The Diary

20 November 2005: Albon 4 Everton 0 - And Sandwell Hospital's Coronary Care Unit Gets Swamped!

Now who would have believed it, eh? Albion 4, Everton 0, and baggy no returns. Certainly not The Fart; when he turned up at The Hawthorns pub comparatively late for him, all I could get out of him were variations on a general theme of ?We?ll lose this one,? closely followed by Dad?s Army professional Jeremiah Private Fraser?s choice lament, ?We?re doomed ? aye, doomed!? No matter what I did or said, I just couldn?t knock any confidence whatsoever back into the old sod?s brain, and, to be strictly fair, deep down I didn?t quite believe what I was telling him, so I guess that?s at least two Baggies, one a certified Old Fart, the other a mere trainee, who have been more than pleasantly surprised by our handsome winning margin earlier tonight.

Over the moon? Like a parrot, mate, like a parrot ? er, hang on a bit, have I got that last clich? quite right? Oh, well ? at least you get my drift. In fact, it?s been a good day all round for nice guys to conquer the baddies; well, in the case of Wigan, they didn?t quite finish the job, but that?s no reflection on the way they played, believe you me. Before we set out for The Shrine, we tarried a while longer than normal to see out the finish of Wigan v Arsenal, and what a cracking game that was.

The Arse?s first was certainly down to the Latics keeper Filan; no two ways about it, he really should have got to that one, and before too long, they were two down. Game over? That?s what we thought, but that Paul Jewell side is made of sterner stuff that that. Before long, they?d reduced the deficit by half ? but then The Gunners struck once more. That would have more than killed off a fair number of experienced Prem sides, but once more, Wigan pulled one back. Come the end, the home side ended up on the losing side, but even so, they certainly gave their celebrity-studded visitors more than a run for their money. The Arse certainly knew they?d been in a game come the end, I?ll bet.

The prime quality I see in The Latics is their unerring ability to pull for one another, no matter what. What their manager has done is take on players who couldn?t cut it at their previous clubs for one reason or another, and made them believe in themselves once more. Just look at Jason Robert. Team spirit, loyalty, comradeship? They?ve got all of those in heaps, and more besides. If one of their number makes a mistake, loses the ball, gets into defensive lumber, whatever, there?s always another mate handy to help them get out of it. Another prime quality of theirs is their total refusal to read the script, no matter what the League table says about the opposition ? and weren?t The Gunners getting shirty about the little Lancashire upstarts. Must come a bit of a shock, I suppose, when the mouse decides to roar back for a change. Another thought ? as I said to ?Im Indoors at the time, the Wigan side we?re seeing now is the sort of side, gutsy, battling, not knowing the meaning of the word ?defeat?, that I would have liked to have seen evolve at our place had our former manager lived up to his early promise, but it wasn?t to be, sadly. Agree, or disagree? Discuss.

When the final whistle had blown, off we tootled to the ground, both of us agreeing we?d probably seen the best football of the entire day, and our coming ordeal was likely to be a dour one indeed, and a costly one in terms of goals and points shipped, too. Still, nil desperandum and all that rot; in the Hawthorns pub, the precise instant we walked through the door, we were both pounced upon by Carly and young Bethany, The Noise?s vociferous offspring. And doesn?t time fly; today was Carly?s fifteenth birthday, and what a present ? our best ever Premiership win. Well done, that girl. Oh, and another thing ? I?m given to understand that romance is in the air. It?s all a bit complicated, but from what I gather, the feller that went out with Carly for a few days then split with her, has now decided that it?s all on again, and they?re now as thick as thieves once more. Ah, what it is to be that age; the path of true love never runs smooth, does it? The other snippet about Number One Daughter came from Dad himself; apparently, the other evening, she was wearing a skirt of gravity-defying brevity. Brave lass, especially given the current Arctic climes, but while those adolescent hormones are gushing forth in quantity, one never notices such trivial details as incipient hypothermia, does one?

