The Diary

28 January 2005: Come Back Alexander Graham Bell - All Is Forgiven!

Telephones ? where would we be without ?em? Where, indeed ? because we?ve now been without ours for the last couple of days. OK, we?re playing keepie-uppie via the wonders of the internet as far as corresponding with regular chums is concerned ? plus by dint of using the extension upstairs, which isn?t directly connected to the one below. The problem is that unless one of us happens to hear the upstairs version ringing, which is difficult if you?ve got the TV going full blast, say, and my hearing isn?t of the best these days anyway, anyone wanting a casual natter with us is totally stuffed, right now.

How come? Easy: totally racked off with our clapped-out cordless number?s infuriating habit of cutting out on us mid-call ? rechargeable batteries finally giving up the ghost, I reckon ? I trotted into Argos for a digital replacement the other week. Only one of their dead basic jobbies, mind. There were lots more around the store around double the price we eventually coughed up for in that catalogue of theirs, so God knows what you get for that sort of moolah. Or perhaps He does indeed know; maybe direct communication with The Almighty comes as standard with the more costly versions?

But back to the point: once we?d got ourselves a replacement, ?Im Indoors then laboured mightily to set the dratted thing up, and for several days, it worked perfectly, base-station, second phone, the works, but come Monday morning, it completely and utterly refused to play ball with this column. No calls out, and no calls in, either. I know, because I tried ad nauseam to get the thing to come out of the monumental Anelka-type sulk it was in, and be nice for a change. And, once we?d finally unearthed the wretched instruction book that came with it (why is it, I wonder, that once used to grasp the basics of any household gadget, we always consign such essential reading to such a ?safe? place, we can never remember for the life of us where we?d stashed the blasted item some twelve or more months further down the line?) we then attempted just abut everything else you could think of to coax some life back into the damn thing, but at the time of writing, both receivers stubbornly remain deader than the dodo.

I suppose the next step is ringing their helpline (just as well we still have at least one phone doing what it?s told, then, isn?t it?) but the truly ideal solution to the problem would be a handy nine or ten year old kid. Intimate knowledge of such items, their innards, and ways of making the blasted things work again, are but a mere bagatelle to juvenile minds. Certainly, when trying to fathom the entrails of brand new mobile phones, both young David, Steve The Miser?s nipper, and Carly, our bag-carrier, came up trumps for us in the past, even allowing for the fact we?re both still struggling to pay off the nipper?s colossal consultation fee. Like father, like son, I suppose, but until we get things properly sorted, as they used to say in theatre-land, don?t ring us ? we?ll ring you!

Returning to Albion-related business once more, this week sees the start of what will become something of a marathon for this column, no doubt, and its all the fault of the Supporters? Club, believe it or not. Well, maybe I do exaggerate a little, but the thing is that between tonight and the end of next week, we plan to have no less than four similar gatherings under our belt. Tonight saw the first of these, Sutton Branch, whose guests were Adrian Goldberg and Richard Wilson of Radio WM (and in Ade?s case BBC TV) fame. Ade goes back a long, long way indeed with us two Dick Eds; long before he first entered the wild and wacky world of mainstream media work, Ade was diligently editing a publication purists now regard as being one of the first examples of the fanzine movement?s first tentative steps in that direction, ?On The Ball?. No-one took that title all that seriously at the time, but looking back, it?s crystal clear that just about everything that?s appeared under that umbrella ever since owes a hell of a lot to Ade and those early pioneers.

Much water has flowed under the bridge since those early days, of course, something that?s all-too apparent when you come to closely examine Ade?s career progression over the years. Tonight, dressed in dark jacket and cornflower blue shirt, crew-cutted to within an inch of the ?wood?, and trendy narrow-rimmed specs fronting his cherub features, the casual observer might well have ended up thinking butter wouldn?t melt ? but they?d be dead wrong. Ade ? and he?d readily agree with me on this, I know ? has a disgustingly-wicked sense of humour about him. Plus, when trying to get a point over to his audience, a slightly disconcerting inclination of unravelling with his hands an imaginary skein of wool for an invisible partner to wind into a ball suitable for knitting purposes, a habit I found most giggle-making at times!

