The Diary

15 September 2005: SuperBob, Super Meeting!

Now here?s a discovery. Not an original one, I?ll concede, but one that?s highly relevant to this piece. There are some certainties in life you simply can?t ignore, right? Examples? Here?s one for starters. You always know when the season has really got underway when you see The Last Night Of The Proms being featured on TV, as it was the other evening. One thought, though: why, oh why do they have to give prime-time to the warbling of ?Land of Hope And Glory?? Written by Edward Elgar, of course, who was an out-and-out bloody Dingle? The exception that proves the rule, presumably, the rest of the bunch having enormous difficulty composing a good excuse for the magistrates, never mind a world-famous musical piece.

That, and the sight and sound of migratory birds flying to warmer climes, coupled with an even more noticeable drawing in of the evening darkness. About as certain as it gets, I reckon. And it won?t be long either before the leaves start turning to pleasing autumnal shades: only the other day, I was reading a newspaper article that suggested this year?s arboreal show would be one of the best ever seen in this country. How come? All down to the deposition of lots of sugars in the leaves, apparently, for it?s that which determines the intensity of the autumnal hue, and the reason the trees have been so well-blessed with the sticky-sickly substance this year is because of the fine spell we had just a few weeks ago. So rumour has it. I?m next in the country (and among the best the local leaf-show can offer) in around three weeks time, and my camera will not be forgotten.

Autumn is also characterised by the gradual taking shape of the current football season; already, likely winners and losers are starting to emerge from the pack. Last Monday evening, on Sky, I saw West Ham dissect Villa in pleasing style at their place, an occurrence that must have really warmed the cockles of my old Hammers mucker Tony Fowles?s heart. Care to suggest Alan Pardew is a congenital idiot now, Tony? For a newly-promoted side to do that to one of the Prem?s stalwarts, and by four clear goals without reply, is no mean feat. A nagging little inner voice now tells me that whoever is relegated come the end of the season, it certainly won?t be West Ham. Last night, Champions League stuff apart, our domestic Championship had a full fixture card to sort out ? and The Dingles didn?t come at all well out of it. They were beaten by the odd goal in three by Millwall, which now leaves them sixth, and teetering on the edge of the play-off places. And at home, into the bargain. When I saw what actually happened on BBC tonight, I absolutely creased up with laughter: it seems that our Dingle chums fell victim to a lobbed effort. I?ll bet the language in the Custard Bowl was choice ? and I?ll bet the post-match scenes outside were pretty interesting also.

Meanwhile, there?s much that has to be sorted out at Planet Albion, still, but tonight, we took a break from the worries and cares of the Premiership to journey to Sutton Branch, where the guest speaker was someone who did so much to make that longed-for top-flight dream come true for us ? it?s SuperBob I?m talking about, of course. As we?ve been discovering from our researches, there are very few Hawthorns favourites who prove capable of making the quantum leap from ?good player? status to that of ?legend?. It?s not just what you do on the pitch that counts; an awful lot also depends upon how well you relate to the faithful, both during your playing days, and afterwards. It?s all down to personality: that, and a strong sense of ?belonging? with the troops.

It helps enormously if you?re willing to go the extra mile by creating that special rapport with supporters while still playing, then be happy to share the good and bad times with them afterwards ? and be seen to do so. Don?t bother with simply trying to court popularity, either, because Baggies fans can spot hypocrisy a mile off. In my supporting time, Jeff Astle managed to cross the unspoken divide that sunders the truly loved from the also-rans, and so did Bomber Brown. Were he based near the Black Country and not in a run-down seaside town some 40 miles east of Edinburgh, then I?m sure that Willie Johnston would, too.

You know how it is with those who are devout followers of the Islamic faith? That it?s one of the main tenets of their religion that if at all possible, believers have to make at least one journey to Mecca during their lifetime? The ill and old are ?excused boots?, of course, but you can?t really call yourself a true Moslem until you?ve been there. Well, it?s the same with Baggies followers: so the folklore goes, you can?t really consider yourself to be a true Albionite until you?ve visited Willie?s pub, the Portbrae Tavern in Kircaldy. We did it around 16 years ago, and a hell of a lot of Baggies have done the ?pilgrimage? since, mostly courtesy of the marathon end-of-term trips the Supporters Club sometimes run to see a Scottish game. And yes ? Bob?s done the ?pilgrimage? himself, and with the faithful, too. The end of last season, was it?

