The Diary

08 January 2005: Preston, By Way Of Rotherham? Just Read On, Folks!

Rotherham! And that, like it or not, is my opening sentence tonight, a fine economy of words of which even our parsimonious treasurer, Steve The Miser, would be proud, were he ever to venture into the time-consuming business of compiling email columns, of course. Which I severely doubt, of course ? way, way too much electricity consumed, or similar. With Steve and money, there?s a rock-solid certainty that?s touching to some degree: no matter what the financial situation, he always does what he says on the (manufactured very cheaply indeed, of course) tin.

As you?ll also readily appreciate, my one-word opener?s one of three syllables, nine letters, even, of which but three are vowels, and the remainder consonants. It?s also a ?proper? noun, so called, which is certainly one way of describing a highly-improper place that?s located around twelve miles north of Sheffield. All those whippets and pigeons apart, plus a distinct lack of indigenous kangaroos and koalas roaming the town, the ambience of the place is not so wildly dissimilar to that of the Australian Outback ? so why kick off tonight?s offering with them, then?

Easy. Just cast your minds back to April the 7th 2002, and our penultimate home Division One fixture with the Yorkshire club, just a couple of weeks before promotion was finally sealed versus Palace, of course. That season was my first ?proper? one as an Albion alternative diarist; in fact, most of those who ?tuned in? back then have probably sussed by now precisely what I?m going to say ? which is this. Bob Taylor grabbed the lead for us early doors, but annoyingly, the visitors later equalised. Not in the script, that bit; The Millers, being in serious relegation trouble themselves at the time, were supposed to curl up and die, but they wouldn?t. As many other half-decent Division One outfits had already discovered to their cost that season, they were a bloody difficult, if not downright stubborn, side to beat, but not long before the end, we finally thought we?d done it. A ball into the Rotherham goalmouth, and an Albion boot on the other end of it, the bladder then being propelled with some considerable force by the limb responsible ? only to be kicked off the line in unceremonious fashion by one of the visitors. Or so we in the Halfords Lane Stand had thought at the time, so why all the raucous bellowing in the Brummie the moment it happened?

Turned out that the ball HAD gone over the blasted line ? in fact, subsequent Press pictures proved the thing actually ended up nearer the back of the net than the goal-line itself before finally being booted out, hence all the mutinous mutterings from The Brummie. They?d seen it, and so had the press photographers, but as far as both the referee and the lino covering that area were concerned, you might as well have talked to the advertising hoardings; although surrounded by a phalanx of protesting Albionites, the official stood his ground, and would not give the goal, the award of which would have meant curtains for Rotherham and not Crewe, so unluckily relegated that same day as a result. And that?s where my opener comes in, folks. At the time of the incident, I noted via this self-same diary that had the side on the ?wrong? end of that decision been one of the top-flight bunch, and not an unfashionable Black Country outfit busting a gut for a place on the Premiership gravy train, there would have been hell to play, and managers screaming like stuck pigs for video evidence to be allowed, or failing that, some way of electronically recording the passage of the ball over the goal-line.

And it?s at that point, dear reader, I invite you now to fast forward, and study in more detail media reaction earlier this week concerning Tottenham being done out of what looked to be a perfectly legitimate winner at Man United. A minute from the end, and in vaguely similar circumstances, although from the many Press pictures I?ve seen (those hilarious digitally-doctored ones as well!), unlike our incident, you couldn?t cite the presence of a crowd of players obscuring the officials? view as a mitigating factor. Looked pretty damn clear cut to me, and the fact that particular Spurs assault on goal was a 50 yard long-range effort shouldn?t have made a blind bit of difference. I?ve seen similar goals given in the past, so just what the hell were the match officials playing at? After all, when you get a professional moaner like Fergie suddenly shouting the odds on your behalf, there?s certainly a great big wodge of might and right on your side, of that you can be certain.

