The Diary

24 February 2005: Five-Day Florida Break, Anyone?

Twenty four hours after the game universally billed to be The Big One, and our subsequent disappointing showing for most of the game, how was it for you? Angry? Heartbroken? Feeling let-down? Beyond all emotion, and simply waiting for the relegation axe to fall, as it must surely do, and pretty soon? I don?t know about other Albion supporters out there, but in my case, it would be fair to say that throughout the course of the game, and immediately afterwards, my innermost feelings ran the gamut of each and every one of those varied states of mind. That?s what forty years of watching this lot does to you, so younger followers, be warned.

Try as I might, I simply couldn?t loosen up after all that cascaded disappointment and heaped-upon heartbreak. You complete the diary into the wee (and not so wee) small hours, you then repair downstairs to catch up with the daily supplements you haven?t had chance to eyeball, and, all being well, spend around an hour winding down in a civilised manner. That?s my normal post-match routine, and usually, the exercise leaves me sufficiently tranquil to find some semblance of slumber, eventually. But not last night, though: five in the morning, and my brain was still racing like a car engine badly in need of a bit of judicious tuning. It?s always the same, this rickety, uncertain relationship I have with our favourite football club; over and over again, I badly crave every single minute of my time at The Hawthorns, only to find yet again that come the final whistle, the whole ninety minute ordeal?s sucked me completely dry of all emotion, leaving me feeling much like a piece of orange peel someone?s chucked on the pavement; all the succulent vitamin-laden goodness eagerly extracted, with naught save an empty shell to remember it by.

I reckon Kev Buckley?s recent remarks on the Boing list just about summed everything up for me about last night, and I quote: ?There's always hope ? thanks, Pandora - but if we can?t win a single game against those around us, it is very hard to see where enough points are going to come from elsewhere.? Stark sentiments there, but I really can?t refute them, and, moreover, I?m not particularly inclined towards trying to do so. Last night, we had a golden chance to finally reap our just reward for playing football in an entertaining style, and, despite much flak from all quarters, sticking to those praiseworthy beliefs no matter what, but by the end, of the two sides, we were looking the one by far more likely to concede. OK, that result still leaves Harry Redknapp?s crew also in the smelly stuff, but when you come to think about it, last night?s true winners were bloody Palace; on hearing our result, which couldn?t have gone better for them, supporters of the South London side must have laughed like a drain.

I?m still trying to properly rationalise my thoughts on what actually went wrong last night; certainly, there were more than a few players out there who were way, way below their normal form. Gera? Hardly in it, from what I saw; normally, his tigerish, gung-ho, almost, attitude to games is his signature dish, and an inspiration to both players and supporters alike. Where was the marvellous heading ability we?ve come to expect from him of late, I wonder? Or, come to think of it, that wonderful gift of his; the ability to thread his unerring way through even the most thuggish of defences? Wallwork? Richardson? Both ex-Man Ures seemed distinctly below-par also. Sure, the latter did have a brace of chances to get us off the mark, and would have done so, had the woodwork not got in the way, but those occasions apart, when engaged in the hurly-burly of the midfield action, both seemed rather less inclined to get stuck in than is the norm.

Houlty? I have seen criticism levelled at him from some quarters for last night, and I will concede there may be some slight substance to such a point of view, but I would still contend that above all, it was he that kept us in it with those marvellously-instinctive point-blank saves of his. Someone suggested ? I have to say I didn?t hear it myself, but then again, I?m as deaf as a post, more often than not ? the Brummie were indulging in vocal irony every time he successfully made a clearance. Most unfair, despicable, even; what the guy really needs right now is some rest and proper treatment for that awful back problem of his. Not abuse.

Campbell disappointed, as did Earnie ? but that may have been down to the visitors, who seemed to have adopted a policy of marking our danger-men completely out of it. And very successfully, you might want to argue. There?s a case, also, for assuming Greening?s night also being ruined in similarly-frustrating fashion. Towards the end, we did notice one thing, both of us; the highly visible winding-down of our attacking efforts, which at once begs the question of whether or not the players simply decided the draw was a fair compromise by that stage of the game.

And, you really do have to acknowledge the major role their own supporters played in them securing that point. From the moment the game kicked off to the moment the ref blew the final whistle, they never let up, not once. Mind you, had I been a Pompey supporter listening to what they were singing, I wouldn?t have been at all amused to hear their complete travesty of the former Pompey choral favourite, which consisted of them repeatedly singing the dual praises of ??Arry and Jim, red and white!? in a manner calculated to well and truly rub in the fact the pair were no longer affiliated to the Fratton Park tendency. Fair play to them; by comparison, our choral efforts never came close ? or could that have simply been down to the fact we?d given up hope?

