The Diary

17 August 2003: Look out, First! Hughsie?s Back!

Albion 4 Burnley 1

That astonishing win apart, today, for me, will stand out for two very valid (and diverse) reasons. The first? The excellent news before the game that our intellectually-challenged brethren up the road had gone down 5-1 at Blackburn. Welcome to The Prem, Dingles?. The second you?ll only truly appreciate if you were a Baggies nut around approximately six long years ago. Turn back your mental clock to 1997, then, and have a think about who constituted our opposition around the same time. It shouldn?t be that difficult, because the answer?s Crewe Alex, at their place. Just like today, the weather was quite hot and sunny, and, if my memory serves me correctly, that was the first time we?d ever played The Railwaymen in the League. Unfortunately, our outfit being what it was then, things on the pitch weren?t exactly going to plan; we were 2-1 in arrears, and seemingly headed for the division?s dustcart. And then, former manager Ray Harford unleashed his secret weapon on the home side.

Gangly, freckly, possessive of enough ginger hair to pass for a zebra-crossing beacon, and with a Black Country accent you could have cooked faggots on, a recent buy from Kiddy Harriers, Smethwick born and bred, and a self-confessed Albion nut; that was Lee Hughes. Not so many years before, he?d been hero-worshipping Bob Taylor from the Brummie as our former hero blasted us to promotion glory via the play-offs. Welcome to the Big Time, Lee. As for what happened next, had some media wonk taken the same scenario and turned it into one of those meaningful TV plays with a ?feelgood? ending, critics the length and breadth of the land would have slated him/her and suggested they get out more, but this being the real word and not that of the silver screen, I can only tell it as it was.

In a nutshell, what I think happened was this: Lee entered the fray, and from that moment on, through sheer effort and enthusiasm, proceeded to run the Crewe defence absolutely ragged. Within a matter of minutes, he got his reward in Heaven as Goal Number One hit the rigging for the equaliser, and Lee, being an absolute and 100% genuine Albion nut at heart, celebrated by diving with some exuberance and panache into our supporters, shoehorned into the away end just behind the goal. Then around five minutes later, yer man laid on a repeat performance for the benefit of the watching media plus an audience of disbelieving home supporters, and no sooner had the ball crossed the line, the crowd then repaid the compliment by invading the pitch and diving onto Lee! 3-2 was the final score, a Hawthorns hero was born, and it truly was something from a ?Boys? Own? annual. A bit like that wonderful Cyrille Regis goal versus Boro in the late Seventies, really. Cynical old me didn?t think they wrote them like that any more, but it just goes to show how wrong you can be!

Fast forward to today?s events, and what happened in the second half really did put me in mind of that sultry day half a dozen years ago. Sure, history doesn?t normally repeat itself, but today, it got as damned close to doing it as it dared. We weren?t chasing the game this time, we were level, but the issue was in some doubt, which, presumably, led to our manager electing to change our attacking options come the 52nd minute. And, once on the field in place of a creditable but ineffective Dobes, Lee then settled down to a vintage display of Hughsie at his best. His first strike, just before the end of the game ? Lee beat a defender then sent an absolute belter whanging past The Beast - completely settled the issue, but our hero wasn?t finished, not by a long chalk. A minute later, he repeated the feat; this time, courtesy of one of the very few occasions during the game Burnley were totally ripped apart, our by now totally fired-up striker latching onto the through-ball, and with the nearest Burnleyite left for dead, whacked it calmly past Jensen once more. The only sour note on that unbelievable comeback of his came courtesy of the referee, who booked the lad for celebrating the first one too exuberantly; with echoes of Gresty Road 1997 no doubt reverberating in his mind, Hughsie, forgetting himself, came a tad too close and personal to the crowd for the official?s liking.

But I?m way ahead of myself. There were other magical moments in that game, which I?ll relate in due course, but well before on-pitch hostilities commenced, and before we arrived at The Shrine, even, there was the small matter of picking up The Fart from his place of residence. Normally, our Crimean War veteran gets to games under his own steam, but on Friday morning, the poor old sod had to make the journey to Dudley Road Hospital to have a cataract removed, so he was ordered to limit some of his normal daily activities. These days, the op can be performed as a day case, but 20 or so years ago, it necessitated a full-blown op, and a 10-day spell in hospital, so I suppose the old curmudgeon can count his blessings, really. Unfortunately, for a few days after the deed?s done, there?s a total ban on travelling by public transport (all that jolting etc. can put some strain on the ocular muscles), so we offered to do a chauffeur service, which was gratefully accepted.

