The Diary

01 January 2006: Albion Get Mersey-Beat At Anfield

Well, a 1-0 defeat was about par for the course, I suppose. No-one in their right Baggie mind could have journeyed to Anfield today expecting the course of events to proceed otherwise, unless they?d indulged heavily in something both mood-altering and illegal over the last 24 hours, of course. Make no mistake, Liverpool could have beaten us any time, any place, anywhere; the fact the goals against tally didn?t rack up to quite the total we expected was down, in no small measure, to the undoubted brilliance of The Pole In Goal, by far and away my man of the match. To be perfectly honest, by around the start of the second half I?d completely lost track of the number of times he?d saved our bacon; those stupendous stops of his, how many? Nine, ten, was it? Whatever, but it took a mighty fine cross from Liverpool?s Kewell, swiftly followed by a lethal header from Peter Crouch to finally put him down for good. Respect.

Our story began with a slightly earlier departure than originally anticipated, as we needed to make a short diversion to the ground to pick up Wigan tickets and book coach travel. Well, me and The Fart, actually, ?Im Indoors having other plans scheduled for that day. Parking up close to the ticket office, as I was getting out of the car, I happened to notice amidst the row of cars parked adjacent to the far fence a ?Chelsea tractor? of even uglier appearance than is usually the norm for those vehicles.

Closer inspection revealed it to be a Humvee, one of those ghastly-looking brutes the American military are so keen on using in Iraq; with those, it?s not so much a case of ?miles per gallon? as ?gallons per mile?, and running one must be like pouring great heaps of money down some enormous black hole. No mystery as to who the driver of what has to be the ugliest vehicle in creation was, though; just like the bloke in ?Highlander?, ?there could only be one? ? Earnie, the fastest transfer-requesting player in the West. Brom, that is. Although not listed as being part of the squad, did he travel to Liverpool anyway, I wonder?

Into the office to make our purchases, then. Curiously, Albion?s IT system, (or part of it) was down at the time, which meant they couldn?t process credit card transactions. Just as well both The Fart and I had the cash to flash, then. There you go, I knew there was a bloody good reason for calling in at my local cashpoint yesterday! Because of the aforementioned difficulties, they couldn?t print us coach tickets, but they?ve promised to send the whole shooting match to El Tel once their PCs get better, which is nice. Hopefully, our exertions will be worth it; one small consideration I hadn?t been aware of until ?Im Indoors pointed it out to me was the fact that our game will fall nicely in between the first and second legs of Wigan?s League Cup Semi-Final games versus The Arse. Hopefully, they?ll be knackered, and we?ll cash in.

On to a mercifully-untroubled M6 afterwards, and it was the work of but a few minutes to get us to Newcastle, and our rendezvous with The Noise. This time, though, he?d brought on board with him a leetle surprise ? a ?picture quiz? with a difference. On it were twenty World War 2 notables, and the object of the exercise was to identify the whole lot of ?em. Part of a WW2 theme-night at The Noise?s line-dancing club; that, ?period music? plus ?eats? all prepared as per Lord Woolton?s recommendations ? just in case you didn?t know, he was in charge of the Ministry Of Food during the conflict The recipes for strictly-rationed foodstuffs he came up with at the time? Let?s just say he was ?pretty imaginative? in the performance of his ministerial duties, and leave it at that, eh? Just ask your Great-Granny about ?Woolton Pie? and watch her face light up. Not. And, as you might expect, they held a raffle, but with a difference ? all the prizes on offer were the sort of things you might have won in similar back in the 1940?s. Stuff like Oxo cubes, nylon stockings (almost-unobtainable back then), citrus fruit (ditto). One small query though ? did they go for complete authenticity by letting off a few 500 lbs bombs in close proximity, I wonder?

That lengthy period of time away from away-match travelling duties must have done strange things to our chum?s garrulousness-glands; by the time we were on the M62 and heading for the city, The Noise?s speed of delivery, not to mention vocal pitch, had increased by several integers. Imagine pulling the bung out of the earthernworks of a Dutch dyke, then standing back and waiting for the inevitable gush of water and you?ve got the picture. By the time he?d finished one particular monologue, all about darts, his voice had reached a pitch almost inaudible to the human ear; blimey, he must have been really popular with the local bats on his holidays!

Half-twelve, and in complete contrast to the distinctly-hypothermic conditions encountered on Wednesday night, we finally made landfall in an almost-spring-like Liverpool. The place that had accommodated our car last season was full, so it was a case of finding, like ?Ole Bill of First World War fame, ?A better ?ole?. And this we did, in school premises just down the road. Six quid in, but it was about as good as it got in that city ? and it was secure, an important consideration when parking in Merseyside. A coat, sure, but no hat, no gloves. Wunderbar.

