The Diary

24 October 2004: Selhurst Park - Defending The Indefensible?

I had a talk with a man in a pub today. Not a very big man, about my size, and bald with it, but he didn?t half have a lot to say. Said we were printing too much anti-Megson stuff in the Dick, he said, and his fellow-Baggies were becoming fed up with it. Very agitated he was, too, and it took pretty much all of The Fart?s diplomatic skills to smooth things over once more. That conversation took place around half-one this afternoon, as we were leaving the Alliance pub ? ironic name, really, considering the circumstances ? about 15 minutes from the ground, but after today?s spineless, gutless, useless, lily-livered, pusillanimous performance, I wouldn?t half like to meet up with the guy again. As far as I?m concerned, this afternoon he was defending the indefensible, no two ways about it.

Having been a follower for so many years, I?ve had more than my fair share of embarrassment along the way ? Queens Park Rangers in 1967 is one, and Woking and Bristol Rovers in 1991are other examples that readily spring to mind ? but the top and bottom of today?s little episode was we were so dire, we really made Palace, everyone?s favourites to go down at the start of hostilities, look like world beaters ? which they most certainly ain?t. And, don?t forget, their Premiership game plan, even at Selhurst Park, consists mainly of playing only one up front, a certain Andy Johnson. How effective it proved, as well. We were mugged.

More on that subject later, but let?s kick off first of all with what transpired on the outward journey. As those who have travelled to Selhurst Park before will know, it?s a mind-numbingly boring 150-plus miles or so to the metropolis, round the M25, and turning off not far from Gatwick Airport, so the conversation on the way down flowed thick and fast in the Dickmobile. And what an eclectic range of subjects we covered; first off, Courtesy of The Noise, we had a heavy-duty barrage apropos of Wedgwoods? current working practises with particular reference to their shift system, plus the happy news ? the only bit of the day as it turned out ? that our garrulous chum was also in with a pretty good shout of a promotion at work. I can?t say I was surprised; as far as verbal skills are concerned, there?s no-one can come anywhere near him. As we were to find out much later. Presumably, his gaffers feel it?s the only way of shutting him up!

The conversation ? don?t ask me how, by the way; those things just seem to come about by free association, almost ? then turned to ticket pricing in the Prem, and how exorbitantly expensive it was compared to, say, the Spanish League, Serie A, or The Bundesliega. Then, the Noise compared the cost of football to other major events, such as pop concerts, the theatre, and so forth; sure, prices could be as high as watching the Baggies, sometimes, but at least with the theatre, or a pop concert, you had a pretty good idea of what standard of fare you?d be getting before you went. And got what it said on the tin. As far as football was concerned, often, it was a lottery what sort of game you got for your money.

Consensus was reached by all the occupants eventually, and it boiled down to this: could we afford to go on travelling to absolutely every away game next season? The cheeky ?45 admin charge for away season tickets this term was a bit of an imposition, and would certainly discourage us four from renewing next season ? and, assuming we were still in the same division next time round, which was a pretty big ask, the long journey to Selhurst would be one of the first to bite the dust. For one thing, getting time off work was proving increasingly hard for The Noise, not to mention the effect going to distant away games had on his family life. And, should any games be featured live on the box next season, again, we were now ready to vote with our feet. As far as we were concerned, regular away supporters like ourselves should be rewarded for our dedication, not taken for mugs time and time again. And what about entire families who supported The Baggies and liked to go to away games? Today?s admission cost us ?35 quid; take the standard British family of 2.4 kids, and what with fares and the like, the cost soon mounts up.

The latest little moneymaking stunt, of course, is the one concerning the so-called ?exclusive? white Albion strip; only 5,000 made, they say. I?d word it differently. ?We. Can. See You. Coming.?, I say. As The Noise said, there?s going to be some pretty radical decisions made this close season by all of us Dick Eds; it?s all down to available income and our priorities. The way prices are, something will have to give. If we?re simultaneously feeling the pinch, plus an increasing unwillingness to participate in this particular financial game, then you can bet your sweet bippee that loads of other Baggies, many worse off than us, are saying exactly the same things. It?s coming rapidly to the point where the law of diminishing returns start to apply, and our football club should take heed. The goose that laid the golden egg is in mortal danger; the trouble is, those in the game and running it are too mindful of the many pound signs glittering before their eyes to notice what?s right at the end of their nose if they take the trouble to actually look.