Richard? To all outward appearances, chalk and cheese. A lot taller than our diddy chum, and a tad chunkier with it, the main facial features that really grabbed me were those eyebrows of his. The operative word really is ?Mephistophelean?; either that, or ?Bobby Gould?. Assuming you really wanted to get that malicious, of course. Truly magnificent specimens, they were, and quite capable of independent flight, given the right sort of weather conditions, or something. As per usual, both personages adopted the usual Sutton format of introducing themselves with a quick ?pen picture? if you like, then batting fielded questions from the floor, those interspersed with similar emanating from committee members also seated at the top table.

Ade kicked off by briefly going into his early journalistic career, also some background to his previous TV incarnations, one of which, and memorably so, was with ?Watchdog? when Anne Robinson, of current ?Weakest Link? fame, of course, was the somewhat-forceful anchor-person. Was she really as bad as she appeared to be on that ?The Weakest Link? quiz show of hers, asked someone in the audience. ?Er, no,? said our bespectacled chum; a brief pause, for effect, then, with a positive wealth of implication lurking within the reply, ?She?s WORSE!?

Ade then progressed to the subject of precisely why he became a Baggie in the first place. I don?t know about you lot out there, but in my experience, ask any number of supporters the same question, and you?ll get an infinite variety of replies. In Ade?s case, his love for the club hinged upon first watching the lads in season 1975-76 ? but it wasn?t our Oldham triumph that sealed it for him, more an early home game versus York City (yes, they did get a collective nosebleed that particular season, piercing their natural promotion-ceiling in such spectacular fashion!) where, in typical Albion fashion, our lot managed to turn a comfortable half-time 2-0 home lead into a 2-2 by-the-skin-of-the teeth affair. The rest, as they say, was history.

As far as Richard was concerned, he isn?t an Albion man, strictly speaking, but he reckoned he tried every Midland side for size at the time, and ended up liking ours the most. What truly epitomised the fundamental difference between those of the Hawthorns persuasion and other Midlands sides for Richard were the later stages of the recent but highly embarrassing Albion-Liverpool encounter, when serial goal-killer Gerard was substituted. As he slowly walked in the direction of the players? tunnel, a pretty fair proportion of the home crowd stood up and burst into spontaneous applause; as he commented, were the same circumstances to be repeated elsewhere in the Midlands, he really couldn?t imagine either Villa, Blues or the Dingles doing similar.

Adrian and Richard then jointly moved on to encompass what details they knew of ongoing negotiations with our favourite football club regarding the coverage of future Albion games, also the mechanics of how audience levels for particular broadcasts were measured. That was followed by a discussion surrounding the circumstances surrounding Meggo?s departure, some three or so months ago; as Ade rightly commented, all those obvious faults aside, it had to be admitted he had done a brilliant job turning the club completely around as he did when he first arrived on the scene. Richard concurred, and also added that while with us, Meggo had held considerably sway over the local media, and to a degree that was quite astonishing to behold.

The contentious subject of that darned transfer window was next up for discussion. Why was it there was usually so much ballyhoo in the media surrounding possible targets, and yet, when push finally came to shove, either very little actually seemed to be happening, or the move simply foundered on the reef of impossibly-difficult demands from one side or another? Did the apparent lack of definite targets right now mean Jeremy Peace wasn?t all that willing to chuck some money at the problem? And, looking at events from yet another angle, how much of the stuff you regularly saw in the media was simply down to agents ?talking a good job? for their clients? As Ade commented, apropos the highly-publicised recent remarks in the E and S about the Chaplow situation encountering a blind alley, there?s nothing quite like a public ?declaration of death? regarding that putative move to concentrate the mind of the selling club most wonderfully!

