The Diary

28 April 2005: Insomniacs Not-So-Anonymous!

?The best laid plans of mice and men aft gang agley?..? That?s not just my summation of yesterday evening?s inadequate performance versus Blackburn, it?s also because of the simple fact that tonight, I should have been reporting hot-footed from an East Midlands Branch meeting, where Bob Taylor was the principal guest. Annoying, because next to The King, SuperBob stands for everything I?ve ever valued in a professional footballer ? giving nothing but 100 per cent each and every time he took to the field of play, providing a superb role-model to those youngsters comparatively new to the game, charismatic personality, intelligence, articulacy, a true leader in every sense of the word, but without suffering unduly from that awful complaint endemic in far too many plying the same trade, insufferable arrogance, combined with a massively over-inflated sense of one?s ego. And, having seen him turn out for Tamworth earlier in the current season, he?s certainly doing the biz out there.

An old dog, he is, to them, teaching newly-whelped pups lots of new tricks, and in embarrassing fashion, sometimes; when The Lambs hosted Hereford a few months back, Tam Mkandawire, The Bulls? ex-Baggie import, certainly received a rapid object-lesson in how NOT to handle a striker of Bob?s undoubted calibre and superlative reputation. There he was, the old son-of-a-gun, doing what he did best, the ball at his feet and most of his considerable bulk protecting it from the minor annoyance of young little upstarts trying to poop on his party ? and at his most dangerous, too, heading goal-wards at a rate of knots. Try as he might in nibbling at the great man?s heels like a troublesome terrier, young Tam was on a loser right from the start; easily able to fend off such unwanted and woefully-inexperienced juvenile attention, it was simplicity itself for the maestro to reach the box, then let fly with an absolute whammeroo of a shot that left Hereford?s keeper with no chance whatsoever of arresting the blasted thing in flight. Preventing the ever-onwards seaward march of an Arctic ice-floe would have been a much more viable proposition, I reckon.

And get this. That superbly-executed strike completely turned Tamworth?s entire season ass about face; prior to meeting the Bulls, they?d gone five without a single successful strike to their name, and were looking distinctly moribund in footballing terms, but thanks to Supes and his profligate scoring input thereafter, they found themselves unbeaten for the nine games remaining. And, by way of happy knock-on effect, shifting them right out of the bottom three, never again to darken its doom-laden doorstep this Conference campaign just gone. A real shame we couldn?t make it tonight, because I?d heard, via other Baggies who?d spoken to the great man since his arrival at the East Midlands club, that he was thoroughly enjoying life there. There?s the fact he lives locally, of course, but I do get the distinct impression also the real reason why he?s adapted so well at that level is because compared to the stage-managed, tightly-cocooned, and PR-orientated existence of players in our league, once you?re in the Conference, things are much more laid back. Well, given the grim reality that most clubs down there rely primarily upon what comes in through the turnstiles to balance the books, plus, more often than not, a healthy profit from their social clubs, players really do have to work hard to earn the respect of supporters.

Not that?s much of a problem for Bob, of course; we?ve since heard through the grapevine that even in the comparatively short space of time Supes has been with them, the Tamworth lads and lassies all worship the very ground he walks on, and, as far as Bob?s concerned, the feeling?s mutual. Being such an outgoing character, I bet he?s taken to the typical Conference norm of having a quiet pint and chinwag with supporters in the bar after games like a duck to water. You want to know why Player A missed that sitter five minutes before the end, or Keeper B flapped a cross coming from that corner and let them equalise? Easy ? just ask the guys responsible later on! You might just learn that a new baby?s keeping him awake at night, or the missus has just upped and run off with the milkman ? and that instantly puts a somewhat more human slant on things. Being largely part-time, and therefore having to live in the ?real world? for most of the time can really play the Devil with any high-fallutin? notions of being substantially better than those who pay to watch. It?s inadvisable to come the great ?I Am? in front of your followers at that level, because you can quite easily end up looking very silly indeed ? as former Baggie blunderer Paul Crichton (diaries passim) discovered to his cost when at York City earlier this season.

