead! Now I know why the Halfords Lane queue was moving so slowly, compared to similar times before kick-off last season. Once in the ground, it was too late to pay our normal respects to The Great God Of Porcelain, so we dashed up to our seats instead, just before both sets of combatants took to the field of play. All par for the course, thus far; The Great Unwashed bayed loudly for their favourites, as did their blue and white striped (and much more hygienic, I?m sure!) opposite numbers ? but then, a departure from the norm. Both sides lined up for what has now become bog-standard for the professional game, the so-called ?Official Handshake?. Shaking hands with ?them? in a local derby, and everything ? hurt feelings included ? at stake? I don?t know about you, but as an Albion supporter, I learned from a very early age indeed it was my bounden duty to totally abominate the claret-and-spew tendency. Handshakes? HANDSHAKES? With that lot? My God, the distant churning I could hear must have been all those long-deceased Baggies doing 45 rpm in their graves!

Finally ? and it really is supremely irritating to be at the behest of an OK from Sky before a game can finally get under way ? the Hawthorns show got on the road. Our line-up was the same as for Blackburn, with the sole exception of the bench; O?Connor lost his place in preference to Albrechtson. Gloom and despondency reigned supreme in those fraught opening minutes, as our phocine chums sought to stamp their blubbery supremacy and overall Premiership nous on the game. They were tearing us apart, we were second for everything, and what?s more, we were reacting like headless chickens to every single dangerous Villa incursion. Definitely not of Premiership standard; in the 3rd minute we were punished for our ineptitude, and deservedly so. Villa were given a free kick on the right hand side of the Brummie Road End goal, which was taken by our old mate Hitzlsperger; the bladder looped in dangerously, Houlty tried to punch, but Mellberg got there first. One-nil to ?them?, and such was the ineptitude of our rearguard for that one, I really feared a massacre.

Which, had we read the script on offer properly, would have happened ? and a series of elementary defensive mistakes shortly afterwards didn?t do a lot to alter my views. We?d been taken for Premiership mugs, just like last time, and despite the warmth and late-summer sunshine, gloom quickly descended upon The Shrine. It was all Villa, including the ?over-the-line? incident I touched upon previously, and, to be quite frank, we had more jam than Hartley?s to survive that goalmouth battering. And the referee didn?t seem to be helping; well, I ask you, on 18 minutes, a Villa foul on one of ours just outside the box, and the offending Seal kicking hell out of the recumbent Baggie ? only for the official to give a bloody bounce-up? What an almighty cop-out! But that opposition purple-patch wasn?t to last, strangely enough. Last time, an early blow like that would have completely finished us, but this was a different Albion we were looking at. The learning curve rapidly ascended by virtue of those errors, our rearguard gradually began to regain its shape, and as the half neared its end, much to my surprise, we began to take the game to them. Around 35 minutes, The Horse, set up in stylish fashion by Kanu, should have netted, but was denied by their keeper.

With around 5 minutes to go to the interval, we were given a free kick on the edge of the box, to the right hand side of the Smethwick End goal. Greening supplied the spherical ?ammo?, and up soared Clem in true Jeff Astle style, to supply the header. All square, once more; as the players trotted jubilantly back to the centre-circle, the noise from the Albion contingent was truly ear-splitting, and rightly so! Stick that in your cud and chew it, Villa!

Then, not long before the interval, a moment in which I feared Houlty was trying emulate the Saturday goalkeeping indiscretions of his illustrious custodial Albion forebear, Paul Crichton (see yesterday?s instalment for full details). The situation was similar; Hoult had the ball just outside the box, when a claret-and-spew took it upon himself to charge like an express train with an overheated boiler; fortunately, unlike his calamitous predecessor, Houlty saw the danger, but the kick, when it came, seemed to be leaving things far too late for my liking; thank goodness it fell to a man in the stripes, and, even better, we nearly scored from it as well, courtesy Kanu. That aside, the incident didn?t do anything for my poor heart, honest.

Half time, then, and it was whilst perusing the programme, I learned of the resignation from the Supporters Club Committee of long-standing member Dave Holloway. Quite shocked, I was, as well, as Dave was on the committee for some 21 years, so I quickly sought confirmation from The Man Who Knows, John Homer. Although the programme version didn?t say, apparently Dave resigned in order to concentrate on his blossoming sarnie-delivery business, although he will still be involved in taking bookings etc. for Baggies Travel. Just as well, really, because I simply couldn?t imagine ? Dave has been involved in this aspect of supporting life since around 1983 - Albion away trips without the jovial presence of Dave and his many coachloads of itinerant supporters.

