The Diary

03 February 2005: Palace: Picking Up The Pieces

Well, I think I?ve finally simmered down to the point where I can start to get rational about what happened last night ? but don?t bank on it. Get me started on some topics, and not a little of the old Adam suddenly comes percolating through, as my other half found earlier today, so it might yet be I?ll start indulging in more than a little post-match misery, but let?s see what happens, eh?

But first, let?s get the fun bits over with. Now here?s a tricky question for all you lot out there: just what do Uncle Joe?s Mint Balls, five differently-flavoured marmalades, a shirt very much like the sort of thing no self-respecting pot-smoking hippie would be seen without circa 1968, a 1960 compilation CD, and last, but not least, a disgustingly calorie-laden box of chocs, all have in common? Yep, they?re part of what our favourite football club might these days term a ?positive birthday experience?. For ?Im Indoors, of course, who today, actually reached the halfway mark of a projected 90 years existence on this planet. Were I able to find a bookie brave enough to take a bet on this one, I could well end up rooking them; thus far, his granny (who, when divorcing at 70, decided, somewhat belatedly, you might think, a change was indeed as good as a rest!) is 97, as sharp as a button, and, at the time of writing, still living in her own house, thank you very much! Did she secretly sign a pact with the devil, I wonder? It?s certainly a thought.

I suppose my other half didn?t take too much umbrage at my mocking of his advancing years this morning; tonight, he took me out for a rather scrummy meal, so it wasn?t such a bad day after all. And, when we finally returned, the scores on the old doors were looking good; although my instinct is to greatly insult those who are of the Bluenose persuasion, while putting together this piece, Im Indoors informed me Blues had beaten Saints two-one, and Everton had done the biz versus Norwich by the odd goal, a 79th minute late-show. Can?t be bad, and I?ll certainly tell The Bluenose Butcher when I see him tomorrow, but on the other hand, I still can?t help but speculate what might have been had we not shipped those last-gasp two points last night.

The problem is, even if we should turn over Norwich on Saturday ? a prospect I?m increasingly coming to regard as highly unlikely ? we would still have a mountain to climb to get out of it. Paradoxically, such misery runs counterpoint to the very fact that right now, we?re playing some of the best football I?ve seen from us all season. Once more, we?re actually looking like a Premiership side; pass and move, pass, then pass again ? and, once in the box, pounce with lighting-speed. Lovely stuff, and while not the best fare since the playing days of our gaffer himself, as one person claimed so lyrically recently, it?s certainly of a much higher standard than that offered earlier in the course of the current campaign.

Relegation will mean the almost certain break-up of what we have going for us at the moment; even with the best will in the world, I can?t see the likes of Earnie, who specifically mentioned the prospect of Premiership football as his prime reason for leaving the Principality for the industrial mysteries of The Black Country, staying the Championship course. I would imagine the same would apply to new-boy Chaplow, not to mention The Mighty Zoltan, whose silky skills must be worth a king?s ransom to some top-flight outfit or other right now. And they might not be the only ones; what about Greening? Kanu? The latter will be off like a shot, of course, should Championship status beckon. If only we could have changed our game in similar fashion much earlier in the season ? and that observation neatly brings me to the argument, brooked by some, about what might have been had we changed managers earlier than we did?

The trouble with that one, though, is this: had Megson fallen upon his own sword ere the moment autumn was first upon us, or sooner, even, would we have still been in the hunt for Robbo? It?s all down to my ?wee-wee down the trousers? historical theory, really. Let me explain. The passage of time can be likened to that of urine slowly drizzling down a trouser leg, as it does on those unfortunate occasions you?ve practically broken your neck to make it to the loo in time, and not succeeded; trouble is, at the precise moment significant events do occur, there?s absolutely no way of knowing which way the stuff?s going to go. Drizzle to the left, and you have a universe where Robbo stepped in when there was sufficient time for him to straighten out the problem, save the world as we know it, but along the way, failed to land either Chaplow, Campbell or Richardson.

