The Diary

05 November 2005: A Hammers Horror? It's Written In The Stars!

When you?ve finished reading this, or, more likely, given the late hour my pieces normally hit the airwaves, the following night, look high into the velvet blackness, and to the south; assuming there?s no great cloud problem, or Bonfire Night hasn?t kicked up too much in the way of sulphur fumes from fireworks, you?ll see a distinctly orange orb, vastly different from most other astronomical objects because it shines with an unwavering glow, and ?proper? stars don?t. Congratulations ? you?ve found Mars, currently as close as it can get to our planet, 43.1 million miles, in fact, and just about the brightest thing you?ll see in the entire night sky right now. Have a good butchers ? a decent pair of binoculars will do the trick - because it?ll be years before you?ll get such a decent ringside seat again.

In times of yore, the appearance of the red planet was associated very strongly with death, disease, or, more pertinently for us Baggies right now, disaster. Right at the fag-end of Queen Victoria?s reign, H.G. Wells started the modern scare with ?War Of The Worlds?, Orson Wells terrified half America with his infamous 1939 radio adaptation of the book, and Steven Spielberg really put the icing on the Martian cake with his own unique (but bloody) take on Wells?s work last summer. Every culture that?s ever been on earth has regarded Mars in that distinctly-damning light, in fact ? if there are any Martians around, will they sue, I wonder? - so it?ll come as no real surprise to learn that this column?s becoming distinctly twitchy right now. What was good enough for the ancient Greeks and Romans is flaming well good enough for me: in any case, any planet that can casually chuck up what is essentially an enormous skating-rink on its frosty surface can?t be up to any real good, can it? Now come on, Prime Minister, where?s a good planetary ASBO when you really need one? Omens and portents, then, in heaps; a still, small voice inside tells me our trip to Upton Park is indeed going to be a lively one.

Tomorrow?s trip to London will also be the first I?ve undertaken on my own to an away game since around 1992, ?Im Indoors having decided to give this one a miss. However, I shall be accompanying The Fart, so it won?t be a case of me going there on my jacksi; well, someone?s got to make sure he?s OK, haven?t they? Mind you, under normal circumstances, I would be praising his generosity to the high heavens, but right now, I?m only cursing richly ? yep, he?s gone and given me his rotten sodding cold. Nice altruistic sentiments, Mister Fart, letting me have the use of your pathogens for the duration, but one I?d much rather go without, if you don?t mind! Must have been the time I was standing next to him in the Hawthorns pub, last Sunday, I reckon: just wait until I see him tomorrow, he isn?t half going to get an earhole-bashing from me!

Oh, well, at least we?ll have some if not most of our more regular personnel reporting for Baggie duty tomorrow: still no Gera, though, strangely enough. Just how bad is this groin injury of his, I wonder? Kirkland is still out of it, so it will be The Pole In Goal once more, of course. As far as the backs are concerned, I assume we?ll go with Little Dave, Big Dave and Clem, although I do suspect our former Chelsea lad wasn?t at all happy when asked to do duty on the flank last time out: maybe Robbo will stick him right back in his former socket instead, and bring someone else in from the cold. The Outer Defensive Darkness? I?m given to understand Albrechtsen will be back tomorrow. Good. That means either Watson on t?other side, or a smidgen of Scimeca, even.

Midfield? The Great Zoltan being ? erm ? not so great right now, I wonder whether or not our gaffer will give (risk?) Wallwork the nod once more? Rightly or wrongly, there are a hell of a lot of Baggies out there with distinctly-animated views on this matter; if he does play and things go pear-shaped, it won?t exactly do his mental health any good to leave him out there taking the flak in one continuous heaped shovelful, will it? As for the rest, I reckon our tame Son Of Nippon has done enough to warrant an extension of his current first-team tenancy, Greening will be there, and now he?s finally fit, so will Kamara, I would think. Amen to that, I say.