Really dedicated Baggies followers also reckon you also need to have at least 1,000 Albion games under your belt to qualify, but that?s another story entirely! No, Bob meets all the necessary criteria and more besides, and there?s not that many supporters that would argue the toss, so it was a positive pleasure heading on down to Sutton Coldfield tonight to see the old sod perform (verbally!) once more. I came bearing gifts, not of gold, frankincense and myrrh, but those of the ?camera? variety. As for ?Im Indoors, he simply wanted to get a couple of 1968 Albion shirts signed by the Great Man himself. Why? All to do with my other half?s forthcoming book: I sincerely promise, all will be revealed in due course!

And even The Fart exited our vehicle clutching something ominously bulky. No, not the superannuated steam radio he normally brings to away fixtures ? I really think you ought to tune into a different station occasionally, Tel, there?s only so many live broadcasts of Hitler rallies I can stand! ? but a little gift we purchased for him when we were in the wilds of Herefordshire last week. (Well, after giving so many rodents a Christian burial for us while we were away, it was the least we could do!) So, what was our little surprise, then? A referee, in doll form, and, more to the point, thanks to the miracle of microchip technology, juts a tug on his yellow-card-toting arm brings forth varying examples of the sort of nonsensical garbage these creatures tend come out with during the average league game.

More importantly, it also serves as a stress-doll Grab him round the throat with both hands ? just imagine the last official to grace the Hawthorns sacred swarth, Mr. Clattenburg, in your clutches, then tighten your grip: it?s dead easy, believe you me, and reveals hitherto-unsuspected murderous aspects of your character you weren?t even aware you possessed! - and not only does he make suitably-horrendous choking noises, his eyes pop out on stalks as well! Great fun, and something I?ve never, ever seen on sale before, but my goodness, didn?t we come across it in a peculiar place. A huge Army surplus store right at the top of a hill, and at least ten miles from the nearest town, would you believe? Oh, and with a tank, an armoured car, and a jet aircraft (all non-functional, I hope) parked near the front entrance. Yes, I know, simple things amuse simple minds, but Bob was quite taken by the thing! And so was The Fart, who is probably driving poor Dot nuts with it right now. Oh ? any one wanting an unusual line in birthday/Christmas gifts for a Baggie as equally racked off by referees as me, just drop me a line via ?Boing?, and I?ll gladly supply you with all the sordid details.

But back to tonight?s meeting. It was a very jolly Bob that appeared tonight, and much more tanned than I?ve ever seen him. Thinner-faced, too. And with that trademark black hair of his, of course, and very curly these days. Slightly receding, now? Surely not: Bob?s immortal, isn?t he? Well, he seems that way to my still-adoring eyes. Quite a good turnout for Sutton Branch, even Doc Rimmer, former Albion medic, attended, with daughter ? also a one-time pill-rolling practitioner at the club ? their joint presence certainly got Bob going towards the end of his spiel.

So, what cropped up, then? As I explained in a previous post, to ensure no grief for any supporters? club branch I attend in future, I?m now confining my accounts to thumbnail sketches only. The last thing I want to do is rock the boat for anyone, and Sutton Branch and I go back a very long way indeed. Here goes, then. First off, we had the benefit of Bob?s opinion of the England game the other night, good, bad and indifferent, and his wish to take coaching badges at some stage or another in the near future. We then had his thoughts on the current Albion side ? on one thing he?s adamant, though. He would absolutely hate to be a manager!

These preambles over, the meeting then began to warm up. Well, it wasn?t just a meeting in the strict sense of the word any more: thanks to Bob?s wonderful rapport with his audience, almost imperceptibly, the proceedings then transmuted themselves into more of an informal discussion group on the many issues current in the game. That?s the effect Bob has on people ? he really is a ?natural?, and our favourite football club could do far worse than grab him for PR purposes once he?s hung up his boots for good. Next up for discussion was his current role at Tamworth: they, too, have changed considerably, only three part-timers left, now, much to my surprise. Then again, full-time outfits are rapidly becoming the rule rather than the exception in the Conference, these days. Why not just append the whole thing to the Football League and be done with it? After all, the top Conference clubs get to enter the Mickey Mouse Cup these days, and the ability gap narrows with every passing season, so incorporating them into the whole shebang would sort our more than a few issues rumbling on at that level.

As you might expect, when we?re away and Tamworth are at home, there?s quite a sizeable contingent of Baggies wanting to see the Old Master strut his stuff on the Staffordshire club?s own muck-heap. And for his part, Bob really loves to see them out there on the terraces. London Branch are ?regulars?, apparently, and once the final whistle?s sounded, it?s full steam ahead to the bar for both parties. Much ?liquid refreshment? is consumed by all concerned on those occasions, so we?re assured. Oh, and there is one very happy by-product of the London presence for Tamworth ? whenever they?re there, Bob bangs one in!