Mind you, as I said all those years ago, now it?s happened to one of the big boys, I?ll bet you anything we?ll see backup, either electronic or video, introduced at our level within a very short space of time indeed. And, if you cared to peruse the Guardian yesterday, you?d have found within its back pages a proposed solution via putting a tiny radio transponder into the match ball itself, and positioning transmitter/receivers high in the stadium; either that or use the floodlight pylons themselves for similar purposes. The referee would also tote one of those vibrating pager things about his person, the device activating automatically the very moment the ball crossed the line; the system?s also claimed to be three-dimensional, so no chance of a ball belting in at waist-level, say, and the technology not picking up that fact.

The advantage of this system (accurate to within half an inch, according to the manufacturers) over video is that one can get an instantaneous indication a goal?s been scored, consequently, play doesn?t necessarily have to stop while someone in the stand studies a TV monitor. The ref simply gets ?vibrated? the minute the ball transgresses the line, and as a result, then blows up and signals the goal. The same as he does at present for an infringement in the box, corner, or whatever. Oh, and another take on the subject. Someone yesterday also pointed out, quite rightly, that had United?s keeper - who must have known perfectly well the goal was legit, of course ? actually gone and told the referee the Spurs strike was kosher, then it might well have stood.

And, as the blurb further said, if you want to take the view United?s keeper was less than economical with the truth, then maybe the FA should discipline him for bringing the game into disrepute by not coming clean when he had the chance? A bit drastic, sure, but when you think of how many millions that ?no-goal? might cost the London club in this age of massive top-flight end of season wonga, all dependent on final position in the table, of course, you then begin to appreciate the full merits of that side of the argument. Which might well mean a near-future trial will be deemed a goer ? Stevie Wonder, or David Blunkett, even, would have given the blasted goal without a second?s hesitation, I?m sure.

Returning once more to the far more mundane objective for us of survival, on Wednesday night, we managed to watch the tail end of that Southampton-Fulham crunch game on Sky. Having just returned from my other half?s mother?s place, we were most gratified to turn on the box and note Fulham were winning 3-2. Shouldn?t have done that ? in true Albion style, they let us down or, to be more accurate, one of their defenders did, and somewhat spectacularly, too. Let me put it his way. Had that been one of the Fulham attackers banging it in the opposition net, it would have been rated as one hell of a strike. But it wasn?t, hence the agonised ?I wish the ground would open up and swallow me!? expression writ large (and most unsaintly) upon the culprit?s face, plus an outbreak of appallingly bad language from mine. Fulham getting all the points would have really made ?em sweat, and kept the gap between the South Coast club and us nice and tight. Instead, because of what happened, they got to increase their lead over us, and shouldn?t have. Don?t be too surprised to see me constantly doing the old ?voodoo doll and pins? thing to the erroneous Cottager?s wax effigy over the many days and weeks to come!

Just call me Mata Hari, folks! Why? Many, many thanks to Diary reader David Laws for the following, which not so much sheds more light on possible signing Igor Tudor, as shines a bloody great searchlight right into his face. The gory details below came courtesy the above, who instructed my leetle spy in the Balkans, Gordan Gabrovec, a sports journalist for the biggest Croatian daily paper, Jutarnji List, to dish up the dirt for me in fine style! Here?s his report, then, and only very slightly edited, and that for grammatical reasons.

? Igor Tudor? I think he is (a) very talented guy. He is the best as a defender, but can play as well in a role of a defensive midfielder. He can score, especially with the head, after a corner or a free kick. He had some problems with injuries but when he is healthy and physically fit, he can play football on the highest level. There is one thing I don't like about him: for the 75 minutes he can be the best player on the pitch, and then he can make some stupid mistakes. For ex.(ample), last Euro in Portugal, game Croatia vs. France. He was the king of our defence, Croatia had 2-1 lead and then he returned a ball to the goalkeeper Butina. The pass was short, Butina tried to kick the ball back, but Trezeguet was there, and France scored for 2-2. I hope that you will buy Tudor and that he will help WBA to stay in the Premiership.? Sounds like another Darren Purse-clone to me (and to Dave), but such is the serious nature of our current plight, if I thought it would really assist our chances of staying up, I?d plump for Jack The Ripper at the back, I really would.

