The Diary

31 July 2005: What We Did In The Close Season Part One

Now, what was I saying before I was so rudely interrupted by that dramatic ending to the previous season??.. Seriously, though, although we?ve been greatly deprived of our customary Baggies fix these past few weeks, there?s still much to report about our summer break that?s of an Albion bent, which is what I will be doing over the next couple of instalments. Tonight?s missive, my inaugural effort for Season 2005-06, comprises Part One, which will mostly deal with domestic stuff, the second, Part Two, will be of interest to those who want to know more about the beautiful game, as played Down Under: we spent about three weeks out there during the June just gone, and while we were about it, took in several local league games. And, yes, there is very much an Albion interest to relate ? well, a couple, really - but in best ?cliffhanger? fashion, I don?t intend revealing the ?plot? until the very last minute. Until the aforementioned second instalment goes sailing into cyberspace, that is ? around the middle of next week, probably, unless I feel sufficiently arsed enough to write it sooner - my lips are sealed, totally and utterly. Unless someone shoves an over-large brown envelope stuffed with wonga right under my pretty little sun-freckled nose, of course!

Just as the first crocuses daft enough to poke their colourful heads through a stiffish fall of February snow can be reliably regarded as harbingers of the coming spring, so it was that our attendance at The Shrine very early Saturday morning constituted the first intimations of the deathless Premiership struggle yet to come: yep, it?s ?grab yer Man City tickets? time, folks! Again, that ?first day of the new school year ? feeling, as we renewed old acquaintances, swapped close-season tales, and even made a few additional chums along the way. No away season tickets this year for us ex-Dick Eds, though, so we simply stood in line with the rest. How come? Easy: what with there being a ridiculous ?45 ?administration charge? for the goods (who does the postage and packing at the club these days? Bill Gates? We put up with the extortionate situation with a certain degree of good grace last season, but no way are we about to be seen off a second time) there?s also what amounts to a ?penalty clause? i.e. if you happen to miss an away game for any reason, fixture changes for the benefit of the TV companies, outbreak of swine fever in the Brummie, whatever, then there?s no refund payable whatsoever on that voucher you?ve already paid up front for. Tough titty.

It simply isn?t on, and that?s why we?re going to be far more selective about what away games we attend this time round. That, and the spiralling cost of away match tickets, of course, especially in The Smoke. A shame to call a halt, especially given ?Im Indoors?s fine unblemished record of away match attendances, stretching back to the early 90?s, and only broken when we played Chelski, midweek, late last season, but there really is a limit to how much of a hit normal working people?s finances can take ? and switching a perfectly playable weekend game to midweek (and letting tickets go on sale to a deadline for purchase without giving out the new fixture date), thereby making it that much more difficult for AST holders to arrange the time off, and the Stamford Bridge extortion racket charging rip-off prices for the privilege, really is gilding the lily. Hell, you never know, enough people adopting the same attitude, and it might really hit ?em where it hurts, right in the bloody wallet.

The really alert among you will also have noticed we didn?t attend any of the pre-season friendlies, either. The reasons? Partly financial, partly pragmatic: the arrangements for the ?abroad? bit were left very late, then the destination country changed completely last-minute, and in any case, spending the greater part of June in Oz pretty much bled us dry. We do have bills to pay, sadly. Additionally, at the time, I thought the deal was to play a couple of games in the good old US of A. (Well, everyone did, until things were altered again very late doors indeed, so the sudden change in venue must have hit some about-to-travel supporters very hard indeed.) As things turned out for us, the change of country came far too late to do anything about it; in any case, as I intimated, the expense would have bled us dry.

Before the switch of venues was made, though, there was another very salient thought figuring in my pre-season thoughts, and it was this: having travelled to the Land Of The Free on many, many occasions over the past thirty or so years, even at the best of times I?ve never hit it off awfully well with their airport immigration staff. The reason? Easy: even before 9/11, they displayed an air of complete and utter arrogance, not to mention general obnoxiousness, to a degree that would have had them reaching for their P45?s had they been in government service back in Blighty. I?m not exactly a volcanic sort of person, but their jobsworth immigration stormtrooper-lite mob push my buttons first time, every time. Since that New York catastrophe, though, I?m reliably informed they?ve become a thousand times worse, and all officially sanctioned, it would appear.

