The Diary

13 August 2003: Baggies bag four on the Glorious Twelfth!

"So you thought you might like to go to the show,
To feel the warm thrill of confusion, that space-cadet glow,
I?ve got some bad news for you, sunshine...
They sent us along as a surrogate band,
We?re going to find out where you fans really stand..."

Lyrics, Pink Floyd, The Wall, 1979.

The final score was quite apposite, it being The Glorious Twelfth, which, for the benefit of those Baggies not into country sports as a hobby, is the official start of the grouse-shooting season. I?m not sure what the officials of whatever august body oversees fair play in that sport have to say about taking a twelve-bore to a load of Bees, but in the best traditions of deerstalker and plus-four-clad Hooray Henries everywhere, once one of their workers was ordered to buzz back to the hive, the opposition was peppered in fine style, buckshot provided in quantity courtesy of ?surrogate band? (see above) Hulse, Hass (burnt or otherwise, but I?m willing to rub it better with calamine lotion any time!) and ? better late than never - Dobie. And, by way of bonus: a) Those bloody stilecards actually worked! b) Warnings about the ultimate fate of The Liquidator were duly heeded; our usual Pavlov?dog type reaction to the tune seemed quite muted tonight, although, to be fair, this wasn?t a fair test, as the stadium was only half-full.

That?s the summary, then; now I?ll try to put some flesh on those bare bones. Once more, the mercury hovered high, but mercifully, those blistering temperatures we encountered at The Bescot were banished courtesy of that humdinger of a storm we had the other day. Substitute instead, a pleasant, sunny, but slightly humid summer?s evening; ideal weather, in fact, for a spot of al-fresco imbibing at The Throstle Club. Yep, by the time we arrived, around half-six, The Noise and The Fart were there, raring to go, and eagerly awaiting our presence. As there wasn?t the normal matchday pressure on our activities, it made quite a change to sit on the patio overlooking the bowling green, soaking up the warm rays of the golden evening sun, batting the Albion breeze with friends, and listening to The Noise tell us all about Macclesfield Town, and their family-friendly policies. ?Im Indoors and The Fart, being the Billy Whizzes they are, quickly supped up to begin some serious selling outside the Police Post, but this column remained steadfast to the end, like the band on the deck of the Titanic, mainly because I had a gurt great cheese and onion cob stuffed in my mouth at the time. Once I?d consumed that, a quick exit, but first a chat with a bloke I last conversed with at the November shareholders? AGM, the guy who gave ?Im Indoors an Alfred Camus ?keeper?s jersey for ?services rendered?! Interesting news, as well; apparently, the bench donated to the council in memory of Jack Judge (the Baggies supporter who penned ?Tipperary? in 1914) has gone missing, and yer man isn?t best pleased. More on that one when I have it...

Out of the club, then, and back to my usual perch. Well, I would have, were it not for the plods leaving a ruddy great van and trailer where my derriere should have been! Never mind, slot myself alongside, then. As I commenced selling-duties, I happened to espy one of our directors, Mark Jenkins, hovering in close proximity, holding a (surgically-embedded?) mobile to his ear, and looking quite harassed. Que? A couple of pertinent questions later, it turned out that all the directors were on turnstile duty tonight, overseeing the stile-cards, and, hopefully, trouble-shooting on the spot, any problems with ?em. Interesting, also, that despite previous assertions by the club paying cash on the night wasn?t an option, there were, in fact, cash turnstiles in operation. Does this suggest the new technology still has a few glitches to iron out, yet? Watch this space for further developments...

Not that we were taking any chances, mind. Normally, with an attendance that small, we?d leave entering the ground to literally the last minute, but because we had yet to use those swipe cards in anger, we decided to give them a go with a little temporal leeway up the spout, just in case. I must say I was dubious, to say the least; you?ll remember from a previous jotting that so harassed was the ticket office lady who served me ? the computers had gone ?phut?, presumably, due to the sheer volume of work - she had to write my ticket request, with my credit card details, on a bit of paper, to enter once those little microchips decided to play ball once more. Call me paranoid if you want, but I?m always a bit dubious when people write things on bits of paper; they tend to get lost. Quite surprised, I was then, when that turnstile worked first time, no bother! Mind you, there were stewards posted on every entrance to smooth any problems; even so, once inside, I learned from one of these orange-coated gentlemen that three of the automatic type in our block had ?crashed? already. Clearly, teething-troubles still exist. Let?s hope everything is in full working order come the first real test of the system, the Burnley game.

To our normal Halfords Lane Stand matchday perch, then, and a stadium quite bereft of punters, quite a contrast to those Premiership full-houses we?d been so used to of late. Plus, it has to be said, a fair contingent of visitors, in their little bit. Pre-kick-off, a rendering of ?That Naughty Song?; fortunately, a goodly number of ?singers? were absent tonight, so the usual ?chorus? was muted. Wonder what will happen when we get back to the League this weekend? One other event of note; we had, in our side, no less than six bods ? Gaardsoe, Volmer, Haas, O?Connor, Hulse, and Sakiri - making their Hawthorns competitive debuts. So many new faces, an unaccustomedly-empty ground, an air of disorientated unreality about the whole thing ? a ?surrogate band? indeed, and we felt at times, as if it wasn?t our fave footie club we were watching, but some pretenders to the throne ? made for much head-scratching on our part. It?s not often we have to resort to the back page of the programme to check who?s playing in what number shirt, but for a time, we were all at sea. And, I must confess, seeing the Dichio/Hulse combo still intact after the Walsall fiasco, visions of other League Cup early Albion exits filled my mind. Surely not ? what was wrong with Hughsie and Dobes?

