The Diary

19 November 2004: Supporters And Players - A Symbiotic Relationship?

Back again, and what a terrible night it?s been. Not on the Albion front, as I?ve just got back from a rather spiffing Supporters Club meeting ? more on that in a mo ? but I?m talking more in terms of the weather, which took a precipitous turn for the worse late this afternoon. One minute we had drab, drizzly November climes, the next we had a fall of snow that left our street looking very much as though the celestial equivalent of Gordon Ramsay had chucked a load of icing sugar all over the ?kitchen floor?and effing and blinding all the way, no doubt. Don?t get that sort of problem Down Under, do you? Typhoons, earthquakes, bush fires, tropical storms, flash floods, sure, but nary a scattering of snow ? unless you happen to live in Taz or Victoria, of course, and then it?s only the elevated bits that get affected.

Not only that, the mercury also plunged drastically, and by tea-time, only hovered around the zero mark. So much for global warming, then? To be perfectly honest with you, I can?t remember the last time we saw the white stuff fall in that sort of quantity before Christmas, and I?m not talking ?Colombian marching powder? either, just in case you were wondering. I don?t suppose you can get much of a high from stuffing great chunks of crystalline frozen water up your nostrils, can you? Unless you?re the sort that?s into such weird and exotic practices as a matter of routine, that is; if that should apply to you, then all I can suggest is you see a psychiatrist, and be darned quick about it as well. But, enough of that. Back to the business in hand.

So it?s ?goodbye to Frank Burrows?, then. I can?t say I was all that surprised when I first got wind of the news, as it?s a common enough practice in football for new managers to bring their own Number Twos to the club they?ve just joined, then ditch the remnants of the Old Guard, but in this case, that doesn?t appear to have happened. Unusually for these times, Bryan wanted to keep Frank on, but our former assistant didn?t fancy staying, which is perfectly understandable, so a contract settlement mutually agreeable to both parties was sorted out instead.

Paradoxically enough, I only really began to get a true glimpse of Frank as a person in the wake of Megson?s departure; those statements of his to the media post-Southampton really were a walking testimony to the quiet decency and dignified graciousness of the man. Prior to that, I?d only had but a few words in passing with the guy on which to base any opinion, positive or negative, so I didn?t. Until post-Meggo, of course. And the kidney cancer surgery he had shortly after he came to the club must have been quite a worrying time for him as well. Based upon what I know now of his character, and his record with other clubs besides ours ? Cardiff and Swansea in particular spring readily to mind - I reckon it would be a great pity to see someone as dedicated as Frank lost to the professional game. Surely there must be another football club out there that?s crying out for his vast store of footballing know-how and expertise?

I?m not the greatest when it comes to money or business-related issues, even those connected with football, but looking at the club?s latest yearly accounts recently certainly threw up one surprise. As of the 1st of January this year, Jeremy Peace started to receive a basic salary of ?100,000 per annum, plus a ?bolt-on? of being allowed to join the executive bonus scheme, which pays 20 per cent of the basic salary if the club achieves its budgeted target for the year. Not being possessed with sufficient financial acumen to figure out whether such a move would be a blessing, or ultimately prove detrimental to our fortunes in the long run, I really wouldn?t like to comment one way or another, but to a layman like myself, it does sound very much to me like the situation that currently prevails at Villa with Deadly Doug. He?s also paid a nice little wodge by his club, has done so for years, and having seemingly defied numerous attempts to dislodge him over the years, will probably still be tenanting the chairman?s office from beyond the grave, even.

The same document also goes on to state that Mark Jenkins, the Finance Director, has received a basic salary of ?85,000 a year since 17 July 2003, with the same bonus entitlement as Jeremy, and that the Club's two non-executive directors, Jeff Farmer and Joe Brandrick, also receive salaries in the region of ?22,000 per annum for various work done for the Club. As far as they?re concerned, this is in connection with what some might describe as ?conventional employment?: media relations in Jeff's case, and the memorabilia collection and Old Baggies? association in Joe's. Again, lacking sufficient knowledge, I really wouldn?t like to pass judgment either way. Any tame bean-counters out there that can break the various issues concerned down into the mathematical equivalent of words of one syllable, feel free.