As per usual, young Bethany had brought Baggie Bird for company ? and here?s an interesting slant on a theme. I?d been told that the Lewis family considered Bethany?s stuffed throstle a bit of a lucky omen ? but lost its potency during the Newcastle home game. Or so they?d thought, until Carly somewhat indignantly pointed out the fact she?d been holding the thing for most of the game; for the bird to weave its avian magic, Bethany herself has to be holding the blasted thing, and that?s why we strayed from the paths of righteousness some three weeks ago.

Given what happened this evening, I can only assume that Child Number Two kept her feathered companion in her clutches for the entire game this time round, but by the time we left the pub, she didn?t half have a cherry on her face. How come? Well, both ?Im Indoors and Carly were winding her up about having the ?hots? for young David, our former treasurer?s urchin, who is of similar chronological age, but going on forty, if you get my drift. From the look of pure indignation she was giving to anyone that cared to notice, it was abundantly clear that their joint wind-up tactics had really hit the spot!

But, enough of this levity, time to go and face what was coming to us ? as I said earlier, The Fart (now totally free from infection, thank you very much) had been doing ?prophet of doom? impersonations from the moment he?d first walked into the place. It?s being so cheerful that keeps him going, I reckon; I wonder if his Army comrades ever contemplated chucking him right out of their front-line trench during those long cold nights on the Somme? I can just picture it now: ?Jerry?s coming over tonight ? we?re all doomed, I tell you, DOOMED?..?

A brisk walk down Halfords Lane (well, you had to keep going, in order to prevent frostbite setting in, didn?t you!) brought us to the turnstiles ? and hey, no queue. Whoopee! We went in like good little robots, but not before we?d buttonholed Kiddy Branch head honcho Roy Haden about his son Steve, now in hospital and very poorly indeed. And good it was, too ? despite one small setback, there is now light at the end of the metaphorical tunnel, and the lad?s on course for an eventual good recovery, but the bad news is he won?t be getting out of the place until well after Christmas. I do know what?s wrong with him, but I don?t want to tempt fate by going into too much detail about it ? suffice to say he?s done fantastically well, and we?re all pulling for him. Get back to The Hawthorns quick, my lad; your place is here, and nowhere else.

Although we?d tarried a tad longer than normal in order to try and catch the Hereford result ? we didn?t, but we did find out Sunderland had taken yet another pasting ? it was no problem at all to get to our seats. All the usual suspects lurking at the scene of the crime, of course ? The Bloke In Front Of Me, John Homer and missus, plus full supporting cast ? and not very much in the way of confidence to be found, either. Everton had been on a mini-run of their own, two wins on the bounce, and now off the bottom as a result, and we just couldn?t score to save our lives. Not exactly inspiring, but that just goes to show how wrong you can be.

Looking at the away end just before both sides entered the fray, I was quite startled to see the numbers that had made the journey down the M6 for this one. Nearly all the away end full, and, for some unaccountable reason, oodles of the West Midland force?s finest forming a human barrier between those of the Merseyside persuasion, and those of infinitely more landlocked origins. Why, I really don?t know; the last real trouble I remember between the two lots of supporters was way back in 1988, when we played them in the Cup, the one where they kicked us up in the air, and robbed us blind in the process, yet another factor that served to fan the flames. A Merseyside postie had his eye taken out by some so-called Albion supporters, as well. But sod ?all ever since. Still, as they so frequently assert these days, the plods know best. Ish.

As I?d suspected the other day, the only real changes were to our attack, Nathan Ellington getting a start for once (Blimey, is he really a dad? Given what wonders new-found paternity did for his form today, any chance we can get ALL their partners in the family way before too long?), along with The Horse, most certainly not with child, both of them replacing Kanu and Earnie, now on the bench. Additionally, there were two ?old boys? from both clubs taking part in the fun and frolics, one being Steve Watson, former Toffee, and Kevin ?Killer? Kilbane, of whom I wrote yesterday. One surprise, though; Duncan Ferguson on the bench. In retrospect, was that an ?oops!? for David Moyes, I wonder?

