The Diary

21 May 2005: Au Revoir Until Next Pre-Season!

Fully recovered from last Sunday?s drama, then? We are, but it?s taking an awfully long time to commence our final descent; ever since our Sabbath deliverance, I?ve been flying at 35,000 feet. At this rate, we shan?t need a plane to get us to Oz in a couple of weeks time; the Baggies will sort it for us with a minimum of fuss, and a maximum saving for our wallets.

Ever since the success of our last-gasp survival bid, the congratulatory messages have been pouring in thick and fast from all four corners of the UK. I?m rapidly forming the opinion there?s now such a heap of goodwill quietly going for us out there, it?s untrue. Last season, it was Pompey, this time round, it?s our turn to wear the mantle of ?the mouse that roared?. First off, Alan Hansen from Match of the Day paid effusive tribute to what he termed the ?craziest fans?; the next day, reports began to gradually trickle in from this column?s spies (Cheers to The Bluenose Butcher for a graphic account today, by the way) of Bluenoses applauding and ?boinging? when they heard we?d taken the lead on Sunday. And, apparently, a most spirited rendition of: ?Feed The Horse And He Will Score? by way of encore! Pompey supporters we all know about, of course, but reliable intelligence both Sunderland and Man United followers also started chanting for us when news we?d notched up our first reached them was like music to our ears. We even had a congratulatory message from Dunfermline United, would you believe?

The best bit, though, came from Albion ?alternative? travel facilitator, Sauce. From the working men?s club in Spennymoor, their regular Oldham pit stop en-route to distant northern games, to the Cross Keys pub in St Albans, pubs/clubs up and down the country inundated Sauce with congratulations. Even the regulars from Ryan?s Bar in Odense, Denmark ? oh, dear, precisely how many pre-season touring Baggies got smashed, completely and utterly, in that place, I wonder? ? quickly phoned their beery congratulations! Further indication that our fans and club are held in such high esteem by publicans and the like, wherever we go; something of which we should be justifiably proud. For goodness sake, shout it from the roof-tops, Albion! And in any case, let?s face it; would you have expected such a positive response from hoteliers etc. were it the Dingles pulling off such a marvellous example of last-minute deliverance?

So ? what have we ex-Dick Eds been up to this week? It?s all been very much of an Albion nature; first off, it was down to Kiddy Branch on Tuesday night, where both Cyrille Regis and former striking partner Garry Thompson were on hand to bat the breeze, reminisce, and generally laud and praise our current lot for triumphing against all the odds. And, following a short refreshment break, their branch laid on what I thought was a nice little touch, a celebratory glass of bubbly for everyone. The loyal toast? Why, West Bromwich Albion, of course ? what else?

Two nights later, we were repeating the same exercise (a supporter?s club meet rather than the serious quaffing of champers!). Our hosts this time were South Birmingham Branch, and the star attractions SuperBob and Daryl Burgess, who has just been released by Rochdale. My goodness, Daryl, that was some shirt you were wearing ? vivid red, with what appeared to be sequins on the back? Blimey - talk about a serious ?migraine alert?! Did someone pay you to wear it? Poor Bob had to put in a somewhat belated appearance, for which he was full of remorse. How come? Not being able to afford a baby-sitter, so Supes alleged during the course of his apologetic phone call to the committee! Yeah, right. And, we also heard that on Sunday ? we?d seen Bob out there on the pitch at the end, remember? ? the original intention had been to make his way to our dressing-room, in company with Gary Robson, and a mate ? but, come the final cessation of hostilities for the current season, within a matter of seconds, the pitch acquired a remarkable resemblance to Berlin the day the Wall was demolished; jubilant bodies everywhere. How to get through? Easy, thought Bob ? tell the other two to follow him and run hell for leather for the tunnel entrance. A shame he quickly got hi-jacked by a group of deliriously-happy supporters wanting to give him the old shoulder-lift treatment, then, wasn?t it!

