The Diary

13 August 2005: Premiership, '05-06. A Smooth Ride, Or Turbulence Ahead?

So. Here we go again, folkies, for a totally-unexpected coda to our Premiership existence, the one not one of us dreamed was possible around the time all those squiffy acne-ridden youths were trying their luck with the office mistletoe at your firm?s Christmas party late last year. Dead and buried? Not arf; it would have taken a brave punter indeed to flash the cash on our staying in Premiership situ back then. Fortune, certainly ? he was the bloke who scored the Charlton goal that effectively kept us up. Luck? Too bloody true: the last ten minutes of that Pompey show-down, I reckon we must have used up just about every scrap destined to head our way for about the next dozen seasons, and all in one go, as well, so if there really is such a thing as ?divine justice?, expect some very lean pickings indeed, referee-wise, over the forthcoming nine months or so.

Having said all that, any time during the coming season you feel we?ve been genuinely sold down the river in the old misfortune department, just take a few minutes to reflect upon the (true) tale I?m about to narrate, which is just about as bad it can get in the old ?hard-luck story stakes? ? in fact, it?s a tale so astonishing, I?m willing to bet Fate must have wet her knickers absolutely sodden laughing when she organised this one for the poor sod concerned. Nothing to do with football, I hasten to add, but there?s such a strong sense of ?someone?s really got it in for me Up There?, present-day mystifying refereeing decisions rate as a mere bagatelle by comparison.

The victim? A Japanese nurse called Kazuko Sadamaru. Mrs Sadamaru, now 80, left her hospital in Nagasaki on 5 August 1945 to accompany a soldier to a town near Hiroshima, some 260 miles away. The following day, she was on a train travelling through the outskirts of the city when the 'Little Boy' bomb exploded at 8.15am. She saw the tell-tale mushroom cloud from the window, felt the blast, witnessed the destruction of the city; only the distance of the train from the epicentre (and, through sheer bulk, the resistance of the train to such extremes) saved her from serious injury.

The next day, understandably shaken, she took a train back to Nagasaki; the carriage before hers was packed with injured soldiers. Their clothes were badly burnt and tattered, or they were barely wearing clothes at all, skins, bloody and peeling, blistering, even. Clearly, something had happened to the city, something catastrophic ? but nuclear fission being one of the US?s better-kept secrets (well, from the Japs, at any rate; the Russians had already discovered what was afoot via their own clandestine channels, of course), the medics just didn?t have a clue. On her return to the Ohmura Naval Hospital, the nurse discovered she?d been listed as dead ? Hiroshima had been reported ?totally destroyed?, apparently ? but she quickly collected herself, and resumed her hospital duties. And that?s when Fate really did indulge in a largish dose of savage humour at her expense, folks. Early the next day, she was going about her ward work, when ? yes you?ve guessed it. Flash, mushroom cloud, blast, the whole bloody lot ? and yet another hospital with thousands of dead and dying people to sort out.

The most amazing aspect of all this, though, was that despite being one of the very few people unlucky enough to be nuked in anger twice in three days (it?s certainly an exclusive club, and one I?m pretty sure I wouldn?t want to join at any price) and being in relatively close proximity to the explosion on both occasions, she suffered only a temporary abnormal white blood cell count, and loss of hair. Lucky, because microscopically, penetrating radiation particles exert much the same effect on body and blood-forming cells as a sawn-off shotgun would on the whole body when fired at point-blank range. And, amazingly, no fertility problems, either: in 1946 she married, and despite the irradiation, gave birth to a son, a daughter, and now has four grandchildren. Unbelievable.

Bad luck? It?s a bit like winning a negative form of the National Lottery, really, all six balls of it, so let?s keep a sense of proportion during those awful moments when our rearguard bears a distinct resemblance to my kitchen colander, or, for those who want to go really ?retro?, Granddad?s string vest ? as that unfortunate lady would testify, life could be far, far worse, it really could.

