The Diary

16 January 2005: What Mum Didn't Tell You!

Ever heard of the theory that the older you get, the more you begin to resemble your mother, in both word and deed? Well, I now have proof positive that there may well indeed be something in that, and all due credit should go to my other half for demonstrating so admirably this was the case. How come? Well, this morning, and very mindful indeed of my managing to oversleep on the morning of the Man City game, I actually emerged from our pit shortly after ?Im Indoors did ? and much were the feigned expressions of surprise from his lips when I poked my head around our office door afterwards. ?You really sure you won?t fall asleep during the game after getting up so early, then?? was just one of the many so-called ?witty quips? tossed in my direction.

Stung by that one, I was just about to retort, ?Oooh, you don?t half exaggerate, you?.? when, mid-sentence, it suddenly struck me. That?s what he always says to his mum, who can make the ingestion of a mere half-pint of Bulmers cider sound like the beginning of an all-too rapid descent down the slippery slope that leads to chronic drunken debauchery. My God ? he WAS sounding like his mum! And I told him so, to frequent accompanying wails of denial on his part ? but its TRUE, I tell you! It?s a shame there?s no bookie alive that would accept a bet on the above, but I now eagerly await the next obvious manifestation of this maternally-linked syndrome, the ?I Nearly Bought?.? conversation-opener. And what?s that? Easy - let me give you an example.

A few years back, I happened to get wind of the fact my mother-in-law was scouring every electrical goods shop in Halesowen looking for a twin-tub washing machine to replace the one she had. Clapped out, it was, or something. Now you, me, and the cat all know perfectly well such primitive washing appliances went out with The Ark, but not my relative by marriage, it would seem. Still, I tried to tell her, tried to demonstrate science had moved on considerably since the Fifties, even to the extent of arranging to do my own wash the next time she showed up at our place; with her standing next to me, I chucked in the clothes, and ditto the washing powder, twirled the dial on our automatic, shut the door ? and bingo! No having to stand over the blasted thing all the time, no humping of sodden washing from one tub into the other, no careful arranging of wet clobber around the spin-dryer drum, in the vain hope of preventing an unbalanced load, and the strong possibility of the whole blasted caboodle then doing a most alarming watery juddery waltz around the kitchen, with the poor owner left hanging on like grim death. None of that malarkey; just chuck everything in, then go and do what the hell you want to instead. And very impressed she was, too. ?Oooh, I didn?t realise it was that simple; I must get one of those for myself!? Cracked it? Well, you would have thought so, wouldn?t you? The next time I saw her ? around a month after that, as I recall ? I casually enquired how she was doing with her new purchase, to which she replied, ?Er, well ? I went looking for one, just like you said, and NEARLY BOUGHT one, then I just happened to see a nice second-hand twin-tub in???.?

AAAARGH! And my other half still wonders to this very day why he suddenly found me bashing my brains out on our living-room wall. Mind you, I did have the last laugh, if you want to describe it as such. About a month after purchase, the wretched antique ? God knows who sold it to her, The Black Country Museum, probably ? blew up, and in spectacular fashion, too, so she still had to get an automatic in the finish. But that?s the ?Nearly Bought Syndrome? for you, in a nutshell, and were I feeling suitably evil, I could probably come up with a whole lot more examples of the genre ? but I won?t. Instead, I?ll just wait patiently for the time when my other half?s DNA decides to spring that particular surprise-packet on me. Oh, and another thought. Do those ever-advancing years find YOU bearing a painfully-close resemblance to your mother as well? Have a good think about it. I have, already I can discern the signs ? dozing off in the afternoon?s a classic - and I?m still going ?EEK!? at the awful prospect!

Sorry to travel by such a convoluted route today, folks, but the main reason for our early-ish start was a trip to Accrington Stanley, who were due to play Hereford in the FA Trophy. Incidentally, you think our lot have it bad with fixture-congestion? Try non-league?s apex division for starters; not only do they have a full Conference programme to contend with, they also participate in the FA Cup, the Conference Cup, and, should they finish in the top eight the previous season, the Leyland-Daf Cup also, where they get to mix it with the big boys of Leagues One and Two, of course. As The Bulls currently sit in fifth place, and are still active in three of that lot, then you begin to realise what an enormous slog it can be down there. Oh ? and ?Im Indoors has just reminded me of their Herefordshire Cup involvement. Eek!

