The Diary

08 August 2003: Ready For The Off, Then?

Not long to go, now; by this time tomorrow night, we?ll all have well and truly ticked off the first instalment of a 46-episode soap opera called ?Season 2003-04?. Will we be celebrating with gusto, or crying in our ice-cold beverages tomorrow? Not being particularly blessed with the gift of second-sight, I wouldn?t like to speculate too deeply, but my reckoning is the torrid conditions are going to put something of a (metaphorical only, sadly!) dampener on tomorrow?s proceedings. Players are going to be far more intent on hydration and husbanding precious energy resources than carving out a career for themselves. I foresee a comparatively sluggish pace, much use of substitutes, and lots of use of breaks in play to grab some fluids. It?s because of this I fully expect quite a lot of drawn games in our division tomorrow.

Can we rise above the heat and humidity and nick all three points from The Saddlers, I wonder? To do so would represent a sea-change in our early-season fortunes; for the last three first three ? aw, you know what I mean! - we?ve been about as slow to start as molasses pouring off the blocks, although for the most recent, it has to be said the fixture planners seemed to be having a laugh at our expense in giving us Man U, The Arse and Leeds as our inaugural Prem opponents. Houlty will act as Keeper Of The Gate, of course (ooer, been watching too many fantasy films, I think!), while at wing-back will be Sunburnt Bum.and Clem. Damage Stations? Siggy Gilly and Greegs? Engine-room, Koumas, AJ, O?Connor, possibly Wally Wallwork. I suppose the main armament tomorrow will consist of Messrs. Hulse and Dobie; Rob has to justify his (expensive) existence, while Scott really deserves the nod for the opener, being so fired-up during both the Denmark trip and the subsequent domestic friendlies. Presumably, we?ll have Hughsie on the bench as a somewhat gung-ho (and currified) fall-back. The Chambos also? It would appear that Jason has now put himself completely beyond the pale by submitting that transfer request, so I don?t really expect to see his body occupying the away dug-out.

This season represents a big ?ask? for both players and manager. For the first time in a good many years, we?re one of the strongest favourites to do the biz first time round, and, to be fair to our favourite football club, they really do appear to have gone for it this close season. O?Connor, Hulse, Volmer, Sakiri, Gaardsoe, the splendidly-named Bernt Hass; excellent captures, all of ?em. Big Bertha, possibly. I?ve not seen any figures bandied about, but of all the First Division sides, it seems to me we?ve invested the most money in new blood thus far this term. Perhaps the Old Fart will correct me for saying this, but I simply can?t remember a previous start-of-season when we were similarly proactive in the market, and, what?s more, buying thoroughbreds and not clapped-out old donkeys. It?s just as well, really, as expectation-levels among supporters are so high, the Hawthorns may well be in danger of flooding come the Burnley game. The fact The Dingles are now hob-nobbing it with the prawn-cocktail eaters for the first time of asking will also serve to concentrate the mind wonderfully this time round. It?s a high-risk undertaking for Meggo, also; he?s admitted himself that if he doesn?t produce the goods, and quickly, he?s likely to go the same way as the managers of Ipswich, Derby and Leicester, last season?s hopefuls. To be fair to our leader, though, he appears to have used his dosh with discretion, and on paper at least, we should be cooking on gas come the festive season. Unless the ?Semper Te Fallant? factor decides to make an untimely reappearance, of course...

Blimey, there must be an awful lot of Albionites out there who have put hard-earned money where their mouth is regarding what the bookies say about our chances of returning to the stratosphere. 19,000 season-tickets sold, the club reckons, which ain?t a bad bit of money to have stashed away up-front, is it? Returning to those gentlemen of the turf for the moment, a quick troll through the gambling enthusiasts on the Boing mailing-list reveals that the bookies are currently offering a meagre 6-1 on us bouncing (boinging?) back at the first attempt, also that we are now fourth favourites for the title. A few days ago, I would have readily agreed with their assessment that West Ham were dead certs to finish top of the heap, but as The Hammers are now seemingly hell-bent upon flogging their family silver, I?m not so sure. One thing?s for certain; others may be chucking a note or two in the direction of Ladbrokes et. al., but I won?t. Why? Simple. I?ve only ever bet on the Baggies twice in my entire life: the first occasion was in 1967, when I foolishly persuaded my mum to place a few bob of my pocket-money on us winning the League Cup Final versus QPR. ?Nuff said! The second? The beginning of season 1988-89, when I rashly put ?10 on our lot to go up. 50-1 were the odds at the time, and come Christmas and our pole-position status, I was mentally spending the resultant dosh ? only for the aforementioned ?Semper Te Fallant? factor to kick in with a vengeance come the New Year. Twice bitten, forever shy? Too right. ?Never bet on The Baggies? is my watchword, and what?s more, I intend to stick with it.

