The Diary

11 May 2003: Learning to Fly

"Well, the good old days may not return
And the rocks might melt and the seas may burn..

Well some may say life will beat you down
Break your heart, steal your crown

So I've started out, for God knows where
I guess I'll know when I get there..

I'm learning to fly, around the clouds
But what goes up must come down.

I'm learning to fly, but I ain't got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing? "

"Learning To Fly", Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, 1990.

I must say I never dreamed for one moment that David Blunkett, Charles Clarke and Gary Megson would have that much in common, but today, I was provided with ample proof of that very fact. Puzzled? If you're conversant with current political events, you shouldn't be, but for those who haven't cottoned on to my thread, I'll elucidate. As far as both New Labourites were concerned, the last few days saw them both make ill-advised public utterances which certainly got those hate-glands producing copious secretions from those sections of the British populace targeted by their speeches. In the case of our Home Secretary, he managed to rocket the collective blood-pressure of the judiciary to a record high by suggesting politicians should call the shots when it came to sentencing those found guilty of serious offences, including (but not exclusively) murder. As for our Education Secretary, it takes a certain sort of genius to cause a goodly number of normally mild-mannered academics to choke on their claret by declaring the classics, mediaeval history and other similarly high-flown disciplines to be a waste of space (and, by inference, government money) because at best, there was only a tenuous connection between such ivory-towered frivolities and the hard-nosed world of work.

Yep, both Big Ideas were skyrocketed to the forefront of the public gaze, and - this is where the Meggo connection comes in, folks - once both ministers realised what a hornet's nest they'd stirred up with their highly contentious remarks, they then spent most of this weekend busily U-turning on stuff they'd been most happy to propose in public as recently as 48 hours ago. Clearly, in both cases, the big winner there was good old public opinion - the surest way to frighten an MP is to infer that should he not mend his ways, a P45 will be his reward come the next election - and so it was with Gary Megson and SuperBob today. We still don't know what passed between the two men that was sufficiently blanket-splitting to reduce both of them to a Hawthorns variant on the Cold War theme - Bob always reckoned he hadn't got the faintest idea why his gaffer was suddenly blanking him - but it did little for the dignity of the club to see two intelligent grown men, both with families and responsibilities, behaving like two small children after a fight in the school playground. Even sadder was the thought that because of this totally unnecessary spat, we were going to be deprived of the chance of seeing a deservedly well-liked and respected player in Premiership action for our club for the last time, so it was with great pleasure we learned of Bob's possible inclusion in the starting eleven prior to today's game.

To slightly rearrange the well-known catch-phrase of a certain Murdoch tabloid, "Woz It The Dick Wot Done It"? Well, we certainly had a bit of a hand in the media furore that ensued in the run-up to today's game, but the significant factor must have been the open letter from a group of Albion supporters that appeared in the local press recently, strongly urging Meggo to bury the hatchet and play Supes against Newcastle. For this initiative, we have to thank Bryn Jones, one of Charles Clarke's hated academics, and by doing this he most certainly proved he was not out of touch with the real world, which is more than can be said for some of those involved in the running of this country. Any road up, this last-minute monumental change of heart on the part of our leader was absolutely astonishing, comparable, say, to Margaret Thatcher in her heyday leaving the House Of Commons to flog 'Socialist Worker' outside Euston station, or Tony Blair singing all the words of 'The Red Flag' as though he really meant it.

See, Gary, it is possible to about-face dramatically, and still retain the respect of both players and supporters! In fact, I would argue that, if anything, by showing a willingness to bend in the face of overwhelming public opinion, you've earned far more admiration from all those Albion supporters out there than you would have done by stubbornly standing your ground. The by-product is, of course, that by doing so, you've deflected 90% of supporter-criticism at a stroke. Good on you, Gary; it took real guts to admit you were wrong, even if only by inference. May I now be so bold as to suggest you plonk this incident in your little black book, along with all the rest of those 'Lessons Learned This Season' you banged on about so eloquently recently?..

So, what of our Premiership swan-song, versus The Toon (plus full supporting cast) then? I suppose, you could say the first half was a typical end-of-season encounter, with both sets of players seemingly performing with half a mind on some tropical beach or another, and the ground still buzzing with that last-minute revelation that Supes was going to the ball after all. Torpidity there was aplenty, but as far as the visitors were concerned, there was always the feeling at the back of one's mind that should they become sufficiently arsed to raise their game, the novocastrians could wipe the floor with us at any time. Sure, we did have our moments - AJ (a 'sort-of' lob), Clem and Scouse Jase (free-kicks that missed the target) - but it was no surprise when our stripy visitors broke the deadlock with ease just before the break. One corner, one goal, and no Big Dave to prevent the incursion, unfortunately.