From small acorns do mighty oak trees grow, and so it was to prove for this game. Had one tried to predict the final score from the opening flurries, I?m certain most would have rated the game as one where a daft goal would seal it for either side. When you?ve got, between you, two of the most generous defences in the entire division, you?re not exactly going to have Albion on the sweep, are you? In fact, the very first flurries aside, the start was a very scrappy one indeed, both sides demonstrating precisely why they were in the region of the table they were.

And, while all that was going on, in the Smethwick, a rather interesting ?war of words? was being played out. It all started when the Everton lot came out with a collective chant of ?You?ve never won ref-all?.? Well, it sounded something like that. Big mistake ? clearly, those doing the singing didn?t know all that much about their own club?s history, and as I?d expected, within a matter of seconds, there came a stinging riposte from their opposite numbers across the constabulary divide. ?Wembley, Wembley, ?68!? was the refrain, predictably enough, then, moments later, ?There?s Only One Jeff Astle?.? It was a bit like watching a tennis match; first one would come out with some collective insult or another (?fifteen-love!?), then the other lot would come up with something calculated to completely squash the opposition (?fifteen-all!?) ? and so it went on. Lovely stuff.

Meanwhile, on the pitch, Inamoto, who had a really good game today, despite having recently flown back from Japan after his adventures versus Angola, belied any lingering thoughts of jet-lag by damn-near opening the scoring for us, and not once, but twice. Additionally, Jonathan Greening, bless his lank locks and Biblical-looking beard, seemed to be to Everton what a malodorous fart on trespass was to a small room; no matter where you went, you knew where he?d been. In fact, had it been my decision, I?d have given the man of the match award to him, rather than to our resident son of Nippon.

It was in the 15th minute, though, that I reckon Everton had a monumental let-off, when The Horse?s cross into the box met Neville?s arm. To me it seemed most certainly a case of ?hand to ball?, and not the opposite, but referee Dermot Gallagher wasn?t having any of it; mind you, that wasn?t the only odd decision he gave this evening, as you?ll see very shortly. For their part, Everton, too, had their moments. Midway through the half, Marcus Bent should have netted from a superb cross, but his header went over instead, and Van De Mayde, all three of him, did more or less the same thing just minutes later.

About ten minutes from the break, we suddenly found ourselves forced to put Plan B into action. The reason? The Horse had to retire somewhat prematurely from the scene, injured, and in his place came Kanu. Prior to his entering the scene of the crime, we?d looked competent, had coped with most of what The Toffees had flung at us, but no more. After the former Arsenal man joined the fray, there was a sudden air of excitement about our play that had been totally missing before. Really up for this one, Kanu? I?ll say; he was a thorough nuisance to the Merseysiders from the moment he started. But his demolition job proper was still to come; before that, however, there was the small matter of an Albion penalty right on the stroke of half-time that seemed a tad fortunate, to say the least.

What happened? Well, Nathan Elllington had the ball, courtesy a wonderful pass from Kanu, and was advancing with it towards the Everton box. In rushed a defender, Hibbert, who chose that precise moment to separate the lad?s legs from the rest of his body, and Gallagher then pointed to the spot. Even without recourse to the magic box of tricks so beloved of TV presenters I would have said it wasn?t a penalty; having seen the incident replayed on the Beeb just now, I?m now not so sure the offence took place inside the box at all.

A repeat, if you like, of the incident that occurred when we played Blackburn Rovers, the first time we?d ever swum in such waters; back then, we?d found ourselves on the wrong end of a similar decision, and just like our Merseyside counterparts today, we weren?t at all impressed. But, you win some, you lose some, and that?s why Nathan Ellington found himself plonking the ball on the designated spot, and hoping like hell he could finally get of the mark for The Baggies; as it turned out, we needn?t have worried. A sort of half-shimmy later, and their keeper was completely suckered into diving totally the wrong way. One-nil to us, then, and right on half-time, too.

Time to catch our breath, then, and applaud the entry onto the field of a former Albion and Welsh international player who?d given us so much tremendous service over the years. It?s Graham Williams I?m discussing, of course, and he must well remember what was an almighty stonking back in 1968, just six weeks before we played them in the Cup Final at Wembley. Once more, it was one of those darned days when nothing would go right for anyone wearing a shirt with an Albion badge on it; 6-2 to the visitors was the final score, and, after that game, if anyone had told me we?d be playing their lot in what was then our national stadium, I?d have immediately sent them all away in search of a medicinal drink or three. Mind you, everyone got it wrong about the Baggies that year ? the bookies must have really hated us.