Having seen to the needs of our vehicle, it was then time to see to the needs of our bodies. Fluid replacement was called for, and what better place to do it in but The Arkles, a pub around ten minutes away, and quite close to Anfield itself. Unsurprisingly, by the time we got there, the place was quite busy, with Baggies and Scousers intermingling quite happily. I needed somewhere to sit, of course, and there being no vacant stools handy ? this was one of those pubs that ?encourage? patrons to drink standing up ? I plumped for the cover on the pool table at the back instead. Once perched there, no problems regarding comfort; the only downside was the big screen, a matter of inches away, and now showing the Villa-Arsenal game.

Interestingly, both sets of supporters were keenly interested in the outcome, but from completely opposite ends of the spectrum, if you like. The Scousers, they wanted the blubbery persuasion to pot the three points, while our followers desired nothing more than watching our near-neighbours crash and burn at the Gallic and garlicky hands of Wenger?s mob.

It proved to be a revelation when ?Im Indoors went to get the drinks in. ?Three Cokes, please,? said my other half to the lad on bar duty.

?Three Guinnesses, you said??

?Er, no ? three Cokes.?

Just when ?Im Indoors was starting to get really exasperated, his colleague quietly interjected. ?Don?t worry about him, he?s a Bluenose, and he?s got problems?..?

From The Arkles, it was but a five-minute steady stroll to Anfield proper. Rather than go inside immediately, we elected to slowly saunter around the ground, pausing briefly alongside the Hillsborough Memorial, completely bedecked, as you might expect, with recently-laid wreaths and floral tributes. And, as I watched, a particularly-poignant ritual, the sheer number of red-and-white bedecked passers by who touched with loving fingers the memorial stone itself, on which was inscribed the names of the dead. After a ?natter? with several away-regulars, it was time to go in ? and, more importantly for me, time to visit the ?facilities?. Why didn?t I use the pub?s ?conveniences?? Simple, firstly it was unisex, which wouldn?t have bothered me normally, but for the second snag. Last season, I?d used said facilities, but directly after some bloke who, judging from the awful pong he left behind, must have been suffering from some pretty awful bowel condition ? the smell was even worse than that emitted by my old chum and former colleague Brooksie, and that?s saying something!

Another natter to various people on the concourse under the stand, including a certain Norm Bartlam, who constantly regaled my other half with cries of ?Part-time supporter!? and ?Glory-hunter!? Oh, and Roy Haden, who had much better news to relate about the progress of his son, Steve, taken ill earlier in the season and now home, temporarily. Moving to our perches for the duration, we discovered them to be in a spot about in line with the corner-flag. Only around six rows in front of us this time, and angled because of said corner, but that didn?t ameliorate the gut feeling that the view obtained from this vantage-point wouldn?t be of the best, and so it was to prove. ?Just like Little Jack Horner, sat in a corner?? I murmured, as we sat down. Commented The Noise, as he watched their ground-staff shifting away a temporary set of nets meant for the use of our keepers as they warmed up: ?Ooh, look ? they?re shifting the goalposts!? Yes, it really was that sort of day.

No great surprises with the Albion line-up, though. In came Kevin Campbell, in attacking tandem with The Horse ? as The Noise remarked at the time, certainly going for pace up front, then! ? plus Richard Chaplow, and Paul Robinson, now deemed fully recovered from that nasty bout of concussion sustained at Old Trafford, of course. Out went Kanu, predictably enough; saving his best for Villa on Monday, hopefully, with Greening, The Duke and Joe Kamara all testing the subs? bench for stray splinters. With that sort of line-up, it was always going to be an uphill struggle; the only variable to factor into the equation was the ?when? and ?where? of the Scousers? first successful strike. And, just before the kick-off, a particularly poignant rendition of ?You?ll Never Walk Alone? as performed by The Kop, and most other home supporters elsewhere in the ground. Last time we?d visited, I?d thought Liverpool?s normally-vocal home following a pretty poor shadow of what it had been in times of yore, but you certainly couldn?t criticise them this time. Gave it everything, they did, and with a little bit to spare, too.

So, off we went, then, and even as the little spheroid began to roll in earnest, the gallows humour really began to assert itself. Said one Baggie, just behind me, to a fellow-sufferer: ?When do you think we?ll score the first goal?? The reply? ?Monday!? Then The Fart began to get really into the spirit of the thing: ?Are we playing 4-5-1? Or will a 9-1 formation do?? As I said, sarcasm was king this afternoon. Irony as well probably. And, with only five minutes gone, we?d actually put in an attack of sorts, via Chaplow, the move actually getting into their box. Commented ?Im Indoors: ?We?re winning 0-0!?

