The Diary

19 September 2004: Bramall Lane Revisited?

Memo to Jeremy Peace (or anyone else in a position of authority at The Hawthorns): never, NEVER allow this club to be party to publicising some Good Cause or another ever again ? because it always ends in tears. Remember the infamous Battle Of Bramall Lane, some three seasons ago? Appropriately enough, that one was sponsored by, would you believe it, The National Blood Service; this time round, we were ?celebrating? National Sportsmanship Week? A funny way of doing it, I might say; a penalty missed under very dubious circumstances indeed, some rather irritating Fulham delaying tactics prior to Earnshaw?s miss, three sendings off, ours being the iffiest of the lot, and so many bookings, after a while, I simply gave up recording ?em in my little blue notebook. Sure, you might argue that we should have put away the chances we had during that first half ? I reckon that had those gilt-edged pots at the black gone in, we would have disappeared down that tunnel come the interval around two or three goals to the good ? but, I get ahead of myself, as usual. Back to this morning.

What happened when ?Im Indoors tried to ring Virgin (yes, that ?train? saga yet again!) set the tone for our whole day, more or less. My other half had sniggered at me greatly for my attempts to get a grip on their automated voice-activated answering system, but now it was his turn, and wasn?t it doing peculiar things. The first I knew of this ? I had my nose deeply buried in the Daily Mirror at the time ? was when he bawled ?HELP!? no less than three times down the wretched mouthpiece; on the third occasion, poor old Mrs. Dingle next door must have had her chronic heart condition made almost terminal, because so loud was he, the glassware on our bookcases shook alarmingly. Even our four cats, mortified with horror, quit the scene at a rate of knots. Finally getting through, though, he asked the nice lady the 64,000 dollar question ? only to discover that Virgin had never had any intention of releasing cheap tickets for the 9.03 departure to Geordieland anyway.

Now, that was really charming news. Over the last 14 days or so, on two occasions we went around 30 miles out of our way, there and back, just to enquire at Leominster station, plus we?ve chucked heaven knows how much dosh on our phone bill ringing Virgin HQ every day, just to discover today our quest was fruitless anyway. Why the hell couldn?t they tell us that in the first place? Want to know something? Having travelled on trains in Australia, the USA, Italy, Denmark, the People?s Republic Of China, even, I?ve yet to encounter such an almighty abortion that is the railway system in the UK today. It?s almost as if the whole system has been deliberately set up to fail since privatisation; the next time you?re sitting on the motorway half-choking in traffic fumes and going absolutely nowhere, just think on ? it could have been so different had someone with a grain of common sense been in charge around ten years ago. Nationalised railways do work ? just go to Italy, or Denmark, and you?ll see. Punctual services, clean trains, appropriate amount of rolling stock, and reasonable fares. This current lot want shooting for not taking it back into public hands.

But I digress. Having got over that small setback, it was off to the jolly old ground we went, our last first-team visit for quite some time, it has to be said. Dropping me off in Halfords Lane, there was a short pause by the wayside to await the re-appearance of hubby after parking his car, and lo and behold, there he was ? with The Noise in tow, plus even taller Bag-Carrier. But who was the ?new? face with our garrulous in-car ?entertainment system? Take a bow, then, Paul Smith, who is also a newly-recruited Dick contributor. This, mind, is the bloke The Noise promised to get in touch with for a car-share to games, and has only just got around to doing it! Well done, Mart, only nearly two years late!

Programmes purchased outside, it was then into Supporters Club HQ aka The hawthorns Hotel ? and you know what? The more I see their new home, the more I think it resembles the interior of some Arabian sheikh?s harem, minus the concubines, and definitely minus the eunuchs, although The Noise nearly qualified when that stray shot hit him in a very delicate area indeed towards the end of last season! Mind you, the bloke who customarily guards the door on matchdays thinks my description a fair one; when he attended for a darts practice the other night, he was most surprised to find an Indian dance troupe going through its repertoire in that room. Close, but not that geographically close, if you get my drift.

