The Diary

15 October 2005: The Arse And Mine - But Not Necessarily In That Order!

WARNING: THIS COLUMN CONTAINS SEVERAL NAUGHTY REFERENCES TO BOWELS AND BUMS AND MAY THEREFORE OFFEND!

Welcome to my Baggie-orientated world once more, and one which has of late seen rather more of the Great White Porcelain God than I would have ideally wished. It?s all down to those sodding tests I had at Dudley Road Hospital today. Some people, A and B-list celebrities all, pay a king?s ransom to have done to them what I had in spades; with them, though, it?s generally described as a ?detox? and charged for accordingly. You only have to study the posher Sunday supplements for but a few weeks to see that it?s virtually a licence to print money as far as the health farm industry is concerned. Emptied wallets and/or second mortgages, anyone? Probably much cheaper just to sit the patient on the toilet and commence telling them horrific ghost stories, but there you are. (Or forcing the poor sod to watch endless reruns of Albion v QPR, 1967, or Albion v Woking, 1991, come to think about it ? well, have you sufficient intestinal fortitude to watch that lot and not end up badly soiling your underwear?) Tell you what, though; after this week, from now on in, you?ll never once see me snigger at those ?Carry On? films that resort to toilet humour in order to get their laughs. Well, not all that often. Honest!

The end-result of today?s discomfort and embarrassment? After a really good shufti at my guts via the X-ray apparatus ? not the loveliest of occupations, it has to be said: you certainly can?t envisage anyone getting the vocational call right from childhood to specialise in such an unglamorous field of medicine, can you? ? I?m now given to understand that if unravelled (no, don?t bother offering to do it for me!) my bowels would actually be around 35% longer than most people?s, and that?s the prime reason I?m getting so much gyp from the errant organ these days. In practice, that?s a couple of extra loops or so I was born with I didn?t even know I had, so there you are.

Sure, the procedure today was a tad discomfiting, but not half as much as what happened yesterday. I had been warned beforehand that the laxatives employed to ? erm ? ?clear? the visual field preparatory to today?s malarkey were the intestinal equivalent of both the hydrogen bomb and a heavy home defeat, so I prepared accordingly ? or thought I had! The first dose, early yesterday morning, had no effect whatsoever ? in fact, at one point, seriously doubting its efficacy, I actually rang the hospital to confirm that the stuff would do its worst, eventually ? and the second lot, taken around mid-afternoon, initially moved things not one inch as well. ?Coo, I think I?ve got off lightly,? I trilled to ?Im Indoors, as he partook of his tea, some 45 minutes later.

Big mistake. Within around 15 minutes of my guzzling down some clear soup (I wasn?t allowed any solids for the 36 hours prior to the procedure, something that also greatly exacerbated the attendant annoyance factor for me), I was dashing You Know Where at a rate of knots. And, so volcanic was the effect of the stuff on my nether regions, at around twenty-minute intervals thereafter for the remainder of the evening! After the fifth such trip, I simply gave up counting (not to mention the will to live!). Talk about a ?delayed-action? fuse, this substance had it in quantity.

One final thought, though: I wonder if it?s at all possible to slip some into the away dressing-room tomorrow afternoon? An industrial-sized dose surreptitiously planted in their half-time tea wouldn?t half make The Gunners truly rejoice in their unofficial sobriquet, ?The Arse?! And might even erase, if only temporarily, that famous but seemingly-permanent ?just sucked a sour lemon? look from the face of manager Arsene Wenger.

And that, dear readers, brings me neatly to tomorrow?s game, and what prospects we have, albeit slim, of really spoiling Arsene?s day for him. Admittedly, Arsenal?s dismal away record to date just about matches ours: the problem is, theirs is caused mostly by sickness and injury in their ranks. We Throstles? Well, let?s just put it like this: despite numerous news reports to the contrary this week, avian flu (of the Black Country variety, rather than the Far Eastern stuff) is already well established at The Hawthorns. Don?t bother rushing to your GP for inoculations against this particular malady just yet, mind, or giving your poor old budgie/ parrot the old coup de grace in anticipation: this particular variant on the viral theme always remains strictly confined within the bounds of both players and supporters.

An attendant factor playing in tomorrow?s fixture is the astonishing revelation we can?t completely sell our seats for this one. Or, maybe, not so astonishing: the cold wind of financial reality is now undoubtedly blowing fast and furious throughout the Prem, as demonstrated so amply by the full-page advert desperate Blues placed in the Daily Mirror for their Sunday clash with Villa the other day. Now come on ? a spirited local derby versus the side supporters of both outfits profess to loathe and detest the most in prospect, and they still can?t fill their blasted ground?

Sorry to keep banging on about this, folkies, but just a few seasons ago, both factions would have sold their very souls to the Devil just to get their hands on one of those precious bits of card, but now? Yep, ridiculously steep prices, a Sunday kick-off, and chronic disenchantment with what awful fare they know will be on offer out there have all conspired to produce a distinctly unhealthy combination of baggage to have to tote around. And the situation currently prevailing in Britain?s Second City isn?t unique, by any means. Some day soon, the penny is going to drop: the trouble is, by the time both clubs and Prem do get the message, and finally agree on its import, I fear it will be too late then by half.