Moving back to the domestic scene, I noticed today that relegation rivals Norwich haven?t let the grass grow under their feet since the opening of the transfer window. They?ve bid ?2 million for Crewe?s prolific goalscorer Dean Ashton, and at the time of writing, it pretty much looks as though Dario Gradi will take the money and run. As we really could do with another striker on the case right now, why weren?t we showing the colour of our money?

And, talking about transfer targets, just what the hell is going on with Almeyda? Surely he should be at The Shrine strutting his stuff, and not in flaming Argentina, still? To pull this thing off, we need him with us NOW, to get him used to our way of doing things, to get to know his new colleagues better, not to show up a week or more further down the line, by which time our situation might well have become completely irretrievable. Now both Christmas and the New Year have been and gone, just what is so aching urgent about the guy?s need to remain in South America? Surely his family are well used to him swanning off to some European club or another by now? I simply cannot fathom what?s happening there for the life of me, unless ? dare I say it? - he?s since had a change of heart, and the club are still trying to work out ways of letting we supporters down gently?

That observation brings me very neatly indeed to tomorrow?s Cup encounter with Preston, at their place. The Fart, in his teletext message to the nation earlier this week, billed it as a very belated rerun of the 1954 FA Cup Final, in which we triumphed 3-2. A bit before my time, I have to admit; although The Fart was one of the many thousands of Baggies turning up for that one, I was only two at the time, and therefore excused boots. Well, if that?s how our antediluvian co-editor wants to view it, that?s fine by me; with far more pressing matters on our plate right now, you have to ask yourself whether a decent Cup run might assist or hinder our struggle for survival? There?s something to be said for both sides of the coin, I suppose. Victory tomorrow, albeit against opposition that only has a squad of fourteen fully-fit players at its disposal right now, would represent a bit of a psychological boost for our beleaguered lot, I suppose. On the other hand, stuff up, and we?re reduced to a nationwide laughing stock once more. It?s very hard to see where you?re going with a brown paper bag stuck right over your head all the time, isn?t it?

Certainly, our record against the Lancashire club isn?t all that good, of late. I?ve never seen us win there, and I suspect even The Fart would have to go a long way back to recall one. Possibly to late Victorian times, even, when they were the Man United or Arsenal of their day, and seeing off just about every other side they encountered with a cold efficiency that was truly frightening. No doubt Steve The Miser will enlighten me on that one the minute he reads this. As you might well remember, though, last season?s corresponding League fixture ended with our lot three goals in arrears. The rot started thanks to Preston?s Ricardo Fuller, the striker on loan at our place for a couple of weeks a few seasons ago. Banged in quite a few goals for us at reserves level in that time, as I recall, good ones, too, but despite all that, our then leader didn?t rate him either competent or skilled enough to warrant signing him on permanently. Funny how he later went to Pompey and quite happily did the biz for them in the Prem, although now well down their pecking order these days, according to my current info.

But I digress. Returning to Fuller, Preston and last season?s game once more, their first goal came from a set-piece, taken from just outside the box, if my memory serves me well. And that as a result of a superb theatrical performance from the aforementioned Baggies triallist, the standard of which would have surely earned him plaudits at the Royal Shakespeare Company in Stratford On Avon, were they ever to go large on such things. Even the late Sir Laurence Olivier would have joined in with some enthusiasm, if only because of the sheer amount of thespian ability demonstrated, I reckon, but all we could do at the time was curse richly. And, having taken the lead in such dubious circumstances, they then went about the task of cementing it, which they did courtesy two more strikes, albeit achieved under far less controversial circumstances. Overall, though, despite the sheer injustice of their opener, I suppose we thoroughly deserved our lumps.

Who?s hot or not tomorrow, then? For starters, both Big Dave and Contra will be absent from the proceedings again. A pretty bad blow in the case of the former, that; for a bloke supposed to be well and truly back into the swim of things by now. Just what the hell is going on, I ask? Robbo reckons the groin problem needed a further injection recently, which is one of the reasons why he?s currently out, but it?s still very worrying. At present, we have him slotted in for a return versus Fulham, but as to whether that?s a genuine goer, or not, try me with one on nuclear physics instead. As for Mister Contra-Indication, it would appear that a groin injury sustained in training was responsible for his reappearance in our first-string being, well ? erm - strongly contra-indicated? The good news, I suppose, is that apart from those two little cherubs, everyone else is considered sound in both wind and limb, more or less.