It?s enough just to be the wrong colour/religion/star-sign/baseball team supporter/Democratic voter and/or say the wrong thing at the wrong time, so it would appear; either or all of those will lead to your rapid removal and detention under the various anti-terrorist legislature in force there, then an ignominious return to Blighty. Here?s one example, the most prominent of too many to mention. Remember the plight of Yussuf Islam, aka Cat Stevens? Even the fact he?d been invited to the White House as guest of a charity event just three months previously ? yes, and spoken to President Bush personally whilst there ? didn?t prevent the poor sod ending up on a ?no-fly? list and being tipped unceremoniously out of the country, and all for reasons I?ve yet to ascertain. A rotten singer, yes ? but a terrorist? As I?ve led a relatively blameless existence over the 50 years or so I?ve been on this planet, I do take great exception to being treated like a criminal for no reason save that of giving savage amusement to uniformed nyaffs with an ?acting-unpaid-lance-corporal mentality? that stands out a mile. So there.

As far as the domestic pre-season fixtures went, grossly inflated admission prices had a great deal of influence in deciding whether or not to attend, plus the fact we were attending other functions at the time. And that unbelievable decision of Albion?s to travel to MK Dons for a game didn?t help, either. How many Baggies, like us, refused to attend on principle, I wonder? As for the rest, it?s been a bit of a mixed bag, apparently (oh dear, what happened at Crewe, I wonder?), the latest bit of news being our 2-0 win at Cardiff, payback, presumably, for our help in supplying them with players. Thought: just what the hell is going on down there? How come a club supposedly around ?35 million in debt and desperately trying to finance the construction of a new white-elephant new stadium crazily situated about a mile from its Millennium counterpart can suddenly afford to bring in as many expensive players as they have just recently? People like Darren Purse and Jason Koumas don?t exactly come cheap, do they?

For me, though, the best bit of news to come from Planet Albion in recent months was that about our Academy i.e. the fact we?ve now got one, and it?s official. Whoopee! We?ll be playing around 20 games in the north-western section of the competition, plus a further ten what are described as ?inter-group fixtures?. First off is a game versus Southampton, next Saturday. According to the stuff on the official website, both Robbo (who was instrumental in setting up Boro?s counterpart when he was The Smog-Monsters? head honcho back in the 90?s) and Academy manager Dan Ashworth had to jump through a considerable number of quality-assurance hoops in order to gain the nod from the Premiership people tasked with the job of overseeing and approving the proposed arrangements. The piece of real estate most lacking, an indoor facility, should be up and running by the coming winter, so we?re told.

Why am I so terribly excited by the news? Easy: in a game increasingly dominated by those few clubs possessing sufficient financial clout to lure top-quality young players away from lesser lights, it was always going to be the likes of us that were going to miss out. The answer? The eminently sensible one of ?growing your own?, of course. Why pay in excess of ?5 million plus add-ons for an established decent player when you can bring on those of similar talent for a fraction of the cost yourself? To me, such a policy makes an enormous amount of sense, and the way to capture kids with the sort of talent that gets scouts having wet dreams at night is to have a professional youth set up, from the Under Eights upward, and playing meaningful opposition on a regular basis, in order to lend additional credibility to the whole enterprise.

That?s the sort of ?hook? that grabs wavering parents; that, and a policy of making kids feel really special, right from the word ?go?. Only recently (well, at a family wedding, actually), I was talking to a chap whose son was a part of the former academy, and will come under the umbrella of the enhanced set-up this coming season, of course. Apparently, the entire ethos of that aspect of the club has undergone a cataclysmic change of late. No more are young hopefuls treated like a spare gonad at a wedding; nowadays, their whole matchday and training routine is a carefully-tailored microcosm of that which their senior professional counterparts routinely experience, to a degree that was quite astonishing (even the Under 8?s get treated thus, it appears) - and quite right, too. Well done to both Robbo and Dan for winning (and converting!) hearts and minds with such great rapidity.

Returning to that Man City ticket queue yesterday, as we weren?t sure as to the extent of the demand from home season-ticket holders, we really had to call the decision about what time to turn up blind, and hope that we wouldn?t end up too far down the queue. As it turned out, our 8.45 am attendance got it dead right, there being less than a couple of hundred blue and white clad Baggie souls patiently awaiting events by the time we hove in sight of the East Stand car park; additionally, the club really seemed to have things really squared away in that ticket office of theirs, because within about an hour of the place opening for business, we were plonking our carcases in front of the counter, and making the lady serving there an offer she really couldn?t refuse. On plastic, of course; the grim reckoning will come later, unfortunately. Seriously, though, if my memory serves me correctly, Albion had no less than six people on the job that morning, so well done our favourite football club for making things so wonderfully civilised, for once.