Once we?d scooped El Tel up from the loving bosom of his wife Dot, we then headed for The Shrine at a rate of knots, arriving there around three in the afternoon, and just in time to keep a weather ear cocked for the goings-on at Ewood Park. We didn?t have to wait long; while I was getting the drinks in at The Throstle Club, an almighty yell from within told me the Dingles had conceded. Oh, whoops! Once I?d sorted out our refreshments, I joined ?Im Indoors and The Invalid outside, where a relaxing game of bowls was in full swing on the green. And, as we sipped our drinks and took in the warmth of the late afternoon, another yell from within signified the Dingles had let in yet another. Oh frabjous day; send it down, Moses. That?ll teach the buggers not to fart in church, I thought.

Not long afterwards, we were joined by The Noise ? who reverted to type by wearing that awful green coat once more, despite the soaring temperature! - and The Junior Version, aka Carly, who, I reckon, gets visibly taller every time I clap eyes on her. By the way, thanks, Carly, for those pen-pics of Harry Potter characters you gave me; all will be revealed in the next Dick! Another round of drinks, then selling duties beckoned. And, once outside the Police Post, yet another surprise. Firstly, a couple of our directors, Mike O?Leary and Mark Jenkins, were standing outside, and overseeing turnstile operations to ensure smooth running. A slight digression, here; just what, I wonder, is the collective noun for a group of Albion directors? Aw, you know the sort of thing I mean; a collection of lions is called a pride, a similar of crows is called a murder ? so what?s the Albion equivalent? Getting back to the matter in hand once more, the second surprise was seeing a new stall selling Baggies merchandise adjacent to the Smethwick End entrance. Mike O?L told me later that our Safety Committee had objected on the grounds it was impeding access for emergency vehicles. Doo wot? Hang on a minute; where the stall stands now, there used to be a gurt great big house, plus garden, which occupied far more space than the newcomer, so how in the name of pigs? pudden could the stall be deemed an obstruction? In fact, you could get a 74 bus through the gap and still have room to spare. Honestly ? I really do wonder, sometimes!

Quite pleasant, it was to sit flogging ?zines as the sun shone on our efforts. Even more agreeable was the latest news from Ewood Park, excitedly relayed by Dick-buying supporters, a la Coventry a couple of seasons ago; our sworn enemies were by now five in arrears, and dead, dead, dead. When someone told me Steve Bull had opined on screen it ought to be double that, my undergarments landed in grave danger of an embarrassing leakage. Lucky we weren?t too far off the time to pack up, by then. Coming hard on the heels of the Villa fiasco at Pompey, today was sure shaping up as one where the gods, for once, seemed to smile on my little body, and chorus in unison: ?GLYNIS WRIGHT ? THIS IS YOUR DAY ? SO BLOODY WELL ENJOY IT!? Oh ? and by way of a bonus, Hereford United won also, which meant the other half of the bargain was catered for as well.

One unexpected by-product of the new turnstile technology seemed to be the decision of some Baggies to enter the ground with plenty of time to spare, which meant no queues outside our entrance, for once! Now when was the last time that happened, I wonder? At least the lack of activity meant we could sell until the very last minute, which was quite a novelty; once finished, a wave of our cards at the reader, and a satisfactory ?click? from within meant we gained admission without let or hindrance. Phew! A quick wash and brush-up session later, we were both in business. Once in our seats, the most noticeable thing about The Shrine was a distinct lack of away fans in their end. I reckon there could only have been around 400 max, which was a pretty poor effort compared with the hordes that used to descend on the place in past years. Before the lick-off, though, we had a minute?s silence for both Ray Harford, and former Baggies ?keeper Jim Sanders, who had my undying respect because The Fart told me today that although he still had shrapnel in his back from the war, it didn?t stop him becoming a top-notch keeper. Both sets of supporters observed this impeccably, much to Burnley?s credit, as Harford once managed their sworn enemies, Blackburn Rovers.

That done with, we were off. At first, it seemed as though we were in for a repeat of the Bescot scenario; Albion chucking everything but the kitchen sink at them, and our visitors simply biding their time. This feeling was reinforced when Burnley opened the scoring in the 28th minute, with an almighty effort from Blake that seemed to elude Houlty through sheer velocity. Having said that, their tactics of having one extremely mobile forward up front ? he literally ran himself into the ground for the cause ? seemed to disconcert our lot somewhat even before that strike. And, there was the vexed question of those awful gaps we were leaving in the middle of the park and on the flanks. Nippy Burnley were exploiting this failing of ours with some degree of success, and we appeared to be totally bereft of ideas on how to negate such tactics, so we were the architects of our own downfall, so to speak.

