The Diary

29 July 2003: Wrexham 2 Albion 0

The Noise to female assistant at Wrexham?s refreshment bar: ?That?s a lovely Welsh accent you?ve got?.?

Assistant: ?Er ? I?m from Liverpool, actually, but I?ve got to say you?ve got a nice Birmingham accent yourself??

The Noise: ?Well ? I?m from Stoke, really!?

Confused? You ought to be, but that?s The Noise and his vocal powers for you. Remember the news the other day about some bloke getting the world?s first tongue transplant? As soon as I heard it, my first words to ?Im Indoors were: ?I reckon somebody ought to put Martin on the waiting list for one as a matter of priority!? Shortly coming to a Nationwide ground near you ? don?t say I didn?t warn you?

It?s Tuesday ? what a splendid day for leaving the Black Country behind, we thought, and traipsing off to Wrexham in North Wales, former home of the Welsh international side before The Millennium Stadium pushed its capacious schnozzle into the trough. Internationals aside, the town is also famous for one or two other things; for example, Offa?s Dyke runs slap-bang through the middle of the town. What?s that? For the non-historians among you, Offa?s Dyke was not that person?s lesbian partner, but a bloody big ditch built in Saxon times to keep the Welsh out. Some unkind souls have since opined that the idea ought to be revived, with the addition of an electrified fence, watch-towers, searchlights, and armed guards for good measure, but let?s not be uncharitable to our Celtic cousins, shall we? Additionally, in St Giles? Church, in the city centre, lies buried the bloke who took pity on a struggling American university and gave it a hand-out, from which it?s never looked back. The name of the educational establishment concerned? Well, if I tell you the guy?s name was Elihu Yale, that?s a pretty broad hint; incidentally, in recognition of their benefactor?s generosity, Yale erected a replica of the St Giles church steeple on their campus. A bloody peculiar way of remembering someone who flashed the cash at a crucial time, but that?s Americans for you. In the footballing world, the town also produced what had to be the very first Welsh football superstar; a big but belated ?hello? then, to Billy Meredith, born 1874, who made his name first with clubs around Wrexham, then with Man City around the turn of the century, although his career was interrupted for a while by a bribery scandal. After that set-back, he then went across the city to rivals Man U, but in the twilight of his career, reverted back to City once more.

That?s the cultural bit done with, then, so on with the footie. Along with the Old Fart, we left the Midlands at around half-four, in an almighty deluge of rain, joining an already-packed M6 around ten minutes afterwards. And when I say ?packed? I literally mean that; even with a following wind, it took us a good half hour to negotiate the short distance from Junction One to where the traffic peels off for the M54 and bandit country. No animals going two-by-two, or large boats skippered by Biblical-looking bearded gentlemen in the slow lane, although given the amount of precipitation chucking down at the time, there damn well ought to have been. Travelling at that time of day, it?s easy to see how the M5/6 interchange has earned the unwelcome distinction of being the busiest (and most frustrating!) motorway intersection in Europe. Making our escape via the M54 turn-off, we then entered the environs of what has been voted the most boring motorway in Britain ? odd, but on the level, and they weren?t telling porkies, either! A quick tootle round a distinctly-gloomy Shrewsbury (where we took the wrong route and nearly ended up in central Wales), up the A5 towards Oswestry, then via the dual-carriageway into Wrexham proper. The start apart, pretty-well uneventful and a world away from the last time I?d made this journey to watch the lads back in 1970. Then, the tournament was the Watney Cup, the roads distinctly twisty, the weather hot and sunny, the opponents tonight?s, and for variety, we had the luxury of no offsides; not that it helped, because we lost on penalties. Typical Albion, you might say. Returning to the present, we pulled up in a street hard by the ground around half-six, and after a photo-session outside the ground for the Fart?s benefit (incidentally, he?s been invited to Walsall Supporters Club Branch as a guest speaker!) we visited the hostelry next to the Racecourse Ground, called ? surprise, surprise ? The Turf. Now here?s an idea; years ago, that pub had a balcony affair overlooking the pitch where you could quite legally sup a pint and watch the game as you did so. Sounds pretty civilised to me, which spoilsport stopped it? Oh ? one other thing; why were there six or seven van-loads of rozzers waiting outside for our faithful? That many of the constabulary?s finest? For a friendly? Do us a favour?..

Into that licenced den of iniquity, then, and a reunion ? well, we hadn?t clapped eyes on a lot of ?em since Saturday ? with some very familiar faces, most of whom had come straight off the Baggies travel coach, and others Sauce?s transport of delight. Incidentally, talking of that gentleman, he?s asked us to put the word around that he has around 20 seats vacant on his charabanc for the forthcoming trip to Plymouth this Saturday. Anyone who wants a day out with a difference (and a crash-course in basic Anglo-Saxon!), give our friend a bell on 07790 396316, where he?ll be delighted to oblige your every whim. Ish. Quite a squash it was in that pub; remind me never again to enter a watering-hole directly after our coach-travellers have had the same idea! One interesting note; whilst outside, I ran into one of the three lads who had travelled to Denmark by car. Readers of my jottings from that trip will also remember one of these lads making the trip despite having his hand swathed in plaster, and wanting a mention despite being ?on the box? from work. His chum tells me that the lad in question subsequently saw his name in lights, and immediately (in the cold light of sobriety, presumably, and not Ryan?s Bar in Odense!) wanted the ground to open up and swallow him! Well, I did say repeatedly to him at the time: ?Do you really want me to print this?? and every time I asked, he replied in the affirmative ? in fact, he insisted, so I obliged him?..