Following that sobering discourse, we then discussed what we?d done during the week. Tel actually jogged into Brum from his house the other day ? a distance of about 3 miles in case you wondered. Not bad going for a bloke of 71, is it? We then had a discussion about personal ambitions. I kicked it off by saying I?d achieved some lifetime ambitions, such as seeing Venice and Pompeii (both with the Albion, incidentally; see, the Anglo-Italian was good for something after all!), also walking on the Great Wall of China, and visiting Ayers Rock. The Fart?s ambition? Simple. ?To live another day!? said our Ancient Mariner in reply.

At least the great wealth of conversational material meant that the time went very quickly indeed. By twelve midday, we were entering the outskirts of Croydon, which was where we began to hit the traffic. Bloody awful it is in those there parts; the upshot of the congestion was, it was a good fifty minutes before we finally parked up about five minutes from the ground proper. Never mind, chance to wet one?s whistle in the Alliance pub I mentioned in my opening piece, so off we went. On arrival, the place was practically devoid of bodies, be they Eagle or Throstle, but that didn?t last very long. Quite an atmospheric place in which to wet one?s whistle, actually; very pleasant in a ?brass ornament? way, I suppose. There were even musical instruments, trombones, cornets, that sort of thing, hanging from the ceiling. The windows were faux leaden, sort of, with huge potted plants adorning several. On the walls hung water colours, very restful, showing pastoral scenes and, on the way to the toilets, wooden panelling that put me very much in mind of the assembly hall in one of my former schools. We just parked our bums on the wooden seats that ran the entire perimeter of the bar.

Also, while we were in there an interesting snippet that does have a bearing, albeit very indirect, upon what subsequently happened on the field of play. According to the tale, before the start of the current season, Everton?s David Moyes got his backroom staff together to discuss the reasons for their woeful lack of form last season. One of his first questions to them was a request for them to let him know what had changed between the season before last, when they?d been pretty successful, and last time round, when they?d struggled. Their reply? ?What?s changed? You have, gaffer!?

I?m finding it extremely difficult to visualise our leader conducting such a soul-searching session with his own minions, never mind actually acting upon what he?d been told in all honesty! Can you? Oh ? and one other thing while we were in the pub; I casually made mention of my sister?s cruise being curtailed when their ship was in collision with a Greek oil tanker just outside Gibraltar ? and it turned out The Noise had a workmate who was on the same ship, and was showing incredible pictures of the collision to all and sundry at The Noise?s place of labour! Kelvin Pearson, his name was, and I just can?t wait to find out whether or not Martin?s Stokie chum found a willing conversational victim in my sister and her other half!

Come half-one, selling beckoned, so we prepared to take our leave. And were then slightly delayed by the supporter I mentioned previously, so after that little lot, our collective mood was about as leaden as the sky above us as we made our way towards the away end. Strange, isn?t it? Last night, the forecasters promised sunny spells for the London area. Got it wrong at bit, didn?t we, chaps? On arrival at our normal ?pitch? it started to chuck it down. The precipitation didn?t dampen the ardour of the Palace fanzine seller, though. ?Sideo? is the nickname, apparently; very well known among Selhurst regulars, with massive sideburns that truly have to be seen to be believed, it?s perceived to be good luck to purchase a fanzine from him. All I can say to that one is, ?What went wrong, then??

As the crowd outside the ground increased, so did the sales, albeit in a soggy sort of fashion. The thing was, what with the lack of atmosphere, and the fact Palace were old Nationwide adversaries, it just didn?t feel like a Premiership game. Oh ? and another thought. For the price of today?s admission, ?35, you could, if you wanted, subscribe to The Dick until May 2008. And our fame had spread. ?You?re late this year!? said the ?proper? programme seller, ?You?re usually here by now!? Meanwhile, the news from Carrow Road was encouraging. Everton were 2-0 up versus Norwich, according to Harold Salt?s grandson, and former Baggie Kilbane getting the first.