Off for the second gripping instalment, then, and just six minutes into the half, Clem made it two. That?s right, your eyes aren?t playing up at the moment, Clem was the definite scorer. The damage was done courtesy of that wonderful man Kanu, once again; after panicking Everton into conceding the corner, Kanu decided to take the bull by the horns himself, over went the ball, and up popped Clem, on the far post, to nod it in. A well-taken effort, it really was, and Everton?s incipient doom was there for all to see.

Cue for the lanky African guy to go foraging on other people?s territory; just like the Bradford caper, those seated in the Halfords Lane side of the ground truly found themselves in for a bit of a treat as the lad jinked this way and that, doing practically everything save get the ball to do a quick solo number on Boyden?s PA mike. Just one sour note, though, and it?s nothing whatsoever to do with our side; what I?m referring to is the TV screen, and the operator?s infuriating habit of bringing abruptly to an end the footage of incidents, whether they be controversial or otherwise. Truncated bits I do not like! Sure, I realise that an iffy goal, say, might irritate the opposition to the point of performance of naughty deeds, but anything?s got to be better than having the whole thing ruined anyway by the sights and sounds of adverts for popular brand-names popping up instead of a potted version of the incident, or the interesting bits, at least.

But back to the action. We didn?t get things all our own way that half; in fact, with about 15 gone, The Pole In Goal seemed dead lucky to get away with what appeared to be a hand-ball outside his balliwick; fortunately, Dermot Gallagher?s somewhat eccentric interpretations of the rules saved the day for us once more. At the time of the incident, I had only vague suspicions; having since seen it again on slo-mo, I now feel we were a bit fortunate to have got away with it.

And that wasn?t the only scare. First to nearly end up in Idiot City was Clem, who was extremely fortunate to see his own cocked-up clearance just miss the wrong part of the crossbar; shortly after that, appropriately enough, Inamoto decided to become a member of Albion?s newly formed Kamikaze Club, his inaugural effort was heading straight into the back of the wrong net until The Pole In Goal spotted the danger and diverted the ball away for a corner. Phew! Mind you, I had to laugh at the cheeky sods in the Smethwick; after a particularly-inept Evertonian effort had landed up in Row Z, up rose an almighty impromptu chorus of: ?Can we score a goal for you????

Time for another subbing: with nearly two thirds of the half now history, off went the relatively subdued Kamara, and on came the lad Carter. What had preceded the change was a bit worrying, and now Everton were clearly stepping up a gear in search of some way or other back into the game. Mind you, what with the last two Albion mistakes and everything, they nearly had their work done for them there and then. Time for new dad Nathan Ellington to impose his considerable presence upon the game once more. His initial effort misfired badly, ending up somewhere in Row Z, but not the second, just a few short minutes later. Once more, Kanu ? how Everton must have hated him by the end of the allotted span ? was the perpetrator of the damage, this time with a wonderful cross to the former Wigan lad, positioned slightly to the right of the 18-yard line. A microsecond to properly get his balance, then brush past his defenders as if they weren?t there ? and ?blam?, straight into the left-hand side, no messing. Three-nil and cue for an impromptu performance of ?holding the baby? from The Duke?s many stripey compatriots. Serve them right if it gives their partners ideas!

That last one really did extract what poison still remained in the visitors; a cursory glance in the away end told its own tale, scores of misery-laden Scousers shifting towards the exits at light-speed. Served them right for farting in church during the first half, didn?t it? Sure, their favourites did make a half-hearted effort to achieve some sort of consolation, but as before, nothing whatsoever was going right for them. But you couldn?t say the same thing about our lot; three it might be, but so buoyed up were they by the unexpected turn in their fortunes, they wanted even more. Kanu really should have obliged towards the end, when he missed a real sitter, but it fell to substitute Earnie, on for The Duke with around five to go, to apply the coup de grace courtesy an Everton stray pass, which he latched onto at light-speed, kept both his head and balance for once, then blasted the thing past their poor sod of a keeper, as calm as you like.