At first, we elected to park our butts in a far corner of the room, which seemed to have a little more space than elsewhere. Ten we discovered the reason why; that area was a general thoroughfare used by the bar staff when rolling gurt big barrels of falling-down water from their store-room to the serving-area, so shift we did ? to a much more congenial spot just along the way, where we were the first time we went there, in fact. Once we?d sorted out the question of the drinks, it only remained to await the arrival of The Fart, which he did, at around one in the afternoon, and all personnel being present and correct, it was then off to the Ticket Office for me.

The aim of going by train was to avoid going by coach, my other half being extremely reluctant to travel that distance by car in one day. No reflection on any of the coach operators, be they Sauce, or Dave Holloway; both of them run a very tight ship indeed. No, the problem we have with journeys to Tyneside is the bloody Newcastle police force. Did you know that they must be the only coppers in the country these days to insist that away coaches are kept at the services just outside the city, and their departure times staged to ensure that they don?t get to the ground until about half an hour before kick-off? The last time this happened, before last season?s 2-1 midweek League Cup victory, we were lucky insofar as our charabanc was one of the first to roll up, consequently, we were at the head of the queue to get in. Even so, we only took our seats around ten minutes before the start-time. God help those at the back, especially if, like me, they needed the lift to gain access to that oxygen-deprived and altitude-sickening away end of theirs.

Returning to the present, then, it only remained to have a quick stroll along the back of the Smethwick End, where a few Fulham supporters awaited ingress, then out into Halfords Lane once more ? the dulcet tones of my other half, flogging like crazy, rang out as clear as a bell as I did so. Taking over from His Nibs (he disappeared in the general direction of the Smethwick Gates) I then resumed my normal selling duties ? and I hadn?t been there long, before I saw the first signs, almost like the first sighting of a cuckoo in Spring. Of what, did you say? Oh, yeah ? the first Japanese Baggie ? and Inamoto isn?t even in the side, as yet! One vagrant thought ? for God?s sake don?t confuse him with Yamamoto. Who?s he? A Japanese admiral, that?s who, the principal brains behind Pearl Harbor, he lost his ship during the Battle Of Midway!

As the amount of bodies began to increase around my little pitch, I was visitated, in rapid succession by Malcolm Boyden, plus small sprog, some of my Irish regulars, plus Dave Baxendale, and his young son. A special mention also to Bryn Jones, Baggies supporter and university lecturer extraordinaire, whom I hadn?t seen for ages, also Dot Lepkowska, who took some time off from her news-hounding to attend the game also. Is it me, or does she look shorter every time I clap eyes on her? Additionally, I was blessed by the appearance of what were clearly our YTS lads (or whatever they call ?em these days) lots of them, and all looking extremely smart in those sparkling-new tracksuits of theirs. Poor sods. Don?t they know that under the present regime, they have about as much chance of making it into the first team as I have of becoming Prime Minister? I think it?s about time someone put them right.

Selling went quite briskly today, and before I knew it, time to face what was coming to us. Strange, though ? no queue outside the Halfords turnstiles, despite the fact there were only ten minutes to go before the ?off?. Either most Baggies had staggered their arrival at the ground or, the more likely scenario, plenty didn?t regard this one as an attractive fixture to go and watch. And, as I made my way from the tunnel to our seats, it seemed my second guess was the correct one. The same seemed to apply to the Cottagers? faithful. This one should have been a stroll in the park, in terms of distance for them to travel, but seemingly not; at a rough guess, I would say there were only about 500 of theirs in the away end. Or was that simply a reflection of current Premiership reality? After all, travel to these games doesn?t come cheap, especially if you happen to live in London and are on a budget; their prices really have to be seen to be believed, and expecting hordes of followers at away venues is a little bit unrealistic at times. Beware, such apathy may well be coming to a football club near YOU should we perform the miracle and stay up!

