The Diary

12 August 2003: The Bees Cometh, But Will They Sting?

Tomorrow?s game is certainly going to be one to remember, principally because we?re heading into uncharted waters with those wretched stilecards, which get their first real airing thus far this term. I sincerely hope all those teething-troubles we heard about after the Cheltenham game have had a whacking great flat-iron taken to them by Mo the Laundry Lady, otherwise the scenes outside The Shrine immediately prior to kick-off will bear more resemblance to the New York Stock Market circa 1929 than a First Division ground.

Some glitches, of course, are relatively easy to cure; it helps, for example, if punters pay all due attention to the location of the turnstile they?re supposed to use when entering; if they try to use the wrong one, they won?t get in ? end of story. Also, taking more care when swiping the card through the reader will facilitate matters, apparently. That?s not always easy; the place where we stayed for the latter part of our Danish trip had a similar entry system in place, and I quickly discovered that in order for the whole shebang to work, you had to initially place the edge of the card slightly outside the slot, but still firmly resting in the notch of the groove, then run the whole of the thing through the gubbins at a fair lick. If you didn?t follow that lot to the letter, nothing happened, much to the frustration of ?Im Indoors (some of us have it, some haven?t ? but don?t tell him I said that, will you?). Not that I?m trying to score cheap points at my other half?s expense ? I?m just demonstrating that the technology can be bloody temperamental at times, whichever organisation operates it, therefore my ghast will be well and truly flabbered should we gain ingress without a hitch tomorrow night. The club are clearly worried also; on the official website, there?s now an ?idiot-proof guide? to getting in using the cards. Let?s hope that the old showbiz adage ?It?ll be all right on the night? will hold true in this case.

One other interesting snippet: the news that the tribunal meeting to consider James O?Connor?s move from The Potteries to here have now ruled that Albion have to pay Stoke ?250K for the privilege, which is a considerable improvement on the million-plus they initially wanted. The sum is payable over six months, and we also have to stump up an extra ?50K on appearances (how many isn?t made clear), plus a further ?50K should our hero be selected to play for The Republic of Ireland in the future. There?s also a 10% sell-on for Stoke, so the whole package should get them chattering in droves up there. No doubt I?ll obtain more feedback from The Noise tomorrow night, no doubt on the lines of ?You robbing fatherless persons?..? or something of that ilk??

The Brentford game presents a splendid opportunity for our manager to sort out the glaring problems that manifested themselves on Saturday, especially those gaping holes in our rearguard that gave The Saddlers the motive, means and opportunity to commit wholesale slaughter against our lot. I hadn?t really had the chance to see those goals since the weekend, but tonight, on ?Midlands Today?, there they were, in all their ghastliness. Because of our location, I hadn?t truly appreciated just how remiss our rearguard had been in allowing opposing players sufficient space and time in which to perpetrate the damage; perspective does tend to distort things, but the truth is, if we are as generous tomorrow night as we were then, Uncomplimentary Things Will Be Chanted, make no mistake. This tie does have something of a history; around five seasons ago, we played The Bees at their own hive, just off the M4, and slap-bang in the middle of the Heathrow final-approach. Suffice to say that we were given such a painful stinging by the home side, I ended the game watching the planes, and not events on the pitch. Today, the dubious Ron Noades is no more; our opponents are now coached by someone who?ll be no stranger to those who?ve been supporting for more than 20 years. I refer, of course, to Garry Thompson, who was part of our strikeforce in those heady days when membership of the higher league was regarded as a God-given right by most of us.

On paper, of course, our fortunes should be vastly different, but the same was said about the Walsall caper on Saturday, and look where that got us? Brentford have reasons of their own to be well up for this encounter; they also suffered a 4-1 reverse at the weekend, and will be looking to boost morale also. Meggo, tonight, reckoned ?The pressure?s on us now.? Close, Meggo, but not quite accurate; should we fail against The Bees, the pressure will be on YOU, make no mistake; being no mental slouch himself, I?m sure our leader is far more appreciative of the fact than he lets on to the media. Although he professes not to take notice of uncomplimentary comments, he?d have to have the hide of a hog not to be aware of some of the sulphurous stuff that?s currently being whanged about, and from normally-placid followers as well. I?m taking it as read that our strikeforce will be substantially different to the one that started at The Bescot Stadium; to make the same error would be criminal, in my opinion. This is the sort of fixture that needs an early goal to bolster the morale of the troops, which is where nippy little sods Scott Dobie, Lee Hughes, or, dare I say it, a rehabilitated Jason Roberts, might come in. But, knowing The Soup Dragon and those slow burns of his, there?s about as much chance of the last of these taking to the field of play as I have of winning the Lottery. Taking all the above (and below) into consideration, I?m going to throw caution to the wind, and predict a narrow win for us, 2-1, say.

Will we have the benefit of the company of Thomas Gaardsoe for this one? He was out because of an ankle injury, and the latest was he was in the gym trying to get fit. Are we talking ?Megson-fit? here, or the standards that apply to mere mortals, I wonder? Interesting, also, that there are dark allusions to ?strengthening one position we don?t have cover for?. Presumably, Clem now fears the worst??.

And finally?? In one Sunday newspaper review of Premiership clubs, each review of club prospects has a section whereby the outfit concerned is likened to a TV show. The Dingles? Blue Peter, all glue and sticky-back-plastic! This only refers to the club, not necessarily its supporters, so had the compilers? remit stretched that far, and knowing precisely how obnoxious they can be, I would have suggested a much more appropriate match. How does ?Destruction Derby? grab you??..

 - Glynis Wright

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