One quick slurp and a bag of crisps later, it was into the ground proper ? and, my goodness, how the ground has changed since 1970. I knew the Welsh FA had piled money into the place to bring it up to standard, but gone were the dilapidated stands and open terraces I remember from 33 years ago, and in their place stood a couple of very smart structures indeed; one, I?m told, was built very much on the cheap, but to look at it, you wouldn?t have known. Having settled in our seats, it wasn?t long before we were accosted by a chappie called Neil Cole, who hails from the Land Of The Long White Cloud, aka New Zealand. The former bit?s the Maori name for the place; just thought I?d chuck it in for your delectation. He?s only over here for a few weeks, and has to go back the day before our Walsall opener, which is a pity. What a game to take in tonight! Still, at his insistence, we Dick Eds ? we?d been joined by The Noise by that time ? posed for the obligatory photos. Neil?s a subscriber to our mighty organ and he wanted something to remember us by ? I can only hope he?s not prone to nightmares, then!

On to the game proper, then. Wrexham, managed by former Albion gaffer Denis Smith boasted one Duncan Ferguson in their ranks. I had wondered how a lowly side like theirs had managed to scrape together the necessary moolah to pay the ex-Dingle?s wages, but tonight, I found out the reason. Dunc effectively plays for nothing, and his wages are bankrolled by his rubicund and bad-tempered pater! As for the game, depending on your viewpoint ? is your cup currently half-full, or half empty? ? you can claim it was either a bad day at the office, or the shape of things to come. We dominated things for much of the first half, but were let down time and time again by that final ball into the box. Sound familiar? Our strikeforce ? Dobes and Hughsie ? were willing enough, but without the proper service it was impossible for them to get the ball into threatening positions. The back, without the imposing presence of Big Dave there, was also a worry; time and time again, the home side managed to pump in high crosses from the flanks, and, for the first half at least, it was only the appearance of Lady Luck on the scene that kept the scoreline goal-less for the Welshmen. I?m not sure what game Ronnie Wallwork was participating in, but it sure as hell wasn?t one on our planet, and the same went for our scorched-buttocked (allegedly!) newcomer. As for the other end, our incursions were few and far between, Hughes and Dobes going the closest, the second of these efforts being a 25-yard piledriver that would have found its mark on a better day. After the Kiddy game, I had expected more from Jason Koumas, but, to my mind, his contribution to tonight?s effort was well below par, which goes a long way to explaining why there was a paucity of ammo up front.

Within minutes of the restart, it was Kiddy all over again; Houlty had to be at his talented best to sort out a series of Wrexham corners in quick succession, where they really had us on the rack. I had just turned to The Fart and anxiously muttered: ?I can really see us letting one in soon,? when my prediction came to pass almost as soon as the words left my lips. Lawrence was the Wrexham perpetrator of the damage, and from my vantage-point at the other end of the pitch, it seemed he didn?t exactly have to fight off hordes of our defenders to place the ball in the hole. Again, we missed the presence of Big Dave; had that mammoth-sized skull been in and around our box, then the home side would never have got the cross over that set up Lawrence. Around the 70th minute, we went further behind, and it would appear Wallwork really has to hold his hands up for that one, when he was most definitely left standing in the stalls when one of theirs belted hell for leather down the flank with the ball, the cross finding Llwellyn, who beat Hoult with ease, courtesy of a bullet-header. What?s more, it could have been three or four; as I said earlier, our net bore a charmed life in the first half, and at the fag-end of the second, yet another defensive cock-up in the box nearly led to the home side well and truly rubbing our noses in it. Houlty was well beaten; just as well, then, it was the paintwork that bore the brunt of the strike, and not the wrong side of the post!

A blip, or something more sinister? The collective Dick jury?s out at the moment; I don?t suppose The Soup Dragon will have been best pleased by what he saw tonight ? let?s hope things will be conducted on a more orderly basis when we play Cheltenham (and Barmy Bobby!) in a couple of days time. Of course, it has to be remembered that the lads have now played three games in seven days, and some of them are entitled to feel somewhat jaded, and I know that form in friendlies has to be taken with a liberal dose of sodium chloride, but if this is what we are to expect in the future, when it?s for real, then Lord help us all! Incidentally, my husband and I ? now there?s a right royal touch for you ? have made the joint decision not to attend that Hawthorns encounter, but to go to the Bass Charity Vase Final, which is being played on the same night, instead. Why? Simple ? the extortionate prices our leaders have deemed fit to charge for this game. Ten quid for a pre-season friendly against a Third Division side? Sure, we realise Albion have to ascertain that the new technology will work under matchday conditions, but wouldn?t it make more sense to let season ticket holders in for nothing, or for a nominal charge ? say, a fiver, max ? thereby ensuring the crowds roll up in large numbers, and giving club officials more realistic test conditions? What with the Denmark trip and these friendlies, a lot of Baggie-people have spent a good deal of hard-earned money already for the cause, and charging a tenner is well over the top. As are the two new strips imposed on us, but don?t get me started on that one??

 - Glynis Wright

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