Returning to personnel matters concerning tomorrow?s fixture once more, it appears The Arse are going to be without a fair number of their key performers for this one. Both Sol Campbell and Ashley Cole will be absent, also Van Persie, while at the sharp end, Thierry Henri will be sitting this one out as well. It also looks very much as though the lad Hleb?s hors de combat; according to their site earlier today, he was to have surgery on some errant body bit or other either now or tomorrow, which is why it?s now looking very much like a six-to-eight week jobbie before he can return to the ranks again.

And what of things in the blue and white striped bit of the battlefield, meanwhile? It?s very bad news Zoltan might well be facing a late fitness test on that groin injury of his: not only that, Kamara has some sort of unspecified lurgi invading his body, Kanu might also be out thanks to a hamstring problem, and Kevin Campbell has an ankle injury. All are considered ?iffy? for tomorrow?s fixture, but in the case of the stricken Campbell, I?m now left wondering as to whether or not this particular ailment of his could be of the ?diplomatic? variety? Hold everything a mo, though - the plot thickens further with what I?ve seen on the mailing-list tonight; scuttlebutt now has it that The Horse and Kamara will be leading the attack, with Kanu stuck in the ?hole? behind. At the back, Albrechtsen, Davies, Clem, and Robinson, with Watson, Wallwork, and Greening running the show in the ?engine room?. And Duke held in reserve, on the bench. Looking at that little lot, if that?s genuinely the case, then I can only hope Wallwork?s finally managed to get those sodding gremlins right out of his system, at long last.

Whoever gets the nod for this particular pierhead jump, the fact The Arse will clearly be without several of their stars for this one represents our only real hope of getting something from tomorrow?s game. Because of their awful (for them) injury problems, they haven?t exactly got off to the best of starts this season, so if their current weakened state ensures we can genuinely make hay while the sun shines, then go for it, I say. But don?t hold your breath just yet, mind; even in their comparatively enfeebled state, those Gunners can sure lob those goal-bound shells with almost Teutonic efficiency.

That Sepp Blatter business grows more mysterious by the hour, doesn?t it? In the blue corner sit our favourite football club; in the red sits football?s de facto head honcho, and what that gentleman had to say about us earlier this week (or rather, about our team selections for games allegedly deemed ?unwinnable? by us beforehand) certainly got the old hate glands producing in quantity at Planet Hawthorns, didn?t they? The club seem genuinely bewildered by his remarks, and swear blind nothing of the sort was ever said to him by anyonethere; in fact, the club?s own website makes it quite plain tonight that as far as they?re concerned, no Albion official whatsoever has communicated with Blatter over the entire course of this year, let alone last month.

Not surprisingly, they also totally refute what Blatter had to say on the subject of our alleged fielding of weakened sides in the Prem. Such a firm rebuttal on the part of the club makes it abundantly clear that should push finally come to shove, they?re not going to take this lying down. Sure, we all know that the side sent to Chelsea wasn?t exactly the strongest one we had on offer that night, but it?s one thing to quietly suspect that was the case. To actually go out and state publicly we did precisely that is another matter entirely. Is it just the fact that Time?s ravages have finally caught up with the senile old sod, I wonder? If so, maybe a rapid retreat to Sanatogen and Saga territory might well be in order for the daft bugger very soon, n?est ce pas?

And Finally?.. That lovely Baggie guy John Tkaczuk ? now you see why I always take the course of least resistance by calling him ?Sauce? whenever his name?s mentioned in lights here! ? has asked me to let fellow-Baggies know that he?s running an early coach to London for the Fulham League Cup game, so here it is. Sauce?s ?transport of delight? will depart West Brom town centre at 11-00am on the day, dropping off in central London ? what you do once down there is your own affair, of course, but please make it something both racy and newsworthy by turns, so I can make use of the resultant rumours! - then picking everyone up later for the journey to Craven Cottage, and the actual game. The fare? ?15 adults, Under 16s (coo, what will they get up to in the metropolis, I wonder?) ?10. If you want more details, or just simply book, don?t bother getting in touch with me. I?m assured the lad with the unpronounceable surname will be all ears if you ring 07790 396 316. Oh and don?t forget to mention banana ice-cream when you do ? some sort of obscure fetish, I?m given to understand!

And, talking of fetishes, who?s the Baggie that not only comes from a bunch of ten kids, they also appear to have a thing about lard? Ooer. And no, the family aren?t of the Roman Candle variety, either. Does love of the second lead to greatly-increased fecundity, and, by inference, an abundance of the first, I wonder? ?And The Lord Sayeth Those With Lard Shall Inherit The Earth?. About as scary as George Bush revealing recently that God told him to invade Iraq, isn?t it?

 - Glynis Wright

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