So ? at what point in the recent past do I recommence operations? I suppose events in the days and weeks following our unexpected deliverance will do for starters; certainly, what we achieved on that final day seemed to capture the hearts and minds of a good many British people whose only interest in the beautiful game is to switch channels with lightning rapidity the precise moment it threatens to darken their TV screens. No kidding, this summer, I genuinely lost count of the sheer number of times both ?Im Indoors and myself (wearing Albion shirts, natch) were accosted by total strangers in the streets of Herefordshire, Gloucestershire and Shropshire and heartily congratulated on our unexpected last day reprieve. (And in Oz, too, but of that, more later.)

Even better still was the gloriously sunny day in late May we journeyed to Gloucester for a bitty sightseeing; on passing a teensy Cornish pasty shop in the city centre, then smelling the deliciously nostril-twitching aroma wafting from it, we instantaneously decided to invest in a couple of their choice yummies for our tea. All willpower rapidly dissipating in the face of that monstrous nasal assault, we had no alternative but to say ?oh, sod it?, and nip in sharpish to make the purchase, you see. Nothing all that unusual about that, you might think. What was, though, was the fact that on clapping eyes upon my Albion shirt, the female shop assistant instantaneously and adamantly refused to take any money whatsoever for our pastried purchases, delightedly informing us they were ?on the house?! ?Ever since the season ended, I?ve been waiting for someone in a Baggies shirt to come into the shop so that I could give them the freebies just for being Albion supporters, and beating the drop!? she said. Well, we weren?t going to bloody argue; come on, would you?

This summer?s events have certainly had a modicum of the ?curate?s egg? about them ? ?good in parts?. On the one hand, we?ve sweltered in a heatwave, with more to come in August, so the weather forecasters inform us (shame you couldn?t predict the recent tornado in Brum, though, chaps!), and on the other, we?ve seen the sheer frightfulness of what can happen when people who barely deserve to hold the title set about reducing other people to bloodied bits of people, and all done in the name of ?religion?, apparently. I?m no theologian, but it seems to me it?s a funny sort of god that wants his subjects killed and maimed in such an appalling fashion, and the perpetrators ?rewarded? ? if that?s the right word ? with an unlimited supply of complaisant virgins guaranteed on arrival at the Pearly Gates. Just as well I?ve made a reservation for the ?other place?, then, isn?t it? I?m pretty choosy about the sort of people I want to share an eternity with!

Returning to all things Albion once more, a particular highlight of the merry month of July was our attendance at a Supporters Club Sutton Branch thrash. Not your usual sort of meeting, though ? that particular evening saw some forty or so Baggie souls, this column and partner included, take over Richard Sneekes? Wylde Green Italian restaurant lock, stock and casserole dish, and proceed to have a merry old time with it. And Richard wasn?t the only ex-Albion player there that night, oh dearie me, no. Cyrille Regis also came to sample our former midfielder?s culinary wares ? and there was also a ?surprise guest? on the billing, invited by Richard. As to the identity of the mystery person, Chairperson Mandy declared her lips to be well and truly sealed beforehand, but it wasn?t all that long before we found out for ourselves ? when we were at the restaurant?s bijou bar getting the drinks in, to be precise.

Ever stood in a particular spot, an open field, say, on a sunny day, and had a dark shadow, huge, mysterious, ominous, descend upon you at a rate of knots? Aw, you know, like standing beneath a plane just after it?s left the runway, or it?s buzzing the place? There?s a momentary fright, as the unexpected shadow passes over your head; fleetingly, you wonder just what the hell?s going on, then, when you hear the noise of the jets, all is finally made clear? Well, I had a similar moment in Richard?s restaurant that night; one minute there were the oranges, reds and golds of a beautiful sunset filtering in delightful fashion through the entrance door?s glass frontage, the next, an almighty shadow seemed to descend upon the place with an abruptness that was truly frightening. Just what was going on - then I turned, remembering back to the last time a similar phenomenon had overwhelmed me, back to the early part of Gary Megson?s first full managerial season, those halcyon days when both The Fart and myself weren?t considered persona non grata at Friday Press conferences, and welcomed inside the ground on the days the first team trained there. There we both were, in what is now the players? family lounge, eagerly awaiting the appearance of one of our interview targets/victims from the morning?s training, when ?it? happened. At the time, in this very same column, I subsequently likened what I saw descending the stairs that day to a ?mobile eclipse?. How else can you truly do justice to the sheer bulk of Darren Moore spotted ?up close and personal? for the very first time?