Cue for both the Brummie and the Smethwick to go absolutely ballistic, of course; in the few seconds that remained, some were even screaming for five! Steady on, chaps. Then the final whistle, and three vital points safely in the bag. The win puts us above the likes of Pompey, and to a nosebleeding 16th place in the heap, and whatever Blues do on Monday night, they can?t catch us either. And celebration time for us, too, and in traditional style, courtesy a Chinese takeaway, and very welcome it was, too, after the freezing night. Oh ? one other thought. I was just about to sink my fangs into mine, when the phone rang. It was The Fart, now most certainly NOT bewailing our probable fate; in fact, I had the distinct impression he?d been celebrating by hitting the old sherry bottle again.

Seriously, though, here?s two remarks he picked up via both Radio WM and the national BBC bunch, the prime reason for the phone call that nearly ruined my Oriental-style tea for me. First off was the local boys? comment, ?Bryan Robson has a choice of more permutations than there are perforations in a tea-bag?? Apropos of our normal defensive performances thus far this season, I?d take the bit about the perforations any time, but the tea-bags? The other? About that crucial Nathan Ellington spot-kick, it was: ?That penalty was so cool, all that was missing was a Havana cigar!? Come to think of it, now, had they been on the sherry as well?

And Finally?. One. Something I?d really meant to include in last night?s offering, but forgot, was the disgusting players? tunnel brawl seen after Turkey?s World Cup play-off win over Switzerland yesterday. From the first moment those awful slo-mo TV images appeared on our screen, the more my gut feeling grew that it was high time someone in FIFA did something about Turkey, and quickly, before something really serious happens.. Additionally, I was further sickened today after reading the Guardian?s take on the subject; apparently, during the height of the punch-up, one of the Switzerland players, a substitute, was reportedly kicked so hard in the groin that his urinary tract was perforated.

Quite an extraordinary feat, that, given the male ?naughty bit? area gets considerable protection from that sort of thing courtesy Mother Nature herself; to do that, forces somewhere in the region of those encountered as a direct result of a car accident or similar must have been in play. Were someone to do that to someone else on the streets, the long arm of the law would have had absolutely no hesitation in banging up the person responsible on a GBH charge, so it absolutely beggars belief they?ll very likely be assuming Argentina?s former pariah-mantle in Germany next summer. But there is another way; in view of their horrendous ?previous form?, and the fact threats to do similar have been made against us in the past for much less, isn?t it about time the game?s rulers said ?enough is enough? and banned the buggers from the tournament completely?

Two. Something much more pleasant to report this time, and it?s to do with our favourite football club. While nattering to The Noise pre-match about the vagaries of teenage romance and the ballsy display Wigan put up versus Arsenal, he just happened to mention that today, as per usual, he?d been in our Ticket Office to sort out some seats for forthcoming games for his brood, and was pleased to note that although some 14 days had elapsed since he?d last spoken to the lady on the counter about the same topic, not only did she remember his gruesome twosome from the last time, she even took the trouble to engage in a bitsy conversation (GLYNISNOTE: Oh, God ? how many hours did that take up then?) with young Bethany, who was happily toting the aforementioned Baggie Bird, as per usual. As The Noise so rightly pointed out, the personal touch always helps, and because of that, there?s now one small child at least who wants to attend more and more Baggies games. Well, that?s one thing you?ve got dead right, Albion. Well done.

Three. Roy Keane? Here? On the money he?d want, no doubt? And very likely use us as a stopgap between leaving United and future employment at Celtic? Sure, I?d guess Robbo might want him because his forceful personality would be good in the dressing-room, not to mention on the pitch, but as we all know with people like that, it can very easily cut either way, and not necessarily the one you want. Then see it rebound on you, horribly. And do we really need someone to play in his position of choice, midfield, in any case? Naw, dream on; whoever gets him, it won?t be us.

 - Glynis Wright

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