And would Wallwork have come to the fore in the impressive manner he has over the last few weeks? Maybe Albion, new gaffer and all, would have embarked upon a pre-season clear-out, and the lad might well have simply got on his bike, then disappeared into the sunset in that alternative universe of which we know nothing. Come to think about it, given the circumstances, very likely, we would probably have ?drizzled to the right? and ended up with a totally different successful applicant. Heady stuff indeed, and one you can ?perm? and ?com? until you?re rendered bunk-eyed, if that?s what you want to do in your spare time.

Thinking on, though, it?s a fascinating topic the sci-fi people have covered greatly over the years; you only have to think of the 1962 British amateur film ?It Happened Here?, where the plot hinged on the presumption that we lost the Battle Of Britain, and the square-headed, goose-stepping tendency took over the country instead, ?Planet Of The Apes? in 1970, of course, and last, but not least, the literary efforts of a bloke called Phillip K. Dick ? no, I?m not making it up, honest ? who postulated a similar Nazi scenario in a book called ?The Man In The High Tower?, to realise there?s still a fair bit of mileage left in the genre. Come to think about it, wasn?t there a book published very recently, that postulated what might have happened to the USA had Charles Lindbergh, pioneer aviator and alleged Nazi sympathiser, and not Roosevelt, been elected president in 1940?

But back to last night?s disastrous episode. Now let me get this straight: two own-goals, two penalties conceded (and, if truth be known, in circumstances where even a ten-year-old kid would have belted the ball out for safety), an unnecessary sending-off, then yesterday evening?s second-half horror show?.. ? No prizes for naming who I?m on about, regretfully, but looking more closely at the above, one can?t help but notice a certain pattern developing, here. Or is it just the way I walk? Strangely enough, after I?d finished last night?s piece, I found myself totally unable to sleep, so returned to the old PC once more, and downloaded the stuff from the mailing-list, all 90-odd outraged post-match postings!

Interesting to see that some claimed Clem had told Purse to leave that fateful lob well alone for Houlty to deal with. It?s worth consideration; one poster actually claimed to be around the area of the Halfords where the incident took place, and heard the shout clearly. On the other hand, I haven?t yet seen anybody from the club wearing the metaphorical sackcloth and ashes. Well, not publicly. And here?s another theory to chuck into the pot, and one I haven?t seen raised by anyone thus far. Suppose it had been their AJ, and not Clem, doing the calling? I wouldn?t put it past him. No time to apply a lie-detector test, either, so you just have to go by instinct and hope for the best.

And, another observation. It was interesting also to see that no post-match comment whatsoever came via the mouth of the main man himself; Pearson did all the press conference stuff last night, apparently. And that makes me wonder as to precisely what was said to whom in the dressing-room after the final whistle. Last night, bar the shouting, one could make a very convincing argument indeed Purse got us relegated. Criticise our lads all you like, but of one thing I?m certain; you won?t find a more hard-working bunch of professionals anywhere, and what went through their minds when we blew it both then, and in injury-time, can only be imagined. I?m not one to embark upon negative comment lightly, but please, Robbo ? we?ve got Tommy Gaardsoe, Big Dave, now he?s pretty much healed, (had he been playing, he might well have headed that last-minute hopeful punt of theirs straight out of danger, no messing; he?s rather good at that sort of thing), my extremely dim tabby cat, even. But Purse? No, no, NOOOOO!

And that?s not all. There are also questions to be asked about the precise starting point of that Palace ?Hail Mary? job that led to their equaliser. Neither ?Im Indoors nor this column actually clocked that when Palace took that kick, it was from a spot some 15 yards further forward from where the original offence occurred. We might not have, but a fair few other posters did. Once again, think what might have been had the kick been taken properly? On such trifling matters do relegations hang.