Of course, all this was overshadowed by the loss of Supes about five minutes earlier because of injury. At first, it looked ominous - a stretcher was called for, and then we saw the club doctor dash onto the pitch - but these concerns proved to be somewhat premature; Bob picked himself up, and tried to continue, but even he had to finally call it a day two minutes later. Off he went to one of the biggest and most lengthy standing ovations I've seen at the Shrine for many a year; sadness, too, as the realisation finally hit that I was witnessing the passing of a Hawthorns legend. There aren't that many ex-Baggies around who can justifiably claim supporters have completely taken them to their hearts, truly regard them as one of their own - The King, when alive, and Bomber Brown certainly come into this category - but I reckon it can now be safely said Supes has well and truly entered the ranks of this unofficial Albion Hall Of Fame. Given the increasingly-mercenary state of the game at our level, I severely doubt we'll see such loyalty, commitment and service ever again from any future Baggies player - and our club will be that much poorer because of it. Remember today's events in great detail, kids, because you've just witnessed the passing of an era..

The start of the second portion saw our favourite football club looking distinctly rocky at the back. The whistle had hardly sounded when Ameobi hit the woodwork, and for a while, uneasy recollections of the Liverpool slaughter lurked on the fringes of recent memory. Certainly, it could quite easily have been another stonking - but it didn't work out that way. Gradually, our finest pulled themselves together, set their collective jaws in what they fondly hoped was a determined-looking attitude and hunkered down for the long haul. Suddenly, The Toon weren't finding our rearguard that easy a touch, at which point I have to say a word or two about James Chambo. Scuttlebutt has it he's another of those currently incurring the displeasure of our Dear Leader; if that's the case, then after today, all I can say is that Meggo has done the lad a terrible injustice. He may not be blessed with a surfeit of skills in the art of combating the wiles of opposing players who are household names, but in the main, what he did do today was of the highest defensive order, and intelligent, with it. Perhaps if our ginger-headed fireball can bury his preconceptions in time for next term, we might have yet another defensive option at our disposal.

Another revelation today was young Scott Dobie, brought on to replace the injured Supes. Not long after he nearly hit the net following a one-on-one with the keeper, he was put through again, by Del Boy, I think. This time he made no mistake; 1-1 was the scoreline, and astonishingly, once he'd tasted blood, Scott was quickly raring for more! Fifteen or so minutes later, there came his chance, courtesy of a misplaced Toon pass which strayed in his direction, put away with aplomb following a bit of the old ball-wizardry in the box. Not Harry Potter standard, perhaps, but it did alright by me - 2-1 to the good, and boy, didn't we boing well!... I suppose that collecting all three points from our final game was too much to hope for, and the visitors duly reminded us of our many shortcomings about ten minutes from the end; a Newcastle free-kick right on the edge of the box was transformed into a veritable Exocet by Viana. It certainly eluded Houlty's radar; before our custodian could even react, Newcastle's very own (un)guided missile had well and truly buried itself in its target. 2-2, points shared, honours even, which was a result of sorts for us, and not one to be sniffed at by any means. Well done, too, those Newcastle supporters who took the time and trouble to applaud us at the end; as befits the media image of our faithful (see below) we duly returned the compliment, then awaited the reappearance of our finest for their end-of-season farewell lap of honour; five or so minutes later, out they came, Uncle Tom Cobbley and all, plus, of course, the still-limping SuperBob, to richly deserved acclaim from the faithful, and a miserable looking Appy, poor sod..

And that's about it, folks - my final 'and finally' of our inaugural Premiership season. How was it for you, then? I reckon my viewpoint can be best summarised by nicking the words of Frank Sinatra for a moment, "Regrets, I've had a few, but then again, too few to mention?" Sure, it's not been pleasant, to see the side I love endure defeat after defeat on a variety of famous grounds, including our very own, but whoever it was that said of a different situation: "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" got it about right. We've been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, which is more than a certain club just up the A41 have done; whatever else they might achieve in the play-offs, WE WERE BLOODY WELL FIRST and make sure they don't forget it, either! And, dodgy refereeing decisions aside, I do retain some magical memories of the season just gone; the sheer pride of seeing our lads emerge from the tunnel at Man United that sweaty-hot opening day, for instance, plus the wins at Upton Park, Maine Road and The Stadium Of Light. The delightfully-unrestrained fun of the Men In Black Ewood Park caper, and the many plaudits we won from the national press for the fervour of our support. All the more reason to do it all over again next term - and if by doing so we can put one over The Dingles again, all the better..

And (genuinely) finally!... A poser. What do all the following Premiership clubs have in common? A***n V**a, Blooze, Blackburn, Everton, Liverpool, Middlesbrough, Sunderland, Spurs, and West Ham? Haven't a clue? Right, I'll explain.. When surveyed by The Sunday Observer, they all rated us the best and most fervent away supporters seen at their respective grounds this season, which is something we should all be shouting from the rooftops, thereby completely disassociating ourselves from the thoroughly disreputable gold-and-cack persuasion that may follow in our footsteps. Let's just hope it's not too long before we're back there pitching once more?

 - Glynis Wright

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