And then, a very pleasant surprise. Pleasant, because we?d been led to expect he wouldn?t make the game at all. I?m referring to our old chum Chris Hartle, who was struck down by lung cancer a year or so ago. When he?d rang us the other evening, he?d said he had to stay in hospital overnight because they wanted to transfuse a couple of units of blood; he also mentioned that the chemotherapy he was having had resulted in the complete loss of his hair, poor sod. So we weren?t really expecting to see him at all. But what totally amazed me was the fact that when he arrived, the first thing he did was to enquire about MY health! Chris truly is a remarkable bloke; he was as fit as a fiddle, never smoked in his life, drank in moderation, always had very strong Christian beliefs, is about ten years younger than me ? then gets a loathsome disease like that. Yes, life can really be unfair at times. Chris tells us he?s in need of a baseball cap, an Albion one, naturally, to hide the ? er ? ?evidence?, so what I?ll do is pop up to the ground next week and get him one. It?s the least I can do, really.

Then what? Oh, yes - the News Of The World reporter. A likeable sort of chap, considering the type of paper he works for, really, not a tit or bum in sight; we?ve spoken to him before, actually, outside Watford?s ground, if my memory serves me correctly. Only one thing to do, then, point the bloke in the direction of The Noise; as I said to him, I ?d personally guarantee a whole load of quotes in that little notebook of his ? provided he could spare a day or two, of course! Interesting, also, to see Palace?s programme sellers take advantage of their new high-tech stock replenishment system ? a wheeled luggage trolley! Well it was light-years in advance of their previous method of programme delivery, a ?borrowed? supermarket trolley, ?loaned?, presumably from the nearby Sainsbury store! Mind you, they seem to have shifted upmarket all round; thanks to their new-found Prem status, they now boast a multitude of road signs pointing the way to the ground all around Croydon and its environs, not to mention brand-new signs above the away end. Coo, who flashed the cash, then?

Well done also to all those generous Baggies who gave us a stonking 34 donations to the Dovedale Day Care Centre fund. Tremendous, it really was. At this rate, we?ll end up owning the bloody place, never mind funding various goodies for the patients! By about twnetly to three, we?d flogged the vast majority of our stock, and the heavens had opened once more, so we called a halt to our entrepreneurial operations and entered the ground instead. Palace is an anachronism, make no bones about it, and more so now they?re in the Prem. An ancient away end, wooden seats with dreadful views of the action, and a very low rake indeed, which meant this column had to stand up the entire game. That?s why I was limping rather badly come the final whistle. I have to say it?s the first time I?ve ever paid thirty five quid to stand up, never mind get absolutely drenched outside. It really is a bloody joke.

The game? Perhaps those of a nervous disposition should look away now? As far as the starting line-up went, that was Houlty, Gaardsoe, Big Dave, Albrechtson, Haas, Gera, Scimeca, AJ, Robinson, Kanu and Earnshaw. Subs? Kuszczac, Hulse, Inamoto, The Horse and Greening. So, Earnshaw was in and The Horse most certainly out. And no Koumas? No place for Greening, one of our better performers last Saturday? Something funny going on there, I could feel it in me water.

Strange, though ? as we entered the arena, instead of wearing the all-white kit, as promised in the local media, we were in the usual blue and white stripes. So what happened there, I wonder? Not that it matters; events would push that small trifle to the back of everyone?s minds with a very few minutes. Palace set out their stall very quickly by looking extremely dangerous indeed in the box; for whatever reason, our response to the threat appeared very laboured indeed. Houlty had to be pretty nifty to keep them out on one occasion; the warning signs were there for all to see. And we duly paid the penalty; with only 9 minutes gone, the chap they call Fitz Hall put away Palace?s first, courtesy of a ?free header? pretty much. The cross came from perpetual nuisance Routledge. What I want to know is where was the bloody marking, then? It seemed to me you could have parked a forty-ton juggernaut in the space between their bloke and the nearest Albion defender. Not good enough, by a long chalk, Albion.

Just two minutes later, we did get a chance to redeem the situation, the header, from close range indeed, going just over the bar, but the overall ebb and flow of the game was definitely to Palace?s advantage; with just 13 minutes on the clock, yet another Palace corner. Our defence seemed at a complete and total loss as to what to do to negate the threat ? in fact, the tendency was to resemble headless chickens every time Palace got near our box. This had its inevitable result, although at the time, I couldn?t, for the life of me, see why the ref pointed to the spot ? later, I discovered Albrechtson was adjudged to have pushed a Palace-ite in the danger-zone, and was duly booked for his pains also. Up stepped ?their? Andy Johnson to take the spot-kick, and in complete contrast to Robert Earnshaw?s clanger against Fulham the other week, put it away, no messing. 2-0 in arrears, and we were getting what we deserved. A drubbing.

