The Diary

22 September 2005: So Long, Chris - And Don't Forget To Give The King My Regards.

Funny, isn?t it how, whenever you think you?ve got to know someone fairly well, something happens to leave you in increasing doubt as to whether you ever really knew what made them tick after all. That was the feeling I got today, when attending both Chris?s cremation, and the thanksgiving service for his life that was held in his local church just an hour later.

It?s a bit like peeling an onion, really: on first inspection, the bulb looks brown, with wispy little roots at one end, and very little of the pungent aroma locked inside discernible. Grab a knife, and remove several of the outer layers, however, and a completely different picture and aroma reveals itself before your curious (and copiously-watering!) eyes ? and that?s the feeling I had today. I knew Chris, had known him for many years, in fact - but still I didn?t understand the man, and what drove him so earnestly in search of perfection, whatever he undertook to do.

The Chris that supported our football club was well known to us both, of course, but what of Chris the church treasurer, Chris the extreme sports enthusiast and eccentric wearer-of-T-shirt and-shorts-in-all-weathers, Chris the Carshalton FC season-ticket holder? And Chris the conscientious Civil Servant, who was owed enough flexitime hours to take him into the middle of next year, almost, but would never, ever dream of asking for the time owed to be given back? And, no matter how wearisome the treatment, still insisted upon making the long commute into work and back, even up to a comparatively short time before his untimely death?

As speaker after speaker stood up to give their own personal thanks for Chris?s life, I was truly amazed by the sheer number of people that he?d truly counted as a friend, the sheer diversity of their backgrounds, and how brilliantly he constantly strove to put those cherished Christian beliefs of his into practice. I suppose the fact that the church was absolutely packed with mourners spoke volumes about his character, and the degree of affection bestowed upon him by so many people. In a world constantly torn by hypocrisy and cant, beset by petty jealousy, rapacious multinationals, and tarnished by a multitude of conflicts, some relatively petty, some downright dangerous to world peace, it?s a crying shame there aren?t more like Chris around. The planet would certainly be a far happier place to live in, that?s for sure.

On to other matters, now. A whole day since our Cup triumph over Bradford last night, and I can see it in my mind?s eye, still, the gloriously lithe-limbed Kanu, ball-juggling, tantalising, teasing, then completely bamboozling and mesmerising poor Bradford into chaotic defensive submission, complete and utter, over and over again. A wonderfully innate talent, interspersed with those unexpectedly-delightful bursts of sheer athleticism, legs, explosive, almost, deadly as a striking cobra, and about as swift to find their mark, too. About the only thing he didn?t do with the ball last night was get the audience to sing ?Land Of Hope And Glory? for the benefit of the entire Brummie, but given the loan of a suitable orchestra and conductor for the duration, I?m pretty sure he could have worked that particular miracle into his repertoire with consummate ease as well. Football, I?ve missed you at The Shrine for so long ? welcome home again!

The trouble is, though, all good things must come to an end. Adios, the unexpected, the exciting, the entertaining ? and heigh-ho, back to the tedium of the Prem on Saturday, I suppose, the league where negativity born of fear constantly bestrides its participant clubs like a Colossus, while its prime causes, greed, pure and simple, coupled with a predictability of outcome verging on the downright tedious, ensures attendances plummet faster than the barometer in hurricane-hit New Orleans did just a couple of weeks ago.

As another supporter at Chris?s funeral today put it, the danger for the beautiful game is this: just a few years ago, attendances, even at top flight level, were but a fraction of what they are today, and because of that, clubs desperately needed the likes of us to put bums on seats. Supporter loyalty, to the point of terminal stupidity, was the desirable thing at boardroom level. Now, with all the TV money and corporate entertainment pieces of silver sloshing around the game, it?s not faithful bums on seats they need any more. Joe Soap and son (daughter?), just in the town for the one day, and knowing sod-all about the club in question, let alone root for it through thick and thin, will do nicely. Sod loyalty, hello big bucks.

And, just to ensure clubs attract what they now regard as a ?suitable family audience?, with all the nasty oiks, and all their filthy habits largely excluded, prices will probably ascend with the rapidity of a Space Shuttle launch, and the genuine passionate punters priced out of it completely. I saw it happen at Middlesbrough, and, given enough years remaining at this level, I can easily see the same happening to our own club. And it?s slowly killing the game: in ten or twenty years time, how many of our present-day Premiership outfits will still be treading the boards, I wonder?

Since last night, I?ve been hearing much more about what went wrong with the ticketing operation in the East Stand turnstiles last night ? in fact, after seeing webmaster Finbarr?s tale of woe on his own site, perhaps it might be far more pertinent for all and sundry to ask of the club one perfectly straight question, i.e.: ?What went right??

Arriving at about ten past seven, expecting - like many others - to queue a few minutes for a ticket, enter the ground and partake of the odd pie or three before kick-off, our correspondent was presented with the totally surreal sight of two massive queues stretching from the East Stand, across the car park, along the wall, back across the car park and along the front of the stand to the club shop. One line was for people to buy tickets, the other for those who were collecting the ones they'd booked in advance. Half an hour later, after a great deal of collective moaning to a series of generally apathetic stewards, the queues were even longer and Finn was barely halfway to the front of his. Some sort of dialogue ensued: in fact, one of his colleagues gathered that the match must have started on time, although there were so few in the ground making any noise, that it was hard to tell from outside.