Had a frantic call from Dawn Astle, secretary of the fledging East Midlands Branch, earlier today. Poor Dawn, the pressures of being in charge sure are getting to her. My beloved?s supposedly supportive comment that ?you?ll get used to it after the first ten years? curiously did nothing whatsoever to soothe her troubled brow. Considering she?s trained in self-defence, the next time you spot her, if I were you, hubbie, I?d RUN! Seriously, though, Dawn is as eager as a beaver to pass on a message to make sure no members feel short-changed. At their forthcoming meeting on February 15th (Snooty Fox in Woodville, remember), Brian Labone will not be able to attend. The Evertonian , with only a FA Cup runners-up medal to show for his labours, thanks to King Jeff, apologises profusely. Dawn is assuming that without Brian?s company, Gordon West will understandably be reluctant to make such a long trip by himself. So the meeting may only have five guests. (Honestly Dawn, some branches don?t get five guests in a season, so you?ve nothing to reproach yourself about!)

However, there is a story going around that two additional Albion men may also be in attendance. Nobody?s confirmed this with Dawn yet, so no names, no pack drill, but please, gents - if you?re reading this, you?d be more than welcome! Be you of similar vintage, and wanting a nostalgia-fix, or younger, and simply desirous of absorbing something of our rich footballing heritage, if you?re interested in going, can you please let Dawn know well in advance (Contact number: 07855 724918) and for two excellent reasons: 1) There?s a limit on numbers for fire safety reasons: and 2) There will be a buffet provided, cost four squid, payable on the door, and she needs to know numbers well in advance for that also.

Now Dawn?s finally got me in a good mood once more, here?s the latest nasty trick from our football club. If away season ticket holders want a ticket for Chelsea, they have to buy them this week, even though there is no date agreed for the fixture as yet. So your choice is either lose out on the fiver that you?ve pre-paid, or gamble another ?35 in the hope that the final date won?t clash with anything else in your life. With only 1,400 tickets on offer, waiting for a date to be confirmed is unrealistic. Sadly, Chelsea have the most expensive tickets in the country, so it?s a much bigger gamble than investing microscopic amounts of mazooma in Ladbrokes on the increasingly-unlikely premise we?re escaping courtesy ?Von Robson?s Express?. Strictly no refunds, as the message clearly states on the door. (Glynis-note: Is that legal?) One assumes that in the event of not being able to travel come the appointed day, away season ticket-holders will have to find their own purchaser. Some service!

Let?s emphasise again, serial masochists, aka away season ticket-holders, pay ?45 up front for the ?privilege? of following the club away from home: a little respect, a little understanding, even, wouldn?t go amiss. Who knows what family turmoil, changes in shift-working patterns, illness, redundancy etc. can crop up over the space of just a few weeks? To use the sort of business-orientated jargon that?s necessary to even begin to prick the conscience of our football club these days, that sort of cheap trick does not a good ?matchday experience? make. Or a satisfactory PR one, either. It?s not as though the ticket office are overwhelmed with business right now, as those for the following away trip don?t go on sale until 21st February. I believe we?re described as ?customers? these days. Would a theatre try this stunt? Or a major band? I doubt it very much. Some cynical people might suggest that Albion don?t care a monkeys about their customers, but they do care about banking a large sum of money for a few weeks in order to attract interest. Looking at the all-conquering Blues fixture list, unless they lose at Newcastle in the FA Cup, early April may be the earliest date possible, allowing for FA Cup replays and their Champions League games. By then, our fate could well be sealed.

And finally? One. And after all that lot, you still want some good news from me? OK ? anything the first team can do, our second-string can also. The scores on the doors? Albion 2 Dingles 2, with Lee Marshall signalling he?s still alive with a first half levelling strike, then, after we?d gone behind again, Smikle did similar late doors.

Two. Feeling sorry for me in my current snot-encrusted state, earlier this afternoon, my beloved took considerable time and trouble to pen some brief notes for tonight?s effort in order to save me the bother of doing so. And, mindful indeed of my insistence upon proper punctuation, plus my worrying tendency to stick commas absolutely anywhere and everywhere they need sticking, the lad even went overboard on that score. Many thanks, but I suspect that after tonight, we might well need a replacement ?delete? button very quickly!

 - Glynis Wright

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