More irony in the away end: ?Ref-All! You?ve never won ref-all?? This, to the current holders of the Champions League trophy, and more past gongs and honours than the average Whitehall Civil Service bunker. (A pause, here, to admire the wonderful New Year fireworks display going on right outside my window. Ooooo! Aaaaaah!) Now where was I? Oh, yeah. Irony.

What most certainly wasn?t though, was the magnificent form shown by The Pole In Goal; within the space of just five minutes, he?d pulled off no less than three quality stops, any of which even the great Gordon Banks would have been proud to claim ownership. The first, a nasty long-range effort was tipped over by our hero, the second, a close-range Kewell strike, came to naught for similar reasons, and just to really rack off The Scouser club?s tame Aussie completely, the third time of asking, guess who frustrated his best intentions again? Unsurprisingly, within seconds, there arose from the massed ranks of away supporters behind the action-area concerned, the loud anthem: ?In goal! We?ve got a Pole in goal?..!?

We were really under the cosh by this time, leading a charmed life at the back; how many opposition corners was that? Six? Seven? The third time of asking, they?d even hit the post, the hottest goalkeeper this side of the River Vistula finally collecting the rebound. By now, we were approaching the 30-minute mark, and bar one Chaplow effort that should have earned itself a much better fate, our excursions in Liverpool territory were much restricted. The Pole In Goal? Still frustrating Liverpool at every turn, this time by repulsing a thirty-yarder about ten minutes from the break.

More gallows humour. With around 15 minutes to go, Albion managed to win a throw, not far away from where we were. Said The Noise: ?They?re running the clock down!? Said The Fart: ?Do we get a bonus point for not letting one in before half-time!? Then, not long after that, the first intimations of a ?Chaplow chant?, destined to haunt the guy for his entire stay at the club, presumably: ?Chap-i-low, Chap-i-low, Chap-i, Chap-I-low/He?s got no hair, but we don?t care? Chap-I, Chap-I-low!? Just before the interval, Liverpool took their time taking a throw-in quite near to our seats. Shouted one seated wag: ?Boooo! Bloody time-wasting?.? Then, from The Noise: ?Come on, Albion ? these are RUBBISH!?

Mind you, just on half-time, all of our good work could quite easily have come to nothing when Liverpool were awarded a free-kick right on the edge of our box. The lunge from Carter on Alonso really was a last-ditch measure, but at least their set-piece, although beating the wall, finished up in the loving arms of the best Polish export since Lech Walensa instead.

Time for the break, then, after a first 45 I hadn?t expected at all. Luck had played a large part in the score still remaining bloodless; that, and the blistering form of The Pole In Goal, of course. The remainder of the time I spent reminding The Fart of the last time we?d won at Anfield; spring 1967, a time when Albion were just as much under the cosh as they are now. Back then, the threat of relegation loomed really large for us, and the then-Liverpool side, very much crafted in Bill Shankly?s image, were sweeping all before them.

Much to everyone?s surprise, The King scored the only goal of the game, and that bit of serendipity proved to be the jumping-off spot for a revival that would take us right out of danger by the time the season finally came to an end. And who would ever forget that first sixth-round Anfield replay the following year? Yet again The King proved to be our saviour, equalising after the Scousers drew first blood; the rest you all know, of course. Not long after I?d exhausted that topic of conversation, back came The Noise, who?d been availing himself of the ?facilities? below. Apparently, there was quite a ?glee-club? going down there, several Baggies of vintage stature collectively singing the praises of Jeff Astle, Bob Taylor ? and, erm, Steve Bull! Something about his legitimacy being in severe doubt, as I understood it.

Off we went again, and with only around seven minutes of the half gone, Liverpool finally struck oil. As I said in my opener, Kewell was the real perpetrator of the damage, and Crouch his beanpole delivery-man. Even The Pole In Goal had no chance with that rocket header of his. !-0 was the scoreline, thenh, and time for the previously-mute home supporters to chorus: ?You?re not singing any more!?

?You?ve only just started!? was The Noise?s acoustically-deafening yet deadly-accurate take on the matter. Thanks to our relatively snail-like main armament selection, there was absolutely no chance of getting the ball into their box and giving them a dose of their own medicine; every time we tried to do precisely that, our efforts were repulsed with the greatest of ease by their defenders.

