The Diary

12 December 2005: More Post-City Nitty-Gritty.

Coo, I?d never thought I?d be spending Sunday evening in a manner so divergent from my normal routine, but thanks to my other half, not to mention his somewhat eclectic sporting tastes, that?s precisely what I did this wintry Sabbath. How else would anyone drag me, kicking violently and screaming shrilly, in the direction of football, but not as we know it, Jim? American-style, in other words; the game they have the sheer effrontery to name as per our domestic Number One passion ? which they then differentiate between the two courtesy sneering references to ?soccer? instead - but as totally divorced from current conceptions of what constitutes the ?beautiful game? as the American Stealth Bomber is from a World War One Zeppelin gasbag.

It was the sheer noise-level and general razamatazz of the thing that made me put down my Sunday scandal sheet, eventually; mind you, it doesn?t exactly help that many moons ago, I was actually persuaded to attend one of these migraine-inducing fixtures myself, in Philly, if my memory ? and subsequent headache! ? serves me well. To cut to the chase, then, despite the rules being explained to me in terms even the most obtuse of Dingles would understand, I still couldn?t get my head around them, and even the passage of time has failed to remedy what would be regarded as a serious character deficiency in The Land Of The Free these days. Yep, my ignorance of the gridiron game is still as profound as it was around thirty-odd years ago. Sorry, Uncle Sam, but, even now, there are certain Limey character-traits that stubbornly resist any attempt, however covert, to change my distinctly Anglophile point of view.

With all that negative baggage shifting around inside my psychological storage-hold, it was miraculous I even gave tonight?s game a nanosecond?s free memory-space. But I did, and as I watched more closely, certain ideas began to crystallise in my mind. The game was between Indianapolis and Jacksonville, and at the time of viewing, the home side were leading 17 - 3. To be fair, I?m Indoors did take - erm - ?time out? to explain some of the basics as the game progressed, but much simply passed straight over my head and went ?splat?. Sorry.

One particular concept intrigued me greatly, though: the idea of contentious decisions being replayed on TV for the benefit of the referee, the guy then lingering long and hard over the footage, and once satisfied one way or another, finally coming up with what he adjudged to be the correct interpretation of the facts placed before him. And then ? and this is the bit that really made me sit up and take notice, folkies ? using his personal mike and the stadium PA to actually go through the decision for the benefit of rival team managers, players and crowd, even to the point of justifying his reasoning in great detail, and telling protesting coaching staff from both sides to shut up or else. I?m now wrestling with the mental image of, say, Graham Poll, doing similar for the benefit of both Brummie and Smethwick, then turning round to, say, Graham Souness, or Fergie, notorious ?moaners? both: ?I was right, you were wrong, and that?s because??. (insert reason). Now sod off, and let me run the game my way!? Yeah, right. Dream on.

Returning to yesterday?s unexpectedly-emphatic win once more, today?s papers raised an issue arising from that game I?d not perceived to be as serious as it actually was at the time; the incident that took place around five minutes from the break, the one involving Joe Kamara and City?s Ben Thatcher. Although it took place on the Halfords Lane side of the pitch, the very acute angle ? it happened just to the left of the ?home? dugout, and right on the touchline ? was such that I couldn?t truly appreciate the reason for the almost instantaneous incandescent fury of the crowd; as far as I was concerned, the whole thing had been just a bit of a shoving-match gone a bit too far, and being a mild-mannered and civilised lot for the most part, the massed vacuum flasks and travel-rugs sat there collectively considered the whole thing a complete affront to Western civilisation by their almost saint-like standards, but nothing more serious than that.

That was why I was so surprised to read today reports that Thatcher had allegedly used his elbow to take Joe out; no wonder the Baggies sitting there were baying for his blood in true Roman style. Not to mention the FA now wanting to take an even closer glance at the video footage. If those august chappies responsible for discipline look at the replays and adjudge the lad Thatcher guilty of sticking his forelimb in places it most certainly shouldn?t be stuck, then he might just be headed in the direction of a lengthy suspension, and serve the bounder jolly well right, I say!

Mixed fortunes, both good and bad, emanating from the Everton game, though. Their win over the Mancs took them over us, which means dropping a place. It?s a funny old league where you actually end up descending, despite having won your own game, isn?t it? The good news is that we?re still very much on-line for Robb?s Christmas target of a point per game average. Now I?ve read his post-match comments, I can appreciate more readily the reason for taking off poor Duke Ellington; a residual trace of concussion following that head injury of his which caused blurred vision, apparently.

What I do fail to understand, though, is Robbo?s post-match rationale for chucking Campbell into the fray not long afterwards. He had at first considered introducing Earnie, primarily because of his shit-hot speed in and around the box, but plumped for the big ex-Evertonian instead because: ?I needed Kevin's presence as far as defending set plays was concerned. I'm delighted it worked out for Kev because he scored with a terrific header from a good move by Paul Robinson.?