On, then, to a subject dear to all our hearts, the quality of football played by Albion sides these days. Or not. To reduce that particular topic to the level of an examination question, compare and contrast quality but trophy-less performances as per the likes of Cyrille Regis and Co. with those we normally see today, two promotions and a relegation further down the line. As Ade said, although everyone would dearly want to see classy football at The Shrine again, pragmatism dictates you have to accept the trade-off ? and it is one, to all intents and purposes - for what it really is. Looking at things from another angle, as Richard pointed out, and quite rightly, too, we?ve come a mighty long way from the dark days of Brian Little and Co. and what I?d term ?institutionalised mediocrity?. This then sparked off a lively debate about precisely what constituted ?entertainment?. Was it as per the sixties, when you had a side playing marvellous stuff out there, and despite inconsistency, winning occasional trophies? Or was ?success? definable as per today?s criteria: i.e. the Megson philosophy of putting defence at the very heart of things, a policy which made for us not losing that many games, and getting us up twice over recent years, but being as boring as hell to watch?

Elaborating on the theme somewhat, Richard opined that successful football was all about hope, a good playing standard, and entertainment. There were times when clubs simply had to take something of a justifiable risk to stay at top-flight level. A good example of this policy being pursued successfully was Blues, the season they went up in conjunction with ourselves. Looking to be in serious danger of being relegated come the start of the January transfer ?window? that season, they took a bit of a gamble and signed no less than five players in an effort to ensure survival ? and it worked superbly. They?re now an established Premiership side. Albion tried to do the same thing with Kanu this season, reckoned our guests, but they found it hard to believe the choice was that of our then gaffer.

Moving on further, the debate then encompassed whether or not young Earnie could make it at this level. Ade was of the opinion we didn?t play to his strengths, but Richard thought he had two vital assets on his side; youth, and Bryan Robson. From that, the framework then expanded to take in the contentious topic of whether some players had the ability to make the transition from the mental outlook of a Championship performer to that of their Premiership counterparts. With that much media exposure, plus the fact even relatively inexperienced kids were drawing telephone-number salaries, it was pretty difficult for some players, the less mature ones, to keep their feet well and truly on the ground and remain level-headed, no matter what.

Quite a knotty problem for managers, that one, acknowledged Richard; some positively relished the challenge inherent in taking players regarded as ?damaged goods? by the selling club, then going on to make decent footballers out of them, while others preferred to give that sort of personality a pretty wide berth as far as constructing half-decent sides was concerned. A thorny sort of subject that brought us, by a somewhat circuitous route, to the burning question of precisely what Jeremy Peace?s medium and long-term plans for the club really were.

Moving slightly away from Albion itself, Ade was then quizzed about other Albion supporters working in the media, one of which was Adrian Chiles, of course. Ade was also good mates with Malcolm Boyden, now based with Radio Hereford And Worcester, of course. But, as ever, things quickly boomeranged back to things Baggie ? or should I say ?referee?? Graham Poll, and what appeared to be inconsistency taken to an infuriating degree last Saturday loomed large as a topic of conversation, unsurprisingly. As Ade so rightly commented apropos the ?free-kick? incident, ?Why do they think it?s their job to oversee the construction of defensive walls?? Both guests also agreed there was now a disturbing trend among whistlers to regard themselves as stars in their own right, as opposed to being a mere appurtenance at games.

And then it was ?confession time?. In Ade?s case, it was one surrounding the day he nearly lost his then media job because of the Baggies! The game? Bristol Rovers v Albion, Twerton Park, Bath, circa May 1991. Not that our chum was actually there, mind; he was covering the Leicester-Oxford game at the time. What subsequently happened on Ade?s part was a bit of a mullock, really. Due to a misunderstanding over what Ade actually said via the telephone link between the ground and the studio, the station he was working for at the time took it to mean Oxford had put the ball in the net very late doors indeed, an event that meant we?d avoided the drop by the skin of our teeth. They even preceded the news in characteristic fashion by sounding their very well-known?goal? ?di-di-dah-dah!? hooter on-air. A shame, then, the message they gave out was as wrong as it could ever be for all those armchair Baggies out there!