As we were later than normal coming in, we hadn?t heard the team news, which is why heart failure nearly supervened when we discovered no Houlty in the side. Doo wot? It was John Homer, he of the Supporters Club that put us right; he got an attack of some sort or lurg, according to him (I?ve since found out it was gastroenteritis) which meant our Polish lad, Kuszczac, was between the sticks for the first time ever in his first team Baggies career. There were other changes following our Anfield defeat last week; as we knew already, Earnie was in for The Horse, AJ slotted into the place vacated by Bernt Hass, who had a miserable time at The Pool, also the returned Tommy G relegating Albrechtsen to the bench. Also wearing ear-defenders to keep out the incessant din coming forth from our leader were Joe Murphy, The Horse, Gera and young Lloyd Dyer. The ref? Mike Dean, of whom we were going to see an awful lot over the next 90 minutes!

Off we went, then, and not long after that, The Smethwick erupted with a giant chorus of:?Stand Up If You Love Megson.? The chorus was taken up by their Brummie brethren, and the whole thing completed with an almighty outbreak of applause for The Ginger One on the touchline. Who, realising the importance of getting something from this game, paced the technical area like a bear on ?uppers?, and fizzing volcanically, a bit like the proverbial bottle of pop just shaken and definitely not stirred. As for Chris Coleman, his opposite number, I don?t think I heard a peep out of him the entire game! Meanwhile, back on the field of play, both sides indulged in the opening ?testing? manoeuvres, and, with ten minutes gone, Fulham actually managed to get the ball into the back of our net. Luckily, the effort was deemed offside by the man in black. Much more worrying, though, was the reaction of our custodial new-bug who fumbled and then spilled the ball, letting it slide underneath his body for the one that didn?t count. Just as well, really.

With only 16 minute on the clock, there was another scare; this time Kuszczac (bet he never gets booked often!) did extremely well to belt the ball right off the line for a Fulham corner, which came to nothing, fortunately. I have to say that at that moment, we looked, defensively, very naive indeed. It was just two minutes after that we were given a gilt-edged chance to go into the lead. The offenders, should you wish to see it that way, were Earnshaw, with a header, and Kanu, who only needed a tap-in to send it running home to its mum, but somehow, his effort was also deflected away by their keeper, Van Der Saar, for a Baggies corner, from which we almost netted also. You lucky people, Fulham, but sadly, in this division, ?almost? isn?t good enough.

Although it seemed we were getting the upper hand, we were very mindful that when Fulham did break, they really looked dangerous, and our rearguard had to be on their toes to nullify the problem. Them with around 22 minutes on the clock, something totally unexpected. Paul Robinson came off worst from a challenge on the left, for which he needed lengthy treatment on the touchline; at one point, I saw Nick Worth make the sign indicating he had to go off, but for whatever reason, he was left to soldier on. Not for long, though; he?d only been back to the fray a matter of minutes when the bench decided enough was enough and he was replaced by Albrechtsen, on around 25 minutes. And, about a minute later, Lady Luck smiled upon us once more. A Fulham incursion that left our lad for dead, this left their bloke with oodles of space and in the danger area to boot ? just as well the shot went wide, wasn?t it?

Then, with two thirds of the half gone, that rare Premiership bird for our favourite football club ? a penalty! The culprit was Volst, who handled Earnshaw?s header in the box, and with the ref and everyone watching, as well. The ref pointing to the spot was the signal for some of the most cynical delaying-tactics I?ve seen in years. Loads of Fulham players surrounded the referee, jostling, arguing, in true Alex Ferguson-approved manner; what with that, it was a good four or five minutes before everything was squared away. Why the hell he allowed the Fulham players to intimidate him like that, instead of booking, or even more daringly, giving the worst offender(s) an early bath, ask me one on nuclear physics! Any road up, to the spot strode Earnie ? and this is where the mystery begins, folks. Long have I scoured all the medical literature, and nowhere does it make mention of a mysterious affliction that only affects the sight of linos at the precise moment a spot-kick is taken. At least that was the conclusion I came to when Earnie took the kick; the Fulham keeper was way, way off his line when the dirty deed was done, and how the hell the man with the flag failed to see this, I?ll never know. Even Fulham head honcho Chris Coleman admitted his keeper was breaking the rules after the game, so why nothing was done about it is a mystery. Predictably, Earnie?s shot would have done the sport of rugger a big favour, so high over the bar did it sail come the moment of truth. Was he trying to get the shot over the keeper?s illegally-positioned body, I wondered.

