The Diary

24 October 2005: Keeping The Home Fires Burning

Well, because of the horrendous cost involved, missing the Chelski caper a few weeks previously wasn?t really the awful wrench I thought it would be, but this time round? Bolton was relatively close, it was ?do-able?, and the weather was very pleasant indeed for the time of year, so my angst at the absence of my customary ?fix? was heightened considerably. I can, however, take considerable comfort from the fact that tonight, my bank balance is still some ?32 better off than it would have been had I succumbed to temptation, and followed The Fart up the Yellow Brick Road that calls itself the M6. And, as you might expect, becoming miserable in a warm room, sitting by a handy radio, munching choccies, and listening to the commentary is a much more pleasant exercise than sitting in their wind-blasted away end, and raising my blood-pressure levels to the point of imminent apoplexy, circulatory collapse, or coronary heart disease.

Oh, and while my pensioner chum was sallying forth courtesy of Baggies Travel, both my husband and I ? no, I don?t claim to have royal pretensions, never have done, but the phrase does sound rather splendid ? were winging it down to Cutnall Green, Worcestershire, and the Live And Let Live pub, where a splendid roast beef Sunday lunch beckoned. Lovely meat, loads of what I tend to call ?Wolves supporters? (aka vegetables!), and all the trimmings. And, on the journey homeward, between a frenzy of satisfied ?burps?, we even managed to take in a little of the Newcastle-Sunderland thrash on the radio; appeared to go a little crazy, that one, what with four goals hitting the back of the net in the space of around ten minutes. Perhaps it should really have been billed ?The Battle Of The Perforated Defences?; as far as I could tell, you certainly couldn?t have cited breach of the Trades Descriptions Act as the weapon of choice in a threatened lawsuit.

When The Fart rang me earlier tonight, he was a tad disappointed with what had happened, sure, but from what he told me, he must have been about the only Baggie to come away from the place feeling satisfied with how the day panned out. How come? Easy: next door to the ground is a shopping mall, one of the larger examples of the species. Apparently, because of it being Sunday, and the motorway traffic being that much lighter as a result, Dave Holloway?s transports of delight decanted their occupants onto the Reebok?s mean streets some two or so hours before the game. No pubs within a mile of the ground, either, so The Fart did the next-best thing, wandering around all the shops there. And, just to prove the old adage that you?ve got to put yourself around to profit, that?s precisely what he did. The local ?Pet City? or whatever the hell it is they call themselves these days, were giving out free samples of a well-known brand of cat food ? and guess who?s got a cat? Nothing to do with me this time, guv, as the feline I refer to is The Fart?s ? and, yes, he?s now several free samples better off, and Heidi ? that?s his cat, not his missus, who still remains a reassuringly-human, but Scouse ?Dot? ? will no doubt dine sumptuously tonight!

After a serendipitous chunk of stuff like that, things could only get gradually worse for the poor old sod ? and, as we all know now in hindsight, yes they bloody well did. When The Fart did ring me, I didn?t need sight of his face to tell he was not a happy bunny. Apparently, the freebie moggy-nosh apart, the only other good bit about his day was giving some police horses stationed hard by the away end some heavy-duty fuss. What with his input, and that of the commentary I heard on the radio, I quickly realised, the penalty apart, we were looking at a re-run of Ewood Park, just a few weeks earlier. Late goal, from a set-piece, then completely finished off by an even later killer second while we were trying to worm our way back into it again.

And what was all that about with the penalty? Well, I ask you: having got the rub of the green in the first place by being awarded one ? and my venerable chum wasn?t entirely convinced we had might and right on our side when the ref pointed to the spot ? and Kamara then burying the thing in short order, only to discover that the ref had ruled out the strike. The reason? Horsfield encroaching into the ?D? as the blasted thing was being taken. Sure, it?s not all that often you hear of spot kicks being annulled on those sort of grounds these days, but it really does beggar belief that The Horse, whose career first kicked off with lowly Halifax when they were in the Conference, some eight or nine years ago, went and did such a daft thing in the first place. Sure, Kamara did get the chance to have another prod at it, but it came as no surprise to hear he?d nearly sent the ball into geosynchronous Earth orbit with his second poke at the prize.

And then there was that free-kick, with around ten to go. Will we ever bloody learn? As soon as I heard from the commentator that the ref had awarded The Trotters one, and just outside the box, I knew precisely what would happen. Telepathy? No more than the sort that comes from watching our lot for the number of years I have. Coping with that sort of set-piece, and at such a critical point in the game as well, isn?t exactly our forte, is it, Robbo? For obvious reasons, I couldn?t see how the wall was constructed, well, badly, or whatever, but The Fart wasn?t all that impressed when I spoke to him. Talk about a self-fulfilling prophecy ? bang, one-nil, and stick a plaster on that, chaps. I also gather that after the ball went in the back of the net, Kirkland was upbraiding his comrades with an icy fury that that was quite astonishing to behold. Oooh ? I think we got it wrong again, Betty!

Come the whistle, ?Im Indoors finally emerged from our nuclear bunker upstairs ? that?s where we keep the our PC?s, printers, old Albion programmes, and all the rest of the guff ? and, yes, he wasn?t exactly a barrel of laughs either. Only one thing to do, then ? and that was stick Sky on for a gander at the Everton-Chelski game, now reaching the halfway mark. Just in time for another let-down, in fact; judging from the way the London club had been chewing the remainder of the Premiership up and spitting out the soggy bits over the course of the past few weeks, I?d naturally assumed that the game would become something of a ?turkey shoot?. Not an unreasonable assumption when you looked at the relative Premiership placings of both clubs: one whose destiny was most certainly at its zenith, the other with a downwardly-mobile track-record this term that would have even evoked cries of revulsion from dossers queuing in a Salvation Army soup kitchen. Which, once more, only goes to show just how wrong you can be; when I switched over, much to my astonishment, Abramovic?s lot were actually losing, and by a single-goal deficit.