Another little snippet about our former striker; according to the current ?Tamworth Herald, believe it or not, Supes managed to win the top prize in a raffle recently ? a family trip to Oz! According to the piece, his kids are currently gainfully employed researching possible destinations on the internet. What a shame we hadn?t known that the night we saw him at Rubery! Had we done so, we could have planted the seed of an idea in his mind concerning the great numbers of Baggie exiles that live Down Under. To the best of our knowledge, there are organised groups in Perth, Sydney, Melbourne and Brisbane, with a fair number of others scattered around smaller places, very likely. (If there are more out there that we?re unaware of, and you constitute a group ? or even if you don?t! - please get in touch!) It would really make some branch or other?s whole year were Supes to turn up at one of their meetings, so if you?re reading this, Bob, or if someone who knows you is, what about getting in contact with us regarding fixing something up? I realise that after a long, arduous season, your holiday time is doubly-precious, but, were you to do so, one thing I can guarantee is their astonishing hospitality. You wouldn?t want for anything, I assure you. We?ve sampled such sybaritic delights on several occasions, now, so we really do know what we?re talking about. Go on ? make some exiled Baggies very happy indeed, you know you?d love it!

Now here?s a poser for you all ? guess what I was doing today. Having Tantric sex with goats? Nope. Researching Nigerian crop-rotation, then? Hardly. The correct answer to my little poser? Check this one out - taking pictures of loads of excitable kids, would you believe? Personally, I blame tame Baggie Norm Bartlam, the lad who can truly pun for England. He asked me a few weeks back if I?d take some pictures for him of an exhibition currently showing at St. Thomas?s Parish Church, Ladywood; the theme being that parish during the Second World War, Norm arranged for a bit of a tie-in with local junior schools, currently studying that era as part of the National Curriculum.

And that wasn?t all. No expense spared for this one; not only did lots of people dressed in period costume (and uniforms, as appropriate) put in an appearance for the kids? benefit, Norm also arranged for the attendance of ?Winston Churchill?, trademark homburg, cigar, and all, accompanied by ?Field Marshal Montgomery?, fresh off the desert, it would seem. In order to lend authenticity to the exercise, the kids were all given Union Jacks to wave, and told to imagine it was the end of hostilities, after six long years of fighting, and both Winnie and Monty coming along to give a bit of pazzaz to the festivities.

Tell you what, though, those kids didn?t half get into the spirit of the occasion. The minute ?Winnie? first appeared on the horizon, off they all went, cheering and waving fit to bust. And, even when participating in a church service-ish activity later, their behaviour was both exemplary and respectful of their surroundings. Their teachers should be genuinely proud; allegedly, that area is one of the most deprived in the country, and the kids living there routinely written off before they?ve achieved double figures, even. A big ?nul points? for the vicar, though ? asking kids to sit through a half-hour long sermon is not the brightest of ideas ? they simply don?t possess sufficiently-developed attention-spans at that tender age.

What really did surprise me, though, was something I?d discovered when quietly pootling around the exhibits for myself ? some actual examples of children?s school work roughly dating from that period, i.e. 1943-44. Tell you what, though, their grammar, spelling and punctuation was invariably spot-on, although I did find their compositions - what would now be termed ?essays? or ?creative writing?, I suppose - somewhat stilted, and the rigid pr?cis of the contents written above the essay itself seemed somewhat inhibiting. And what amazing subjects they had to study, back then ? just what the hell was ?housewifery?? Certainly involved more than a fair amount of cooking and cleaning ? I got the overall impression these kids, invariably female, had to spend a period of time in an actual house or flat, and looking after the place as if they genuinely lived there.

I do remember my big sister having to do something similar at her secondary modern school just before she left, so I reckon my original hunch was correct. I never did discover the answer to the obvious question, though ? while the girls were busy scrubbing their fingers to the bone, precisely what were the boys up to? All good fun, though, and I ended up with some lovely pics; when we depart for our holiday home tomorrow, we?ll be shoving a CD with them all on through Norm?s front door. The only fly in the ointment, though, was my bloody back. I had intended to stay for longer, but by lunchtime, my lumbar regions were loudly screaming ?No more!? And once home, a dose of my strong pain-killers quickly left me snoring my head off, on the sofa!

Remember what I said about The Daily Express?s somewhat unlikely account of how our massed-singing of the 23rd Psalm actually came to be? And, my own version of what I understood to be the real story behind that curious ditty? Over, now, to Diary reader John Day, who espouses a slightly different theory as to how what has now become a football song ?classic? came to be warbled by the faithful at our place on a regular basis. Says John, in his recent missive to this column: ?I always look forward to reading the Boing website and access it every day but with all due respect, your story on how the 23rd Psalm came to be recited at Albion is not strictly speaking correct.