After that farcical few minutes, Fulham nearly rubbed salt into the Albion wound when they went close, but Kanu and Clem could also have got off the mark for our finest. Which brought us neatly to the interval, and the end of a half we should have had the London club firmly gift-wrapped, and its head on a plate for the delectation of the Brummie; no good blaming Fulham?s dubious delaying tactics, or their tendency to drop as if shot every time a man in the stripes went in hard; it should never have got to that stage. In this division, you?ve got to take your chances, purely and simply because you don?t get all that many during the course of a game. Unsurprisingly, something told me we were going to pay for all that laxity in front of goal, and elsewhere, and I wasn?t far short of the truth, as things turned out.

Come the second portion, then, and almost immediately, what seemed to be an absolute disaster at the time. As I saw it, Albrechtsen and our Polish custodian went for the same ball in front of goal, and only succeeded in knackering each other. Nick Worth ran on once more ? if he was on piece-work today, I bet he was rubbing his hands with glee! ? Albrechtsen surfaced eventually, but not so the lad with the tongue-twisting monicker; at one point, I saw Murph get stripped and ready for action, but his services were not required, fortunately; the laying on of hands worked the expected miracle.

With around 15 minutes of the half gone, the visitors decided to change things, bringing on a certain gentleman who goes by the name of Radzinski. Regular Baggies-watchers will know the name; he was the lad who did the damage against us two seasons ago, versus Everton away. Nothing to do with him this time round, but it was about this stage of the game that things began to get very interesting indeed.

With about 20 minutes gone, Fulham seemingly committed suicide. What happened? Their lad Bomba Diop, bless his mightily-swung hand, was shown the way to the tunnel for shoving poor Darren Purse in the face. Trouble was, as the replay on Sky subsequently showed, he didn?t leave the field of play, as the rules demand, but simply shifted his carcass to the seats behind the dug-outs instead. Should he have been allowed to do that? Any referees out there ? any thoughts on that? Interesting, though; later in the half, he?d relocated to the mouth of the tunnel, whether at the instigation of the fourth official or that of his gaffer, I don?t know. In any case, I?ve got the idea it?s still verboten, according to the laws of the game.

Theoretically, that reduction to ten should have made our lives much easier, but as the words of the song say, ?It Ain?t Necessarily So?. Not long after that, our leader decided to pull off AJ, and stick Dyer on; precisely the same move I?d wanted to see ever since the dismissal. Get Lloydie to run at them on the left was my theory; with a man short, they?d have their hands full stopping him, which might have worked had we opened out the play sufficiently on both channels ? but we didn?t. Fulham were still allowed to get much too close to our goal for comfort, and Kuszczak had to be on his toes to pull off a truly reflex save from a Fulham?s Pearce. Once more, the warning bell was sounding in sonorous tones, and we still didn?t heed it. No surprise, then, with about 20 minutes left on the clock, Fulham shifted out of defence very sharpish to clobber us on the break. Andy Cole was the perpetrator of the damage, firing home from a left-wing cross; the away end erupted, predictably enough, while, in the Brummie and Smethwick, a pall of abject despair descended on both places. Smash and grab tactics, pure and simple; our fault for not clobbering them when we should have done.

Following that setback, we made another subbing, our last, The Mighty Zoltan replacing fellow sub Albrechtsen. A sub subbed, in short. Not long after that, the visitors almost doubled their lead, when one of theirs headed just over the bar from a corner. With us now chasing the game, we were always vulnerable, and it was because of a Fulham raid what happened next came to pass. The sequence of events was this; Fulham broke away following an Albion corner that broke down, Boa Constrictor had the ball, and was, to all intents and purposes, away with the fairies, and steaming like crazy for our rigging, with both Clem and Lloyd Dyer in hot pursuit. Clem caught up with him, and seemingly clipped his heels; close by was Lloydie. A palpable foul, but was our defender the last man, and worthy of an early bath? Mike Dean ruled ?yes?, and Clem walked, but having seen the replay tonight, as the Scots would say, ?I hae ma doots.? At the vital moment Lloydie appeared to be in front of Clem, therefore our lad was certainly not the last man, and should never have had the ?red?. There you go; I told you this was a game with a difference, didn?t I?

