The Diary

29 November 2005: The Arctic Comes To West Bromwich.

Want to know something, you lot? Outside, there?s a night not fit for man nor beast ? nor Dingle, even ? to be seen out in. Cold? I should say; right now, our garden is covered by a pure-white crystalline carpet, as are the lower branches of nearby shrubs and trees, and despite looking the very stuff of which Christmas cards are made, it?s freezing as fast as nature can take it right now. So grotty are the conditions, in fact, even our newly-bellicose tabby cat has temporarily suspended predatory activities. Even with rodent-hungry cats, there are times when only a gentle snooze in front of a nice warm fire will do, and this is most certainly one of them.

Much earlier today, though, it was out on the mean streets of Bearwood once more, and this column looking for a chicken, a bunch of bananas, a loaf, some mint Aeros, not to mention a replacement screwdriver, but not necessarily in that order. And boy, was it cold out there; as I shifted myself in the direction of the main drag, it started to sleet, and not long after that, down came the genuine white stuff, and in quantity, too. Amazing, though; on several of those pit-stops, I encountered a load of customers, regulars, like me, and all wanting to natter at length about Sunday?s game, and our prospects at Old Trafford come Wednesday. And, especially in the case of the butcher (not the Bluenose variety, though, he doesn?t open on Mondays), loads of counter staff all wanting to join in the debate as well.

Probably educational for that lot, mind; being Villa supporters to a seal ? my goodness, the current Arctic conditions out there must really suit them ? they don?t normally get the chance to engage in balanced and structured serious discourse, poor mites. I had put myself down for another morning session with the library tomorrow, but if the roads are still as slippery then as they were this evening, I?ll be ringing to cancel; the one thing I don?t need right now is to slip on the ice, and end up with a busted leg, or something.

As the inclement weather conditions completely put the kybosh on any other form of outdoor activity tonight, what we did instead ? yes, we really were that desperate! ? was to take a look at the second half of the Cardiff-Ipswich thrash, courtesy of Sky, whose cameras had set up shop at Ninian Park for the occasion. And yes, it looked bloody cold there as well. Somewhere inside Cardiff manager Dave Jones?s coat, gloves and scarf, there was a man wearing it. So rumour would have it.

At the time of joining, the second half was just about to begin, with Cardiff 1-0 in the lead, thanks to a 29th minute Ricketts ? so good, they named an entire bone condition after him - strike, and Ipswich down to ten men due to some 12th minute sending off or other that saw Cardiff get a penalty as well, which the inspired Lewis Price (see below) dutifully saved. And, in the early stages of the second half especially, it looked very much as though the Welsh side were going to run riot out there, metaphorically speaking, their own followers being quite notorious for their very much literal interpretation of that phrase, of course. As we all know only too well; anyone else remember our visit there for a League game around three seasons ago? The one we drew 1-1, after taking the lead, and despite them sharing the honours in the end, still ending up having to run the gauntlet of their lunatic fringe afterwards?

Anyway, as I said, Cardiff were dead unlucky not to have racked up a cricket score over the second 45, and in preventing that embarrassing outcome courtesy of several top-drawer stops, the Tractor Boys? keeper, Lewis Price ? I guess with a name like that, he must undoubtedly be a citizen of the Principality himself ? made himself Man Of The Match for me. That, plus Cardiff?s strikeforce constantly firing on less than four cylinders, despite the best efforts of former Albion lad Jason Koumas in trying to set their armament up to do some serious damage, kept the disparity to one goal only. Until that wonderful Ipswich free-kick, about five minutes before the end of the allotted span, that was. The lad Juan was the scorer, and to be perfectly honest, David Beckham couldn?t have done it better. A wonderful ?curler? of an effort, bending away all the time, and exquisitely placed, right into the top left-hand corner, and totally beyond reach of any gloved fist. The Bluebirds? keeper had absolutely no chance; marvellous stuff.

By the time the visitors had resumed their post-celebratory positions in the centre-circle, the end of the game was drawing nigh, and I assumed the home side would then settle for the draw and be done with it. With the probable deprivation of the point for the Bluebirds likely to be the end result, I reckoned the visiting support might well have to run a bit as well, come the finish. Wrong! Enter into the equation a certain Jason Koumas; well within the bounds of injury time, he took the ball solo right into the box, neatly evading what feeble resistance he did encounter all the way, and with no East Anglian within yards by then, it was a piece of the proverbial to steady and pot the thing.

Hard Cheddar indeed on poor Lewis Price, who?d performed such sterling service in keeping Cardiff out practically the whole half; his elastic halting hand did stretch in the right direction in response to Koumas?s late, late strike, but not enough to stop the ball in full flight, sadly. Mind you, when checking the stuff on that game for this piece, I did giggle when I saw the name of the ref at Ninian Park tonight ? Mr. A. Marriner, would you believe? Bet he doesn?t get to do many Plymouth Argyle games!

