The Diary

09 January 2006: Reading The Signs, Post-Reading.

Twenty four long hours have now elapsed since that God-awful Reading game, during the course of which we effectively shot ourselves in the foot; since then, many opinions, both in true ?knee-jerk? fashion and fully-reasoned, have I seen captured for ever via the pages of sundry media and electronic outlets. Yes, we all felt considerably let down yesterday, especially as we were so close to pulling sweet victory from the less-than slavering jaws of stalemate via that fortuitous late penalty, but I would like to use this column tonight to urge the greatest of caution when the time finally comes, as it must, for Baggies to sit together, and start to discuss both the future of the club, and possible alternative managerial options.

In my book, unlikely though this might seem to some right now, childrens? poet Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953) hits the nail right on the head. In the poem ?Jim?, the writer urges the youthful reader: ??.And always keep a hold of Nurse/For fear of finding something worse?.?. In other words, do what many Albion supporters urge the board to do: i.e. discard Robson in favour of a newer model with bells and whistles attached, and it might well be a case of ?out of the frying pan, into the fire?.

Let me illustrate what I?m on about by reminding you of the very close parallels provided by our very own giant-killing FA Cup Third Round encounter with then-Premiership Sunderland in January 2002. Just about everything that applies to us now applied to them, and barring the slender possibility of either side deciding progression to the Fourth Round is more of a hindrance than a help to their respective causes, I?m firmly convinced we will lose to Reading, in the replay. Sunderland?s embarrassing exit from the competition four long years ago certainly kicked off a gargantuan debate among their always-passionate and highly-committed following, the issue up for discussion was the strongly-held contention amongst some that Peter Reid, their manager back then, had long since passed his sell-by date, and therefore had to go.

Unsurprisingly, that pernicious whispering campaign then spread to the local media, and almost before you knew it, the national boys were going large on it also. Some of them merely tag-along followers, scenting a good story, pounding on their tinny saucepan lids in the wake of the feller at the front banging on the big bass drum, of course, but nevertheless, the damage was well and truly done. Eventually, Peter Reid, seeing the way the wind was blowing, left, and to no-one?s great surprise, the season after that, Sunderland were relegated, and embarrassingly so; let?s face it, that was one hell of an achievement, those Wearsiders finishing with a points total even worse then ours. It?s also my contention that both the Stadium Of Light and all who sail in it have yet to fully recuperate from the deep-driven angst such divisions caused within the massed ranks of their red-and-white striped keepers of the flame; in other words, their eventual recovery, if at all, will be one helluva long time coming.

Rightly or wrongly, the thread of my argument tonight rests upon my gut feeling that the last thing we need right now is for our followers to embark upon a similarly disastrous multiple-stab-in-the-back road to drastic managerial regime-change. Hasty panic-measures (up to and including the now-notorious 1991 Dangerous Dogs Act, which came into being largely as a result of an overblown and largely ill-informed media campaign against so-called ?Devil Dogs?) never solved anything; even a cursory examination of the twin worlds of recent history and national politics will furnish more similar examples than you can shake a stick at. OK ? so we sack Robson tomorrow: Pouf! He?s gone, in the blinking of an eye! As per The Stranglers, circa 1977, ?No more Robbo, any more?. Who the hell in their right minds, and possessive of a half-decent managerial CV as well, would want to take his place, pray?

It?s when I consider that scenario, I also begin to see shades of yet another Albion parallel gathering substance before my very eyes, one stretching as far back as 1991 this time, and concerning another famously-embarrassing Cup exit at the hands of then-Conference South-equivalent Woking, Tim Buzaglo, and all stations west. I can really visualise the exchanges: ?Bye-bye and good riddance, Big Nose Talbot. Tell you what, Stuart Pearson, here?s the keys to the Hawthorns castle on a temporary basis; you hold the line while we decide who gets the job to on a permanent basis, and while you?re at it, we?ll give your own application serious consideration, of course. (Then, a month or so further down the line?..) Er, sorry, Stuart ? despite the fact you?ve held us steady in mid-table ever since Talbot left, and just pulled off a wonderful 3-0 away win at Blackburn, here?s your P45. A chap called Bobby Gould talks a much better job than you do, so he starts next Monday. Ciaou, baby, and don?t slam the door too hard when you leave?.? I rest my case.

Turning to other related matters, I suppose you can take the continued absence of Earnie from Saturday?s proceedings as strong prima facie evidence that our manager has finally decided to cut his losses and get rid. Had his intentions been otherwise, then I guess ?yer man? would have been warming his bum on the bench, and possibly getting Cup-tied as a result. If that is the case, and Earnie on his way out, then I consider it to be very much an opportunity lost. Is the real reason behind such a drastic solution to the problem simply one of lack of communication, I wonder? After all, there are other sides, both at our level and elsewhere, with players perfectly happy to play the role of ?Super-Sub?, and I really do think Earnie?s alleged reasoning that being on the fringes of the side would prove unduly detrimental to his international career to be fundamentally flawed. Can Wales, no great shakes, even at the best of times, and constantly on the lookout for suitable talent with even a spuriously-valid claim to Welsh nationality really be so pernickety about who plays and who doesn?t?

