The Diary

13 November 2004: The Knife Of Bryan?

What with our new managerial appointment and everything, it?s been quite a hectic week for us Dick Eds. To start on an extremely poignant note, the other day, I was greatly saddened to learn of the death of former Liverpool and Wolves player Emlyn Hughes, and at the untimely age of 57 as well. Hell, the bloke was only five years older than me, which is nothing at all in these days of old codgers routinely achieving three figures and their obligatory congratulatory telegram from the Queen. A brain tumour?s a horrible thing to have even at the best of times; they don?t just give rise to physical symptoms horrendous in themselves, because of the nature of the beast, their very location, the sufferer?s whole personality can undergo a radical change as well, and not always for the better, either. The horrific burden such awful physical and mental changes throw upon carers I?ll leave to your imagination. And, as if that wasn?t enough to make one more than acutely aware of one?s own mortality, just a couple of days ago, we received a somewhat distressing letter from our old friend Chris, the one with cancer, who looked us up at Palace the other week. It now appears that the problem has spread to his liver, among other places. ?Nuff said.

Looking at current events from a far less emotive angle, coming to terms with a managerial appointment that couldn?t be more different in style from that of our former leader hasn?t been easy either. From what I?ve seen on various Albion sites, the mailing-list, and simply by conversing with various other Baggies I know, it would appear Jeremy Peace?s choice hasn?t quite met with universal approval. Sure, there?s a majority ? just ? that reckon Bryan Robson was an astute option, but conversely, there?s also quite a sizable number of Baggie-people out there currently gnashing their teeth to smithereens and wailing fit to bust, still.

That unpleasant business 23 years ago of selling his soul for a mess of Big Fat Ron wasn?t exactly conducive towards instantaneously establishing a good rapport with the Hawthorns faithful. The problem was, the all-too rapid exits of Atkinson, Robson and Moses, plus some of the backroom staff, totally ripped the guts right out of the club, hence all the lingering animosity. More recent (and younger) converts to the Baggie cause would be absolutely horrified to see the sheer volume of angst and animosity generated among supporters at the time. As many other managers have found to their cost, when it comes to being ?dumped on?, Albion supporters have very long memories indeed. In practical terms, all that unsavoury ?baggage? will mean Bryan having to commence operations with a ?minus? figure against his name in the supporters? popularity register until such time as his loyalty credentials are finally re-established beyond all reasonable doubt. Familiar territory if you happen to be, say, Bobby Gould, but not so comforting for someone who wants to get in bed with our faithful in the quickest time possible. And that?s the way things will stay until our new leader finally captures our cynical careworn hearts. Roll on the day that finally happens, say I, but until it does, he?s here, he?s gaffer, and as I said the other night, now he is, we?ve got to back him to the hilt. Starting with our game versus Boro on Sunday.

What I have found rather encouraging about our new manager, though, is the sheer number of Middlesbrough supporters wanting to wish Bryan every success in his new post. The following message is typical of the many I?ve seen over the last couple of days or so: ?Congrats on the appointment of Bryan Robson as manager, and big Nige Pearson as his assistant. No matter what the papers and the pundits have said about Robson, he is a winner, and a leader of men. If he does for the Baggies half of what he did for the Boro, you will be well pleased.?

While we?re on the subject, the rapid appointment of Pearson as Robson?s Number Two is certainly an interesting one. Did you know that Pearson was a team-mate of a certain Gary Megson in the Sheffield Wednesday side of the mid-eighties? And, not only that, when at Shrewsbury, he was a team-mate of a certain Bernie McNally? Oh, and another thought. I?m now wondering as to whether Bryan will be on the blower to yet another playing contemporary of his, John ?Tucka? Trewick, now first-team coach at Hereford, of course. Not necessarily to get him on board at The Hawthorns ? although he did have quite an impressive record of bringing on talented kids when with us before ? but in order to loan kids out to his former team-mate, to provide them with a little all-important first-team playing experience, albeit at Conference level.

Mind you, I?d give anything you care to name to be a fly on that dressing-room wall right now. Up to and including trading my soul to Old Nick if necessary, but you?ll be pleased, not to mention relieved, to know I totally draw the line at converting to the Dingle persuasion. How did Robbo?s new flock react to their boss when he first walked into the place the other day, I wonder? I?m not talking about the usual ritual noises made when a new top-dog trots into the pound; what I?m more concerned with is what our finest are saying between themselves, after training finishes for the day. Do they love, or hate him? Are those players once popularly regarded as Megson?s ?love-children?, unable to make sufficiently radical changes to a defensively-orientated mindset fixated from birth, almost, now making furtive plans to leave the club by the nearest exit? Or could it be that with the advent of The Almighty Bryan, they too have decided to just go with the flow, embrace the (hopefully!) attacking and entertaining code with the rest, and to hell with the consequences?