Up front, Kevin Campbell is nominally fit, but unless our leader secretly goes in for an unusual line in masochistic-type humour these days, he won?t be giving the former Everton lad a start this time, surely ? er, will he? Assuming not, it?s going to be any two from The Duke, The Horse, Kanu and Earnie, I suppose. Houlty will be on the bench, once more, with the other personnel depending upon how he shuffles the deck tomorrow, I reckon. The Hammers? They?re reporting no injury problems whatsoever right now, bar ex-Man Urinal keeper Roy Caroll.

As far as recent encounters are concerned, we do have the whip hand over them; the last time we lost at their place was 1990. Mind you, recent seasons have thrown up some fascinating games, witness the classic of around two campaigns ago, when both clubs were firmly-entrenched in The Nationwide. Within the space of approximately 19 minutes, we were three down and looking distinctly moribund, but a Baggies goal strictly against the run of play ?Rob Hulse capitalising on an embarrassing cock up between ?Calamity? James and his defender ? swiftly followed by an almighty piledriver courtesy of the same player, restoring hope once more in the away end. To be perfectly honest, I don?t think James even had time to do anything about it, so fierce was the effort. What really turned the game in our favour, though, was the dismissal of Jermaine Defoe just before the break.

Come the second half, it was very much one-way traffic on that pitch, with our lot (they?d had their fortune told in no uncertain terms by Megson during the interval, apparently) playing like things demented; gradually, we ground ?em down, and with about 60 minutes on the clock, parity was finally restored: this time, the damage was self-inflicted. Just nine minutes later, what was now becoming very much a self-fulfilling prophecy in the away end ? ?Four-three ? We?re gonna win four-three!? - became fact, when Lee Hughes put us in front, to scenes of mass-jubilation behind the goal. From then on in, it was just a case of waving ?bye-bye? to the very-disgruntled locals, all of whom seemed a tad upset with Alan Pardew, for some unaccountable reason. Can?t imagine why for a minute: can you?

Oh ? and here?s another one, and dedicated to those of The Fart?s longevity, this time. It was at Upton Park that the incomparable W.G. Richardson tore the Hammers to shreds with that famous devastating four-goals-in-five minutes rampage of his back in 1930. History tells us it was the Germans who first invented ?Blitzkreig? warfare, when they embarked upon their famous ?summer tour? of Europe and The Low Countries, back in May 1940. Personally, I maintain it was really ?W.G.?, whose predatory antics predated Hitler?s by some ten years or so. I wonder how many Baggie witnesses of that game are still alive to tell the tale? W.G?s I mean, not Hitler?s. There?s Vic Stirrup, of course, but he must surely now be one of a fast-dwindling band.

Prospects? On paper, not that good sadly; of the three promoted clubs this time round, both they and Wigan have written a completely now chapter. I?d genuinely expected The Hammers to struggle in the top-flight, as they?re some ?30 million in debt right now, but strangely enough, the complete opposite has been the case. They?re seventh, and showing no signs whatsoever of reverting back to type. As luck would have it, they?ve enjoyed a rather good home record this time round, so I?m not exactly holding my breath regarding the outcome of tomorrow?s bean-feast. The Planetary Omens Have Spoken, and I?m not likely to argue with divine destiny, however far away it might be from the Black Country right now. Still, we live in hope ? and not Bobby, either.

And so to other matters. It?s been well over three years now since I first started to become acquainted with the life and times of a certain Harold Bache, former Albion player, killed in 1916, near Ypres, Belgium. Remembrance Sunday being very close at hand once more, I shall, as usual, be reserving a small portion of my mind for reflecting long and hard upon what might have been, for both club and country, had he survived the war. I say this now purely because of my rapidly-growing conviction that if ever one solitary sacrifice on the field of battle demonstrated for all time the complete and utter futility of conflict in any form whatsoever ? The Somme, 1916 to Basra 2005 inclusive, with various station stops in between - then it had to be Harold?s every time.