Even though these jottings have been going, now, for nigh-on the length of our former manager?s tenure at the club, it?s not all that often I?ve been able to relate instances where something I?ve written has made the club, or an organisation on the periphery, like the police, etc. change their procedures, or look really hard at what they?re doing, but I can now definitely chalk one up to me. Checking my E and S on Tuesday night before going to Aggborough, I was particularly pleased to notice that they went large that night on recent problems experienced at the Hawthorns tram stop by Baggies wanting to use that mode of transport to get home. As you?ll know from diaries passim, over the past few weeks, I received quite a bit of correspondence about this subject from some of you; once gathered, I duly passed everything on to the E and S in the hope that some adverse publicity would sting Metro into actually trying to address the problems raised by concerned supporters. Instead of totally ignoring them, which happened to not a few who complained to them by letter and/or by phone despite receiving repeated assurances they would definitely look into the problem.

By actually getting a reporter and photographer down there after the final whistle meant the E and S actually saw the huge amount of inconvenience caused to supporters for themselves, not to mention the various safety issues quite rightly raised by correspondents, so, with any luck, Something Will Be Done. Oh, and incidentally, as I?d suspected, putting on extra carriages for trams running at final-whistle time wasn?t a viable option either. The other night, at Aggborough, I checked with a Baggie who also happens to be a serious train and tram buff; he told me you couldn?t ?add on? carriages in that fashion as those trams are all one fixed unit. Even so, surely it?s not beyond the wit or imagination of the tram company to simply chuck on extra services around the time of the final whistle?

Since the start of the week, I?ve been checking on the Albion website like crazy, also in person on Tuesday, when I went to the ground to pick up Bolton tickets, but there?s still no word whatsoever about their now-behind-schedule Blues counterparts. This, mind you, from a club that recently gave away season-ticket holders big licks to the notion that they advertised tickets going on sale well in advance so as to give supporters plenty of notice to sufficiently prepare for having their wallets bled dry. Given the protracted silence from our favourite football club, still, I can only assume that the continuing hiatus is down to ongoing and drawn-out negotiations with Blues about precisely what amount to charge our travelling supporters. Or, if you really want to be cynical, of course, what both clubs reckon the market can reasonably stand?

That?s all the Albion stuff that?s cropped up since Sunday, then, so on to what happened at the Supporters Club meeting tonight, to which four of our finest were invited to attend. These were Simon Miotto, Darren Purse, Tommy Gaardsoe and AJ. Given the awful weather conditions prevailing tonight, I was genuinely but pleasantly surprised that only AJ didn?t show; had the rest also decided to stick with the old fireside routine tonight instead of braving the many rigours of motorway driving in snow, I would have understood perfectly, but they didn?t. As far as the venue was concerned, for the first time in years, or so it seemed to me, the Supporters Club found themselves in the Halfords Lane Stand, or rather the room immediately above the glass doors, where the nobs go on matchdays. Familiar territory to most long-time Supporters Club regulars, of course, but much less for relative newcomers.

And, entering that area, I immediately noticed one change in particular ? a huge glass display cabinet that dominated almost the whole of that side of the room abutting onto Halfords Lane itself. Proudly displayed within were various pieces of Albion memorabilia, from match programmes all the way through to team pictures, and a fascinating collection it made, too. All our yesterdays, in more than one sense of the term, and all the more memorable because of it. And, while we?re on the subject of ?relics?, standing just inside was Supporters Club head honcho Alan Cleverly. Only kidding, Alan, as you do such a superb job for that organisation; such is the extent of your tact and diplomacy on such occasions, I reckon even Britain?s Ambassador to Washington could learn quite a bit from you. But not about shirts and ties that colour-clash horribly, it would seem. Well, I ask you ? a lime-green shirt, fluorescent, almost, coupled with a brilliant scarlet tie? Hang on a minute, though ? have you been secretly nicking stuff from my other?s half?s wardrobe, Alan?

