The Diary

04 January 2005: Well Done, Gritty Albion!

So, it?s three in a row unbeaten, then, and thereby lies the dilemma: would it have been better for us to have won one, lost the other two, or simply draw three on the bounce, as we have tonight, thanks to that bloodless draw with The Toon? An interesting poser, really, and one I don?t have ready answers to, unfortunately, but thinking on about tonight, perhaps it was better for us to have grabbed that point and ran, thus enabling our unbeaten sequence to continue a while longer.

Certainly, the news from Palace this afternoon wasn?t good; at any other time, I would have cheered them to the rafters for sticking a 2-0 defeat on our local rivals, who also have to face bloody Norwich soon. That pretty-unlikely win, of course, meant we were a further two points adrift of everyone else before we?d even kicked off. Mind you, there are some around who might also argue that never was there a better time than tonight to hit Newcastle, injury-racked as they were. That?s what caused their distinct lack of forward options, relying on Ameobi ? a fourth-choice player, normally ? to provide their main armament. Perhaps Matthew?s erroneous reading of the team-sheet before the start constituted a bit of a Freudian slip on his part; when he reached the name ?Ameobi?, what did emerge from his mouth was ?Amoeba? instead! The predictable ?pond-life? cracks apart, would it be fair to surmise that Newcastle were fervently hoping he?d significantly increase their attacking options by undergoing reproductive binary fission within a very short period of time indeed?

Returning to the main plot once more, I see I did include in my contemporaneous notes for tonight?s piece the following: ?A win would be absolutely top-ho, but even a draw, coupled with clear signs of an Albion renaissance on the pitch, would be pretty good also.? It?s all about hope, belief, and those are qualities pretty much an endangered species at our ground these days.? And, much to my surprise, that?s precisely how the whole thing eventually panned out; points shared, and a pretty gutsy performance chucked in for good measure, also.

I?ll have that; although the loss of the extra two was mildly annoying, this month, plus the first half of the next, we have to face some pretty desperate fellow-strugglers, and it?s going to be rather nasty out there, dog eat dog, more or less. That means bruising battles to come, of that you can be sure; at least tonight?s showing demonstrated we are capable of mixing it when we have to. Psychologically, that will help. Also, there were indications, albeit feeble, of some light showing at the end of the tunnel; each and every one of our defence really worked their socks off, and even Clem, at his gritty, resolute best tonight, at last seems to be forging some sort of a symbiotic rearguard relationship (oooer, missus) with Darren Purse, which can only be to the general good of the cause.

And not only that; even AJ played out of his skin tonight, temporarily discarding his normal disaster-ridden headless-chicken persona for one possessing far more spit-and-vinegar, determination, bellicosity, even, than of late. Astonishing. Come on, Robbo, own up ? who stuck the Duracel batteries up his bum, then? Houlty, although not troubled much when you look back on events, was also a handy bloke to have at the back of the side; what he did he did well, and good on him for it. Playing with a back like his can?t be easy, and my sympathies really did go out to him at The Reebok the other day, what with all that awful weather and everything. If I was feeling it badly in my lumbar regions, then it was an odds-on cert Houlty was as well.

As per usual, our evening began in the Throstle Club?s temporary (we hope!) home, The Hawthorns pub. For this one, we?d been joined by The Noise already; he?d parked up around the same time as ourselves, and accompanied us on the long walk up Halfords Lane. Finally sorting out the drinks, we got nattering ? now there?s a surprise - and somehow, the subject drifted around to the various physical and mental problems that sometimes plagued old people. Said The Noise: ?Funny you should say that ? a bloke at work aged around 60 told me once that was a fantastic age to be. Worry about some really troublesome aspect of your life, like work, and around three minutes later, you?ve clean forgotten about what it was that worried you in the first place!? Our talkative little chum also passed on a little snippet of information about the Sky TV stats for that awful Man City game we endured recently. Our second-half performance that day? No shots on target, no shots on goal, no corners, even ? and yet we still managed to scrape a 1-1 draw!

Mind you, I really had to tell The Noise about our rude awakening this morning. The phone rang, at some unearthly hour or another, or so it seemed, and ?Im Indoors felt duty-bound to answer it. Turned out it was The Fart, panicking about some proof drafts for the next Dick we?d given him to read. Turns out he?d seen some gaps in the text (awaiting more copy from the various contributors responsible) and thought we?d made a bit of a mullock. That was why the call, and why I ended up arising far earlier than intended! As far as his perennial PC problems are concerned, those look as though they?ll need a bigger hammer ? where was our IT person when we really needed him, then, eh?