And, as we headed on out for the Lancashire club, another chilling thought struck me as abruptly as a chunk of rock chucked by a friendly Dingle: were we turning into Paul Crichton groupies? For the benefit of those who weren?t aware, after that disastrous non-performance of his for York City earlier in the season (see Diary passim), and a dust-up with some of their supporters (doubly-disastrous, as their supporters effectively own York City!), the ex-Albion keeper moved on rapidly to Stafford Rangers, then, after what sounded very much like yet another disastrous spell, to Leigh RMI. A sneaky glance at the Conference table will quickly make you realise we?re not exactly talking Real Madrid, here. And that?s when fortunes looked up, albeit slightly, for the Baggie prodigal; the regular Stanley custodian broke a leg, or something, and an experienced loan replacement was urgently needed. Who ya gonna call? Yep. Not if you had even an ounce of sense, mark you, but Stanley didn?t really have any choice in the matter, what with their favourable league position and everything. That?s why the lad was there between the sticks for them today; 18 games with the Lancashire bruisers thus far, I?m told, and as they?re currently third in the Conference, he must be doing something right for once, I suppose.

An uneventful trip up the M6 and M65 later, we were at the ground itself. Nothing whatsoever to do with the old Accrington, the ones that went out of the League in 1962, and replaced by Oxford, mind; this lot have risen from the ashes, so to speak. Still, their social club?s good, as is the case for most clubs at that level; it?s an important revenue stream, after all. Strange they had a veto on away supporters today; as neutrals, though, we were well able to circumvent that one. The game itself? A goalless, muddy stalemate, with the rematch next Tuesday evening. Crichton? Much to my amazement, he seemed to have a pretty decent game for once; on the few occasions he was genuinely tested, he negated each danger with comparative ease. One notable (and puzzling!) bit, though, was the banner draped along half the length of the home end, situated behind one of the goals. ?WE SEE WELSH PEOPLE!? was the bizarre but inaccurate declaration. Strange, that one - clearly, O Level Geography is not a popular choice among schoolchildren in those there parts. Or passing, when you come to think about it. Go check your map - Hereford is nowhere near the Welsh border!

Back to Albion business once more, then ? and didn?t results go for us today? Palace, Norwich, Southampton ? they all lost, thanks goodness. And we have to play another club still entangled in the mire tomorrow. Looks like we have every incentive possible to put one over the Cottagers, if only to partially avenge the awful injustice meted out to us during the corresponding home fixture last September. Remember our penalty, and their keeper standing several yards off his line while it was being taken? And not only that, the visitors trying their level best to intimidate the referee, as well? I reckon we?re owed a big one there; how the hell the saving of that penalty could ever be deemed legal is still a complete and utter mystery to me. I can only hope also that the referee isn?t anywhere near as useless as the one we had last time round; as you may recall, Fulham duo Andy Cole and Papa Boupa Diop plus our very own Neil Clement all walked, and as if that wasn?t enough, he dished out a massive seven bookings as well. Look on the bright side, though; I bet he was still writing up all the multitudinous reports demanded by the FA these days come midnight!

So, who?s hot and who?s not for tomorrow? One snippet of good news, for once; Andy Cole is suspended after accumulating five yellow cards. The bad? Canada international Tomasz Radzinski is back after pulling a hamstring while Papa Bouba Diop and Zesh Rehman, are in the reckoning. As far as we?re concerned, it looks as though Kevin Campbell will be given his first chance to show what he can do for us up front. I can only hope he?s got the phrase ?miracle worker? tucked away inside his voluminous CV somewhere, because that?s what we?re going to need tomorrow, and in bloody great dollops, as well. Not that I?m banking upon him lasting the whole course, should he get a start; apparently, he?s only turned out for the Toffees on eight occasions this season, and has yet to complete a full game, so he may well be a tad out of match practice and need subbing late doors. Or might be sitting on the bench himself, and being utilised as Albion?s ?ultimate deterrent?. Mind you, our gaffer seems to think highly of his fitness-levels after watching him in training, but having said that, any pro can have a decent game on the training-pitch; it?s what the guy can do when it?s all for real that counts.