I know I?ve hammered this theme before, quite recently, in fact, but only a few days ago, yet more information about his astonishingly-talented life came into my possession; as I?ve said before, exploring Harold?s all-too short time on this planet is a bit like peeling an onion, the more layers you expose, the more you get to see of its interior. And in the much-loved Baggies striker?s case, the more I?m getting to know him as a person, the more I?m warming towards him, both as a human being and as an Albion footballer, and that?s basically what?s put the following thought into my head. Suppose someone made his genuinely fascinating story into a film, or failing that, a feature-length TV drama? The idea really does ?have legs? as they say in those circles: it?s a classic Boy?s Own story, if ever there was one. For various reasons, all of them both legitimate and logical, I can?t go into much more detail here about the stuff we?ve recently uncovered, but the suggestion?s there, all the same.

Boyden? Chiles? Skinner? Goldberg? Are you reading this, and if so, are you at all interested in using your trade contacts to take the idea to at least the discussion stage? I don?t particularly want into any part of it, financial or otherwise; it?s just that with every piece of information received, there comes a growing conviction and unwavering belief that Harold?s incredible tale really does deserve a wider audience. If you want to know a little more about the background, simply get in touch, then please listen carefully to what I have to say. It?s as simple as that.

On to much lighter thoughts, now, to be more specific, those concerning what happened when a Telewest engineer called at our place yesterday, the object of the exercise being to convert us from analogue to digital viewing. The minute he entered our living-room, it didn?t take him long to fasten his beady eyes upon all the Albion memorabilia dotted around the walls, fixtures and furnishings - about five seconds, in fact. And then came the killer blow: ?I don?t suppose I should mention this, really, but I?m a Wolves supporter?..?.

Rapidly-suppressing a shrill scream, my normal bodily reflex when encountering these awful creatures in unlikely settings, I quickly reasoned that as it was far too late to ask the company to send someone else, I?d just have to grit my teeth and bear it. Anyway, he quickly got on with the job, stayed for around half an hour ? for more details see my ?And Finally? bit below: the story?s the gospel truth, honest! ? then left.

When ?Im Indoors finally arrived from work, around 15 minutes later, I told him we?d been ?done?, and by a Dingle, no less, waited patiently for him to wash away the last traces of vomit from his mouth courtesy a large swig from my Coke bottle, then settled down as we both prepared to explore our new viewing arrangements courtesy our replacement remote.

And that?s when the trouble started; a few button-pressings later, for some reason, the excellent picture suddenly disappeared, one very badly-tuned and fuzzy then taking its place. Try as we might, nothing would induce our set to revert to digital mode once more, and the promised return call from Telewest?s advice technician hadn?t materialised either. Oh, well, no help for it; we?d have to ring them again tomorrow; reluctantly, we set our problems well aside ? and that?s when The Fart imposed his somewhat ancient personality on the situation.

Calling to get a lift from us to the Shareholders For Albion AGM, we told him our sorry tale ? and upon that, the old codger instantly laid himself fully-prone on the carpet, then started twiddling meaningfully with the electronic box of tricks that our Dingle friend had installed: within minutes, our picture sprang back into life again! Astonished? You could say that! Oh well, I suppose it more than makes up for the numerous times we?ve gone over to his house to sort out various IT problems over the years!

And Finally?.. As promised, a Dingle story, and as I said above, it?s an absolute cracker, and what?s more, dead genuine! What happened was this: once our old-gold-and-cack-loving chum had installed the new gubbins, and retuned our set, he then handed over a brand-new remote control, and proceeded to give me a few ?starter? instructions to be getting on with, most of which concerned accessing the various channels. When he?d finally finished, I then summed up what he?d just said by saying: ?So, I take it the channels all go in logical numerical sequence, then??

A good minute passed by in complete silence while the lad?s solitary brain cell slowly ruminated over what I?d just said, then: ?Er, no, actually ? it goes 101, 102, 103, 104??..? Wet knickers? Not ?arf!

 - Glynis Wright

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