Not surprising, really; as I commented to The Noise standing next door to me, the shambles out there was highly reminiscent of a bunch of eleven total strangers thrown together by chance, not a group of professional athletes that trained together on a regular basis. Two goals down, to a side only using one bloke up font ? and a midget, at that? As I said, something wasn?t right somewhere ? and it showed. Time and time again, we were being carved wide open by the opposition, who must have thought it was Christmas, their birthday and New Year rolled into one. Suddenly, our supporters were positively pleading with Megson to change it; as far as theirs were concerned, they were taking the pee, cheering every Palace pass, revelling in their unexpected superiority. Embarrassing? What do you think?

And, with 28 minutes or so gone, he did finally ?change something?. Off went Albrechtson, and on came Greening. Fair play to Palace; their football was neat, incisive and faster than excrement on castors, with penalty king Andy Johnson extremely unlucky not to further add to his tally that half. As far as we were concerned, we were everything Palace were not. Slow build ups, a midfield with the turning circle of a prehistoric mammoth, and about as mobile, and a strikeforce that could only punt and hope at best. And miss, woefully at times. Even that most vocal of critics in normal times, The Noise, was reduced to total silence ? and that said it all, as far as I was concerned.

As I saw it, there were at least three players out there who had to really look at themselves and ask whether they?d made a telling contribution to the game. Kanu, who seemed more intent on arguing with his fellow players rather than concentrating on the job in hand, AJ ? ?nuff said ? and Bernt Hass. Or was it simply they just couldn?t be arsed? Not only that, even when we were defending free-kicks near the box, everyone was pulled back as well. Two goals down, and not taking a few risks in order to try and pick up some crumbs created by the ball whanging out of their box? Cop Palace on the break, stretch them a little, and it might have been an entirely different kettle of fish.

The dying stages of the half brought yet more chances for The Eagles to increase the score; one in particular, was down to big Dave; he made a total mullock of the clearance, and the ball landed right at the feet of one of theirs; just as well Houlty managed to tip the bloody thing over the bar, wasn?t it? Not long after that, the referee blew for the interval, which must have come as something of a relief to our lot, who had been under constant bombardment almost from the kick ?off. No surprise, also, to learn that our lot were booed by their own supporters as they trooped dejectedly down the tunnel.

And, as the half-time music swelled around the arena, of one thing we were certain; should the result stay the same way, Megson was well and truly out. As I said earlier, how can you defend the totally-indefensible? Still, hope sprang eternal; Palace had thrown away a lead twice in the last six, and we hadn?t come from beh8ind in the last six. Time for the percentages to finally turn, perhaps? On the other hand, defeat for us today would mean six away on the bounce, counting Colchester. In all, we?d lost 7 of our last eight away, Blackburn being the odd one out. Being 2-0 in arrears to a side that had struggled to score in the Prem wasn?t very funny; even so, ?their? AJ had still managed to pop no les than six in the old onion-bag thus far this season.

Come the second half, then ? and come the mother of all misses. The man responsible was Earnshaw, and from a distance of only six yards, as I saw it. Even my 83 year-old stepmother could have scored from that distance. Follow up, in case of a possible rebound? What do you want ? jam on it? Following that almighty clanger, no surprise to see Palace add to their lead once more. Once again, the perpetrator of the damage was Andy Johnson, who went through our rearguard like a dose of salts, looked up, combed his hair for the cameras, waved to his mum in the stand (or so it seemed, so ineffectual were our attempts to stop him), then drove the ball well and truly past Houlty. Three-nil and out. Megson, that is.

Just like the first cuckoo of spring, that strike brought forth the first genuinely-passionate cries of ?Megson Out? I?d heard thus far this season. The Palace supporters, for their part, simply enquired as to whether we were ?Brighton in disguise?. What a bloody awful day, and it was to get worse ? even the Dingles were winning. As for The Fart, there seemed to be steam clouds in quantity issuing forth from his lugholes. At this rate, and knowing his passion for housework to assuage his feelings after an Albion defeat, he was going to end up with a very clean house indeed.