?As I recall, it came about as follows: many years ago, some Albion supporters were drinking in what was then The Woodman Public House before a home match, when one of them found a prayer book that had been left behind by a customer. The prayer book was open on the page of the 23rd Psalm, and so they decided to take the prayer book with them into The Hawthorns and sang the Psalm during the match! I do not know the actual match in question and so whether them singing the prayer led to an Albion win I am unable to inform you!

?Incidentally, I do not think this could have been a Sunday game in the 1970's (as you stated) because (please correct me if I am wrong), according to my knowledge on Albion's history, our first Sunday home match of RECENT times was versus Watford just prior to Christmas 1985 when we won what was only one of 3 home league wins that season (3-1). Also I can assure you that the 23rd Psalm was sang loud and clear by the Brummie Road End supporters for many years prior to our 1993 promotion season.?

Well, there?s several issues all going on there simultaneously, aren?t there? So, who has told me the right story, then? Any other Brummie Road regulars around at the time care to confirm, or deny, one or both versions? And did I really get it so wrong about Sunday games during the seventies? Any Baggie who can resolve any of the aforementioned mysteries is most welcome to mail me with the details ? and if they?re really unlucky, I?ll even get The Noise to go round their houses and talk at them for an hour or three! Personal experience recently demonstated he?s an absolute whiz at explaining the precise ramifications of making what?s commonly known in the pottery industry as ?Ironware?!

Just a few more final words before I hang up my typing finger for the summer. Thanks to some excellent and intelligent man-management, not to mention a modicum of luck, the seeds of Premiership survival, previously cast upon very stony ground indeed, have finally taken root, and now look set fair to germinate properly at long last. We?ve seen the really tricky period over, so it?s down to both us and Robbo to ensure that those precious little shoots are given every assistance possible in putting out fledgling leaves, thereby allowing those slender stems, preciously and perilously-small bearers of leafy life, fair chance to bend and twist in the presence of the sun, the giver of all life and warmth, then thrive unhindered, safe in the loving arms of mid-table safety.

So where do we go from here? The next evolutionary step has to be consolidation in this division, of course ? and already, there?s much speculation whanging around the electronic void as to precisely who will be tempted to become a Baggie next season. As the club have stipulated a framework of 24 first-team-ready players maximum, both fringe and pukka first team regulars, it?s clear that some will have to seek their living elsewhere very soon, in order to make room for the newbies. But that doesn?t mean we necessarily have to revert back to our former stinginess concerning these matters; what we need right now are more good, honest professionals, but possessive of skills worthy of a mid-table Premiership side. And, what with the ?Robbo factor? quickly becoming our trump card, and everything, I?m sure his past reputation as a player, and now a manager, will ensure that aspect of things gets sorted quite quickly.

And then? As I see it, we Baggies currently stand on the cusp of what are potentially exciting times indeed ? assuming we can all afford to watch by then, of course! The bad tidings regarding increased season-ticket prices have just been made public ? and, if the angry response on the Boing mailing-list is anything to go by, a hell of a lot of people will be joining the ranks of the ?refuseniks? next term. The problem? Well, finances are a major consideration, of course, but not the prime one in this instance. The real culprit is actually the innocuous-looking box with the big glass screen that sits glowering in the corner of most Black Country dwellings, Wolverhampton excepted, of course ? with the electric mains supply completely disconnected through non-payment, serious TV-watching then becomes very problematical indeed.

Seriously, though, it really is TV that?s causing a hell of a lot of good supporters to say ?No More? next time round, and opting to plump for picking their games instead. When you have to fork out what amounts to a second-mortgage to ensure you get to watch every home Prem fixture on offer, the one thing you do expect is a reasonable guarantee of such games kicking off as per the date and times advertised when the fixtures were first made public. Last season?s drastic alterations to both, for the benefit of Sky TV, mainly, were the cotton pickin? end for a lot; should you care to carry out an audit of precisely how many Saturday three pm games were mucked about with just to keep the likes of Rupert Murdoch happy, the results will astonish greatly, I guarantee.

