The Diary

28 November 2005: Albion Pass Their Teesside Test.

Boro-Albion, and a 2-2 sharing of the spoils? I?ll take that with any amount of Uriah Heap-type grovelling gratitude you might require of me; after all, given this fixture?s recent rotten history, just managing to finish level was an achievement of sorts, and although we?ve now dropped a rung, that still keeps us nicely placed to bust out of the slimier bits of the division should we maintain our decent run of form with a success versus Fulham next Saturday. A shame both they and Everton managed the full pot, mind, but at least we extracted a smidgen from this afternoon?s Sunday treat, which given the final score the last time we played them at their place, ain?t at all bad going, as far as I?m concerned.

And, talking of ?concern?, when listening to the commentary on WM, and their lurid description of events leading up to the penalty award that completely buggered our chances of making a teensy slice of Baggies history, I?d taken their commentators? joint indignation and fury as yet another example of local media people deliberately courting controversy to get regular listeners ? but not according to Roving Correspondent The Fart, it would seem. From what he said when he rang us on his return, around half-nine tonight, the penalty was a joke, complete and utter, and the perpetrator truly worthy of an Oscar nomination. Or was he wall-eyed as well?

Not at all, it would seem. Having now seen the incident for myself, I totally agree with the old sod; never mind the Oscars, Boro, just start off small, with the BAFTA?s, say, then gradually work your way up; eventually, the clarion call of Hollywood will surely beckon at The Riverside. Or maybe you might want to go down the road of science for a convincing explanation? Quite remarkable, wasn?t it, how the strength of the Earth?s gravitational field could vary so widely over such a small area, especially the small bit located within the confines of the Boro box? Strange also that the increased intensity of its influence only seemed to affect blokes clad in red and white shirts, especially those challenging for what looked a nailed-on fifty-fifty ball, and each time resulting in perfectly fit blokes falling over like a sack of spuds on the slightest physical contact. Whichever way you might want to apportion blame, acting ability or science, it sure as hell suckered the ref into pointing straight to the spot.

Incidentally ? and, please note, way, way before my other half gets chance to put his oar in first! ? I completely missed the first Boro goal and our equaliser. The culprit? Ascribe total blame, if you want to call it that, to my internal clock going totally awry, something which resulted in complete lack of realisation on my part the game had kicked off at all; being fully-occupied in perusing the various Sunday scandal sheets, it was only when my other half emerged from our ?office? to tell of parity restored at The Riverside, I finally realised the game was going on. Nice of ?Im Indoors to bring in the radio for me, though! Personally, I point the finger at my very late emergence from my pit today, at 12.30 to be precise, the reason being, of course, my labours with yesterday?s effort into the wee small hours, and subsequent perusal of any mails I needed to see, and reply to. As those who send stuff this way will already know, because of all that, and the fact I really do like to ?wind down? with a spot of light reading afterwards, it?s highly unusual to see me heading for my pit this side of four in the morning. So there.

As far as our second went, I have to say I was really impressed by the zippy way we managed to break from defending a Boro corner; within seconds of that set-piece going awry for the Smog Monsters, there was Paul Robinson shifting down the right like a steam-train with its safety-valve completely blown, and his pursuers completely unable to do anything about it. I wasn?t half impressed; normally, that part of the pitch is ?Terra Incognito? to him! The cross into the sharp end was a good ?un also, and found its mark; a quick shimmy round the already-floundering defender from Kanu, and the pup was eagerly running towards his dinner. Lovely stuff.

I was also greatly heartened because we now seem to have a much better spirit of cohesion about us; the Kanu-Ellington thing really seems to have hit the mother lode where it matters, and as for the rest, well, we?re actually stringing passes together, and looking dead dangerous when the result is an incursion into the opposition goalmouth. The last few minutes of today?s game must have been maddening from the point of view of our travelling supporters, though; so much sustained pressure in so short a space of time, and yet so little to show for it come the end. Mind you, although Greening might not have seen the joke at the time, I couldn?t help but laugh at his abortive effort to shift the ball from the right wing and into the Boro box. It must have been the sodden state of the turf that caused it; one minute our lank-haired chum was preparing to apply boot to ball, the next he was sprawled in an ignominious heap, having gone to kick the thing, and totally missed!