At least the one thing we do have going for us is the indisputable fact Preston are currently having awful problems trying to rake up enough fit players to constitute a full first-team squad. So desperate is their plight, it?s now looking very much as though they?ll have to dip into the youth team ranks to make up a squad of 16 tomorrow. According to various sources, Preston might well throw on-loan Rob Kozluk straight into the arena (that nice Mister Warnock having given Preston his full blessing, apparently), what with both Callum Davidson and Marlon Broomes, picking up hamstring injuries recently. Might well be a bit of a mixed blessing from Mister Poisonous, mind; he?s only had but one solitary training session to get acquainted with his new chums.

They do have another bloke in on loan, though, Filipe Oliveira, but nasty rotten Chelsea won?t give permission for him to play; why, I can?t imagine. After all, they still have another 26 (expensively-acquired) blokes in their first team squad to choose from, which isn?t exactly what you?d call barrel-scraping, by any means, although Jose Mourinho still steadfastly maintains he?s "down to the bare bones"! Depends upon what you perceive to be ?bare bones?, of course. Richard Cresswell and Brian O'Neil are both suspended, so they won?t figure either. And as if all that wasn?t enough, defender Claude Davis is rated only 50-50 after picking up a hamstring strain in their recent win at Crewe. And, just to add international to injury, winger Omar Daley has been summoned to Jamaica to play for them versus French Guyana tomorrow night in the Caribbean Cup! If I were Preston right now, I?d be holding an internal inquiry to ascertain precisely who?s breaking dressing-room mirrors, or recently lain into the club?s black cat with a size-nine boot! As for my prediction as to the final outcome, sod it; I'll go for broke with a narrow win for us.

And Finally?..One. Had to laugh when I saw tonight?s E and S, and the feature inside about a so-called Albion ?supporter? who made a court appearance earlier day concerning various charges of antisocial behaviour in The Hawthorns pub prior to a home game early last season. In mitigation, his brief stated his client was currently a student at Wolverhampton University, which got me thinking a bit. Sure, I already knew they ran a War Studies degree course, and a very highly-rated one too, by all accounts, but today was the first time I?d ever realised the tutorial staff handed out practical assignments!

Two. Another Dick hits the (Preston!) streets tomorrow, so if you?re travelling there, get ?em while they?re still smokin?! Subbers, hopefully, will have had them stuck in their hot little mitts today. Which brings me to yet another point, the one concerning Paul The Mad Welsh Printer. Normally, when he agrees to deliver at, say, six in the evening, you can bet your bottom dollar he?ll hit your front doorstep around four of five hours later than originally scheduled. And, more often than not, there?ll be some amazing explanation or another concerning the delay.

On one particularly memorable occasion, Paul?s car blew up in spectacular (and fraught, I?m willing to bet!) fashion whilst shooting down the fast lane of the M5, so, on hearing the news, ?Im Indoors then had to take the Dickmobile to Ross-On-Wye at very short notice indeed to pick the damn things up for himself. But not today, I?m happy to report; scheduled to arrive at ten this morning, he actually turned up on our doorstep at an extraordinary ONE MINUTE PAST that hour! Wow. And before you ask, yes ? hubby?s still plying me with strong stimulants in a vain effort to treat me for severe shock!

Three? Have to admire the blind optimism with which an unknown Albion supporter recently placed a bet with Ladbrokes based upon us winning the FA Cup. A grand, each way, with us currently rated 125 to 1 to win the trophy, would you believe? Should we simply reach the Final, that?s thirty grand straight into the guy?s massive pockets, according to the version of the story I read. But should we then go on to achieve what sounds very unlikely indeed at the moment, the jammy sod concerned gets to shift a six-figure sum straight into his bank account! Mad, or sad? Just enough to make him a Baggie, I suppose!

 - Glynis Wright

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