The Diary

18 December 2004: The Great (No Tinsel Allowed!) St. Andrews Massacre Previewed.

Season?s greetings to one and all, as we embark upon the run-up before Christmas. As a festive touch, I would have chucked a bit of sparkly tinsel around this piece had I been able, but according to the national press today, one secondary school has completely banned kids from wearing the stuff. Something to do with a ?potential health and safety risk from children pulling the stuff tight around someone?s neck? according to the blurb which, when translated into common or garden English, means: ?We don?t fancy the thought, however remote, of parents instigating legal proceedings, so we?ve decided to do something to cover our own backs instead?. Mind you, the school will still allow kids to turn up to these end-of-term festivities wearing ties, which present a far-greater potential for strangling someone, in my opinion, but who am I to rail against the collective wisdom of a neurotic headmaster and his equally-nervy staff? Any road up, in keeping with the litigation-conscious age in which we live, from now on, tinsel?s banned from this column in case you all strangle yourself on it, even virtually!

Talking about potential hazards to life and limb, I take it the psychiatrists have now decided to risk allowing you all sharp objects again? It?s certainly been a long, long six days since that totally-depressing Charlton defeat, and hopefully, time enough for everyone, chairman, directors, players and supporters included, to lick their many wounds to their own personal satisfaction. As well we might, given the totally infuriating manner of that trouncing. We just didn?t seem to compete, did we? As I remarked last Sunday night, I?m now rapidly reaching the stage where I?m at a complete loss to even think of any sensible and/or practical way out of this almighty mess ? and Blues certainly aren?t going to do us any favours, tomorrow. Whatever we do at St. Andrews, win, lose or draw, we?re still going to be holding the rest up come the festive season ? and it doesn?t need me to spell out all the implications of that one, does it? And just when I?d thought it couldn?t possibly get any worse, I?ve now discovered that the match official presiding over tomorrow?s horror show is none other than Mike Riley, the cheerful chappie who sent off Darren Purse during our away encounter with the Mags earlier this term.

According to the Press ? and popular perception, of course - the last five games or so were ?must-wins? for us. Trouble is, of those five, we only managed to get our greedy mitts on a single solitary point, from the unlikeliest of places, ?tis true, but since Highbury, after which I could genuinely see a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, we?ve witnessed naught but a steady decline. And, yes ? once more, earlier this week, just about everyone connected with the club opined that this Saturday?s game was a ?m?.. Oh, sod it ? you fill in the blanks for yourselves.

Having seen the two goals the claret and spew shipped with my own eyes courtesy the Beeb the other night ? and, most unlike me when something unpleasant befalls the unspeakable from Aston way, I couldn?t even summon up a single microscopic particle of schadenfreude to gleefully hurl at our TV set this time round ? the more I?m getting grim forebodings about the sheer volume of total humiliation Blues could inflict on us tomorrow. Just how do you cajole or motivate a side so set in its losing ways to start performing again? And, it?s not just a question of motivating players any more; morale in both the Smethwick and the Brummie seems to have hit rock-bottom as well. Our faithful?s very loud final-whistle verdict on the overall standard of play last Saturday was something I hadn?t heard since the dark days of Brian Little. A little worrying, that; once upon a time, our place was a veritable ?wall of sound?; now, all I?m seeing (and hearing) these days is an ever-growing resemblance to the interior of a crematorium, and with a funeral going full-blast simultaneously, just to make it all the more interesting. Or depressing; maybe the funeral analogy is a trifle too close for comfort right now?