Today?s welcome news that Megson and Albion have finally agreed on a settlement mutually beneficial to both bodies could really curdle the Albion custard in that respect. It?s my firm belief that now the shackles are off, so to speak, our former gaffer will waste no time whatsoever in getting himself installed at another club - whatever our opinions of him, positive or negative, he?s still a bloody good bloke to have running any League side, which is why he won?t be out of work for too long - and when that happens, he?ll be casting his net, not only far and wide, but in the direction of The Shrine as well. Bearing that in mind, don?t be too surprised if some of ours, newly deemed surplus to the requirements of the current regime, up sticks and walk ere too many moons have risen and set above the land.

And what about those players who considered themselves wronged by Megson for whatever reasons, genuine or spurious? Will they now, during training, take to the wearing of Dayglo bibs emblazoned with the words NOTICE ME? The next few weeks should also prove rather informative for us, as we followers gradually glean from what actually goes on out there, precisely what our Premiership game-plan will be for the rest of the season. Let?s just hope that whatever formula Robson does decide to adopt, it?s not only a winning format, but an entertaining one as well. There?s only so much ?hoof-and-hope? style tactics a grown Baggie can take. And it might make a pleasant change to see highly-talented players using their undoubted abilities where they?re most needed, as well. Oh ? and with the possibility of much more interesting fare on offer, we might just start going to reserve games once more!

Talking of our former gaffer?s methods, it?s also highly significant that this week has seen the emergence of various stories in the national press telling of what Albion life was really like under the previous incumbent. The account I saw today was the one about Lee Marshall in the Mirror, but my sister told me tonight that she?d seen similar in today?s Sun. Plus something about Scott Dobie I hadn?t seen for myself. This, of course, comes not long after Danny Dichio also spilled the beans in public. Sure, it?s not very pleasant opening one?s daily paper and seeing the club?s great pile of dirty washing flapping in public like that, but then again, it does demonstrate in highly-convincing fashion that pretty much everything I?ve shared with you via this column over the last 2 years or so was absolutely spot-on. In fact, when reading the Mirror?s version this morning, the thought did momentarily cross my mind that the hack responsible had sneakily cribbed a fair-sized chunk of content from diaries passim!

Tomorrow, in the absence of any meaningful Hawthorns action, ?Im Indoors, myself and The Fart are all off to sunny Southport instead, where the Bulls are due to engage in mortal FA Cup combat with the seaside town?s side, formerly of League status themselves, of course. Am I right in thinking their last appearance in the big-time was around the late 1970?s? Whatever, it?ll be a new ground for me (never got around to going there when they were in the League, sadly), and in fact, it?ll be my first visit to the town proper for around forty years. Very popular with day-tripping Midlanders in the early and mid-sixties, was Southport, but not so much now.

I?m given to understand also the place is looking very much run down and shabby these days. I do have vague childhood memories of being on the prom there and furiously licking an ice-lolly, but that?s about it. That, and spotting in the far distance Blackpool Tower ? the two are separated by a distance of only 20 miles or so ? from the end of the pier. Mind you, as far as actually seeing the sea goes, the place is a bit like Weston Super Mare; at low tide, you?ve got absolutely no chance, and it isn?t much better when the tide is high, either. Hang on a mo ? didn?t Blondie make a record of that name in the early eighties? The high tide, I mean, not Southport.

And finally?..One. Not so much a ?shaggy dog? story, this, more like a ?ruffled feline? version. Tony Fowles, of the West Ham publication Ironworks Gazette tells me that recently, the club were blessed with the arrival of a bijou but endearing stray moggy at their training ground. Being really nice folks and all that, the players quickly ?adopted? the small fur-bag, calling it ?Les?, after former Hammers player Les Sealy, and from that day forth, the club could do no wrong, winning four home League games on the bounce. So taken were the Hammers? finest by the itinerant mog, they even chipped in with the necessary cash to have the creature ? erm ? ?done?. A shame, then, that the cat was recently reclaimed by his owners, a state of affairs that left their players, some of them real roughie-toughies both on and off the pitch, absolutely distraught! At least the end of the saga has got the press corps smiling once more; Tony told me the players were nicking all their tea and coffee milk in order to ensure the peripatetic but highly-fastidious feline kept purring contentedly 24/7!

Two? Today ? oh, soddit, early this evening, if you really want to know - we took delivery of yet another GD. No awful disasters for our mad Welsh printer this time, thank goodness, so it?s all systems ?go? for this Sunday as far as flogging copies are concerned. The subbers should get theirs within days, of course. Oh, and another thing; as from this issue forth, my name will be off the editorial credits. How come? The reason is simple; I want to draw a sharper demarcation line between GD and the stuff I write for this column. Some folk appear to be under the impression that the views expressed in this diary are also those espoused by The Dick, which ain?t necessarily the case, of course.

I am very much my own person when writing material for this piece; the fanzine doesn?t come into it at all. It?s not a problem, normally, but the whole issue did conflict in a big way when heavy flak was flying in the wake of Megson?s recent departure, not to mention at various other equally-contentious times over the last two years or so, which is why I?ve now decided to clarify both my position, and that of the ?zine by taking this step. The diary will still carry on, and so will my stuff for the Dick, still, but I won?t be on the editorial team in future. In short, then, if you want to moan, have a moan at me, either to my face or in writing, but not at the Dick, because what you see here has nothing whatsoever to do with them, or the opinions of the other editors. OK?

 - Glynis Wright

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