Mind you, we didn?t have to wait long for the reply ? and, my God, if what I witnessed doesn?t get the Goal Of The Season Award next year, then I?ll start voting Conservative. When Sakiri first collected the ball he was way, way outside the box, but no sooner had he accepted the bobbling bladder from (I think) Hulse, he then let fly with one hell of a shot. Bomber Brown, in his heyday, couldn?t have done better; it left the poor Beast floundering, and our own supporters gasping at the sheer brilliance of it. Parity restored, then, but the game was still in the balance, and we knew it. Just moments afterwards, our rearguard got itself into one almighty mess in the box; try as they might, the ball would not shift from the danger-area, and in the midst of that comedy of errors, those predatory Burnleyite boots were everywhere. Our goalmouth really did live a charmed life for some few minutes. More pay-back for last season, I wonder?

After the interval, our visitors carried on in the same vein. They?d conceded, sure, but were shit-hot on restoring their lead once more. It could have been nasty; corner on corner soared over our goalmouth in those opening minutes, and out of the corner of our eyes, we could see Hughsie being prepared by Frank Burrows for an early substitution. I can only assume our Number Two told the lad to mix it with the defence and try to do some damage, because that was really the turning-point of the game for us. Twice we went close, and Jensen, as predicted yesterday by this column, was having a blinder, turning one of Clem?s better efforts round the post with style not long after the substitution. Shortly afterwards, though, it was Burnley, not Albion, who felt the icy chill of rejection by Lady Luck. A shame, really, as there had been moments when they?d made our rearguard look extremely silly, what with those jinking, wriggling livewire tactics of theirs when in our box. Hulse was the perpetrator of the damage; for once, Burnley?s marking was somewhat lacking when Koumas belted over his corner-kick, and our ex-Crewe man didn?t need telling twice. Into the lead, then, although overall, we didn?t really deserve it. All the ingredients, then, for one hell of a nail-biting finish.

Hughsie, by now, was absolutely gagging for that first meaningful strike of his (second!) Albion career, and to be fair, only an astute Burnley defence and the competence of The Beast had denied what was rightfully his. Until those two glorious minutes, of course???. Once the brace were bagged, Burnley were a thoroughly-demoralised side, and one could really feel sorry for them. On a better day, they would have marmalised us hands down, make no mistake, but, as the final whistle sounded, relief washed right around the ground. Sure, the scoreline flattered us, but what the hell ? three points, and our season had, to all intents and purposes, started from today. Oh ? and that win, coming from behind as it did, was the first achieved in such a manner since we knocked Sunderland out of the Cup two campaigns ago, and our first home win since last November, versus Boro.

One worrying aspect of today?s game, though, was Jason Koumas, who was firmly placed under lock and key by the visitors. In fact, so quiet was he that Meggo replaced him with Gilly in the last ten minutes. And, of course, there were those uncharacteristic ?condor moments on the part of our defence. We really rode our luck sometimes; it?s just as well we weren?t found out. Also, well done Chambo J for a job well done. As for the rest, the highlight really has to be that tremendous goal of Sakiri?s, and Hughsie?s renaissance. The other plus point was the fact that the new-look side seem to be gelling as a cohesive outfit at long last, which can only auger well for our visit to Watford next Saturday. Bring ?em on, I say ? I can?t wait.

And finally?? One. At least we now know our opponents in the next round of the League Cup. Hartlepool United, would you believe, and, of course, in midweek! I have seen Albion play there before, of course. That was way back in the dark days of our Third Division durance vile, and my overwhelming memories of the place stem from the game we played there on Bonfire Night, 1991. The things I do for love; a goalless draw on a night fit only for Eskimos ? so cold was it, the ball-boys were wearing bank robbers? masks over their faces to keep out the North Sea chill ? and a sight which really brought the realities of our Third Division existence home with a bump. What was it? Fairy rings on the pitch, that?s what! On most League grounds, these fungal interlopers wouldn?t even get so much as a spore through the door, but Hartlepool were broke at the time, so I suppose the axe fell on the ground-staff as well. No wonder I looked long and hard at the things, shuddered ? not necessarily through cold, either ? turned to ?Im Indoors and mournfully muttered, ?Welcome to The Third??.?

Two?. Well done, Lee Hughes, for that marvellous gesture after today?s game in dedicating, on air, those two goals to the late Ray Harford, who, as our gaffer six years ago, first took a chance on the lad by bringing him from non-League Kidderminster Harriers to the First Division, and West Bromwich Albion. I?m sure Ray would have been a proud man to see the way in which his star pupil put away those strikes today. Let?s hope Lee can better this and bring yet another spectral grin to our late manager?s face by banging in enough for us to make the return journey to the big-time once more.

 - Glynis Wright

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