The Diary

19 September 2005: More Rumblings About The Prem

Approximately 24 hours have now elapsed since our weary return from Sunderland ? well, 9.30 pm at the ground, actually, but when you whack on the time taken to ferry The Fart back to his place of residence, then get back to ours, 10.30 pm was the ball-park figure I came up with ? and still the last vestiges of fatigue are tugging at the frayed strands of nervous tissue flapping against the edges of my brain.

Not helped at all by the fact that after watching what I?d missed that afternoon on Sky, then typing up the whole sorry tale, chapter and verse, for you lot out there, then taking my nightly painkillers and waiting for them to kick in, I made it nearly half-five this morning before I finally went in search of my pit. And it doesn?t half show: after visiting the working farm run by Sandwell council I?ve described in previous episode, then partaking of a bite or three in the caf? there, I was well-knackered and dozed off on our sofa afterwards. And still I feel like something the cat dragged in and didn?t want. Something tells me I?m going to be engaging in a bit of a bruising battle with Mr. Sandman?s seductive blandishments later on, so don?t be surprised to find typos aplenty in tonight?s offering.

So far, I?ve only managed to take in those match reports written by tabloid journalists. The serious stuff still awaits my loving attention, but I will get around to it sooner or later, I promise. The account that made me smile the most I found on Albion?s own website, the one that made a direct comparison of Zoltan Gera with Zebedee, of ?Magic Roundabout? fame! And why not? As anyone addicted to the ?60?s TV kids show knows full well, Zebedee possessed a party trick still valued greatly by our faithful, both home or away ? the ability to go ?BOINNGGG!? when and where the occasion demanded. Just like the lad Gera, in fact, and just like those undulating thousands every time Baggie ball hits Hawthorns net. Just how high the lad can leap when he really wants to was illustrated perfectly by Albion?s own photographer, who yesterday caught Zoltan right in mid-flight, nutting in the one that counted. If you get the chance, look the picture up. ?Quite remarkable,? as David Coleman would have said.

A particularly apposite note concerning yesterday?s game, and the value for money it represented (or not!) came from a poster on the Boing website tonight. As he so pertinently pointed out: ?If you go into the William Jameson pub on Fawcett Street in Sunderland, ?25 will buy you 10 pints and a burger and chips for lunch, and fish and chips for tea. Or you can go to the Stadium Of Light, and pay ?25 to watch s**t football. Go figure, as the Americans say?...? Certainly, from what little I saw of the whole affair for myself, I?d deem it a very poor game indeed. On the evidence, albeit brief, of my own eyes, unless an event of Damascene proportions happens to change things between now and then, both sides are going to be warily eyeing each other up come the fag-end of the current season. And talking of ?value for money? and what may, or may not represent customer satisfaction $p at our level, it might, just might, be that the game?s movers and shakers are somewhat belatedly waking up and smelling the coffee. There?s now, at long last, a growing perception among top-flight clubs that the Premiership peasants are finally voting with their feet, and unless they act pretty soon to make the game a much more tempting proposition for supporters, they?ll be faced with the unpleasant prospect of bums not turning up to warm the many seats put there for their benefit.

I?m not making any claim for originality on this particular topic, of course, except to point out that as long ago as seven years before we finally reached the Promised Land, I was voicing doubts in Grorty Dick as to whether or not we?d end up enjoying what we found should the miracle finally occur, and our favourite football club manage to reach those dizzy heights. I also remember, not long after my article hit the streets, having a right old verbal ding-dong outside Selhurst Park with a supporter whose views on the subject were diametrically opposed to my own. And no ? I?m not going to say ?I told you so?!

But what about the problem, now somewhat belatedly recognised by the game?s hierarchy? Richard Scudamore, the Prem?s CEO, reckons the way forward has to be the availability of cheaper seats for games, thus enabling those less well off and previously priced out of supporting the chance to attend games once more. I can?t say I?m surprised to see them panicking: according to The Observer today, there were 27, 442 unsold seats in the Prem yesterday. Only five games played, including our own, ?tis true, but of those five, only one ? Charlton v Chelsea ? was genuinely sold out, and that only because The Addicks allowed season-ticket holders to buy four for friends, rather than the two normally permitted, offering priority booking to the 1,500 that didn?t renew their season-tickets at the end of last season, and charging (only!) ?35, ten quid down on last season. Times is ?ard indeed. Sp Yes, there?s some pretty serious doubts beginning to gather momentum out there in Bean-Counter Land, and not before time, either. And The Observer?s Paul Wilson may have hit the nail right on the head with his assessment of the current top-flight scene, in which he posits that life for the dozen or so Prem clubs frightened silly of losing their money-making status is so precarious, the knock-on effects are beginning to manifest themselves out there on the pitch. As he so pertinently points out, far too many fixtures these days are about survival and many ?much too grim to be classified as family entertainment?.

You have only to consider both yesterday?s performance and that versus Wigan last week to see where the lad?s coming from. Get relegated, and, if you?ve a financial set-up predicated wholly upon staying up there with the big boys season after season, you?ve got a cashflow shortage a mile wide. Sure, those ?parachute payments? amount to several millions a throw, thereby partially cushioning the shock to your finances, but they only last for two years. After that, you?re out there on your own, kid - and, as some can testify already, it?s a vicious world down there ?among the dead men?. No wonder Premiership clubs fight tooth and nail to preserve the status quo.