Not that it took the visitors long to restore parity once more, mind; that having been accomplished, I then settled down to enjoy watching Chelski finish the Merseyside upstarts off at will, put them firmly in their place, even ? but it didn?t happen. The Toffees stuck like ? erm ? toffee, to the task, and that?s how the score stayed. Honours shared all round. Mind you, it seemed to me that the Stamford Bridge persuasion seemed, unusually for them, incapable of raising a decent head of steam for this one. Why that was I don?t know. Attack after attack simply foundered upon the rocky shore of the Merseysiders? rearguard, and fair play to the bottom-placed side, they were pretty good value for the point. At least they went and had a go at the London side, which is far more than we did. Only a point, sure, but when you?re holding all the rest up, even one miserable point?s better than a kick up the fundament, isn?t it? As The Fart commented when he phoned me, I just hope that wasn?t the sort of jump-start to their season they?d been looking for all this time.

Having since perused the mailing-list, and digested what others had to say about the free kick that ended our hopes of getting something from this game, it would appear that Kirkland had more than ample cause to give his new-found chums an earhole-bashing they wouldn?t forget in a hurry. Was discipline really so bad as to allow a couple of our defenders to peel away from the line prematurely, giving Bolton?s Nakata ample time and space to just pick his spot? And, yes, I know I wasn?t there today, but did I also get a whiff of that age-old Albion complaint, negativity, via the airwaves?

Oh, and something else ? and it?s not a failing that?s exclusive to our favourite football team, it?s one more commonly seen in the dog-eat-dog world of politics. There?s a popular saying I?m very fond of using when it comes to hearing ministerial announcements of yet another NHS ?initiative?, National Curriculum change, or Civil Service ?restructuring exercise? in the pipeline, and it?s this. ?If It Ain?t Broke, Don?t Fix It!? Tinkering overly with institutions that are in desperate need of cutting a little bit of slack for a while, given some additional breathing-space, even, in order to properly grow and thrive, is absolute hell on morale, and the same applies to football. There, such uncalled for meddling is covered by the old managerial adage, similar in meaning, about not changing a winning side. Earth to Robson, do you read?

And now, digesting what the official website had to say about the whole thing this evening, I gather Robbo is now blaming the ref for our downfall. The decision was unduly harsh, reckons our leader, and it should never have come to a free-kick in the first place. That, and poor communication between Kirkland and Kamara at the time the set-piece was taken. Leaving the wrongs and rights of the situation aside for the moment, shouldn?t it come as standard that we?re more than ready to repel boarders the minute we fall victim to this sort of tactical ploy?

It?s absolutely no good feeling aggrieved if your players aren?t even up to the task of preventing the opposition from capitalising from such a big dollop of three-cornered luck, is it? Aren?t the players supposed to practice this sort of thing on the training-pitch, and not just the once, but time and time again, until even the most obtuse Dingle import would know what?s expected of them should we end up conceding a daft set-piece in such a dangerous part of the park in future? And don?t they talk to one another on the training-pitch, when preparing for such eventualities? That bit?s down to you, chum. It?s not the ref that makes you ship stupid goals, it?s the eleven out there on the park. No defensive discipline, no points. Simple, isn?t it? You would have thought the lesson would have well and truly sunk in by now: give any established Premiership side even half a chance, and they?ll totally ruin your day.

So what are we going to do about it, then? I sincerely hope there is some sort of a Plan B in place, because if we lose next Sunday?s game, versus The Toon, then we really will have problems to sort out. A bit of proper leadership for the troops out there wouldn?t go amiss, for starters. Had someone properly exerted the full force of their personality when the wall was being set up, Bolton might not have scored. Surely someone should have emerged, or been designated the role of the leader, in that situation? Not exactly rocket-science, is it?

And what about our strikers? An abundance of riches we have in that department, sure, but we still find it difficult to stick with a regular pairing, week in, week out. Horsfield with Campbell? Ellington (what?s happened to him, I wonder?) and Earnie? The last combo, but with Kanu in the hole as well? And where does one fit Kamara into the equation? Surely it?s only the establishment of continuity that will make for greater rapport (and subsequent success) in the ?goals for? aspect of a player?s work? It must be pretty galling for a striker to have to get used to striking-partner B?s foibles and preferences one week, then having done that, adjusting to those of striking-partner C the following week. A bit like a top surgeon having at his side a completely different assistant each day spent in the theatre, if you like, and just as unsatisfactory for everyone concerned. Overall, if I had to write up my thoughts in the form of a school report, the verdict would unquestionably be: ?A slapdash sort of display from a side that should really know better by now. On the basis of what I?ve seen, a C- is my final mark?.

And Finally?.. Remember my piece of yesterday, and my fulsome praise for the Alfreton keeper, who was my personal ?man of the match? at Edgar Street? Well, it now appears that ?yer lad? wasn?t even their first-choice custodian! As of yesterday, he?d only had but three ?proper? games in the Alfreton first-team ranks, much to my surprise. The way he conducted himself out there, I had him clocked as being their first-choice, which is why you could have knocked me down with a feather the moment I first discovered his relatively-lowly status! But that discovery doesn?t even begin to answer my query of yesterday; why the hell isn?t that lad performing in a much higher grade of football by now?

 - Glynis Wright

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