Talking of betting, what?s the odds on The Noise showing up for tomorrow?s game in apparel totally unsuited to the prevailing climate? He does have form, remember; this time last season, I recall him insisting upon wearing a heavy woollen jumper at Old Trafford in similarly hot and humid temperatures, so by that reckoning, it?s 2-1 on something of similar thickness to last year, 4-1 he?s wearing that tatty old greenish coat he toted to games most of last term, and a (generous!) 50-1 on him wearing a nice sensible (and cool!) tee shirt for once. About as much chance of that as Stoke getting in the play-offs, I reckon, so the bookie?s money might well be safe on that one...

The last couple of days have been hectic, to say the least. Remember the camera problem I told you about? Well, it?s been solved, and by one of my readers, no less. Not long after blowing off a bit of steam by mentioning the image-transfer fault via this diary, I had an email from Earl Plass, our tame California-born Baggie, now living in Blighty. The upshot of it all was he had a widgery-gadget that could circumvent the whole process and grab those reluctant pics another way. Suffice to say that after a little bit of experimentation, it worked, I now have those Plymouth snaps in my hot and sticky little hand, and armed with the details of that miracle device, I can now purchase one for myself at Merry Hill on Sunday. As I write, I?m still waiting for a reply from the camera?s manufacturers, so it?s just as well one of you were kind enough to help solve my dilemma. Once more, many thanks, Earl, for getting me out of that particular hole; I am eternally in your debt, mate.

Last night, around seven, we should have taken delivery of the first Dick of the season, but the adverse fortunes of a rather accident-prone Paul The Mad Welshman dictated otherwise. What happened? Simple: around half six, our eccentric printer rang to say he was currently on the M50, and smoke pouring out of the engine like it was laying down a protective screen for the Ark Royal in the Gulf. Five minutes later, we then had a further call that his engine had totally given up the ghost, and he was now well and truly stuck on Junction 2 of that motorway. Bugger, bums, and other choice phrases. There was no help for it but to go forth and rescue those damned ?zines ourselves. I would have gone along also, but for the fact I had to wait for Steve The Miser, who had also promised to deliver the subbers? envelopes that night. As it turned out, he arrived around five minutes after my other half left; what really astonished me about his appearance was the fact he was totally barefoot! Knowing Steve, as he?s not that keen on Sandy Shaw records, this is probably yet another economy measure on his part, saving shoe-leather, or something. If so, he?s a braver man than I; the streets of Bearwood are not so much paved with gold as with glass, lots of it, and mostly broken into little jagged shards. Oh, and there?s great dollops of you-know-what littering the pavement as well. I still can?t believe I actually saw our stingy co-editor traipsing barefoot across and down our street with not a care in the world ? but that?s Mister Miser for you. Expect to hear of his detention in Casualty with something nasty soon...

Much, much later that evening, ?Im Indoors returned, bearing gifts of Dicks galore. The next task was to stuff the lot into the addressed envelopes Steve had provided, a marathon in itself. We plonked the final one in at around ten that night, then carted the whole lot to the Post Office down the road, their ?double? pillar-box being more than capable of accommodating our voluminous needs. Luckily, it was the work of a moment to shoehorn the lot into the space provided, even though we did manage to fill pretty much all of one half, and a fair amount of the other in the process. There then followed a truly ?Candid Camera? moment; just seconds after we?d finished, a bloke wandered up to the post-box with the express intention of doing similar with his own post, a couple of letters, if that. The look on his face when he shoved those missives in the slot, and quickly discovered he was going to have a hard time accommodating them was worth more than its weight in gold. Incidentally, any posties reading this who fell victim to the additional work-load, my profuse apologies, but it was an emergency, and needs must, and all that...

And finally?.. Are our favourite football club?s medical team making some spare dosh on the side? The reason I ask is because in Thursday?s Guardian technology section ?Bad Science? feature, there is a short piece about a substance called VigRx, which is currently being touted via email. No prizes for the claims the manufacturers make for this mysterious medicament ? the name gives it away, not to mention numerous promotional puffs along the lines of ?Visual impact?, and exhortations to ?Give her more than ever? ? but such dubious nonsense apart, what really intrigues me is another bit of their biologically-inaccurate blurb. According to these gentlemen, the makers of VigRx have ?a laboratory team of Albion medical doctors? standing by to explain to eager punters precisely how the stuff works! Really? We may not be able to properly sort out the electrolyte balances of our finest in the current torrid conditions, but it?s reassuring to know that should you urgently require advice on how to use these products to revitalise things on the bedroom front, our club?s medical men are there on hand to provide all the answers...

 - Glynis Wright

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