A late showing for The Fart tonight ? those buses must have been really out tonight ? but he did get there eventually. And, while he was getting himself squared away, there was I slipping away to sample the delights of their ?comfort station?. Well that?s the euphemism favoured by the Yanks; personally, I just refer to such places as the ?bog?, plain and simple. While in there, I also happened to note that there was a huge ?OUT OF ORDER ? DO NOT USE!? sign on the hand-dryer, still. How long has it been, now? Six weeks? Mind you, I did think of an alternative but useful function for that distinctly-knackered piece of electrical equipment, given a bit of imagination on the part of the boozer?s owners. Simply leave that sign there for the remainder of the season, then, assuming things really go pear-shaped for us, by the time we come to play The Dingles at our place again, simply remove it, then give our visitors full run of the Ladies. To thoroughly mangle that famous line in the 1979 Vietnam War film ?Apocalypse Now?: ?How I love to hear the sound of Dingles frying in the morning!? Oooh, aren?t I rotten?

And here?s another vagrant thought, about toilets, this time. Why is it people feel so constrained to carry on talking to others via mobile phones while they?re ?on the job?, so to speak? A classical example tonight; someone actually sat on the ?throne?, and replying without any hesitation whatsoever ?I?m sat on the bog!? when (presumably) her mate enquired of her precise whereabouts! Dearie, dearie me. And it?s not just that. Many has been the time I?ve been sat behind someone at a game, and seen them frantically waving, then bawling into the handset, ?I?M WAVING TO YOU NOW ? CAN YOU SEE ME?? Proof positive the dratted things really can cause brain damage, as far as I?m concerned!

Washed and thoroughly brushed up, we then headed on out for the entrance, and yet more selling. And, as we made to depart, there was Supporters Club stalwart Alan Cleverly, standing to one side, and that wide-brimmed hat of his absolutely oozing unstoppable sanguinity and total confidence from every particle of its being, not to mention its owner ? or so it seemed to us chronic depressives right then. ?I?m convinced we?re really going to do it tonight,? said the Committee?s Terry Pratchett lookalike (it?s the hat and tache that does it, Alan!). To be perfectly honest with you lot out there, how the hell Alan can constantly maintain such a self-assured ?glass half-full? beaming stance in the face of convincing evidence things have been sliding rapidly down the pan of late, I genuinely don?t know. Two possibilities about that cheesy grin of his do spring to mind, though. He?s either flying at 35,000 feet because he?s on a strong dose of something highly-illegal, or he?s gone and joined the Moonies when no-one?s been watching!

Off to our normal pitches, then, and an encounter with the local Rotary Society, who were doing a bucket collection for victims of the South East Asia Disaster Fund tonight. Fair play to Albion; they?d promised to match whatever they raised pound for pound, and good on them for doing it. They didn?t have to; the club had already chipped in with ?50K, their contribution to the collection previously organised by the Premier League. We hadn?t been in full flow for many minutes when up popped Dave Baxendale, and his young lad.

Such is the extent of our malaise these days, even he was beginning to voice serious doubts about attending every single first team away game for the reminder of the season. And, very likely, the next; what?s doing for them are swingeing admission charges, plus, of course, that ?45 administration fee for away season-ticket holders. As he sadly pointed out to us both, his local side, Ashton United, never charge children admission provided they?re accompanied by an adult. And even they were given a good deal; did I hear you right, Dave, only seven quid for you to get in? Sorry to keep hammering the issue, folks, but what we?re beginning to hear now is only the tip of the iceberg, believe you me. Ticketing won?t be a problem next time round purely and simply because very few can now afford the enormous wallet-sapping expense incumbent on fanatical support. Don?t say you weren?t warned, Albion.

And then, with around half an hour to go, I had yet another visitor, an unusual one this time. Turned out it was one of the players involved in the Brierly-Hadley cup final, held this year on Ludlow?s ground, around the early summer, if my memory serves me correctly. Apparently, while on the pitch for that one, he recognised us as we sat in the stand; he wasn?t the ?spotter?, but another of his footballing colleagues, also a fervent Baggie, was, and took the trouble of pointing us out during a pause in the play.