Still, as Premiership starts go, we don?t have a bad one at all. City tomorrow, at their place, of course, then Pompey the Saturday after that. At three o?clock, the ?proper? time, for once (unless the fickle finger of Fate suddenly dictates otherwise, of course). Rejoice, rejoice! Somehow, I suspect that the astonishing degree of magnanimity showed us, both players and supporters, for almost the entire length of that last game, will be notable for its complete and utter absence, come next Saturday. Not a single white flag to be seen. Sorry. Tomorrow? As we took no less than four precious Premiership points from our Mancunian chums last season (I?m still trying hard not to giggle about the precise circumstances in which the away point was won. Richard Dunne? Rumour has it, come the end of 2004-05 hostilities, he tried to join the French Foreign Legion. To forget, obviously!), given their somewhat erratic home reputation, it?s a reasonable assumption that we stand a fairly good chance of coming away from the City Of Manchester Stadium with something tangible to show for our trouble, tomorrow.

It?s also pleasing to note that on the transfer front, we haven?t exactly let the grass grow under our feet over the course of the close season. For starters, we?ve lost Rob Hulse to Leeds; a shame things didn?t quite work out for the lad at the higher level, but I?m willing to bet he?ll start to shine once more now he?s dropped a notch. Darren Purse? Jason Koumas? I hate to adopt something of a negative stance, given the current season is but yet young. The stark truth is, though, I?m mightily relieved to see the back of Mister Purse, and all those awful defensive clangers of his. Jason Koumas? What a bloody waste of talent ? and this is one occasion I don?t hold Albion to blame for the somewhat precipitous decline in the lad?s recent fortunes.

The ?ins?? Diomansay Kamara from our new-found chums Pompey; things may not have gone too well for him there last term, but one never knows, the change of scenery might well bring out something in the lad hitherto unsuspected by neither man nor beast. Also wearing the sacred blue and white stripes this time round are former Bluenose Darren Carter, and Steve Watson. Hmmmm?. There?s also the juicy prospect of fierce competition between the sticks for once, what with the recent arrival of Chris Kirkland from Scouseland, and everything; Houlty and his niggling back injury could well be treading on dodgy ground as a result. Oh ? and one other thought - now our Liverpudlian chum?s happily swanning around the training ground, better keep a sharp eye on those car hubcaps, lads!

The principal gap in our armour this term remains, of course, a striker reasonably guaranteed to come up with the goods, and on a regular basis, pretty-please. Just as well, then, that at the time of writing, it?s looking ?all systems go? for the acquisition of Wigan?s Nathan Ellington; apparently, there?s a clause in his contract that kicks in the minute the Lancashire club get a bid for his services in excess of three million ? a bit like the one that saw the departure of Lee Hughes to Coventry, about four seasons ago, the ?trigger? amount that time being a cool five million squid ? and ours is in the region of?.. Yes, you?ve guessed it. It?s the ?personal terms? bit that will prove tricky, no doubt, but it?s a fair assumption he?ll be a Baggie before long. An ?unknown quantity?? Sure, he?s never before played at this level, and bringing him in does represent a bit of a risk, but such is the dearth of even half-decent strikers out there, there are times when a calculated risk is entirely justified.

His arrival (assuming everything goes to plan, of course; not always a ?given? when it comes to the domestic affairs of our favourite football club, sadly) will mean we?ll have no less than five potential goal-merchants at our disposal this term. Too many, really, something (or, more pertinently, someone), will have to give, no doubt. But who? His Nibs reckons he wants to retain what he has, in order to keep his tactical options open; personally, I reckon someone ? perm any one from a combination of The Horse, Kanu, Earnie, and Kev Campbell ? will be heading off into the sunset ere too many moons have brightened the Black Country night sky.