And there?s another cast-iron reason why the public are rapidly losing faith with the beautiful game. In fact I touched upon it at the end of last season, when I pointed out via this same column that most of the Premiership?s genuine excitement emanated not from the top strata, but from those clubs still clinging desperately to the top-flight?s crumbling precipice. The reason? Simple ? by Christmas, most of the issues affecting the top six had been resolved. There only remained our own four-way relegation tussle to sort out come the end of the season which, as it happened, made for much more exciting TV than any number of Man United, Arsenal or Chelsea games ever could. Why bother to support, say, a mid-table side, when everything?s more or less done and dusted by mid-season anyway? Yep, like him or loathe him as you will, but as far as I?m concerned, Abramovic?s influence on the domestic game over the past two or three years has been, overall, a pernicious one.

It?s a scenario so obvious, and yet it?s taken some otherwise very brainy people an awful long time to realise what might happen should the crowds finally melt away. Any budget-conscious housewife could have spelt out the likely consequences of such misguided fiscal policy after but a few minutes serious thought. Income x, expenditure y, no additions, no fripperies ? books balanced. Income x, expenditure 2y, mostly on garbage, and you?ve got problems.

Or, income only x due to supporter apathy caused through stinging admission charges, and expenditure still 2y ? result ditto. The main issue, though, concerns how you break the self-perpetuating cycle of dependency created by the ever-increasing perception among clubs that participating in European competition is where it?s at? In short, spending money you simply haven?t got on buying expensive players considered good enough to get you involved in even more expensive European ventures, then once you?ve got there, spending even more money to ensure you stay there, and so on. It?s a bit like a kitten chasing its own tail, and as any cat owner will tell you, sooner or later, Kitty eventually sustains a painful self-inflicted wound.

That, in a nutshell, was the problem that lay at the heart of Leeds United?s current troubles: exit from the Champions League when they?d budgeted to enjoy an extended run in the competition led to severe cash-flow problems, all associated with the pressing need to maintain a competitive wage structure, and attract decent players to the place. Something had to give, so key players were sold to prop up current wage expenditure ? the rest we all know. Two seasons further down the line from their relegation, and there?s still only the remotest of prospects they?ll return to their former glory. A cautionary tale, if ever there was one.

Whatever the issues involved ? I do accept, though, that you could sit there all night and still not come to a satisfactory conclusion ? I?m now getting the distinct impression from the game?s rulers that unless something is done to resolve the growing apathy out there, then football at our level will quickly hit an almighty bump in the road. Well, I ask you, what sort of crazy logic dictates that it?s considerably cheaper to watch Real Madrid or Juventus than Newcastle, Pompey, Everton or Blues? In Bayern Munich of the German Bundesliga you?ve got the canniest bargain of the whole lot. ?12.50 to you, squire, should you want to watch football at their level!

Oh, and one other thought apropos the Chelskis, Arsenals and Man Urinals of this world. Perhaps it?s high time for them to consider buggering off to a European league, where they can all play with Monopoly money to their heart?s content, and leave the winning of our domestic Championship and Cup competitions genuinely open to the lesser-fry once more. Do that, generate some real and lasting interest for supporters again, and you?d have them packing out the aisles, no problem. A radical solution maybe, but if we are to save our domestic game before the bubble really bursts, it may well be we?ll have to seriously consider going down that road. Writing as a genuine football supporter greatly concerned by current trends, I see it as the only realistic way out of what is rapidly becoming a serious dilemma for our game, and its increasingly disgruntled customers/supporters.

And finally?? One. For the benefit of those who read my obituary for Albion supporter Chris Hartle recently, and knew him from the time he lived in the Midlands and attended games on a regular basis, I now have details of the funeral service. It is to be held in Chris?s church on Wednesday the 21st. of September, at 11.30 am. No flowers, by request, but donations, especially those to The Royal Marsden Hospital, welcome. Failing that, donations to the charity of your choice equally welcome. Naturally both Simon and myself, plus The Fart, who also got to know Chris very well indeed over the years, will be attending. Anyone else wishing to go, and wanting further details, either get in touch personally, or grab me before Tuesday night?s Cup game. I?ll be only too delighted to assist regarding precise route to take, location of the church etc.

Two Yet another moribund rodent on the kitchen floor for me late tonight ? and our daft tabby cat, Tigger, the most likely culprit again. Given our resident feline?s usual antipathy towards small furry creatures, I was left wondering as to whether my stripey puss had developed a completely different (and much less bellicose) method of dispatching his prey to That Great Big Mousehole In The Sky. What could it be, I wondered. And then the likely answer came in a flash. No, our brain-dead mog wasn?t all that good when it came to returning corpses to the care of their spiritual ancestors, so conventional methods of dispatch were unlikely to work ? but there were alternatives. Could it be that lacking the ability to properly polish off his prey by conventional means, our furry little chappie simply talked to his victims about double-entry book-keeping for an hour or two instead? Or, should that not work sufficiently well, Nigerian crop rotation? Either way, the merest utterance would most certainly bore the poor sods to death!

Three. See you all on Monday night, preparatory to Tuesday?s Cup game!

 - Glynis Wright

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