Fellow striker Kanu should be fit, though, after missing last weekend's 2-0 FA Cup win at Preston with a virus. Hmmmm. Geoff Horsfield is under veterinary supervision after suffering a hamstring (fetlock?) strain at Deepdale, but I can?t honestly see him making a recovery in the time. Will our leader risk an Earnie-Campbell link-up, I wonder? Or, even braver, still, a Kanu-Campbell combo? Mister Contratemps also hopes to return after a groin problem, but what really worries me right now is the continuing absence of Big Dave. That?s his seventh absence on the bounce with a knee injury, now, despite making some recent progress. According to the club, he should be figuring in our reserves against Newcastle at Kiddy Harriers next week; hopefully, his rehabilitation will carry on from there, and not a moment too soon, say I. We really do need his steady head at the back right now if we are to entertain any serious hopes of getting out of this godforsaken hole. According to our gaffer, the players are actually enjoying coming in for training these days, which is a bonus of sorts. What with that, and the little unbeaten run we?ve managed to string together, there may indeed be some residual spark of life lurking in the old Premiership dog, even now. In fact, there jolly well HAS to be; lose tomorrow, and we?re sunk; draw, and it?s not disastrous, but not good, either; win, and the prognosis may not be a terminal one. Not yet. My forecast? A win for us, but I'll probably regret having ever opened my mouth come tomorrow!

A quick word about Fulham. This time, we?re back to their normal Craven Cottage haunt, their spiffing wheeze of flogging the land off for property development having crashed and burned of late, it would seem. Oh well ? at least it saves us having to go to QPR this time, I suppose. I don?t know what the place looks like now, of course; it?s been rebuilt, but I can still remember the time when you could stand at the back of one end, look over the wall, and watch the Oxford-Cambridge Boat Race in full flow just behind. Another eye-opener around there is the property prices; when we last visited (around the time Brian Little was manager, I think), you were looking towards flashing a cool quarter of a million for one of those houses. Have but a fleeting glimpse of the river from your gaff, standing tip-toe on the bog seat to see it, even, and another 250K got automatically whacked onto the asking price. As we?re now approximately three or four years down the road, you?re probably looking to pay ?500K just to get the keys to what would be regarded as a poky little ?two-up-two-down? back home.

Another little ?something? you might care to look out for while you?re there ? and I?m only mentioning it because I quite literally stumbled upon it myself the last time we came ? was a memorial to the Spanish Civil War dead, which you?ll find situated in a nearby park. Lasting from 1936 to 1939, it really was the ?war they all forgot?. Many ?famous names? fought in the International Brigade against General Franco in that particular theatre of conflict, among them George Orwell, he of ?Animal Farm?, and ?1984? fame The conflict also served as an excellent training ground for the German Luftwaffe, who ?advised? Franco on such matters, as did the Italians. Both used the war as an opportunity to perfect the blitz-bombing tactics they were to utilise over places like London and Coventry just a few years later. Picasso?s Guernica abstract is a pretty graphic vision of what trained bomber pilots can do to Spanish population centres, given a free run and nothing in the way of air-defences to stop them. Oh, and another thought ? never mention Franco to a Barcelona supporter. Being Basques, they hated his guts, and with very good reason. Ever heard of the phrase ?ethnic cleansing??

Returning to Albion business once more, I can?t say I was all that surprised to see both Artim Sakiri and Bernt Hass placed on the transfer list earlier in the week. Well, I was a tadge with Our Tim, but on reflection, although one might have argued convincingly that he wasn?t really given a fair crack of the whip during Megson?s time here, come the advent of the New Dawn, and our gaffer impartially assessing more fully what he?d got, he was given a second chance. A shame, then, that despite having being given a reputation-saving couple of outings in the first team, he failed to impress the new gaffer sufficiently to warrant retention. His possible departure comes as a bit of a shame, really, and for two reasons. Firstly, because of the considerable time and energy Doctor Evans (and West Bromwich MP Tom Watson) invested in persuading a sceptical Home Office to give him a work permit, all to little avail, it now seems. The other one? The fact that when he was on top form, he could astound and delight us by turns. Remember that almighty piledriver he stuck in the back of the Burnley net from about 35 yards out early last season?