It?s all very well arbitrarily chopping and changing such things, without even the pretence of a consultation process with affected supporters, but for a lot of us, especially those working shifts, or unsocial hours, last-minute alterations to holiday rotas, or work departure times, even, are simply non-negotiable. I know precisely what I?m talking about, here, because when I was working such shifts, my terms and conditions of employment made it exceedingly difficult for me to rearrange matters with only a few days or weeks notice to play with. And, should the ?suits? think that the laws of supply and demand gives them the right to get away with such malarkey, on the basis of ?oh, well ? he/she?s gone, but there?s lots more waiting to step into their shoes?, may I remind them that even when we achieved our second Premiership promotion, last season, we didn?t completely sell out on the season-ticket front?

And, one other thought; the ?big? clubs apart, if it?s happening at our place, then you can sure as hell bet other Premiership supporters are becoming somewhat annoyed at being treated in such a cavalier fashion time and time again. The Premiership might represent the goose that lays the golden egg for some, right now, but it might behove such analytical yet superficially-minded people well to remember that even the most productive goose, golden Grade A?s or not, free-range or otherwise, goes off the ?lay? eventually.

But, all that apart, remember how, earlier in the season, I speculated as to what might have happened at the club had Gary Megson been given his marching orders much earlier than he did, or before the current campaign started, even? To put things into proper context, I likened the possible course of events either way to water trickling down a pane of glass on a rainy day. Eventually, those trickles encounter unexpected barriers, of grease, dirt, whatever, and the water can then only go one of two ways ? and therein lies the detail of the analogy I?m about to make.

Next season could well prove to be one of the most significant in our history ? and my previous paragraph gives a rough outline of my thinking. Take the correct aqueous ?fork?, back both our survival, and our manager?s undoubted ability, with sound decision-making coupled with astute signings, and we could well prove to be as permanent a Premiership fixture as that blubbery, flippery lot busily balancing beach-balls on their noses just down the road. And, should we manage to achieve a comfortable finish next season, that?s the time to start seeking silverware the next, for therein lies the next stage of evolution. Not the FA Cup, maybe ? the big boys seem to have that one thoroughly sewn up between them at present ? but its League counterpart could certainly be within our reach by then. Bring back that sort of silverware to The Shrine, and to a large extent, you bring back the glory days, of both sixties and seventies. How fitting, how appropriate, even, that Robbo should be our manager at such a memorable time?

And, from there ? who knows? The fortunes of football teams can ebb and flow like the tide. Just look at Leeds, for example. Three or four seasons ago, they were pushing for a top-six finish, and a place in Europe, but now, they dwell, in relative obscurity and possible penury, back in what was formerly the Nationwide. Conversely, the example provided by Everton should prove particularly instructive ? a 17th position finish least season, fourth place and Champion?s League qualification the next. And, what with the way so many top-level sides effectively gamble millions on taking a swing for a top-six finish, still, it only takes a run of bad results, or failure to get into Europe, for the same thing to happen to them. It?s football?s version of evolution, really, survival of the fittest; you?re up with the best of them one season, then banished to the Outer Darkness the next, and the next lot of upstarts eagerly jumping in to fill the vacuum left by your departure.

As for the alternative watery pathway on that rain-lashed window pane, that one really doesn?t bear thinking about. Stuff up again, and regaining four-star status might prove to be a much more problematical affair indeed. The reason? The rapidly-growing disparity between the Premiership and the lower level; a gaping chasm already exists, and it can only continue to get wider with the passing of the seasons. This is borne out to a certain extent by the grim fact all three of last term?s relegated clubs couldn?t even make the play-offs this time round. Should we fall from grace again, we could well find the Premiership door slammed firmly shut in our faces. Even assuming best-case scenario, it could be several years before another chance comes our way ? and the way the game seems to be heading at the moment, the distinct possibility exists we might never get the chance again.

Another way of looking at it is my nerves ? I don?t think they could stand it! For each of the last five seasons, now, we?ve been involved in promotion and relegation battles of one sort or another. Bar our first spell in the higher sphere, all exciting stuff, of course, and well worth the admission price for neutrals, but it?s mental torture for us Hawthorns regulars, which is where this heartfelt plea of mine comes in. Please, please, Robbo - is there any chance at all of us just settling for a nice quiet campaign, this time round?