Despite the time rapidly approaching kick-off by then, normally, I?d not expect to see a long queue forming outside our Halfords Lane Stand turnstile. What with everyone getting used to the stile-card system by now, and most turning up well in advance, we?d thought such things had well and truly fallen by the wayside. Wrong! For the first time in yonks, we experienced some slight delay getting into the place, chaos finally averted by some steward or another overriding the system, I suspect. And once in, some very worrying team news indeed. A 4-3-3 type line-up ? and there was more. No Gera, no Greening, Albrechtsen and Earnie coming in from the cold, The Horse up front on his tod, seemingly, and Kanu slipping in the hole behind, I reckon, with Earnie on the flank. A bit puzzling, to say the least; surely we should have sorted a line-up ready to really tear into our visitors that night, try to take advantage of the fact their forward options were strictly limited, give them a pressing need to change soiled underpants at half-time? A shame we didn?t; as far as I?m concerned, had we had Gera on from the start, we might well have bagged all three points.

A pause for another minute?s silence ? that?s the third on the bounce for us Dick Eds, now ? and we were ready to start. Interesting to note the away end; around two-thirds full, it was, which was pretty good going for an unattractive midweek game between two lots of highly-desperate participants. More to the point, Newcastle?s next away trip was to Yeading, situated within window-shattering distance of Heathrow Airport, apparently. As for the total duration of that trip from Tyneside and back, I absolutely dread to think.

And, within about three minutes of the start, a promising move, involving a good looking through-ball to The Horse, developed. A shame, then, that pass fell a little short of the intended target, and the visitors cleared the danger. Then, two minutes later, it was our turn to squirm on the rack, the prime cause for our discomfiture being the free cross, more or less, we allowed them right in front of our goal. Where was the bloody marking?

With six minutes gone, Newcastle got themselves another free kick, and just to really set the scene, AJ was booked for encroachment, and the whole thing dragged ten yards further forward. Just as well, then, Houlty was on the case, deflecting it for a corner. Then, not long afterwards, our best chance of the game, thus far. Kanu, it was, who narrowly headed wide from the cross. And, amidst the tumult, a lovely display of ball-skills from, of all people, AJ! Starting from a timely interception, he then proceeded to juggle the ball like George Best in his prime; as I said to ?Im Indoors (once the shock had receded), ?Blimey. I didn?t know he could do that!?

Mind you, we did live dangerously, at times. With 21 minutes gone, Kanu totally misplaced his pass, which was all they wanted, really. From that unnecessary interception, Houlty had to look lively indeed to dive for the first assault upon his well-being, then, having done that to everyone?s satisfaction, repeat the performance, palming the ball away for a corner that time. And, while all that was going on, the volume and quality of the songs belted out by the away contingent in the Smethwick, pretty boisterous before the start, managed to increase even more. Say what you want about the visitors, they sure as hell got themselves behind their lot, no matter what. First off, they broke into a chorus of ?There?s Only One Gary Megson!? to which came The Smethwick?s predictable response, ?There?s Only One Brian Robson!?

By then, there was only fifteen minutes to the break ? and no sign of Robbo changing anything, either. Bawled one nervous and slightly disgruntled Halfords Lane Stand member, in tones, the ear-shattering volume of which must surely have carried it to the dugout, ?It isn?t working, Robson ? change it!? Three minutes after that, there came an astonishing demonstration of ball control from Kanu. Not content with beating one Newcastle player, he then left two more snapping at his heels also ? a shame, then, the guy was upended in somewhat crude fashion, and right on the edge of their box, as well. What, no booking? Annoying, especially when you consider what led to AJ?s, which was a joke, quite frankly, and doubly so, because our shot was well and truly beaten away. And, talking about our hirsute midfielder, not long after that, we both witnessed a pretty convincing demonstration of his gutsy qualities.

There he was, in a ruck of players, feet (and, by way of logical deduction, studs also!) flying like crazy in just about every direction you can think of, then, within the blink of an eye, there was our hero ? but with the ball firmly attached to his diddy little feet this time, and even managing to squeeze a shot off! And, just before the interval, Kanu nearly had the chance to well and truly get his name in the papers, thanks to a wonderfully-timed long ball from behind. Receiving it, our hero then tried to get the shot away, but, as luck would have it, the blasted thing took a deflection on its way in, off one of ours, sadly.

As for the second dose, within a minute of the restart, things started humming. An injury to one of theirs brought their physio onto the pitch, his somewhat adipose dart-player physique causing much merriment around me! Three minutes later, it was the turn of Clem to receive those well-deserved plaudits; the cause, this time, was a nasty looking ball from the visitors that needed prompt intervention and an equally-rapid tidying-up, Clem managing to accomplish both feats with some panache, the ball being shifted away for a corner, the danger then neutralised with a hefty punch from the well-performing Houlty.

