The Diary

30 August 2004: We're Soft, Meggo Says - And He's Right!

Picked yourselves off the floor yet/had all the necessary treatment required? Good ? now I?ll carry on. Yep, we were ?soft? as he put it, and yes, we were abysmal when defending our set-pieces. The goal right at the start was a real sucker-punch ? after all, the bloke who scored is only two inches taller than me dripping wet, for heaven?s sake, and I?m only five foot three, similarly attired ? so where was our defence as Leon Osman buffered up his fingernails, ran a comb through his hair, then proceeded to nut in the bladder with nary a Baggie to hinder him in his task? Despite all that lack of size, he wasn?t exactly the Invisible Man, so where were our back four, then? Getting some much needed zeds? As for the second strike ? sure, the Evertonian lad did make a meal of it by going down as though blasted with an elephant gun, but that?s no excuse - what the hell did Clem think he was doing remaining on the goal-line for that free-kick knowing the strong likelihood of bringing any predatory Toffees onside? Dearie, dearie me.

Also abysmal was our worrying inability to win the ball; as I observed yesterday, we were second to everything at times; challenges, tackles, goalmouth crosses, even. The half-time tea, quite probably, if truth were known. Nice of Meggo to agree with me afterwards, though! Had the conditions been more propitious for them, Everton could have quite easily increased their ?goals for? tally by a couple more before the final whistle. Last season, we took great delight in taking lesser outfits for suckers in similar fashion to yesterday, so it?s a trifle embarrassing, to say the least, seeing it done to us and baggy no returns this time round. Not what you?d expect from a side sincerely wanting to remain in this division for longer than a year, is it?

Oh dear. Will he or won?t he? After all the rumour and false rumour of yesterday, the Earnshaw saga still rumbles on, so despite being seemingly immersed in more talks over a longer period than the late Henry Kissinger ever did, Jeremy Peace still hasn?t secured his services for posterity. Another slightly-alarming development today was the news item on Ceeefax that Everton, seeking a replacement for their now-peripatetic wunderkind, were reputedly wanting to talk turkey with Earnie?s representatives about coming to Merseyside instead.

?Don?t worry,? muttered ?Im Indoors, when I saw what flashed up on our screen late this afternoon, ?It?s only his agent trying to stir things up for their client??

Yes, my beloved, I?m well aware of that; even without the lad Rooney, Everton still have more world-class players than they can shake a stick at, so why bother getting someone in from the Championship, or whatever they call it these days, and totally bereft of Premiership experience, to boot? The problem with me is, not possessing a demeanour that can remain icy-calm whatever the circumstances, I can?t help but keep getting this horrible vision of young Earnie suddenly forsaking our blandishments for those of the Goodison Park wallahs. Sure, I know we?re allegedly trying to get Dindane, still, and the word on the streets now is he?s so frigged off with what Anderlecht are doing ? the lad desperately wants to leave the club and come to the UK, but being stubborn, they won?t give their blessing to the union ? he?s now adamantly refused to either train or play for them, but if the Belgian club won?t relax their intransigent stance one iota, then we?re up Excrement Creek without a paddle. Why? Our major problem thus far has been goalscoring, which wouldn?t matter one bit had we a defence of Alcatraz lock-down proportions to match, but yesterday?s caper proved beyond all reasonable doubt we ain?t. We?ve now lost Tommy Gaardsoe through ligament damage, the full extent of which has yet to be properly determined, which could further exacerbate the problem should the news be bad. Should we be left totally bereft of suitable reinforcement up front until January, at least, I really can?t help but shudder.

By the time today?s instalment hits cyberspace, there will be only 48 hours until the deadline. Sure, I know what sort of dirty tricks agents can pull to concentrate the minds of potential buyers wonderfully, and this little snippet of news is probably one of them, but I?m a Baggie of long-standing, and therefore heartache is my other name. My head is telling me it?s all tommyrot and everything will come out OK in the end, but my subconscious is telling me something quite different. Help!

While not chewing fingernails to the knuckle over the Earnshaw business, we Dick Eds have been rather busy this afternoon putting together the finishing touches to our second issue of the season. Before we started, though, some heavy-duty noshing was needed, so we shifted ourselves to a nearby gastro-pub to fill up the tank. This particular establishment specialises in fish dishes, which I absolutely adore, but as ?Im Indoors is highly allergic to seafood, discretion was required on the part of this column. In the end, I had the Sunday roast, while my other half went for the ploughman?s lunch, but the best bit was the vicar, still clad in his ?overalls?, who took the next table to ours while we were waiting for our nosh. Quite a blow for me, as my conversation is habitually peppered with the kind of words you wouldn?t want a man of the cloth to hear, especially approximately 24 hours after an Albion defeat! It reminded me an awful lot of the time when we were in Oz, and the travel people in England had mistakenly booked us into a monastery for one night. (Oz-note: New Norcia, near Perth, cobbers!) As we ate all our meals in the presence of these holy gentlemen, one had to be awfully careful of what one said at table! The minute we left, the following morning, once safely past those gates, I then amused my other half enormously by letting rip with just about every cuss-word I knew!

That?s me on a break from Diary-producing for a bit, then, unless there?s some hitherto-unexpected development in the still-continuing transfer sagas currently bubbling away. Should that happen, I may well be back in scribing mode once more. I?m sure you don?t want to hear what happens when we go in search of footie tomorrow, on the Conference trail with Hereford United. Should everything go to plan Albion-wise, though, I?ll next be entering cyberspace the day before the Liverpool game, unless we decide to delay heading from our holiday home, in which case it?ll be after the game, but whatever we decide to do, until then, ciaou!

And Finally?.. One. Just when you thought it was safe to forget about former Albion walking disaster Paul Crichton?.. (Thanks to the Hereford United people for the info, by the way.) In the Conference, yesterday, part-time Gravesend and Northfleet walloped full-timers and recent Football League members York City to the tune of 4-0, but that wasn?t the half of it. As if the four nil drubbing (and it could easily have seven, according to my chums) wasn?t enough, there was also what they coyly term ?a dispute? between York City goalkeeper Paul Crichton and his own fans, resulting in the police and stewards ejecting two people, and Crichton being spoken to by the referee on the advice of Police and the club safety officer! Oh, whoops. As he?s there on a non-contract basis only, something tells me a certain somebody will be picking up his P45 from Bootham Crescent ere too many moons have risen and set. And just as quickly dropping it? Ooooh, too cruel for words ? but probably true.

Two. Whatever you do, don?t try this at home! More details today about the Icelandic match I told you about in a previous instalment. It wasn?t a League game, as I?d thought, but a UEFA Cup clash; Akranes against Hammarby I F of Stockholm. Even so, the general scene was much as described, with the slight exception of those bathing away supporters at half-time. Yes, they did jump into the briny during the interval, and yes, the temperature was in the region of 6-8 degrees Centigrade ? but what Dave didn?t make clear until now was the fact that all these hardy Nordic chappies did their swimming totally in the nuddy! EEK!

 - Glynis Wright

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