The Diary

11 August 2003: The Inquest Continues......

On a distinctly tropical and sultry Black Country evening when the pall of an embarrassing defeat still hangs over our club like some sort of awful miasma, time for some additional thoughts, one day down the line. Had the sun?s heat got to our manager, or something? Hyperpyrexia is a rather dangerous condition; perhaps someone should tell him before it?s too late...

The more I chew over the events of yesterday, the more difficulty I have in trying to rationalise on why Dichio and Hulse were chosen to man the turrets at The Bescot in the first place. The former, whilst possessive of undoubted aerial skills, has, on terra firma, the turning circle and pace of a 747 being towed off the runway, and the latter doesn?t exactly exude quicksilver from his feet either. Being up front in yesterday?s murderous heat was really a young man?s game (unless your name?s Merson, of course; more on that anon), and as point-blank range miss upon miss piled up in those exquisitely-frustrating opening minutes ? a totally-unmarked Hulse, was it, from around eight or ten yards out, with a header, within the first four or five minutes? - the more realisation dawned that The Dear Leader called it completely wrong. Lee Hughes and Dobes ? both were cooking on gas in Denmark, and in some of the domestic friendlies ? would have sniffed blood immediately, and The Saddlers would have been duly leathered, I?ll wager. And, will someone please explain to me as to why we still persisted in hoofing the ball up the pitch in true Route One fashion, with the flanks treated as though someone had planted numerous anti-personnel devices there? I?d thought that little wheeze died an (unmourned) death last time round, but clearly, I was wrong.

When I studied biology some 30 years ago, I was taught that in the animal and plant kingdom there is mutuality; in short, every creature, in the ultimate analysis, depends on other species to survive and prosper. Everything, from stinging ant to bloody great pachyderm, is there for a reason ? you have to dig deeply to justify the existence of some creatures, I admit - but, on the whole, from top to bottom, big or small, this statement holds true. Even for that manky lot down the road. Right then, folks, here?s your homework for the night. Bearing that in mind, will someone now explain to me the precise function of a Ronnie Wallwork in football?s equivalent of the food web? A sub being subbed is the game?s equivalent of the bum?s rush, and no great injustice was done, either.

Let us now turn to our opponents. All due credit to them; those four goals were top-notch, albeit owing quite a lot to our defensive failings. Not only that, during the second half, some of their passing was, although cringe-making for our finest, a joy to watch for both sets of supporters. OK, one opening-day tanking doesn?t necessarily prove The Saddlers are going to take the division apart, but if they can keep that up, I fully expect them to finish halfway up, or better. After being the region?s Cinderella for so long, methinks they?ve got their sights on higher aspirations than avoiding the drop this time round. Paul Merson? This, remember, was the bloke our manager said he wouldn?t have in his side, despite our chairman quietly making close-season overtures via the player?s personal representatives. Could we be seeing a repeat of the Bob Taylor/Tucka Trewick scenario, there? By that, I mean the hypothesis I put forward last season of our leader being fearful of the presence of senior players/talented coaching staff perceived to be a threat to his authority and/or managerial position at the club, and ditching them at the first opportunity. Meggo might have considerable force of personality to fall back upon, but just like the dividing line between genius and madness, the interface between strong leadership skills and control-freakery coupled, on occasions, with good old-fashioned bullying, is molecules-thin also.

At least, come the Brentford game, the mercury will have dropped to a more reasonable level. Did I hear someone say on Saturday that the temperature on the pitch at Bescot was well over 100 degrees F? If it wasn?t, it bloody well felt like it. Having seen an article on global warming in one of the Sunday broadsheets today, I learned of scientists warning of an increase in summer temperatures of over 2 Centigrade in these parts within a few years; right now, Kew Gardens are already being bombarded with calls from gardeners who have managed to cultivate bananas in the current sizzling weather. It?s beginning to look as though opening days like yesterday?s will become almost routine, so it wouldn?t surprise me in the slightest if, before too many seasons have passed, the League ordain that games at this time of year are played in the evening, when the sting has been largely extracted from the sun?s rays. They do it in Mediterranean climes, after all. All it needs is for a player to collapse (or worse) in those searing temperatures, and it then becomes an issue of health and safety, not to mention one for the lawyers.

And finally... A quick trip to Merry Hill today to try and sort out our ongoing problem with transferring pics from my camera to our PC. We were given a new cable by Jessops, but that didn?t work, so now it?s a case of purchasing one of those card-reader thingies after all. Oh ? and I?ve invested in a new mobile as well; nothing to do with GD, but as I was there and I needed one, it seemed silly to give the shop a miss, especially as it?s right next door to the camera place. Plans are also afoot to get hold of a smaller and less-sophisticated version of my digital camera, matches, for the use of. The problem is that taking decent photographic equipment into games is streng verboten, but clubs don?t seem to raise objections if the article in question looks like a bog-standard point-and-shoot happy-snapper. It also helps if the person carrying the camera is an Old Fart, or someone very close to veteran status, like me! I?ve seen the one I want today; it?s very small, but is stuffed with some pretty neat refinements, and the fanzine will benefit accordingly. The next obstacle is to persuade Steve The Miser that my journey is financially necessary. Shouldn?t be a problem, in theory; with a digital, you?re spared the bother of buying film, taking stuff not knowing how it?s going to turn out, and those developing costs when you?ve actually finished the roll, not to mention the wait for the goods in question, which can be a bit of a sod if you?re working to a tight deadline. That camera, once it?s nestling safely (and inconspicuously) in my bag, will pay for itself within a season or so - and that?s the nub of my argument. Anyone out there feeling brave enough to tell Steve for me?

 - Glynis Wright

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