Some words about former Albion mucker Carl Heggs, now also with The Lambs, of course, then, taking a different tack altogether, thoughts apropos the plethora of foreign players currently occupying top-level berths. A few more opinions about Sven Goran Erikson and the current England set-up, then onto more specific matters concerning our favourite football club. Lowest point when at Albion? The Halifax FA Cup game immediately prior to the midweek Anglo-Italian Cup tryst with Fiorentina. At that point, we witnessed some ?medical heckling? emanating from both Rimmers, junior and senior! And many animated comments from Bob when he realised they were in the audience!

And the Old Master had lots to say about that nail-biting last home fixture against Pompey last season. Yes, Bob was there to witness the game, but during the second half, it all became too much, and stricken with nervous tension, our hero had to retreat to the bar downstairs instead. ?I was up and down like a yo-yo!? There were cuddles all round at the end, though, not least with the Rimmer clan, also seated nearby. As Doc Rimmer Senior pointed out, and quite right, too: ?We?re all a family, really!? Couldn?t have summed up us Albionites better. We ARE a family, we Baggies, and long may it continue.

Reminisces also about the first time we were promoted to the Prem came next. Although some expressed doubts at the time, Bob reckons he had an inner certainty we would overhaul Wolves in the long run all along. Blimey, I wish he would have communicated that cast-iron feeling of confidence to us poor sods looking on at the time; I still have flashbacks just thinking about the number of fingernails I reduced to soggy matchsticks over the course of those last few games! Although putting one over a local rival was old hat to The Fart ? the lucky sod saw Ronnie Allen send Villa down at our place in the late fifties ? as far as I?m concerned, 2001-02 was one of the most memorable seasons I?ve ever known as an Albion supporter. And Bob, of course, was the architect-in-chief of all that lovely Dingle-destruction.

Best goal? No specific one ? well, there have been quite a few over the years - but the maestro did recall with pleasure the brace against Bolton at Burnden Park back in our Third Division days, and that superb header versus Wolves a few years further down the line was something special also. Aw, you know the one, Supes managing to somehow worm his way between a couple of gold and cack defenders to bravely nut the ball straight in, and right in front of the Smethwick End as well? And what about local derbies in general? Loved ?em, especially those at Molineux!

A sobering few words next concerning Lee Hughes, currently at Featherstone Prison; what I didn?t know was that Bob and some chums played the prison side there, and Lee was one of the mainstays of that team. Some sort of benefit game, as I understood it, and once ?yer man? had got used to all the security, barbed wire, locks, and all the rest of it, the occasion proved highly beneficial for all concerned. Correct me if I?m wrong, but as I understood it, Lee was the lad primarily responsible for organising the event. I had to giggle at Bob?s all-too vivid description of what it was like to be behind bars, if only on a temporary basis; clearly, the place (and the female officers!) certainly made a big impression on our former striker!

There was much more, of course, but discretion really is the better part of valour as far as such matters are concerned. Come the end, time to draw the raffle, sign endless books and programmes for the faithful, then deal with The Fart?s request. Signing those 1968 shirts I mentioned at the start of this piece, and this column recording the moment photographically for posterity, of course. We?ll be sending the pics to the supporters? club website tomorrow, so look out for ?em on there! Oh, and the chance for The Fart to introduce our hero to his brand-new gift, and quite taken he was with it, too. Was it just me, or did the act of grabbing the poor ref?s throat cause a crazed gleam to momentarily enter our former striker?s eyes? Oh dear ? nigh-on twenty years of pent-up fury, and all directed at the man in black, even one in replica form! Where is Sigmund Freud when you most need him, I ask myself?

And that?s about it for now. Back on Friday night with some pertinent thoughts about our next away destination, The Stadium of Light, this weekend. We?ll be going to that one, and travelling courtesy of Baggies Travel, too. There once was a time when ?Im Indoors would have gladly driven the nigh-on 200 miles to Wearside, then a similar distance back, but old age is catching up with us all, I?m afraid. No Noise, either ? once more, he can?t get the time off. Tomorrow, I?ll be heading on out to The Shrine, for some Blackburn tickets for our merry little band. Another mega-sized hole in my bank-balance: as long as there isn?t a correspondingly-sized hole in our bloody defence this weekend, I won?t mind too much!

And finally?.. ?Im Indoors tells me that when he went to work last Monday, there were no end of Dingles wanting to remind him of the weekend?s score versus Wigan. Funny, though, how they?d all seemingly vanished into thick air after last-night?s injury-time shenanigans versus Millwall!

 - Glynis Wright

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