And Finally?.. One. As promised, a few of my own personal ?end-of-season awards?. Not half as prestigious as the Oscars, perhaps, and with more than a hint of the old ?tongue in cheek? about them, but ? oh, what the hell, here they are.

Olga Korbutt Award For The Best Goal Celebration Gymnastic Display? Has to be Zoltan Gera ? 9.8; 9.6; 9.5; 9.9; 9.3; 9.8 and 6.5 (that one from the Russian judge, who by tradition, always has to be contrary, and as a result, manages to wind up BBC commentator David Vine a fair treat whenever it happens).

?Make This Column Wet Her Knickers Laughing? award? Easy ? Messrs. Dunne and James, who jointly demonstrated at The City Of Manchester Stadium their vast comic potential by transforming a half-hearted ?oh, what the hell, we?re losing, and I really can?t be arsed, but I suppose I?ve got to make the bloody effort sometime? sort of goal attempt from Paul Robinson into a complete and utter catastrophe for Calamity. Genius level, and moreover, one truly worthy of the late Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy.

Best Supporters Of The Season? Ours apart, it?s just got to be those marvellous Pompey chaps and chapesses, hasn?t it?

Worst Supporters Of The Season? Those at Tottenham, Arsenal, Chelsea?? Total apathy rules OK. All together now, shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh??.!

The ?Patrick Moore Astronomical Phenomenon? Award? Step up to my virtual podium Geoff Horsfield, for achieving something in one late-spring afternoon most professionals never achieve in a lifetime of playing the game at this level ? getting a penalty at Old Trafford, and what?s more, seeing it successfully converted!

Best Impersonation Of Jesus? Jonathan Greening, who could indulge in a bit of identity theft any time he wanted, and no-one would be any the wiser, really. Mind you, to ensure complete success in the field, yer man would have to perfect to complete satisfaction some of the more technically-difficult miracles attributed to the genuine article. And be careful where and when he practised ? the West Midlands Police tend to take a dim view of West Bromwich town centre suddenly finding itself completely awash with red wine!

Best Goal Of Season? No contest, in my book ? The Horse?s, last Sunday.

Best Brick Wall Demolished Last Weekend? Ditto.

The ?I Can Take The Defender?s Legs Off At The Knee, Should I Really Want To, But You?ll Still Never Book Me In A Million Years, Ref!? Award? Has to be Thomas Kuszczak; by the time the whistler in question mustered up enough brain-power to get the name in the book spelt correctly, the game would be over, and the prime objective of the exercise defeated, completely and utterly.

The ?Mister Magoo? Award, as presented to the Albion player demonstrating the greatest inability to hit a barn door even at just thirty paces? Has to go to Kanu, first time, every time, for that almighty howler versus Boro. Blimey, it was easier by far to stick the thing in the back of the net and be done with it! Let?s face it, even over the entire course of the season, the competition came nowhere near!

And following on from that, in a sub-category all of its own, ?The Stevie Wonder Award?, for the referee who, in the opinion of the Academy ? me! ? has more than adequately demonstrated the full-blown symptoms of what would seem to be a rapidly-degenerative ophthalmologic condition? No contest, that one ? Rob Styles, for that truly ?inspired? refereeing display of his at Tottingham!

And finally??The Cecil B. De Mille Award for the best sustained chanting over the entire course of a game this season? And the winner is?.. our travelling support at Old Trafford!

Two. Remember what I said about our newsagent absolutely freaking when I entered his shop early Monday morning, and bought up just about every daily newspaper in the place I could lay my delicate little hands on? Well, when I went to pick up my usual daily papers the following day, according to Mohammed, I wasn?t the only one to effectively ?buy up? the stock. Not long after I?d departed, with my triumphal little bundle in tow, another customer entered, and did exactly the same thing as me. But this time, poor Mohammed, now alerted by my actions, knew precisely what was going on ? so, amidst all the resultant adding-up marathon, he said one word of enquiry only - ?Baggies??

At that, a huge grin immediately broke out right across the customer?s face, and yep, the reply was of one word only ? ?Baggies!?

See you next season, y?all!

 - Glynis Wright

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