I?d genuinely like to think we now have both the talent and the nous to remain precisely where we are for the immediate future. The Premiership fall guys of ?05-06 are going to be Wigan, for sure, with fiscally-strangulated Sunderland coming a close second. Being as much in debt as they are doesn?t auger well for anyone?s survival chances. The third club to take that end of season ?walk of shame?? I?m having a bit of a difference of opinion with ?Im Indoors on that one; he reckons West Ham are in no financial shape to stay up, and I beg to differ. So there. Mind you, having said that, it wouldn?t surprise me at all to find Pompey languishing in the drop-zone come the end of term; the departure of Harry Bassett and all stations west really delivered a massive body blow. Also likely to be caught up in the backwash is Fulham; is it me, or has Mohammed Al Fayed?s enthusiasm for his favourite toy dimmed somewhat over the past few months? Forecast? Ooer. Oh, soddit, I?ll go for lower mid-table, and baggy no returns. Coming the other way? By the pricking of my thumbs, something gold-and-cack doth come? There?s a cold sensation running down my spine, right now, and it?s not unconnected to the shivery feeling that Glenn Hoddle might just bring them back to The Promised Land this time round.

Tomorrow is also going to see a slightly different line-up in what was the Dickmobile; because The Noise?s working arrangements and shift-patterns have now reverted to something on a par with those ?enjoyed? by Victorian factory-fodder, we?ll be without his company tomorrow, and for the first time in a very long while indeed. It?s all very well making people work in such an archaic way, and justify it in the name of ?flexibility?, but have any of these bright young MBA graduates ever bothered to put down their clip-boards, stop-watches and calculators for a moment, and take on board the simple fact that not only do we work the most hours in Europe, surprise, surprise, we also have one of the worst rates of stress-related illness in the entire EEC, and our productivity, equally predictably, lags a good country mile behind that of our European neighbours?

Still, we won?t be completely bereft of company for the short trip up the M6; apart from the presence of The Old Fart, as per normal, off our metaphorical ?sub?s bench? has come Norm Bartlam, he of some truly excruciating puns, and, (when sanity allows, I reckon!) Ladywood local history expert. So warped is his sense of humour, something in my water tells me I?ll be begging The Noise to get the push from his workplace long before tomorrow?s journey is through! So if you should happen to pass our jalopy on the motorway during the course of the outward journey, just look out for someone hitting a thinnish bespectacled chap sitting in the back of our vehicle; that will be me, and the ?victim? will be Norm!

So what else have we been getting up to over the course of the past seven days? First off, we managed to take in Hereford?s open day; amazingly the considerable Albion presence at Edgar Street has been further augmented recently by the arrival of Stacey Caldicott in The Bulls? ranks. Not only did we manage to talk to the lad at length, unprompted, he even recognised us both from his days at The Shrine! Such notoriety ? oooer! Additionally, we managed to have a word or three with former Albion youth team coach-turned-matador John Trewick. Genuinely pleased to hear we?d finally been granted Academy status by the FA ? something John had been pushing for constantly during his tenure ? and remarkably laid-back about the fact his recommendations to aim for such status had not been adopted by the club at the time. Personally, I would have reached meltdown, but that?s John for you. He was also game enough to endure being put in the ?stocks? and having wet sponges chucked at him for quite some time. His players weren?t exempt, either; they all had to suffer the same ?fate?, by order, and rather funny, in a schadenfreude sort of way. Fair play to?em, they were all up for it. Can you imagine our lot doing similar? Everyone, from Chairman to the youngest pro, well up for the old ice-cold H2O treatment, and all willingly mucking in? Don?t bother sending your answer to that one; I can pretty much guess what it would be!

As for the rest of the week, the vast majority of our time has been spent visiting small towns and villages in the area. Last Saturday, though, saw us heading on out to watch our first real competitive game of the current season, at Swansea City?s new place, no less. Quite easy to access from where we?re based down there; the journey?s only of around 90 or so minutes duration. Once within the bounds of the city, you simply head on out for the starting point of their matchday ?park and ride? scheme, situated opposite the prison, and in very close proximity indeed to their former home ? a similar set-up to that of Southampton, in fact ? shove the old jalopy in its socket, then simply let the bus (cost ?2.50 return) take the strain.