I?ve also sorted our Preston tickets, duly collected by this column last Wednesday, and, while I was at the ground, I also managed to pick up a 1968 DVD from the shop. I?ve yet to watch it, as we plan to do so together following the Blues game ? we reckon that?s the time we really will need a sharp reminder of what our football club used to be about ? so I?ll very likely fill you in on that one tomorrow night. One vagrant thought about those halcyon days I let loose on the mailing-list a couple of days previously concerned our defensive play back then; in short, the absolutely horrendous tackling that went on, and simply considered par for the course by the players concerned at the time. I kid you not; once the likes of Graham Williams and Duggie Fraser decided to ?take out? someone, even the Spanish Inquisition themselves would have taken one quick look, quavered, then turned and run at a rate of knots, no kidding. How come? The reasoning behind my words stems from us Dick Eds being given the chance to watch a rerun of our 1968 Wembley triumph a few short months back.

Take the aforementioned Mr. Fraser for example; as I saw it, within minutes, literally, of the Final kick-off, he?d launched into a brace of tackles on Everton players that would have left modern-day pundits absolutely incandescent with rage regarding their ferocity. And poor Doug explaining his actions (or not!) to the FA. Amazingly, I don?t believe he was even booked for those offences at the time, but it?s that sort of thing that serves to illustrate just how tough the game could be in the late sixties ? especially for strikers. I genuinely had forgotten this, less savoury, aspect of the ?beautiful game? in those far-off days. With so many ?hard men? like Dougie around in the game, if a striker, you had to be as tough as a barrowful of reinforced concrete just to survive. Incidentally, for those not familiar with our 1968 Cup run, our semi-final game was versus Blues, tomorrow?s opponents, of course, and held at Villa Park. We won that one by two clear goals, and then went on to Wembley, of course. It has to be said that Lady Luck, that most flighty of females, must have decided to give us a quick loan of her feminine wiles that late spring afternoon. Those Baggies present could certainly put forward a pretty strong argument for saying we didn?t exactly lack help from that quarter that afternoon!

Returning to the present once more ? very reluctantly, it has to be said ? we now look at tomorrow?s fixture with Blues, kicking off early on police advice, apparently. Strange, that one; the corresponding fixture, some two years ago, and in much better weather conditions than at present, was allowed to take place at a normal time, totally free from constabulary interference. The logical conclusion has to be that either the plods have had a tip-off something?s going to happen at or in close proximity to the ground tomorrow, or the kick-off?s simply been changed to suit their shift patterns. Can?t blame Sky, for once; the game isn?t even ?live?. Mind you, as I write, the temperature outside GD Towers is currently hovering somewhere around freezing point, with a disgustingly-large quantity of sleet and hail chucked in for good measure as well. I haven?t seen tomorrow?s forecast for myself, as yet, but I can?t believe it to be fundamentally different to what?s happening right now. Should that prove to be the case, I severely doubt anyone would want to get up to mischief, either inside or outside the ground ? everyone will be far more intent on keeping body and soul warm, never mind perpetrating criminal damage, or ABH.

And so to our line-up, for all the good it?s going to be. The good news is that Houlty has now recovered from whatever ailment troubled him earlier in the week, so he?ll be first choice between those oft-impregnated sticks. Interestingly, there has been talk in the local press today of Robbo asking for Murphy?s return from his loan spell with Walsall. Could this be a move simply designed to concentrate our Number One?s mind wonderfully, or is our leader genuinely looking towards using Murphy as a viable alternative to the present incumbent? Not so welcome are reports suggesting Big Dave?s knock is still troubling him, so he?ll be pretty-much out of contention tomorrow, as will Mr. Contraceptive, presumably.

As far as our mountainous defender was concerned, we needed those gloomy tidings like a hole in the head; some might disagree, of course, but as far as I?m concerned, those games we?ve been without him and his stupendously-sized nut at the back, we?ve really struggled. Darren Purse will be going back to his old stamping-ground tomorrow, something that might just curb his rapidly-increasing tendency to score for the opposition, rather than his own lot (there?s nothing quite like the prospect of looking a total pilchard in front of both sets of supporters to sharpen the mind, is there?) Should old Cosmic not come up to scratch tomorrow, either, I assume that will give Jason Koumas an excellent opportunity to show his new gaffer precisely what he?s about.