Because we were comparatively late getting there, we fully expected to see The Fart warning up a couple of chairs for us already. Wrong! Not a hint of a Fart to be seen, so assuming the weather had rendered him hors de combat that night, we quickly sought out seating of our own instead. But then, just before things were about to kick off for the evening, there he was, by the bar area. Large as life, and twice as bad ? and, yes, Tel had experienced trouble with the buses. Not half as much as he had earlier today, though. Poor soul, he had to go for an MRI scan this afternoon; having experienced one for myself on two occasions, I know just how alarming the procedure can be for those who aren?t familiar with what goes on. Our venerable co-editor told me that the one thing that really surprised him was how noisy it was. At one point, despite wearing chunky headphones to deafen the racket, all he could hear in his lugholes was an maddeningly-incessant ?boinging? sound. So what did he do? Simple ? like any Albion supporter truly worth his salt, he just kept shouting: ?Baggies, Baggies!? into the inch-wide space just above his head!

Much bemused, also, was our hero by the technician?s inquiry beforehand as to whether he?d got any metallic stuff embedded in his body tissues, or not. The reason? MRI scanners are, in effect, thundering great magnets, and some surgical implants and what medics coyly term ?foreign bodies? can be bad news. Just as well your Boer War shrapnel didn?t show up then, wasn?t it, Tel! Oh ? and another thought about our venerable co-editor. While nattering to our chum Van Greave ? he?s now a published author, so can we have your autograph, mate? ? Terry managed to wrongly calculate ten per cent of a certain sum. A bit worrying, that; The Fart, mind, is the chap who spent no less than two years of his youth in the Royal Army Pay Corps, which is why I?m now wondering precisely how many squaddies suddenly found themselves either flat stony broke come the end of the week or, conversely, wallowing in a weekly wage of telephone-number proportions, and on a private?s remuneration, as well!

And so to the business in hand. A little truncated this time, as the SC?s mikes were found to be kaput beforehand, which made the task of recording what was said accurately somewhat difficult for me. I could have worked on the principle of ?by guess or by golly? but that would have resulted in an inaccurate account of what was actually said, and I?m not the sort to do that sort of thing on players. One thing I did learn beforehand, though, was the fact that the Supporters? Club current HQ at the Hawthorns Hotel had now undergone some refurbishment work. Those heavy drapes on the ceiling have now come off, finally; as Master Of Ceremonies John Homer so pertinently remarked, ?It doesn?t look like an extra from ?The Desert Song? any more!?

As far as the three players that attended tonight?s meeting were concerned, it has to be said that each and every one of them was an excellent advertisement for the club; witty and articulate by turns, and friendly with it as well. All displayed an image far removed from that of the stereotypical ?thick footballer? so often portrayed in the national press, both tabloid and broadsheet. Simon Miotto, another of our goalkeepers, although one the average Baggie rarely hears about, hails from Oz. Quite a mixed ancestry, has Simon; as you might expect with a name like that, his dad hails from southern Europe, while his mum comes from Tasmania, the large chunk of island that lies just across the Bass Strait from Melbourne. He?s quite a personality, too; one of those ?larger than life? characters that have the ability to totally galvanise, say, a party, the moment they first walk into a room. Dealing with him must be like living in close proximity to a whirlwind. And he?s possessive of a wicked sense of humour as well, having a machine-gun conversational delivery that even makes The Noise positively aphasic by comparison! It?s quite clear that there?s never a dull moment at the club when Simon?s around.

Darren Purse? An interesting character, he is. Shame on me for doing it, but as far as Darren was concerned, beforehand, I?d broken my golden rule of not judging people by what had gone on in their past. The moment Darren?s name ever came up in lights on previous occasions before joining us as a player, my immediate reaction had always been to mutter ?bloody thick Bluenose?, but after tonight, I can only offer him my profound apologies, because he?s nothing of the sort. Time and time again, Darren proved to be an intelligent and articulate speaker on various issues relating to Albion in particular, and football in general. While not emanating from such an exotic background as his Aussie custodial chum ? Stepney was his birthplace, and as befitted someone born in that area, he first came to prominence with Leyton Orient ? he, too, proved to be a charming and amusing guest. For a Millwall supporter, that is! And, in one of those genuine conversational slips one hears from time to time, Darren told us, surprisingly so to me, may I add, that whenever he heard our supporters sing The 23rd Psalm ? The Lord?s My Shepherd ? it invariably left him considerably moved with emotion. But then again, that?s what happens when you automatically stereotype someone, isn?t it?