Both of us Dick Eds had opined come half-time that we?d get one cast-iron, copper-bottomed, triple A chance only ? and with just ten minutes of the second gone, there it was ? and The Horse was on the other end of it. Using his considerable bulk to see of any remaining opposition, he quickly discovered there was very little indeed between himself and the looming goalmouth. A shame, then, the shot was tame, very tame indeed, and ended up hitting the keeper rather than buried in the back of the net.

And then it was AJ?s turn once more to demonstrate those hitherto-latent battling qualities of his. Wading in like a good ?un, without any hesitation whatsoever, the threat from the advancing Newcastle player was quickly negated courtesy of a tackle that rated in the Billy Bremner range. Lovely to watch, if only because of the full-blooded way our hero went about things. Shortly after that, around the 12th minute, we had yet another lucky let-off. This time, the loser of the ball was Albrechtsen, for a corner which, when taken, was whanged across the box with light-speed accuracy; fortunately, there was no-one waiting on the right-hand side; had there been, Newcastle would have buried the shot with consummate ease.

Mind you, the one thing I did notice was that the referee was really busting a gut, trying to let quite a bit of dodgy stuff carry on anyway. I?m really becoming convinced these days that when referees are scheduled to take charge of a televised game at our level, they all feel far more constrained towards going easy on the old bookings and sendings-off thingies than was previously the case. And, as the half advanced, up went the pressure ? also, remarkably, the entire atmosphere, something in stark contrast to our distinctly downbeat mod just two weeks earlier. Blimey, there sure as hell were lots of chants ringing out around the place by that stage; a distinct improvement indeed, by anyone?s lights.

Back to the ranch once more, accompanied by the increasingly-strong feeling our visitors were going to sneak right past us at the death. Having said that, though, we, too had something about us every time we got the ball; much more cohesion out there, a decreased sense that our finest?s body language was highly suggestive of anticipating a right dicking, an undesirable state of affairs which I have come across in recent months. Then, midway through the half, yet another chance to break the deadlock. This time, it was Kanu?s turn to be provider, the cross going straight to Earnie in the middle. Should have buried the blasted thing, really but instead, all we got was a tame sort of half-pootle that didn?t involve their keeper in much sweat at all. And did I hear teasing cries of ?Souness Out!? from the Smethwick, right then? Naughty little boys!

Almost in the last third, now. Was Robbo ever going to change it? Certainly, that was the majority view prevailing in the Halfords by that time, and reinforced by cries, very loud indeed, to that effect. Well, we certainly saw a change, but involving Newcastle instead! Nice isn?t it, when you can afford the luxury of a ?5 million player, Milner, twiddling his thumbs in the dug-out, isn?t it? Then, several fraught minutes later, we finally saw signs of life out there. Gera taking off his tracksuit top, and receiving instructions from our managerial gruesome twosome, followed shortly afterwards by his entry onto the field of play, and to predictable applause.

With around five minutes remaining, we witnessed once more signs of a pretty common phenomenon these days ? supporters getting up to leave in droves. That I simply do not understand, and never will in a million years. There was the game, delicately poised, and either side likely to snatch a late winner ? and everyone simply buggering off! Some day, someone suitably erudite, who has studied the trend to the point of exhaustion, will explain it all to me in words of one syllable, but until that happy day occurs, I shall still reserve the right to scratch my head in similar fashion to someone secretly harbouring a somewhat heavy head-louse infestation!

So, that was that, then. Sure, we didn?t pot all three, but we didn?t concede, either, which must have served as a considerable morale-booster for our sorely-tested defence, who soaked up a considerable amount of pressure tonight, and still emerged from the whole experience pride relatively unsullied, and Houlty?s net completely pristine. And it was a pretty entertaining game, despite the distinct lack of scoring action. Our rearguard looked sound, all right ? it?s a shame I couldn?t have written similar about our forward line, who simply can?t score goals, right now. What to do? Find a top-notch striker before the end of the transfer window, if there happens to be one lurking around ? then grab him, and preferably before any of our local rivals do.

And finally?.. One hilarious interlude, though, coming as it did during the first half. Bawled John Homer when the ball came far too close to our own net for comfort, ?HAVE IT AWAY!? A quick tap on the shoulder from me just afterwards, it was, somewhat mischievously, I admit, a killer punch-line: ?OK, John,? I lovingly whispered into his delectable little right ear, ?My place, or yours??

 - Glynis Wright

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