Never mind though; we may be firmly rooted to the bottom of the table, still, but there?s a nice little trip to sunny Florida in prospect for our finest. Now let me see, twenty-odd people (conservative estimate) jetting off and staying in sunny Orlando for five days, must have been quite a drain on the battered old biscuit tin they keep in the boardroom these days, what? And I?m sure they?ll all have a topping time out there, but just think, though ? all that lovely money splashed in a different direction, and the Throstle Club might have been able to stay open a further season, say, or, looking at it from another angle entirely, instead of funding coaches for just one away trip, the club might well have run to two!

Mind you, given the US being so jittery about letting people of distinctly dodgy appearance into their wonderfully humane and just country these days ? well, if former pop singer turned Islamic preacher Cat Stevens can get arrested and chucked out, despite having been invited to attend a prestigious function at the White House only months before, what chance does anyone else have? - I wonder what their reaction will be to the sight of ?Jesus? Greening turning up at that Orlando immigration desk, hair, beard, the lot? Any takers on a bet that within microseconds of him showing his somewhat hirsute features to the redneck tendency out there, he?ll be cuffed, stuffed and well on his way to Guantanamo Bay, where the twin benisons of a secluded but (very) secure lifestyle, and a gratis orange jumpsuit undoubtedly await?

Oh, dear. It seemed I wasn?t the only one feeling distinctly-unamused by the antics of the plods who were supposed to keep traffic moving around the vicinity of the ground before and after last night?s game. On perusing the Boing list tonight, thus far, I?ve seen at least four postings expressing great dissatisfaction with those policing arrangements; after all the problems I saw with my own eyes last night, I?m certain that the aforementioned represents but the very tip of the iceberg. Somehow, I find it hard to believe most supporters drove all the way home last night repeating over and over the phrase: ?All coppers are wonderful?.

If you were affected and are still fuming, you might want to pen a formal letter of complaint to the Sandwell plods, just like I did last season. Do be prepared for a reply of a less-than-acceptable professional standard, though; although I couched my words of complaint in what seemed to me a most constructive and helpful manner at the time, the reply I received back was nothing more than a calculated insult. According to Mister Chief Plod, I?d embarked upon nothing more than a personal and derogatory attack aimed at his wonderful officers. Funny, though; although pointing up in my correspondence various aspects of the operation where his staff could and should have done better, I never once mentioned any copper specifically by name and/or number!

And while we?re at it, I was also informed by this ?gentleman? that the entire Hawthorns matchday traffic policing thing was going to be looked at by a team of outside consultants that summer, i.e. last year?s. Why, for heaven?s sake? Something rather costly the council taxpayer ? that?s you and me, remember ? is supposed to fund, and a task any plod with half a brain could complete quite easily with the aid of a clipboard and a few willing helpers. In the interests of public accountability, it would have been nice to have been told what conclusions they eventually reached, but since then, it all seems to have died a bit of a death. Which might explain why more than twelve months further down the line, pre-and post-match traffic arrangements are still a complete and utter balls-up. As someone said earlier today on the mailing list, it?ll probably need a serious injury, or a death, even, before something?s finally done about it.

Oh ? and one other thing. After reading the contents, I showed both my correspondence, and the ensuing police reply, to a mate whose sole task is to pen official responses to aggrieved clients of her own government department - and her verdict? By far and away, a prime example of how NOT to conduct official discourse with aggrieved members of the public! If you do want to go down that route, address your letter to the Chief Superintendent, West Midlands Police, West Bromwich Police Station, West Bromwich, etc. I really hope someone does, if only for me to get the chance to compare what reply you get with the ones I received throughout the greater part of last season!

There is another avenue, though, and the one I finally resorted to, purely and simply because of the sheer arrogance of the official response to what was a politely-worded letter of complaint, and something that understandably reduced me to a state of complete and utter incandescent rage at the time. If in doubt, get the local Press involved, that?s my motto; the guy liasing with me on this last time was Dan Slee of the Express and Star. He?s based at their West Bromwich office (Tel: (0121) 553 7171), and I?m sure he?ll be absolutely delighted to hear from every single one of you! Don?t forget, though ? do let Great Auntie Glynis know what happens, y?all hear?

And finally? In the absence of any Albion involvement this weekend, I won?t be posting until next Monday night, or thereabouts. Normal service will be resumed once more with the run-up to our weekend encounter with those of the Bluenose persuasion. I can?t help feeling that?s the game that will bang the final nail into the old pine coffin, personally, but we have to live in hope, don?t we?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index