For me, fast as he may be, his performances are way too erratic to warrant inclusion on a permanent basis. At our level, mere pace on its own isn?t good enough. What we need right now is someone who can be relied upon to bring others into the game, hold the ball up well, that sort of thing. He?s also one of life?s ?impulsive snatchers? ? rather than think of alternative options, he liable to go in mob-handed, and allied to that one, his first touch isn?t exactly of the best, shall we say. All of these points, whether considered singly or in tandem, more than amply demonstrate the reason why he?s not managerial flavour of the month right now.

It?s a shame he doesn?t take Robbo?s well-intentioned advice and take stock of precisely why the coaching staff don?t feel he?s up to the job. As I pointed out the other night, The Pole In Goal didn?t whinge and whine to the media when he lost his place, and neither did Inamoto, either. He was told to do exactly the same thing, to study the video provided and see for himself exactly what the club were looking for in his game. Ina got on with it, reconstructed accordingly, and now he?s an integral part of our side, so much so, we feel his loss very keenly. Isn?t it about time Earnie did the same ? forgot all this transfer nonsense, shut up and put up?

One thing about the side that does concern me right now is bloody Darren Carter. Why on earth is he there at all? What possible useful function does he serve? What attributes has he got that, say, Chaplow hasn?t? He doesn?t even begin to pull his weight out there most of the time, and sometimes completely wanders from his designated role during games, in sweet defiance of all logic and rational thought. His capricious tendencies must also have his team-mates constantly tearing their hair out, Chaplow?s honourably excepted, of course. To put it mildly, right now, he?s about as much use to us as an ashtray on a motorbike. Would his continued inclusion in our playing ranks be simply down to the fact he?s our gaffer?s secret love-child, or something? Someone tonight suggested we offload him come the summer. Personally, I wouldn?t wait that long, even.

Now for one of my ?very much tongue in cheek moments?! Is there, I wonder, the footballing equivalent of ?fragging?, i.e. the clandestine US Army practice, as per Vietnam, of soldiers dealing with officers gung-ho to the point of putting their men in constant serious physical danger by the simple expedient of chucking a live hand-grenade into the tent of the person concerned while still asleep? (The practice also existed as far back as the First World War, you might be interested to know, and a fair few ?killed in action? tags ended up erroneously written as a direct result of such summary justice being carried out.) I?m not normally that sanguine about either players or the prospect of them prematurely ending their careers, honest, but so limpet-like has his grip been on that coveted first-team place, but so woeful our chum?s performances, of late, I?m almost on the point of giving serious consideration to just about anything!

And Finally?.. Today, well, this morning, actually, I had a phone call that took me back around 25 years, back to the days when I lived near Bristol, and I knew fellow-Baggie Nigel Johnston. As we had a South West Supporters Club branch going at the time, I used to see him quite regularly, and that was the time I first realised what a dreadfully wicked sense of humour he had. Anyway, these days, the cares of fatherhood have long since calmed his errant ways considerably, but there?s still a glimmer of the old Nigel discernable, provided you know precisely where to look.

Take my conversation today, for example. Just how many ways do you know of ending up with a gashed head as a direct result of vacuuming some stairs, and, moreover, one that doesn?t involve the use of gross personal violence by some family member or other when using the thing? Not many, I?ll bet, but Nigel did ? and here?s how. It all began when our hero decided to balance said vacuum cleaner on top of the stairs, some five or six steps further up, and with the extension hose dangling down so Chummy could use the nozzle to do the dreadful deed. Well, that was the theory. In practice, Nigel somehow forgot where the main body of the thing was, and when he did, he inadvertently pulled the heavy bit right on top of his head! As is always the case with scalp wounds, it bled profusely, and very much to the detriment of the fitted carpet as well, but at least our hero had a useful remedy to hand. When not either doing irreparable damage to his skull or watching the Baggies ? are the two activities synonymous, I wonder? - our hero runs a girls? football team, and it just so happened that he had his matchday first-aid box to hand for once.

Steristrips were clearly called for, and the laceration being a large one, many were needed. Fortunately, his wife is a qualified nurse, so the NHS, in the form of the local A and E were collectively deprived of a bloody good laugh that day. As for Nigel?s kids, far from being alarmed by the sight of their dad pouring blood from just about every place on his skull possible, they simply took one look, then collapsed in a convulsive heap of raucous laughter. Of actual sympathy for his unusual plight, there was not a smidgen to be had. Mind you, when I finally heard the reason for that unexpected call of his, I greatly feared for the eventual size of his quarterly phone bill, which is sympathy by another name, I suppose. What he wanted of me, no less, was The Noise?s contact number! Now I really am convinced he?s got suicidal tendencies. Come to think about it, is he, even now, in the fag-end of the wee small hours, still yakking to our garrulous Stokie chum, I wonder?

Back next Friday or Saturday, nicely in time for the Wigan caper. Unless we either sign or get rid before then, of course.

 - Glynis Wright

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