With but 25 minutes remaining, Robbo suddenly decided a different tack might yield results. Off came Chaplow, a straight swap for Greening, Watson moving to make room. Then, around ten minutes later, off went Wallwork, and on came Joe Kamara, the idea being, presumably, to get a bit of width into the entire business. Finally, not long after that, it was the turn of Campbell to return to the bench, giving way to The Duke, but sandwiched neatly between substitutes two and three was yet another wonderful stop by The Pole In Goal, whose timely intervention prevented Crouch from claiming the brace.

Sure, after that wholesale revamp of the side, we did have our moments, but brevity was the watchword on this particular occasion. Liverpool had a defence well-drilled in the art of minimising petty-pinpricks such as these, so nothing we could possibly do could hurt them ? and that?s how things prevailed until the final whistle.

Comments? One in particular; what a shame that yet again, we put together a side more versed in the art of defending, preserving the status quo, rather than living a little more dangerously at times. As I?m Indoors was to comment afterwards, watching our puny efforts was a bit like a much smaller man trying to take on a much bigger one, with the use of swung fists, and the chunkier of the two repelling boarders by the simple expedient of keeping the smaller half of the bargain strictly at arms length. I?ll say it again ? if we really do want to stay in this division, then we have to start winning some away games, and quickly.

Thus far, our ?away goals scored? tally is risible. Three, is it, to date? Not exactly the sort of stuff one would expect from a side anxious to avoid the drop, is it? Go on, Robbo, give your attackers a little bit more leeway when on their travels. Even putting two up front light-years swifter than the dynamic duo we had to day, Horsfield and Campbell, would be a start. One of my major criticisms of Megson centred around the fact he was way too defensively-orientated, at times; it would be a tragedy indeed, if we were to go down the same road once more, and end up losing Premiership status as a result. Sure, we might end up losing by a greater margin than we would had we concentrated upon keeping out the oposition, but on the other hand, going for the jugular might result in that same opposition panicking like hell under pressure, and conceding a goal they normally wouldn?t. Try it - you know it makes sense.

There are some plus-points to report, though. This time last year, had we conceded in similar fashion at Anfield, our defence would have collapsed like an undercooked souflee, and Liverpool would have gained an enormous boost to their ?goals for? tally. The fact we did concede, but didn?t wave a white flag in surrender, speaks volumes for me. That suggests the side might be gaining in both character and confidence. From small acorns do mighty oak-trees grow, goes the saying. Let?s hope that in the case of our favourite football club, we witnessed today the first small intimations of such radical change coming to be. As for the scintillating form of The Pole In Goal today, you really had to be there to fully appreciate it.

Now, of course, everything rests upon Monday, and what we can do to repel the blubbery hordes set to descend upon us earlier than usual that day. To keep the momentum at home going, of one thing I?m certain; we have to grab all three points from that one, otherwise we?re going to find ourselves right in the cart again. Monday will also effectively see the opening of the transfer window once more; don?t expect signing either in or out straight away, though, as these things involve delicate negotiations, and need a little time to blossom. Then, after that one, comes our Third Round tie, versus high-flying Reading; until I?ve been told different, expect this to be a rerun of our Third Round game at Sunderland, the year we went up for the first time ever. In other words, check out what sort of pleasurable leisure activity you can watch on Fourth Round day.

As far as the ?window? is concerned, rumours abound tonight, and in quantity. One about us doing a deal with Sheffield United and Neil Warnock, all on the sly, with The Horse being the body most sought by United on this occasion. Plus, there?s that perennial ?golden oldie? concerning Earnie, and a straight swap with Everton for their ?Bent?. Quite honestly, if we could get a decent price for the lad, rather than, say, The Duke ? it might just avert a clanger of enormous proportions being dropped. All in all, in the best rounds, despite some very vociferous rivals, it very much looks as though the coming month will be a tense time for our club, not to mention all who sail in it. Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen, because you?re sure as hell going to need ?em!

And Finally?. One. Bluenoses, even the Brady variety ? dontcha just love ?em? Cop this gem for size, then: ?Now my strategy is seen across Europe as the blueprint for how to run a successful football club??? (Karen Brady, Daily Mirror, 31.12.2005.) Blimey, going by their current Premiership standing, and the strong probability of them dropping a rung come the end of hostilities, do they genuinely mean that?

Two. It?s almost two hours old, if you?re following GMT, but may I take this opportunity of wishing Baggies everywhere a Happy and Prosperous New Year. And may plagues of both frogs and boils descend upon Molineux in great abundance. In other words, Dingles, you?ve been well and truly cursed. So there.

 - Glynis Wright

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