And, for the visitors, on the bench, the sight of their coach, Garry Thompson. His face has filled out somewhat since he wore the sacred blue and white stripes, and, in all probability, The Halfords apart, he?d have trouble recognising the ground these days, but the rest of him still seemed in quite good nick considering around 20 years had elapsed since he was one of ours. So, with that, away we went...

And not a bad start for our lot, either. Mr. Hulse featured largely in the overtures, and we should have broken our duck when Volmer - where was his marking? Still on the M1? ? should have buried the shot but sent it spinning horribly wide. Not much threat from the visitors either, but I did have a sneaking feeling at the back of my mind our lot could get complacent and The Bees sting; in fact, just before we scored, there was one hairy moment ? a Brentford header - when Houlty must have sent grateful prayers to the Great Goalkeeping God, the ball lolloping not over the line, but into his outstretched arms.

But, that incursion apart, the swarm was rendered pretty-much harmless by our defence for most of the time, and in the 18th minute, our pressure paid off, courtesy of Jason Koumas, who weaved his magic in delightful fashion to set up Hulse. 1-0, and much relief of tension throughout the ground. The same must have applied to those out there on the pitch, because we then embarked on a concerted attempt to better the scoreline; a little worrying, though, that once more, our finishing seemed to let us down. We could have regretted those misses bitterly as Brentford tried to get back into the game, and it could be argued they had considerable bad luck trying, a couple of goes failing due to timely defensive interceptions.

Mind you, the visitors? resident gremlin must have hooted until he bust with that sending-off just before the break. It really looked ?iffy? to me; Hulse and the ?keeper were racing for the same ball, and our lad got to it first, then attempted to head it towards the net. As the keeper was already committed, provided Hulse wasn?t suffering with myopia of Mister Magoo proportions, the strike would have been his. Just as yer man was about to put nut to head, he collapsed as if shot. Result? The custodian was adjudged to have done it deliberately with his fist, and ?walked? as a result. I have to say that from where I was sitting, it looked more accidental than anything, but there you are. Maybe, finally, we?re getting paid our long-awaited Premiership?dues? ? you know, as per the adage that ?decisions even themselves out over a season?? I?m not arguing, and neither will anyone else if they?ve got any sense; after raising my blood-pressure to near-apoplectic levels on many occasions last season, as far as I?m concerned, we?re owed big-time by the men in the middle. Sorry and all that, Brentford ? but all?s fair in love, etc...

Come the interval, a change in strikers, surely? Nope ? still we stuck with what we had. Was that wise, I wondered. With the disparity in numbers, our extra man should have told, and fresh legs a la Hughsie and/or Scott combined with Sakiri?s corner-kicking skills, and Scouse Jase?s midfield magic would have wreaked havoc. Finally, Hughsie came into the fray, and the visitors did not like being out-buzzed in the box at all. Just before the last quarter, though, Berndt Hass finally signed, sealed and delivered the game to our faithful on a plate. Unfortunately, I was enveloped in a fit of giggles ? yes, I know, I?m easily amused ? at The Smethwick?s chanting of ?ASS!?, when Hulse put the whole thing beyond doubt. My eyes were averted, but ?Im Indoors tells me the strike - a tap-in - came from a low cross. I?ll take his word for it. My, we were cooking on gas by then, and in the last ten, Dobes was finally flung into the fray in place of double-scorer Hulse. He got his reward in Heaven, though, in injury-time, courtesy of Hughsie, who supplied the low-flying ammo in fine style.

In the end, quite a workmanlike victory, but we did have assistance courtesy of that somewhat dubious sending-off. Had the Brentford keeper not been shown red, the issue might have been placed in far more doubt. Despite our overall superiority, before that second strike, there were moments when I felt the visitors might sneak one against the run of play, as per Walsall. Or are my nerves becoming frazzled in my old age? At least we?re through to the next round, which is where those top-flight clubs not involved in Europe throw their hats into the ring for the first time. I believe there are no less than seven Prem clubs involved in those competitions, so there must be seeding arrangements for some of the lesser-fry as well, to make up the numbers, and if so, we must be one of them. Just as well, really; I didn?t fancy drawing You Know Bloody Who.

One more thought, and the question does have to be asked; can we carry over the spirit generated by tonight?s win into the League fray come Saturday? I reckon what happened tonight will have helped considerably; those 90 minutes gave our new-bugs valuable time to acclimatise themselves to our style of play. That, plus Thursday and Friday spent on the training-ground, will go a long way to give everyone a better understanding of how the side operates. Trouble is, The Cup ain?t the League; I reckon we?ll find our Lancashire visitors a different proposition altogether, but some of the poison may have been extracted from the viper because Burnley were involved in quite a Cup tussle of their own, the game going to extra time and penalties. Until Saturday, ?Can do better? has to be my verdict on tonight?s shenanigans...

And finally?. This one you can blame on Norm Bartlam, our tame GD match-reporter. Here we go, then: According to Norm, the USA offer ?25 million for Saddam, so Chelsea then come in with an offer of ?300 million. Not to be outdone, Albion then say they?ll offer ?500K, and discuss the fee when he?s signed up!

My next posting will probably be on Friday night; as I said before, I?ll be doing fewer jottings this time round, unless our manager spontaneously-combusts, or something. Until then, keep boinging...

 - Glynis Wright

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