Tommy Gaardsoe, being Danish-born ? and, unbelievably, when asked precisely where in that country, said: ?I don?t know?! - provided the northern European perspective on all things football, as well as Albion, of course. As you might expect from someone Scandinavian in origin, his spoken English was excellent, and although his humour was of a much more subtle kind, he still had the ability to get the belly-laughs coming from the audience for much of the time. He was very moved the day we all dressed up like Vikings in his honour, the Reading away game, not long before the end of the season. When the subject of Contra and his supposed lack of English cropped up, someone then asked Tommy if he ever swore at his colleagues in Danish. ?No,? was his answer ? until a (presumably multi-lingual) Simon Miotto countered with: ?I know you have!?

Thanks to all three lads turning out on what was to prove a rotten night as far as the weather was concerned, the evening certainly proved a success. And, by way of a bonus, provided many Albion supporters with a much clearer insight as to the personalities of their on-pitch favourites. I?ve always regarded it as something of a two-dimensional thing, simply watching eleven blue and white striped robots perform at weekends, either well or indifferently. Sure, you get to assess their capabilities as far as their chosen profession is concerned, but what about the real player, what sort of personality that lies beneath, in much the same way as the hidden portion of an iceberg lurking below the waterline?

That?s where things get interesting. Suddenly, a player?s the man who, just like you or me, has likes and dislikes, has a mortgage, a wife and three kids, one of whom might suffer from a touch of asthma when the weather gets damp, maybe. Or, say, has a chronically-sick mother living a couple of hundred miles away, and because of the job can?t get to see her as often as he would really like, and constantly worries about her welfare because of that? Could that be the real reason why So-And-So looked a yard or so off pace last Saturday? Or, could it be, beneath that outwardly-thin veneer of confidence, arrogance, almost, conferred on a player by the very same striped shirt he wears every week, there lies, unsuspected, a desperately sad and lonely person? And is in that sort of mental state because his missus recently upped and left him, taking the kids as well?

Don?t get me wrong, here. I?m not suggesting for one moment any of the lads who attended tonight are in such an awful mental condition; I only draw it to your attention in order to emphasise the importance of players attending such functions on a regular basis, because in my opinion, both sides can equally gain from the encounter. Suddenly, supporters realise that the chap in front of them isn?t just a little robot when out there on the pitch constantly being told what to do by the touchline, but a human being, with human emotions, both positive and negative.

Once supporters do make the connection, they find it awfully difficult thereafter to barrack or abuse someone they?ve had a few words with themselves over a convivial pint or two. And that?s where players really do gain. That, plus they themselves getting to know better the sort of people that come to watch them perform, week in, week out. Not all supporters are ogres, and not all public meetings and their organisers (or fanzine editors, for that matter!) solely out to stitch them up with the press, and it?s at functions such as tonight?s that players really do get the chance to discover that for themselves. It?s a symbiotic relationship, really; in other words, both sides stand to gain mutual benefit from the association, and by regular future attendance from players, I sincerely hope such a happy relationship can be further strengthened over the months to come.

And finally?. One. There?s at least one person I know who?ll be really pleased to see Robbo return to the Shrine, and that?s our local pharmacist and Albion shareholder, Dev. Nattering to him about all things Baggie when picking up my prescriptions the other day, I suddenly discovered that when our new leader was a player, he and our friendly local purveyor of pills were big mates; played pool together quite a lot, they did, along with the late Laurie Cunningham, apparently. Oh well, at least The Mighty Bryan will now have somewhere handy for cheapo cold-cures and pile ointment should he ever need such medicaments in the course of his managerial duties!

Two. Nothing whatsoever to do with football, or our favourite club, come to think about it, but now I?ve seen this, I really think I should share this little lot with you ASAP. First off, Ukrainians celebrate their love of pork fat with a nationwide lard festival very soon, while back in Blighty, manufacturers all over Tipton are panicking like crazy because there?s going to be a shortage ? of lard! The reason? Eastern Europeans stockpiling the stuff, allegedly. A horrible coincidence, or could this all be a fiendish Balkan plot to do us pork scratching chomping Black County folk out of our staple diet, I wonder? My second little gem? The World Public Toilet Association will shortly be having their annual conference in Bejing, should anyone feel sufficiently motivated to hop on the next plane and fly out to observe proceedings. One final thought on this most anally-retentive of subjects: what precisely happens in that conference hall when they decide, en bloc, to ?pass a motion??

 - Glynis Wright

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