Back to the football, then. It was clear O? Leary had been having ?words? with his charges at half-time, because they began the second sitting by going straight at us, but not to worry. Clem launched an almighty Exocet of a free-kick from the edge of the box not long after, and Sorenson had to utilise his flippers to their fullest extent to prevent our lad from claiming his second. Then, just after the substitution of Bernt Hass for Gera, we really should have made it game, set and match. With only Zoltan?s first touch of the ball, he found The Horse, free and wide, for once, with a lovely through pass that cut through the Villa defensive ranks like they simply weren?t there. A shame, then, that our striker, normally a dead cert for a goal given an absolute gift like that, chose to shoot wide instead.

Our visitors were becoming visibly unsettled, both on and off the pitch. Every time Albion had the ball within striking distance of the goalmouth, their defence looked rattled, and in their dug-out O?Leary was going absolutely bananas at the ineptitude of his little soldiers. You could almost read his mind: time to chuck in their ?secret weapon?, Angell, so on he came. (Thought: was the band encircling his head a device to hide the lobotomy scar, I wonder?) Not long after that, our manager also rang the changes by taking off The Horse and bringing on Dobes. If most of the first half had belonged to Villa, then an equal portion of the second had to belong to our lot; Clem (again!), Dobes, and even AJ (the miss, in true AJ style, was comical) had a crack at instant sainthood ? but it all nearly ended in tears just before the final whistle. What happened? One of theirs struck the ball in our box, but very low indeed; Houlty, being a little unsighted by the crowd of bodies there, saw it very late indeed, and had to pull out something from the very top drawer to prevent it going in. Phew!

Other thoughts? Try this one for size; how does it feel to be a supporter of the 12th best team in the country, then? Positives? We don?t collapse in a jellified heap once we go a goal down; we simply pick up the pieces and try to get it back. Good. Villa, remember, are no mugs, and they?ll be turning over sides far better than ours before the season?s finished, I?ve no doubt about that. Kanu, as ever, was superb; if only we could get the rest of the side thinking like he does, we?d be a frightening prospect to contemplate should that happen. And, should we manage to acquire the services of the legendary Dindane, or similar, before the deadline, who knows?

Greening worried me a little, though; that first half, the free-kick that led to the goal apart, he seemed to be on a different planet, although things did seem to improve after the interval. Clem did well; the equaliser was superb, and he was dead unlucky not to get another from that free kick. The rest more than played their part in getting that well-earned point in the bag, but what I really would like to see when we play Spurs next Wednesday night is our manager giving Zoltan a start. That inch-perfect pass to The Horse was worth the admission price alone, and if he could reproduce that in midweek then the London club might have reason to get very worried indeed. They managed to beat The Toon yesterday, but they aren?t world class by any means. Bring ?em on, that?s what I say!

And finally?.. Perhaps I should have told Dave Baxendale this, but it?s too late, now, isn?t it? Mind you, in view of the well-known naughty nickname nickname given by Albionites to today?s visitors, what I?m about to relate sounds like a jolly good idea to me - providing I don?t have to sample the results, of course! Did you know a much-treasured Icelandic delicacy is seal meat, well-rotted in its own urine for about six months?

Just in case you don?t fancy the idea of that one, here?s another (genuine, honest!) recipe that?s a little more palatable; very appropriate as we nearly had ?em for breakfast earlier today. Bon appetit, as they say at The Dorchester!

Baked Seal

Remove all fat from about 4 lbs. of seal. Soak for 3 hours in 3 cups hot water, 1 ? teaspoons baking soda, and 1/4 cup vinegar. Drain seal, and refrigerate overnight. Preheat oven to 300 degrees F. Roll seal in a mixture of 1 cup flour and 1 teaspoon salt.

Place in roaster with slices of fat pork or butter. Pour over the juice of 1 lemon and 1/4 cup rum. Cover and roast for 3 hours, adding water after the first hour of cooking. Make a paste of 3 tablespoons of flour and 1 or 1 ? cups cold water, stir into drippings in pan to make a gravy. (Glynisnote: Don?t forget to remove claret and blue replica shirt before eating, folks!)

 - Glynis Wright

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