Richard?s ?true confession?? The time he was at a club?s press conference, and needing to relay ?live? commentary to the studio without disturbing the rest of the manager?s spiel too much, he elected to give them a call via his mobile, one of the cubicles in the nearby gents? bog providing some semblance of quiet and privacy, at least. All went well at first, but then Richard suddenly realised his mobile, one of the early ?brick? varieties, couldn?t pick up the signal properly. What to do? Simple ? balance right on top of the waist-high cistern situated next to an open window, and the broadcast would be a piece of the proverbial. And so it was - until the lad went to sign off. Just as the words: ?This is Richard Wilson handing you back to the studio?..? were halfway through, his foot slipped, and right onto the handle of the flush, as well. That was why pretty much all of the Midlands listened to the latter part of the lad?s closing sentence being pretty much swamped by the sound of a lavatory sending a considerable quantity of water heading right down the pan!

That was the gist of the action, pretty much, then, save a couple of items I?ve left out for the sake of brevity. To the best of my knowledge and belief, tonight was the first time Ade had ever ?done? a Supporters? Club meeting, and the same applied to Richard. I have to say that as a ?home debut? Ade played pretty much a blinder. I did detect a slight hint of nervousness at first, but that soon passed, and it wasn?t too long before the pair of ?em were getting along like a house on fire. Certainly, those who were there seemed to enjoy the night immensely, not to mention the sarnies proffered afterwards.

Oh, and ?Im Indoors being the jammy little tinker he is, he won one of the raffle prizes, as drawn by the guests, a SuperBob DVD, but as we already had one in our possession, we quickly passed our new acquisition to The Fart, who has recently taken delivery of a DVD player himself. More intriguing, though, was the shiny metallic object, cylindrical, almost, that lay almost directly in front of our two chums all the while they spoke. For all the world, it looked very much like a small-calibre artillery shell, or a super-sized female sex-aid ? and my mind boggled at the mere thought. The truth? Dead boring, actually ? the object in question was a common-or-garden vacuum flask, one of a fairly successful line peddled by the club themselves. Mind you, for myself, I prefer the ?vibrator? theory!

Oh, and another thought. Wot, Mandy? No doughnuts or sticky buns, a la South Birmingham? Oooooh, I?ll most certainly have to see about that one!

Burrowing along the narrow trail left by my more recent doings, Tuesday night saw us at Edgar Street once more, this time for The Mickey Mouse Cup, and the cider-slurpers? quarter-final game with Wrexham, Denis Smith and all. It really does speak volumes for the ever-narrowing divide between Conference football and that played at League Two level that The Bulls made it that far in the first place ? and by genuinely besting three ?proper? League sides along the way, Donny Rovers, Scunthorpe and last season?s trophy winners, Blackpool, as well, much to their eternal disgust. What with that, plus the sheer number of players needing clubs managers can pick and choose from in the transfer market these days, there really isn?t all that much that separates the standard of football played at both levels these days.

Another factor making a real difference over recent years, though, is the sheer number of Conference sides now opting for full-time status; just like the Prem, there are now at least two distinct layers to their league table. At the apex of the pyramid you invariably find outfits who travelled down that full-time route ages ago, or never deviated from it in the first place, The Bulls being just one, of course. The sides you tend to find at the bottom of the Conference these days are those that defiantly remain part-time, still. Give it a few more years, and sides punching way, way above their weight ? Forest Green?s a pretty typical example of the genre, of course, always living a hand-to-mouth bottom-of-Conference existence as they do - will become all the more a highly-endangered footballing species.