As I said, valuing Bob?s personal and playing qualities enormously, I genuinely wanted to go to that meeting just to hear from the horse?s mouth how he was getting on in what amounts to semi-retirement. So what stayed my hand, then? Chronic lack of sleep, that?s what; as I said the other evening, following the Boro defeat, I was still frantically engaged in trying to play catch-up with my sack-time balance, which had most certainly moved towards the ?red? side of the ledger of late. The night before Blackburn, I got very little sleep, too, and following yesterday?s draw and updating this diary, I enjoyed none whatsoever, the problem being my mind working overtime after I?d completed last night?s thrilling instalment. It all finally caught up with me today at Merry Hill, where I?d been trying to select a trouser suit for my niece?s forthcoming wedding; sure, they don?t tie the knot until the close season, but what with us going to Oz and everything not long after the final whistle blows on 2004-05, time for us both to hit the shops together was at a distinct premium. Total weariness rapidly overwhelmed me there; not only did I sleep like a babe in our car after we?d left the place, while ?Im Indoors sorted our weekly shop in Dudley Tesco?s, he simply left me snoring like a thing demented in The Dickmobile?s front passenger seat ? the first I knew of it was when he returned with the goods, about 30 minutes later! Add to that the several hours of much-needed snoozing time spent on our sofa afterwards, and you?ll readily realise why my need was substantially greater than Bob?s! And, before you ask, no ? I?m still in search of the perfect wedding outfit, but that?s just as likely to be down to the fact that unlike most females of my age, I totally abhor ?retail therapy?, period. Turns my brain to cream-cheese, it does, first time, every time.

Not that I?ll be all that short of opportunities to see Bob over the coming months, I daresay ? as the popular saying goes, you can take the player from the Albion for as long as you like, but you can never quite remove the Albion from the player. And, Bob being Bob, he?s that rarity in this money-orientated modern game, a former favourite who?s essentially ?one of us?. And good on him for being thus; talking to the chap is the perfect antidote to all the excesses of footballing life as seen in our elevated neck of the woods. Not that I?d want to accuse our current crop of giving it less than their maximum effort; last night, they tried their level best to pull it off, but their best simply wasn?t good enough. The main reason? As I saw it, nerves, pure and simple; yesterday evening, you could smell fear?s unwelcoming tang the minute you stepped inside the ground. Players, coaching staff, spectators, directors, the whole bloody shooting-match, all exuding shed-loads of adrenaline from every pore, and all rendered unable to give of their all because of it.

Could the problem have been this? After that below-par Boro display, the players realised they owed us big-time, tried to make amends last night, but in doing so, ended up trying much too hard? That, plus the fear-factor I referred to above? Houlty couldn?t be faulted for the equaliser, sure, but I am concerned about his back problem, which couldn?t have been helped one little bit by that Rovers lad using him like a battering-ram in the second half. I bet the operative word was ?ouch!? this morning. Certainly, Tommy G looked most unhappy at times, and as for Clem ? well, he worried me enormously. Not only could he have had the whole thing sewn up just before the end, he ended up missing from about 6 yards out as well. I?ve a sneaking feeling responsibility for that Blackburn equaliser might well lay right at his feet. Robinson did his best, I reckon, and so did Richardson ? that goal of his was worth the admission price alone. The 30-yard humdinger that made Friedel gulp a little, and the time he took the ball from Robbie Savage to prevent him nutting in apart, Gera had a quiet game by his own high standards. Chaplow?s inexperience at our level really showed, and as for Campbell and The Horse, they both did their honest best for the cause, but they couldn?t come up with the goods when it mattered. When he came on, Kanu wasn?t a patch on the superlative performance he gave at Spurs, and Earnie was just too late.

Sure, having been involved in supporting the Baggies since I was knee-high to a grasshopper, I?ve seen the bad times roll on many, many occasions, and when watching Albion sides much more bereft of the will to survive than the current one, too ? and that?s what makes our plight all the more frustrating. We all know the present crop are quite capable of getting us out of this ? in terms of honesty, sheer graft, raw courage, team spirit, and unity of purpose, our lads will get my vote any time. The problem is, we?re rapidly running out of games, and there?s also that horrendous-looking run-in to take into account. Had we taken something from Saturday, and/or last night, our survival problems would be greatly-lessened by now. Like that of a ?perfect gas? or ?absolute zero? the concept of us getting something from either The Arse or Man Urinal is wonderful in theory, but hellishly-remote in practice; as I see it right now, our chances of doing that are roughly the same as those of Charles Kennedy being invited to Liz and Phil The Greek?s place to form the next government come May the 6th.