Fast-forward now to the present ? and, yep, that?s who the mystery guest was, plus his charming ?other half? Angie, and full of tales surrounding his recent walk along the Great Wall Of China for charity. I even got the chance to have a few words about the People?s Republic myself (I spent a month there back in the mid-eighties), and to tell the lad my heart and major blood vessels simply couldn?t cope with another 90-minute spell like the one against Pompey! As for the culinary side of things, I reckon King Dick and all who sailed in his venture that night really did us proud, even if things did get a tad chaotic at times; if the front of house was anything to go by, unless the kitchen area was constructed in similar fashion to Doctor Who?s Tardis, space (and tempers!) would certainly be at a premium back there when the whole thing was going full-blast. At one point, the wicked thought did cross my mind to suggest to Richard the possibility of getting in former footballer and serial blasphemer Gordon Ramsey to do a version of ?Hell?s Kitchen?, with Gary Megson as the celebrity apprentice chef/hapless victim of the celebrity chef?s profanity-streaked ire ? our tame Dutchman?s antipathy towards his former leader is legendary ? but in the end, I decided discretion was the better part of valour. Shame!

Seriously, though, it really was a good night out ? some of my pics are now on the Supporters Club website, I believe - and a goodly dollop of the ?entertainment? provided by Fraser Allen and his mob occupying the seats immediately adjacent to ours helped the event go a treat as well. Incidentally, my congratulations go to Fraser, who is now married, believe it or not. To tell the truth, the news hit me like a half-end brick slung by a Dingle with a grudge, because I?d never once considered the lad the marrying sort ? just shows how wrong you can be, sometimes. Anyway, I had great fun talking to his good lady wife Liz about the lad?s past Albion-watching antics, both home and abroad ? but I really had to draw the line about the goats, and what her beloved did with (to?) them one especially-bibulous night. Don?t worry, Fraser, your secret is safe with me (but before relying on that sentence totally, please refer to the paragraph concerning ?wonga? and ?brown envelopes?). Just leave it by our front door, there?s a good lad.

Another bit of news; we may not be churning out a fanzine this term, but ?Im Indoors will most certainly be writing a book. He?s been commissioned by a publisher, the subject-matter being Albion?s cult (note the slightly different spelling, folks ? I?m not banging on about the likes of Fabian De Freitas, here!) heroes. After an awful lot of agonising and soul-searching, we?ve now managed to come up with a list of 20 or so players deemed worthy of such status ? and that?s where you come in. We?ve already cast our nets far and wide, but we?re still in need of anecdotes, either written or verbal, about these players. The list goes right back to the formation of the club back in the late 1870?s, then through to the present day, so any scrap of info will help. The players we need particular help with? Ray Barlow; Ronnie Allen; Derek ?The Tank? Kevan; Clive ?Chippy? Clark; John Osborne; Willie Johnston; Cyrille Regis.

Obviously, stuff about the more recent Baggies will be easily forthcoming, but it?s when we come to document the life and times of those players who plied their trade back in the days when blokes wore flat caps and celluloid collars to games we?re likely to experience difficulties. I go as far back as the early 60?s, my immediate family can reach as far back as the thirties, but for anything prior to that, we hit a bloody great brick wall. Newspaper archives can tell us much, of course, but not the whole truth. Even in those far-off days, journalism could be far from objective. It?s to all those Old Farts out there I address the great bulk of these remarks, although anecdotes illustrating precisely what a good egg any player on the aforementioned list could be are also very welcome, of course. What made these guys special? What was it about them that made them into such crowd pleasers? Any eccentricities, foibles, both on and off the pitch? All info gratefully received at swdl06301@blueyonder.co.uk however trivial or irrelevant it might seem ? your contribution will be acknowledged, of course. Sp More in a couple of days time, when I promise to unleash what happened in Oz on an unsuspecting Baggie public; that, and what happened at my niece?s wedding when one of our family persuaded the poor unsuspecting DJ at the reception to play ?The Liquidator?!

And Finally?? It wasn?t only Kings Heath that got wrecked by that tornado the other day. According to later reports, after it had wreaked havoc on that part of Brum, it zipped over to Small Heath, then focused on St. Andrews, where it merrily proceeded to chuck advertising hoardings all over the ground, rip out part of the players? tunnel, finally (and unsportingly) depositing most of the debris on the playing surface, damaging quite a large section of it in the process. According to our Bluenose chums, the insurance bill will run into five figures, and they?re not best pleased, either. Oh dear ? I do hope it?s not The King getting up to mischief again.

 - Glynis Wright

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