Mister Hass? I somehow don?t think any great injustice has been done there; as far as I?m concerned, his card, already somewhat dog-eared and ill-used courtesy many less-than-inspiring performances at the back both this season and the one before, was well and truly marked during that awful Blues game. Even so, and despite the coaching staff probably being driven to total apoplexy by his complete idiocy at the back, I don?t think that was the final straw. I reckon what really did it for Bernt was his recent most unholy trinity of a theatrical costume, a full bottle of vodka, and a Christmas party at his house not previously sanctioned by the club. Closely followed by a star performance before the bemused gaze of the local ambulance service, apparently, not to mention an almighty whack of adverse publicity for the club in the E and S, of course. Sure, we all know that our current gaffer was no saint himself during his playing days, and he?d probably be the first to admit it, but the fundamental difference back then was this. No matter what the precise amount of alcohol ingested, or how wild the festivities, Robbo always came up with the goods on the pitch come the weekend. ?Nuff said?

Just what the hell is going on between Albion and Almeyda, I wonder? Or, more to the point, NOT? This time last week, the entire thing seemed like a done deal, and only the scrappy stuff left to be decided. Fast-forward seven days further down the line, and Almeyda?s still very much in Argentina, and not at the club at all. WHY? For all we know, he might be out there providing the raw material for Fray Bentos cans and Oxo cubes, or saving Argentina from the ravages of an alien invasion, even, but there?s still nary a whisper in the media about when he?s going to finally join us. All we know is this: according to the E and S recently, what?s holding things up right now are what they coyly term ?financial considerations? and ?family reasons?, so it could still go either way, it would seem. Quite a turnaround from the euphoria of the past few days, isn?t it? Looks very much as though my recent theory Almeyda?s coming might have hit the buffers of an unexpected and irretrievable snag might be correct after all. I can only hope we?ve got a cunning back-up strategy gathering dust in someone?s filing cabinet somewhere, because what with the window being almost halfway through its natural life and everything, should this one fall through and we haven?t, we?re going to be cutting it fine, to say the least.

Ever heard of earworms? Don?t worry, those of you reading these words, and not being all that conversant with parasitology. You?ll be pleased to know I used to switch off during that bit of my biology lessons as well. No, it?s nothing whatsoever to do with round or tapeworms, nor any other variety of wriggly itchy thing that infests the lower gut, then pops out from time to time just to say ?hello?. Earworms, dear reader, are simply another name for those bloody irritating melodies that enter (?worm into?) the brain from time to time. ?The Birdie Song? is a good, but totally naff, example, and so is that plinkety-plonk zither thing from The Third Man. It really gets to be a problem when, despite the ?victim? trying everything known to the annals of science to shift the musical interloper from the brain, there it is at bedtime, still, and very high up indeed in the old insomnia and general irritation stakes, unsurprisingly enough.

Having now done the preamble to everyone?s satisfaction, you?ll understand where I?m coming from, so without further ado, let me introduce you all to our very own earworm-merchant. Yes, Kev Buckley, of the Boing mailing-list ? it?s YOU! How come? Well, the other night, he rewrote some new Albion-related lyrics to the 1971 Benny Hill Christmas novelty record, ?Ernie, The Fastest Milkman In The West?, and all with an Earnshaw-related slant, you?ll not be too surprised to hear. So buoyed up by his creation was Kev, he then tried it out on us mailing-list Baggies. Big mistake, that. So rib-achingly funny were the ?new and improved? words (don?t worry - when he comes back from his various jaunts, I?ll get permission to give his ?lyrics? an airing on here, and give those who don?t subscribe to the mailing-list the opportunity of having a bloody good giggle for themselves!) ever since first encountering Kev?s work the other night, and wiping the many tears from my eyes, I?ve been totally unable to eradicate the blasted thing from my brain! AARGH!