I truly had hoped to report a Conference club making it to the semis for the first time in the history of the competition, but it wasn?t to be. The Bulls scored first, taking a metaphorical meant-cleaver to the Welsh side?s defence in fine fashion, then tapping home from about ten yards out, and totally unmarked, as well. Trouble was, a scant minute after the restart, so did Wrexham! Could only have been an unfortunate lapse in concentration on the part of the Bulls defence, I reckon. Thus was the scene set for a ?war of attrition?.

Despite alarums and excursions on both sides, the score still stubbornly remained at 1-1, but with around 20 minutes to go to the end of the full 90, and everyone at Edgar Street bracing themselves for yet another fraught 30 minutes, with the possibility of penalties, also, Hereford conceded again. After that, Wrexham shut up shop, pretty much, although the home side very nearly forced extra time, and with only about a minute of the game remaining, as well. With every white shirt on a mass headlong charge towards goal, and Wrexham players rushing back mob-handed to prevent the unthinkable happening, the ball then plopped tantalisingly into the six-yard box, and following an abortive attempt to cleanly catch the airborne bladder, their keeper ended up on the deck, floundering, Crichton-style. Away went the shots, one, two ? but somehow, the blasted thing refused to cross the line, even when whacked from, I reckon, a distance of a couple of feet from target. Think ?Kanu?, and you won?t go far wrong.

Still, as I pointed out to my other half come the end, with The Bulls, it just might turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Part of their problem right now us getting together a squad that?s even halfway fit; had they had at their disposal the whole works, Lee Mills included, they might well have written a new chapter in the record books, but it wasn?t to be. They may have lost the battle, sure, but now they?ve put the distraction of one competition well and truly aside, they just might have secured for themselves a richly-deserved play-off war victory come the end of the season. What happened to them last time round was a complete and utter travesty. Mind you, that?s not the complete finish of knock-out football for our bullish friends; there?s still the Conference Cup and the FA Trophy to play for, would you believe. Looks very much like Edgar Street?s going to be an awfully busy place between now and the end of term.

As Margaret Thatcher so famously crowed just after the Marines took South Georgia during the 1982 Falklands War, ?Rejoice! Rejoice!? Why? Easy one, that. Because Rodney The Plonker was summarily given the boot by Sky on Wednesday following some awfully-insensitive on-air jocular remarks made by him during the Blackburn-Bolton game, which used the similarity between the words ?Tsunami?, and ?Toon Army? as the basis for a joke that wasn?t even all that funny anyway. I have to say that ever since I first heard the news, I?ve been having continual wet dreams about that delicious moment; never before has my favourite maxim: ?He who lives by the hypertrophied bucchal orifice dies by the hypertrophied bucchal orifice!? been illustrated so perfectly!

And finally?.. One. Chant Of The Week? The monumental insult hurled from Edgar Street?s Meadow End about their Wrexham counterparts: ?You?re Just A Bus Stop In Chester???

Two. Also concerning That Game. May, octogenarian eldest of the three ladies of our acquaintance who gamely attend just about every Bulls game going, reckons my other half should have been a wartime spiv! How come? Oh dear. That night, my beloved just happened to be wearing a camel-hair coat, and a very smart garment it looked, too. Trouble was, when she first clapped eyes on it, May, wartime memory-banks working overtime, no doubt, completely doubled up with laughter. According to her, all it needed was the obligatory wide-brimmed fedora hat and the pencil moustache, plus a suitcase crammed full of nylon stockings and fags of dubious provenance, and ?Im Indoors would have been well away! The nick, probably. And, when I?d finally finished wiping the tears from my face, I had to admit she did have a point; even when I was but a kid, and although proper rationing had finished several years before, I can still just about remember various shady characters dressed just like that lurking around several strategically-placed Friar Park holes and corners.

Three. I see Frank Burrows won?t be joining his former Baggies chum Meggo at Forest, then. A case of recent events presenting Frank with a convenient moment on which to end his boot-room career, (pre-Meggo, Frank had quite an illustrious managerial record of his own, believe it or not), or as good an opportunity as any to use what happened at Albion as a convenient means of embarking upon a totally divergent career path in the game?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index