Already, the possible permutations and combinations necessary for survival (or otherwise!) are fluttering around the interior of my head like wedding confetti subjected to the hairdryer treatment at close range: What if Southampton beat Norwich, then draw against Palace? Most unlikely to shake out that way, in my opinion, because as far as I can see, after their awful roasting at the hands of a gleeful Pompey the other Sunday, I strongly suspect Saints will now fold like a B and Q flat-pack. What if Palace crash and burn during their remaining two games, then? Or, what if Norwich win at home, then lose the one after, or, the reverse is true? We lose both games against Man U and the Arse, or we get a draw from one, but not the other? And, what if by some miracle we grab three points from the one, but not the other? We then win against Pompey, to send Saints plummeting from the precipice, and stay above Norwich on goal difference? Champers all round. Conversely, lose all three of our remaining games, we exit the Prem, not with a bang, but with a bloody great whimper? No wonder I?ve got flaming insomnia! AARGH!

Our sole bright glimmer of hope on the slate-grey horizon is the welcome return from suspension of Jonathan Greening when we next play The Arse; I reckon it?s fair to say that since that totally unnecessary red-carding of his at Seal Park, we?ve sorely missed his tremendous influence on games from the middle and the flanks, if not those flowing locks of his. The bad news, though, is something I?d genuinely forgotten about until reminded tonight ? or, for the sake of mercy, has my brain simply tried to scab over the unwelcome truth for me? ? the fact that young Kieron Richardson won?t be able to show Daddy Fergie what a good little lad he?s turned out to be, since becoming a temporary Baggie, that is, at Old Trafford. Damn and blast it to hell.

What with the odds stacked up so monumentally against us as they are, the only sensible thing to do is to adopt an ?aw, what the hell? laissez-faire type of approach to the visit of Wenger?s lot next Bank Holiday Monday. At least we?ll start knowing the full extent of the damage done earlier in the day; provided the news from the front is favourable, that could act as a bit of a spur to our own efforts come kick-off time. Remember 2001-02, Coventry away, and hearing that The Dingles had blown their game versus Man City ? and the charged-up response of our own players, when the news finally reached them? Start agonising about it in similar fashion to Blackburn, dwell unduly upon the chilling prospect of us facing some of the most talented players in Europe, and we?re stuffed before we start, I reckon. Time for our lads to take on board the concept that they?re not doing this for Robbo, our directors, or Chairman Jeremy Peace next Monday, come to think about it - they?re doing it primarily for themselves, their self-respect, their pride, whatever. Under normal circumstances, eleven individuals, and all with wildly-differing ambitions, hopes, fears, but when out on that pitch, they genuinely have the capacity to become something that?s far greater than the sum of all its parts. That?s what ?team spirit? is all about; get that into their brains, and we start to stand a fighting chance.

That?s it for tonight, folkies. Back to our holiday home tomorrow, until Monday, returning nicely in time for our lover?s tryst with Mister Wenger and his lovely, lovely Arse ? so no instalment the night before. Back Monday night with a few pertinent thoughts on the subject, of course. Will I be presiding over a win or a wake, I wonder? Oh, Lord ? bang goes another bloody night?s sleep!

And finally?.. A curious thing happened on our return from Merry Hill this afternoon. Election leaflets, lots of ?em, and all on our doormat. From all the three main players, plus, by way of light relief, one from the BNP, of all people. Could it be that all the main parties have signed some sort of a mutual peace deal, and are simply taking it in turns to deliver each other?s election material? Or is it that the party wonks in our area are just too damn lazy to doorstep properly, actually talk to people, like wot I used to do when an activist myself, around 15-20 years ago? Whatever the reason for this sudden destruction of woodland to serve the needs of the electorate, and the unlikely synchrony of the stuff ending up at GD Towers this afternoon, at least I?ve found one good use for the BNP stuff ? and that?s wiping up some cat-sick from our kitchen floor this afternoon!

 - Glynis Wright

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