The Diary

26 April 2005: Stop The Relegation - I Want To Get Off!

Oh, dear. It looks as though it?s been a bad case of ?clangers all round? as far as yesterday?s offering went, so before I get down to tonight?s, I?ll deal with those straight away. Firstly, it?s the lad Sauce that?s set to receive my apologies. Not only did I mis-spell that dratted name of his (well, it?s not exactly ?Smith?, is it?), I got the country of origin wrong, also. Tell you what, Sauce, when I found out the mistake, I got all four of my cats to flagellate me with birch twigs until it really stung, and have since adopted sack-cloth as my latest mode of attire. And, just to keep the peace ? and I?m not referring to our chairman here ? and because you?re a lot bigger than me, here?s the correction: The surname?s Tkaczuk (pronounced ?T-CATCH-UK?), and I?m also ecstatically wild to report that far from coming from the land of piano-playing prime-ministers, dead Popes and very live vodka, our lad?s ancestry lies within what was formerly known as the USSR?s ?bread-basket?, The Ukraine, although both Hitler and Stalin wanted it for the oil, really ? some things never change, do they?

That?s the first one over and done with, then ? so on to the second. The Silks. Somehow, I managed to get Tom Silk, who died around 25 years ago, mixed up with John Silk, who most certainly didn?t miss the penalties against Port Vale the year we dropped to the then Third. Again, ?mea culpa? seems to be the most apposite thing to say, so I have. Mind you, the pair of us nearly dropped a third this afternoon. All set we were to go and watch the stiffs at Kiddy Harriers? domain tonight ? but thanks to a chance look on the club website, we found the blasted thing had been switched to May 5th, which is Election Night, for those of a political bent. At least we didn?t make the lengthy journey to their place, only to discover sod-all happening there, which has to be a bit of a bonus, I suppose.

That all done and dusted, the next item on the agenda is tomorrow night, and the awful state of my nerves. I really got it bad on the night before the Boro game, when I ended up with no sleep whatsoever, to speak of ? and reaped the somnolent harvest accrued as a result when trying to type up this blasted column on both Saturday and Sunday nights. I think I?m now back on course as far as the old zeds are concerned, but having said that, I?ve still to get through tonight?s tossing and turning ritual without giving it all up as a bad job after a while, then going downstairs and playing some heavy-metal, or something.

After having my nerves twanged like badly-tuned piano-strings over the weekend, and having great dollops of disappointment and heartbreak chucked onto the pile as well, the countdown to tomorrow?s Hawthorns encounter with Blackburn isn?t going to do my blood pressure one little bit of good either. Had we just got a point at The Riverside, I would have been content with that, but that unexpected 4-0 reverse has really curdled the custard for us. Hell, after that first goal went in on Saturday, we were so bad, we made those Smog Monsters look good. Sure, our misery was tempered slightly by the fact Southampton were seen off in fine style by Pompey yesterday lunchtime, but the cold fact still remains: to keep us in with a fair chance of staying buoyant, we?ve got to get three points out of Blackburn. Nothing else will do ? end of story.

Because of the Lancashire club?s previous Cup commitments, making it necessary to postpone the original date for the fixture to take place, that game could well represent our ?ace in the hole?. Or, if you want to look at it from a more pessimistic viewpoint, our final shot of neat whisky in the Last Chance Saloon. As luck would have it, the delay has worked to our advantage for once, giving us a whole game in hand over the rest, thanks goodness. It?s imperative we win tomorrow, of course; should we do that, then there?s not that much damage done, Saturday?s horror-show will be quickly forgotten. The fact they haven?t conceded a goal in six to date hasn?t exactly had me ?doing a Gera? across the kitchen floor, but the discovery they?ve not scored all that many away from home this entire term might well do!

Assuming events do manage to pan out satisfactorily, (and it?s a bloody big assumption, whichever way you look at it) then it leaves us to find (I reckon) two wins from the last three. And even then we could well be sweating on what the others do elsewhere. Won?t be easy, though; sure, two take place at The Shrine, but there?s the slight snag that one of ?em is versus The Arse, who may, or may not be feeling magnanimous on the day; a it all depends up on what prospects they have in the race for runners-up spot. (They won 1-0 tonight, and played some amazing stuff while they were at it, so ?Im Indoors tells me.) If we could get at least one point from them, it would be an enormous help, because that would mean the Man Ure-Arsenal fight for runners-up spot would go right to the wire, and Man Ure would then need the win against Saints. Fingers crossed.