Eventually, some bright spark decided that they should open some turnstiles for cash sales, so they opened the ones nearest the back of the queue, theoretically ensuring those who'd arrived latest and joined last could get into the ground first. The rest were left to wonder what all the fuss behind them was about and debate whether to stay put or take the alternative - Finn chose the latter course, and finally took his (unticketed) seat nine minutes after kick-off. Exactly what options were available to those still queuing to collect their pre-booked tickets - short of paying again at the turnstile - is unclear, but Finn suspects a lot of them must have missed at least 20 minutes of the action.

According to another one of my little birds tonight, the club are now trying to claim only a few dozen were seriously affected by the technology outage, as per the E and S story on the back pages. But yet another account from him told me different. Apparently, the lad set out from home, a little later than normal, ticket-less, but expectant. Arriving at the ground a little before 7.20 pm, he went straight to a steward on the corner of the Halfords Lane Stand. "There aren't any 'pay at the turnstiles' open tonight," said he, "and there's an enormous queue at the ticket office, so you're going to need to hurry".

How right he was. There were dozens of stewards standing near turnstiles, apparently, with no one going in, and a queue, four-deep at least, stretching nearly to the Astle Gates. Zero movement, and the queue growing at an alarming rate. Confirmation also there was another queue of people who had already paid, who couldn't even collect their tickets. As kick-off time neared, senior stewards were dragged into the already-fraught scene. They hadn't a clue what to do, and zero contingency plans for what to do next.

Then, at last, at about 7.53 pm., one senior steward told those at the rear to 'pay at the turnstiles'. Absolute mayhem as supporters tried to find a turnstile that would allow this: unsurprisingly, those still stood nearest the ticket office were not amused. My chum was lucky, and managed to get in by 8.02 pm. His estimate is that there were between 2,000 and 3,000 caught up in what he describes as ?this fiasco? ?An absolute shambles,? he als raged, ?for the umpteenth time in my 62 years of support. ?

The club did issue an apology on their website earlier today, saying the situation was caused by a software problem in the computerised entry system, complicated by a late surge of supporters as the ?off? loomed. A gold star to our favourite football club for the proffered expressions of regret, but I?m still at a complete loss regarding why it was deemed necessary last night for the normal ticketing system to be suddenly replaced by this absolutely hare-brained nonsense of supporters having to join a separate queue to purchase paper tickets once more!

Oh ? and while we?re in ?moaning mode?, yet another Baggie person needed to ventilate a grievance, and one I had noticed myself last night ? the tendency of the TV screen to show adverts rather than replay footage following some incident or other. Nothing contentious, for most of the time, just what seems like a blanket-ban on seeing replays of corners, free kicks, or whatever, for some reason. My tame Baggie simply puts it down to the whole idea of screens being flawed in the first place, but I do have to agree ? it?s really frustrating to watch some potentially-contentious incident, lift one?s eyes towards the screen in anticipation of what the replay brings then, lacking one, trying to work out whether what had just happened on the field of play was street-legal or not.

And Finally?.. One. Cock-Up Of The Week Award goes to one of my ?little birds? ? I won?t embarrass him by mentioning his proper monicker in public ? who tried to send me a mail apropos last night?s events outside the ground, but ended up somehow sending it to my entire mailing-list instead!

Two. A late start for this column tonight, but it was all worth it. I had planned to kick ?off as per normal tonight, but the twin blandishments of the BBC2 drama-documentary about the Space Race, then the Donny Rovers-Man City tryst had me beaten, well and truly - the City game on Sky won out. Opinions? The first piece of TV was absolutely fascinating and, once we?d tuned in to Sky, so was the second. We?d joined the game in the second period of extra-time, and City winning 1-0, but playing with ten men after a sending-off that quite frankly puzzled me: sadly, we also saw Donny?s regular keeper being stretchered off with a suspected fractured fibula (the thin bone that sits right behind your shinbone, and neatly tucked within the depths of your calf).

Things sure looked grim for Donny ? until they got a fortuitous penalty with around five minutes to go ? and potted, no messing. Nerves, what nerves? A few more minutes then, with both on level-pegging, it went to penalties. And that?s when I really started to titter: Donny put theirs first away, no messing, and then it was City?s turn to do the same. Most of them being household names, you would have thought performing such an act would be about as easy as asking the lot of them to write their own names ? but, nope. Donny eventually put all three of theirs away, but the visitors? replies? One hit the bar, one hit a post, and the other was saved ? sort of ? by their substitute keeper! After the third miss, they?d run completely out of road, so Donny were duly declared the winners!

To be perfectly honest, if I were a City supporter right now, I?d be looking for the following, as a matter of great urgency: 1) A quiet room: 2) A large glass of whisky, preferably a good one, with the remainder of the bottle in very close attendance: 3) A loaded revolver, with five in the chamber, and one up the spout!

Three?. More on Friday night, of course, but thanks to a lad called Brian for the following. Remember when I told you that the race for the West Australian League title was still neck and neck between Sorrento, the club we ?adopted? while Down Under last June, and Perth? He now reckons he saw in the Sunday Times recently that Perth beat Sorrento 6-0. As he says, oh well ? close, but not quite close enough!

 - Glynis Wright

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