That should have been it, but it wasn?t. Just moments after Clem left the scene of the crime, Fulham?s Cole also walked, this time for some unauthorised fisticuffs at a moment when tempers were running high. That was the cue for absolute chaos on the box; once more, the Fulham players surrounded the ref, and at one stage, it seemed as though more than one Cottager had gone to ground by order of the ref ? but no, they were only getting orders from their gaffer. Even so, we in our part of the Halfords all had to undertake a rapid count of the players still on the pitch to ascertain precisely what had happened. And here was me thinking The Battle Of Bramall Lane was just a one-off!

Cheered up enormously by the additional dismissal, we then pressed for an equaliser, and with but a few minutes remaining on the clock, we struck oil ? or Kanu did, with a header, from an Albion corner. Phew! After that, we tried to grab the winner, but it simply didn?t happen. In the end, we had to settle for the draw, but it could, and should, have had a much happier ending to this particularly fraught encounter. Two things to blame; firstly, our inability to put the ball into the back of the net, which cost us today, and secondly, the standard of the refereeing on offer. Sure blaming the ref?s a facile thing to do, but in this case, I think there?s considerable justification for doing so. There was no way on God?s earth Van Der Sar was positioned legally for that penalty; had the lino not been so dozy, we might well have been given a second pot at the prize. Would we have buried it, had that happened? Ooooooh, tricky one, that!

Today?s game was most certainly two points dropped; the idea of draw after draw is amusing, but highly impractical, as single solitary points will surely ?point? us to one of the relegation places come May. Already, the table looks like grim reading; of all the promoted clubs, all three now occupy the drop zone, and, curiously enough, in the precise order in which they were promoted! Saving today?s game might have saved Meggo?s bacon, but should a win fail to materialise over the next 7 days, then I feel his position will be made even more precarious than it is now. It?s for this reason I strongly suspect we?ll have to take very seriously indeed the Colchester game next Tuesday night, which will be a relief to most followers, no doubt, as it?s a bloody long way to that part of Essex. No fun at all to journey that far, only to discover we?ve put out a reserve team, or its close equivalent, and certainly not fair on those who give up precious work time off to make the trip. Lets hope we come away from that one with a smile on our faces, because the way things are shaping up in the Prem right now, such bonhomie might have to last us an awfully long time.

And Finally?.. Fed up of reading about the so-called Peace-Megson spat? Well, former Baggie Don Goodman reckoned he had the very answer to such fractious behaviour in his column the other night ? reviving the old Bobby Gould tradition of settling such disputes with the aid of a judiciously-wielded set of boxing gloves! He should know; it was while he was at the club that then-manager Barmy Bobby Gould offered striker Colin West ?outside? ? one blow from Westie, and Gouldy was floored; he then dusted himself off, then announced, ?Well, that?s settled that, then!?

Trouble is, though, should this way of sorting things be seriously contemplated, there is an awful lot of difference between our leader and Jeremy Peace; the latter is tall, and has a longer ?reach? probably, but on the other hand Old Ginger Nut is half the size, as fit as dammit, and as tough as old boots soaked in surgical spirits overnight. Who would end up on the canvas first, I wonder? Come to think about it, the Commercial Department might be missing a trick, here. Why not publicise the dispute as a pukka boxing bout, fix an admission fee, and get Terry Marsh to promote it? The sight of both of them engaging in fisticuffs on the Hawthorn swarth wouldn?t half pack ?em in, and might well get more money into club coffers than even our esteemed chairman could envisage in his wildest dreams!

 - Glynis Wright

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