The second represents our 2004-05 curtain-call; the opposition?s Pompey, who?ll almost certainly be as safe as houses by then, and might well lay off the gas pedal as a result. Especially if it comes to a case of us winning sending ?them? down instead. They know, just as well as I, schadenfreude can be a wonderful weapon in one?s armoury of warped humour. I was also encouraged greatly by reading today?s Saints-Pompey match report courtesy of several newspapers, both tabloid and broadsheet. From the sound of things, that awful reverse might well have caused them to implode, and badly. I guess we?ll know for sure the next time they play. Come on, if we had to play someone at their place on the last day, and by losing, sent The Dingles packing with their tails between their lupine legs, what do you think the vast majority of Albion supporters would have to say about the delicious prospect of us doing precisely that? Our final away game? Man Urinal, at their place. I?d like to think that what with the Robbo factor and everything, they might well feel constrained to run on two, rather than four-star petrol for that one ? but don?t hold your breath. There?s also the consideration that Norwich and Palace have still to play each other; with any luck, they?ll nullify each other by getting the draw ? what the old Cold War warriors used to call ?fratricide?, when discussing nuclear missiles exploding in very close proximity to each other. Mind you, regarding both The Arse and Man U, one factor that might mitigate in our favour on the day is the one governing kick-off times. For both games, it?ll be 8 pm and 5.15 pm starts respectively, which means at least we?ll know before kick-off what we have to do to keep the wolf from the door.

I am encouraged slightly tonight by media reports that we should be getting young Richardson back tomorrow night. Going by his astonishingly-high standards and superlative ball-skills for us, if he?s one of Fergie?s lesser-lights, then what are those who manage to end up on the fringes of that enormously-expensive first-team squad capable of? I?d love to see us keep him here, but there?s absolutely no chance of that happy situation coming to pass, I daresay.

And I?ll be even happier when Greening finishes his suspension, nicely in time for The Arse game. Well done Rob Styles ? does it make you lose any sleep knowing that your gross over-reaction to the ?handbags-at-ten-paces? events at Villa Park could well mean a club taking the drop when it shouldn?t have? Cancel Michael Howard and the blood-bank: giving you the Cup Final?s a bit like giving a ten-year-old kid the keys to a Sinclair C5, then telling him to go play on the fast lane of the M6, now, isn?t it? I just hope that on the day, players from both sides chew you up and spit out the crunchy bits, because after the daft stunt you pulled on us the other Sunday, it?s the very least you deserve.

So there you have it. It?s all on tomorrow night, and what we can make of it. Yet another ?must-win?, which, by my calculations, makes it about the thirteenth such game of the current season. But this one surely has to be ?it?? And that?s where everyone reading this in far-flung places comes in, folks. Got your lucky rabbit?s foot, all you Aussies out there? God knows you?ve got enough of the annoying little critters in that country to grab yourselves one in good time for the game. Those in South America ? what about lighting a candle for us, perhaps? Then there?s the Far East. A right superstitious lot are the Chinese, so it shouldn?t be too much of a fag to find a decent fortune-teller out there, or, failing that, a kindly-disposed Buddhist or Hindu priest. The Caribbean? Grab yourselves little voodoo dolls representing the managers of our divisional basement rivals, then just start sticking pins in! A very restful occupation, especially when you eventually get feedback, and to the extent where you hear all three rival gaffers have suddenly collapsed with a mysterious (but very painful) muscular ailment.

As far as good old Blighty is concerned, in addition to those exiles who will be making the long, monotonous trip to The Hawthorns tomorrow night, what about a posse of Baggies rummaging through the grass trying to find a four-leafed clover or three, or failing that, a tree bearing a magpie?s nest? Sure, I know they?re more associated with unpleasant events, but, as the ornithological saying goes, it?s ?two for joy?. Whatever it takes ? if nothing else, mentally willing us to succeed is better than a kick in the gob any day. Once again, I?ll say it: we CAN do this on our lonesome, pulling off this particular miracle most certainly isn?t a job for the local vicar, and given a hatful of luck, there?s no reason whatsoever why we shouldn?t be watching top-league football next season. We just have to believe all these things are possible, then go out and achieve them. It?s the sort of philosophy Big Dave applies to his everyday life, and what?s good enough for him is good enough for me. Something tells me the next couple of weeks are going to count among the longest of my entire life.

And finally?.. One. At least my fat lip has cleared up after Saturday?s bashing. No, nothing to do with a sudden burst of rage on the part of the opposition supporters, more that when Earnie was looking likely to net one of his earlier attempts on goal, I shot up from my seat in anticipation of the strike ? very painful it was too, but whatever ? and by doing so, managed to catch my upper lip a hell of a whack with my stick, which meant me (literally) spitting blood, and us still in arrears. And I hadn?t exactly managed to cover myself with glory before the game by managing to knock a scab and start that bleeding as well. It?s at times like that you fervently pray for our next sponsors to be Boots the chemist, or an equivalent.

Two. Nothing to do with the Baggies, this one, but something that occurred to me as we were making our way to the coach-park on Saturday morning. As you might well have heard via your radios at the time, much was being made, on the electoral front, of the rapidly-escalating problem of MRSA in our hospitals, and the government?s seeming inability to contain the bacteria responsible. Said I, once the noise of verbal battle had subsided, ?I know how Tony Blair can solve the problem for once and for all!? said I to a very sceptical Noise and Fart.

?How?s that, then?? they both chorused, in tones that would have had the entire area declared an industrial and military ?no-go? zone within milliseconds.

?Simple ? in keeping with New Labour Policy on that sort of anti-social stuff, they just got to stick an ASBO on the bacteria responsible!

 - Glynis Wright

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