If ever there was an additional reason to make one hell of a lot of noise for our six-pointer tryst with Southampton in early February (Cup commitments permitting, of course), this has got to be it. Saints have subsidised the cost of travelling to West Bromwich Albion for what could be a crunch game for both sets of combatants, and anticipate a big take up with 16 coaches already booked. The cost to members and season ticket holders will only be ?10, with those not holding either still only being asked to cough up a measly ?12. To be totally fair, this is something that they have done most seasons, as well as giving all season ticket holders a free trip by coach to an away game of their choice. The thing is, though, remember how effective our support was at the Sunderland away game last season, when Albion went one better by totally bankrolling all official supporter travel to that one? More reason for someone with the ability to shake both The Smethwick and The Brummie out of their currently-torpid states to come forward ? and the sooner the better.

Waggling my ears a little bit around variously-located supporter-gatherings recently, there?s a juicy little snippet come my way concerning the replica shirts introduced at the start of this season. Assuming I?ve heard this rightly, it would appear that when plans were first finalised to flog ?em last summer, the price mutually agreed was adults ?30 and kids ?20. Having finally sorted all that out, the club?s mighty marketing juggernaut was then quickly primed to steam into action; trouble was, just before it did, enter a prominent member of our board, who took one quick hard look at what was agreed, tutted a bit, then promptly raised the asking prices to ?40 and ?30 respectively! This, mark you, in an area of the country that not only suffers from more than its fair share of deprivation and poverty, thanks to the almost total destruction of its manufacturing industry base several years ago, a fair proportion of family breadwinners are either still out of a job or forced into alternatives near or on the minimum wage. And the signs are there?ll be yet another home and away version on the market in good time for the start of next season. Nice to know the club constantly has our best interests at heart, and shows so much empathy with the chronic financial plight of its grass-roots support, isn?t it?

And finally?.. One. This first one?s serious for once; although we live in an increasingly shitty world these days, just occasionally, we do get to see a brilliant shaft of white light penetrate the murk, then rapidly dissipate it, if only for a short while. Word earlier this week from Steve Sant, one of our away-travelling contributors, about a tragedy that befell his mate while they were en-route to Bolton. Apparently, when they stopped off at a hostelry in Oldham for a pre-match pint, the news reached his chum that his wife had suddenly (and quite unexpectedly) passed away. As she was only 45 when it happened, you can well imagine what a shock to the system that was, and the state of the poor sod on the receiving end. It?s at times like that we certainly see the good side of we Baggies really come to the fore; thanks to all the good people in the working men?s club they stopped off at, the guy was assisted in getting a train home (not an easy thing on New Years Day, as you can well imagine), whilst on the coach and en-route to the ground, Sauce held an impromptu collection. I?ve no idea how much was raised in the end (perhaps you can tell me, Sauce?) but what I do know is that the bloke was very grateful indeed for the kindness shown to him by both his fellow supporters, and by the proprietors of the club.

Two. Believe it or not, Sutton Branch (well done, Mandy!) have managed to secure the services of Tommy Gaardsoe for a forthcoming meeting. Just one thing, though. Many have tried in the past, and many have failed. How the hell do they manage to do it?

Three. Hands up all those who remember James Quinn? You do? Oh good. My old chum Fab Traccana certainly will, purely and simply because of the way his somewhat inventive, not to mention loud, use of expletives (deleted or otherwise) all directed against the aforementioned player, of course, livened up our home reserve games no end. Sure, Quinny was about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike as far as actually getting the ball in the net was concerned, but it was still with a certain degree of wistfulness I regarded his departure from the club some three seasons ago. Second-string encounters have never been the same since. And that should have been that ? but it wasn?t. About 18 months or so ago, he somehow fetched up in the Guardian?s Monday sports supplement, as a columnist, believe it or not, giving readers the low-down on life in the Dutch League. Well, all good things must come to an end, I suppose; in last week?s effort, the lad announced he was leaving The Netherlands to try and find himself an English club. Homesick, he was. To be perfectly honest, after reading that, the only future I could see for him in Blighty was in non-league football, and not at top-level, either, but just to demonstrate just how wrong I could be, the other night, on Ceefax, there was a paragraph bearing the glad tidings his painstaking search for a new club was well and truly over. And who will be the lucky outfit to profit from his multifaceted footballing skills? Sheffield Wednesday, that?s who. A marriage made in heaven? Watch this space.

 - Glynis Wright

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