Still, look on the bright side ? that win of theirs now means the Dingles have been pushed down the promotion pecking-order a tad, and Cardiff now enter the play-off places. How to get yourself stuck in a really depressive state, tonight? Like me, try to imagine Cardiff in the Premier League next season. Horrible thought, isn?t it? Not only is their ground a tip, and their finances rocky, their bellicose, not to mention brain-dead support, makes that of our Black Country neighbours look like a pilgrimage to Lourdes by comparison. Bit it is early days, still, and come the spring, the problem might well have sorted itself out by then.

It?s a brave sort of Baggie that elects to do the journey to Middlesbrough by car, and him doing all the driving as well ? after all, it?s got to be a 300 mile-plus round trip, hasn?t it? But that?s precisely what my old mucker Steve Sant did yesterday, bless his little cotton socks. As Steve said in his mail tonight, normally, he?d let the coach take the strain, but the recent introduction of a non-smoking rule on the service he frequently uses took the decision right out of his hands. Not being a smoker myself, and never having been one, a few crafty puffs behind the school bike-sheds excepted, I can readily see the viewpoint of those away travellers not wanting to inhale such nasties. But, as one of my sisters smokes like a bloody chimney herself, and finds it difficult to go more than a couple of hours before the need for yet another drag of the dreaded weed supervenes, I don?t have much difficulty seeing things from Steve?s point of view, either.

Anyway, instead of a 07.30 departure, which would have been the case had our hero stuck to his usual travel plans, he left God?s Own Country at the vastly more civilised hour of 10.15 instead. Luckily, it being Sunday, and the weather pretty grotty with it, he encountered very few hold-ups en-route. Sure, as he put it, he burned ?several spondoolicks worth of petrol and 20 Bensons? along the way, but he still managed to hit the Land Of The Smog-Monster at around 14.20, and that despite a pit-stop en route. Pretty good going, I reckon, and I?d find it pretty hard to envisage anyone else doing the journey quite so quickly, but being completely street-legal with it as well. Unless you know better, of course.

Steve does say he found the drive back somewhat annoying, mind. I guess getting bogged down mid-Yorkshire, and yet again south of Burton, on the A38, isn?t exactly a barrel of laughs, but even then, he was still back chez Sant for around 20.45, beating his usual travel arrangements by a good half an hour, apparently. How does he know that? Easy, by phoning Sauce?s trusty mobile, that?s how!

Hooray and Boo! That was my reaction to the news coming from Planet Albion tonight about two of our current ?walking wounded?, Chris Kirkland and Steve Watson. On the ?plus? side, both should be in contention for our fixture versus Fulham this weekend, although, what with the Pole In Goal having stepped into the breech so magnificently of late, I do wonder whether the former Liverpool player might have a bit of a battle on his hands to regain his first-team spot.

The reason for those ?boos?? They?ll both be out for the Man Urinal game, come Wednesday, soddit. Kirkland is still hors de combat with that bruised kidney of his, and Watson?s out of it because of a twanged hamstring brought on by Sunday?s exertions. Robbo doesn?t want to risk the possibility of further damage in Watson?s case, and I quite understand that. Having weakened the offending bit of sinew somewhat, it would be all-too easy to end up with a ?proper? pull, or a tear, even.

Back tomorrow night, of course, with a tongue-in-cheek look at all things Albion and Man United. The George Best factor will very much make the Mancs the ?goodies?, in this one, but even with the emotion-factor present in heaps, I still think we?ve got a reasonable chance of ruining their night for them. Until then, keep warm ? unless you happen to be reading this in the scorching wilds of the Australian Outback, of course.

And finally?.. I?m not exactly the sharpest tool in the box when it comes to IT, but even I know that when pop-ups ? erm ? pop up, aren?t you supposed to be able to knock them out just by clicking on the little ?X? stuck in one corner or another? Sad to say, I?ve just found one that most certainly doesn?t respond to such blandishments, and it?s on the Albion?s own website, would you believe? No matter what I tried to do, the damn thing was still there, and what?s more, was preventing me from reading the stuff put there by our club for the benefit of curious Baggies like me. But, thanks to a little lateral thinking, I managed to sort it out; the big secret was clicking on the side-box for another topic, then returning to the news section once more, but should such subterfuge have been really necessary in the first place? Grrrrrr. Oh - and as per my normal policy whenever the world of advertising impinges upon my privacy, you can be damn sure that the firm responsible will most certainly NOT be getting my custom. Not now, not ever.

 - Glynis Wright

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