Sorry ? but just run that one past me again? We bring on a striker with the acceleration of a carthorse by way of replacement for one who can achieve 0-to-light-speed in just milliseconds, then justify doing so later by saying he did it to bolster up the rearguard during set-pieces in dangerous positions? OK, it all worked out in the end, and mainly because the City marking was taking time out to indulge in a Big Mac over the road, rather than police Campbell when it really mattered, but I?m still left scratching my head furiously by the torturous logic behind that one. Are you?

As far as ?man of the match? plaudits are concerned, Inamoto has to come close for me, but it has to be said that Paul Robinson ? no, not the one who sits next to me in the Halfords Lane Stand, and a very nice chappie he is, too ? didn?t half do his reputation an awful lot of good with that immaculate defensive display of his yesterday. And Joe Kamara; it always astonishes me that such a tiny African nation ? it?s the one that ?wraps? around The Gambia, population as poor as church mice, predominantly French-speaking, but genuinely friendly, and that I know because I?ve been there - can produce players of such wonderful ability. We?ll miss both him and Kanu enormously, when they finally jet off to do their ?thing? in the African Cup, come the New Year.

Thanks to Dave Baxendale for my next snippet, which concerns Zoltan Gera who, although not currently playing, does seem to have a bit of a fan-club going for him out there in the wild and woolly world of Balkans football. Apparently, when both Dave and son arrived at the club shop yesterday, there were a goodly number, around 10 or 12, Dave tells me, of foreign lads each buying replica shirts, all of them printed with Gera?s name proudly emblazoned on the back Being no great expert on Eastern European linguistics himself, Dave couldn?t positively identify their country of origin, but thinks it might have been Yugoslavia. Coo, what with Ina having many worshipful sons and daughters of Nippon following in his wake already ? just follow the sight of innumerable flashing Nikons to locate his exact whereabouts - I?m now left wondering precisely who will end up with the bigger fan club?

And Finally??One. Congratulations to hopelessly-incurable Baggies addict Dave Watkin are very much in order right now. The reason for such Bacchanalian festivities on his behalf? Simple; yesterday?s three-pointer versus City marked his 750th consecutive Albion game. Note that word ?consecutive?, folkies, it means years and years of following our lot, game after game, home, away, win, lose, indifferent, Divisions One to Three, old-style, then, agonisingly, tearfully, sometimes, back again, but to that Promised Land they call the Premiership, this time round.

Unlike Oscar Wilde?s, ?love that dare not speak its name?, it?s an ongoing romance Dave can proudly shout from the rooftops, as far as this column?s concerned. After all, there can?t be many other Baggies who bothered to follow the side to Cozenza, situated in the ?toe? of Italy, for one of the Anglo-Italian away games we participated in around a decade or so ago. Being billed to take place around two weeks before Christmas, and the place being situated in the back of beyond, as far as the road-map was concerned, twin factors that meant most supporters, ourselves included, being forced to give that one a miss, Dave still took the considerable time and trouble involved in getting there.

For the uninitiated, that meant taking the plane to Naples, then hiring a car on touchdown ? a very brave undertaking, considering driving-standards currently prevalent in Southern Italy are a joke in the worst possible taste, and not for the faint-hearted, even at the best of times ? to get to the place, situated a couple of hundred miles due south of the airport. It was mainly due to those aforementioned factors only around 20 or so Baggies nuts were actually there to witness the side play out a meaningless and bloodless draw, but a good time was had by all, I was told, not least because the bijou size of the place meant there was only one hotel worthy of the name in town, both supporters and players finding themselves billeted there. For more details, just ask Long-Haired Mick, who ended up being ?debagged? in the bar by none other than Bob Taylor!

Two?. Just a teensy thought, but what with recent adverse results and everything, it?s now looking awfully like Alex Ferguson?s fortunes are very much on the wane. Given the Glazer clan?s notorious reputation for ditching anyone they perceive to be not quite up to the mark ? Tampa Bay Buccaneers manager Tony Dungay was given the American equivalent of the dreaded P45 despite having led Glazer?s side to their best ever run of results and trophies ? you do have to wonder for how long the troublesome presence of the acerbic Scot in charge will be tolerated at Old Trafford.

True, there are reports today that state it would cost Glazer some ?8 million squid to sack him, and half that amount should he decide to walk of his own volition instead, but the mere possibility of Fergie jumping ship does set my personal alarm-bells a-ringing right now. Should they actually decide to bring in the firing-squad, where would they look for a replacement? Abroad? Birmingham?s Steve Bruce? Blackburn?s Mark Hughes? Or, failing those, Someone Much Closer To Home? Just a thought.

 - Glynis Wright

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