If he?s got any sense, that?s what he?ll do; there?s no absolute guarantee some other club might be looking to take him off our hands come the re-opening of the transfer window in the New Year. But, according to a very late flash from the Beeb, it now looks as though Jase will be in the side tomorrow, so that one?s well and truly sorted, then. Even so, there?s always the faint possibility our leader might be emulating his immediate predecessor by engaging in pre-match mind games concerning Big Dave. Is Robbo the sort to try to play psychological silly-buggers with the opposition? I guess we?ll find out tomorrow. As for the ?other lot?, scuttlebutt suggests Mario Melchiot should recover from a thigh strain in time to line up in Birmingham's defence, and Robbie Savage has shrugged off a bout of sickness. Presumably, no self-respecting virus would want to be seen dead in his company. Darren Carter will hold on to his place, so rumour has it. As for the final score tomorrow, I fear the worst, I really do. Those who have this fixture ?on the sweep? might just be celebrating tomorrow. As for this column, just how many alternative synonyms can I possibly come up with for the phrase ?well-beaten??

And Finally?.. One. ? ?Tis the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-la?.?? Not according to my other half, it ain?t. How come? Simple. With the advent of the festive season comes that most hallowed ritual of all December workday activities, The Mutual Exchanging Of Christmas Cards. A batch duly written the other night, ?Im Indoors then proceeded to distribute them to various workmates come the morrow, and, as you might expect, he received quite a bundle in return. So far, so good, you might think ? until he finally got around to opening one in particular lurking innocently right at the bottom of the pile, that is. There, underneath all the other slushy pictorial depictions of shepherds in fields, glittery images of the infant Jesus lying in a manger, not to mention those species of the animal kingdom sufficiently arsed to get to Bethlehem in time, plus the plethora of ruddy-cheeked Santas doing strange things in heavily snow-laden chimneys, lurked an absolute horror. If I told you the predominant theme of the card was gold and cack, loathsome strip, badge and all, would that serve by way of explanation? Needless to say, my other half is now plotting revenge, in heaps; that I do know because I?ve since been rapidly accosted to provide some pertinent (and legal!) thoughts regarding achieving that precise aim!

Two. I?ve just noticed via the regular electronic Albion newsletter we get sent, the club are currently doing a special offer on seasonal mobile phone ring-tones, examples being ?Do They Know It?s Christmas?, ?Jingle Bells?, and, for some reason, best known to themselves, ?The Fairy Tale of New York?, a la Shane McGowan, the late Kirsty McColl, and those lovely lads, the Pogues. (A digression concerning a distinctly-unseasonable thought about the former punk-rock outfit: the name ?Pogues? is itself a corruption of the Irish phrase ?Pogue Mahon? which, in English, effectively means ?Kiss My A***?! The Pogues, for many moons, called themselves as per the ?long version?, and broadcast live as such on many occasions until someone in the BBC finally twigged!) Now, what was I saying ? oh, yes. Ringtones. Bearing in mind our current Prem position, which can?t possibly get any lower, shouldn?t our favourite football club instead be pushing ditties more in keeping with our current mood? Aw, you know, stuff like The Dead March In Saul; Handel?s Largo; Suicide Is Painless (The Theme From MASH); Everyone Hurts, by REM; and last, but certainly not least, just about anything performed by master-depressive Leonard Cohen?

Three. According to reports, Cardiff City are now looking to take our Japanese international, Inamoto, off our careworn hands. The obvious truth they haven?t got two beans to rub together themselves, never mind come up with the amount of ackers necessary to make the proposed transaction a ?goer? apart, can you imagine the culture-shock should the lad ever move from the Midlands to the frankly-Neanderthal climes of the Principality? Mind you, it wouldn?t half be a giggle, if only just to see how well Japanese lends itself to translation into broad South Wales dialect!

 - Glynis Wright

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