And things weren?t exactly improving out there; still, we insisted upon those slow, ponderous build-ups; as I commented to The Noise, by the time we?d managed to actually register a shot on goal, we?d have it dark. Contrast that with Palace, who were rapaciously fast on the break, and posed a constant threat every time they had the ball. With around 25 minutes of the second half gone, Robinson ended up in the book. A strange one, that, as he?d seemed to play the ball and not the man. Mind you, I wasn?t really caring by that stage. I was more concerned about the almighty argument that seemed to be developing in the seats immediately in front of us. One of the participants reckoned we owed our manager something for him getting us out of a mess and into the Prem, twice, while the other guy was equally adamant he simply had to go. And very ugly the exchanges became, too. A microcosm of the arguments we?ve been hearing for ages, in fact.

As the game neared its end, it seemed to me we were simply going through the motions, which is precisely what you do when surrounded by shite. We were well-beaten, and we knew it. And, just to add insult to injury, Palace nearly made it four just before the end. Come the final whistle, the joy was plain to see on Palace faces; in stark contrast, ours were loudly booed off the pitch. Cries of ?Megson Out!? as well. After that wretched showing, the end can?t be too far away.

Back in The Dickmobile, the post-match discussion was entertaining. As The Noise commented, ?Five years we?ve wanted stability. Now we?ve got stability, we want a change!? Were those players deliberately trying to get our leader his P45 today? It certainly looked like it from where I was standing; this, remember, was a side that got three well-deserved points from Bolton, who were in the top four at the time. No mugs, they. A few questions spring to mind. Can anybody explain to me why we started with a 3-5-2 and a midfield of Scimeca, Johnson and Gera? Why was Greening on the bench and not on the park? Why did we have no less than two strikers sitting on their fat patooie when they could have been better utilised getting us out of a very big hole? Where was Koumas, and why didn?t Inamoto come on when the game was collapsing around our ears?

Later still, on Radio Five, we heard a very curious post-match statement from our leader. Because the training session earlier in the week had gone badly, Megson gave them Wednesday off and then cancelled training on Thursday because nobody was interested! Not much on Friday, either, according to the broadcast. A very strange business all round, it would seem. Couldn?t get his players to train? So, what happened to The Great Disciplinarian And Motivator, then? The last time I heard a manager make comments like that on-air was when Brian Little effectively sacked himself, following a three-nil home defeat versus Blues. It doesn?t need me to mention who took his place, of course. Are we seeing the same process, I wonder?

And another thing. Megson, in his interview, said, somewhat curiously, "Most of our players are unproven at Premiership level ?..? Now hang on a cotton-pickin? minute, there! Hoult, Scimeca, Robinson, Moore, Johnson, Haas, Kanu, Greening, Horsfield, and last, but not least, Inamoto, all have experience of the Prem.. Pick the brains out of that lot, then. One other thought has occurred to me, though, and it?s something we discussed earlier in the week, also in the Dickmobile on the way back. There might be a way for Megson to go with his pride intact ? and I think it?s pretty much inevitable, now, that he?s headed for the rockpile. If our chairman came to a diplomatic 'agreement' with another Championship club, say, wanting a manager with a proven record of getting clubs out of that division, then honour would be satisfied all round. Megson wouldn't lose face, and could 'resign' with dignity intact, he could take the vacant post, we'd be able to move for a new face at the helm, and everyone would be happy, more or less.

Everything I?ve had to say about our manager is on record, and can be seen on the Boing website; twelve or more months ago, I was covering precisely the same ground as we do tonight, and getting naught save rudeness, insults and threats for my pains. And grief from a certain local radio station. As The Noise once remarked, ?There is none so blind as they that will not see.? As I said then, Megson has taken us as far as he can, and is clearly incapable of taking us to the next stage of evolution, both managerial, and as a football club. It?s tragic he has such a blind spot, which mainly centres around basic man-management; you cannot treat intelligent people, and sensitive with it, like mere cannon-fodder. Top-flight players simply won?t stand for it these days, and now Megson?s chickens have clearly come home to roost. My only surprise is it hasn?t happened much sooner. A shame, though, because had he been able to surmount these problems, he would have been one of Albion?s all-time great gaffers.

And finally?. So you think we had it bad? First off, spare a thought for poor ex-Baggie Darly Burgess playing for Rochdale versus his former club, Northampton. Not only did he let in an own goal, he then conceded a penalty, and just to put the icing on the cake, he was later sent off!

Secondly, while you?re in ?thought-sparing mood? keep some of ?em aside for The Noise as well. Not only did he have to endure today?s game, his oven also went kaput ? it conked out a couple of days ago - and his central heating boiler has now gone to the Great Gasworks In The Sky also!

 - Glynis Wright

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