A shame that by the time The Fart rang me once more to tell me the game was on the box, Sky had moved on from the bit of the tape showing the first Boro goal and our rapid reply. I?m given to understand their first was an ?oggie?, Boateng?s long-range effort taking a deflection off poor Paul Robinson and in. Oh, dear ? it?s not been a very happy return from suspension for our lad, today, has it? An own goal, and a penalty conceded; bet he?d wished he?d simply stayed at home in bed by the time the game was through. The Duke?s equaliser seems to have been a collaboration with Kanu, the ball being knocked back by our Nigerian chum and straight to the former Wigan lad, who didn?t mess about, apparently.

Having missed both at the time of scoring, for reasons I?ve already explained, I had hoped to see for myself just how good The Duke?s strike was via TV, but it wasn?t to be. Apparently, besides the above, Boro?s first was one very much against the run of play, which, I suppose, sums up a very large chunk of our Premiership luck completely. Well done also The Pole In Goal, whose feline agility between the sticks I did see. Absolutely crucial in ensuring we took the solitary point away from Teesside come the end of hostilities, and didn?t fall victim to the footballing equivalent of a mugging instead. More on the game tomorrow, when I?ve had chance to read various other accounts of what happened, which should prove illuminating.

And Finally?. One. During the course of his long telephonic natter with this column earlier this evening, The Fart told me that he?d managed to add several more police horses to his ?collection?, both before and after the game. He also told me the minute?s silence for Bestie was observed impeccably by both parties; in fact, during it, the only thing you could hear were the soft ?clip-clops? of the aforementioned equine hooves as they and their riders proceeded about their constabulary duties outside.

Oh ? and The Fart had yet another anecdote to relate; while nattering to the rozzers, the subject of the disbandment of the West Midlands Police mounted section cropped up, and that?s when our veteran chum learned of a very interesting snippet indeed. No way of verification, of course, but according to his informants, not long after the plug was finally pulled by our chaps, there was a ?spot of bother?, and in Wolverhampton, of all places, a fact which may not come as much of a surprise to you lot out there. Anyway, the situation then deteriorated somewhat, and so the person in charge, fearing further breakdown, took an executive decision ? send for the horses! Whoops!

Two. The War On (Rodent) Terror has now reached a new and dramatic phase. Not content with waging a one-cat ?shock and awe?-type campaign against the local mouse population, the Tabby Terror has now upped the ante. After putting yesterday?s effort to bed, I shifted operations downstairs, went into our kitchen to feed the little sods ? only to find a fully-grown rat plonked right on the spot where my moggies normally eat their grub. Deceased, thankfully, but after what had happened just a couple of days before, I wasn?t taking any chances, believe you me.

Even in these temperate climes, and centuries down the line from mediaeval bubonic plague epidemics, rats can still carry a whole load of awful ailments inside their furry bodies, and not be unduly affected themselves; one such horror is something called Weill?s Disease, aka leptospirosis, an occupational scourge of blokes who, as per Marlon, in ?The Perishers? strip cartoon, ?Go down ?oles in great big rubber boots?. That?s sewerage workers to you and me, folks. The symptoms are flu-like at first, but within a few days, and the condition now affecting the liver, they rapidly step up several gears, at which point it then becomes a hospital job. There?s around a 20% mortality rate, still, even with prompt access to the correct treatment, so that?s at least one excellent reason why I wasn?t messing with the corpse until I was damn sure it was genuinely deceased!

Not that this column and the rat population are complete strangers, mind. The last time I?d come into regular contact with the nasty little brutes was when I worked at Winson Green; at the time, entire families seemed to regard the ancient buildings as the rodent equivalent of council dwellings, and because of that, it wasn?t all that unusual to encounter the sods on night duty, not once, but several times per shift. Believe you me, I soon learned to give ?em a very wide berth indeed. Oh ? and one other thing. By the time I did emerge this morning, my other half had shifted the body for me, which was nice of him, especially considering it?s a job he usually loathes and detests. That was the good news, then ? the bad was that since then, Tigger had carried out at least two additional sorties into ?enemy territory?, and come back with two more mouse ?victims? each time, one of whom was still running around our living room like a good ?un as I entered!

 - Glynis Wright

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