As for the ground itself, it?s situated about five miles from the town, the design being very much of a ?new stadium? muchness ? all white paint and girders. The bus drops you off about half a mile from the place, right outside the city?s Territorial Army barracks, in fact. Given their supporters? awful reputation, was that by accident or design, I wonder? From there, it?s a slight upwards slope to the ground proper, and a short walk will bring you to the home end, which was where we were sitting that afternoon. Toilet facilities? Good for both genders, which proved to be something of a relief; female Albion away-day veterans will no doubt recall with revulsion the abomination that lurked at the rear of their ?old? premises. Zap several million volts through what nitrogenous and ammoniacal substances lurked within that noisome bowl for several months on end, and what you?d come up with at the end of it all is anyone?s guess.

At least no such excretory horrors can be found at their new premises; instead, much swankier facilities rule the roost, thank goodness. And, once in your seat, there?s an excellent view of what takes place on their sacred swarth, which, in this case, was an opening-day League encounter with Tranny Rovers. Oh, and we weren?t the only Baggies there; just as we were about to pass through the turnstiles, a bloke about my height, balding on top, yet with long black locks that reached to the shoulder, made to pass through the queue. Although I lacked a clear sight of his facial features, the instant I spotted those curiously-coiffured locks, I knew I had a fellow-sufferer in my sights. A swift tap on the shoulder later, all was revealed. Yes, Long-Haired Mick, you of the astonishing adventures on our Italian trips of around ten seasons ago ? you were there also!

The game? Predictably, Brian Little?s mob chucked everything at the home side for the first 20 minutes, and for a while, it really looked as though The Swans would be in for a bit of an ?upping?, but following that initial onslaught, they gradually began to creep into it once more. Their goal, when it came, was lovely to watch; a bit of fancy touchline work by their coloured lad, a beautifully-measured ball to the far post, some abysmal marking on the part of the visitors, which allowed Swansea?s lad all the time in the world to creep in on the far post, and it was 1-0 to the home side.

But the real drama was yet to come; first of all, Tranny managed to get a somewhat-dubious penalty, but justice prevailed. The Swans keeper saved it, and the score remained the same. Then, during the second sitting, it was the turn of the home side to put the game beyond doubt; this time, the circumstances were far more convincing, but they hadn?t reckoned for the brilliance of Tranny?s custodian. Yep, he, too, managed to cover himself in glory, and the match finished with the home lot taking all three points. The most remarkable aspect of the game, though, was the sheer enthusiasm of the home crowd, who maintained an incredible decibel-level throughout the entire 90 minutes. What an atmosphere they generated ? or was my astonishment at this pleasant revelation merely a by-product of my unquestioning assumption that Premiership encounters these days are normally insipid and more or less stage-managed affairs by comparison? As for Tranny, their representatives numbered only two or three hundred, sadly. No match for our noisy Welsh chums, of course, and, come the end of the game, they drifted silently away into the leek-strewn early evening.

And finally?.. As promised, here are a few ?Don?t?s For Supporters?, as culled from a late-fifties Supporters? Club publication; thanks to The Fart for the loan of it. Some of it is still pertinent, some truly giggle-making in this more cynical day and age. I leave the task of deciding what?s absolute garbage, and what still holds true to you, the reader!

1. Don?t love the game for its result, love the game for its sport.

2. Don?t stay away because ?So-and-So? isn?t playing. Remember, the Directors must meet the expenses (!)

3. Don?t barrack the referee, for he is in a better position to see than you.

4. Don?t shout at the players, for they may be playing under difficulties.

5. Don?t instruct the linesmen whose throw-in it is, because they are neutral, and have nothing to gain by giving the wrong decision.

6. Don?t neglect to further the efforts of the West Bromwich Albion Supporters Club, for their sole aim is to create enthusiasm for the game.

Got all that? Good. I?ll leave you with one parting shot, then: 7. Don?t go to the match with one eye and a bad voice; remember, there are two teams on the field!

 - Glynis Wright

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