The Diary

19 August 2003: Managerial Sightings And Lloyd's Lightning

Coo, what a night ? some very learned ladies and gentlemen spend their entire careers scouring the heavens for one, academic careers can be established or completely ruined depending upon whether or not you can actually prove the existence of this particular phenomenon, or your whole day can be totally ruined if you belatedly discover your find?s only a bit of fluff from the cleaner?s broom obscuring your telescope after you?ve excitedly contacted the relevant astronomical body to tell them of your earth-shattering contribution to science. What am I banging on about? Astronomical rarities, that?s what. In other words, bodies that are only seen infrequently by those paid to look for them. Well, right now, I reckon I?m now more than qualified to join that select band at the Nobel Prize ceremony in Stockholm next year, because tonight, I clapped eyes on something I?ll probably not witness again high above The Hawthorns for a long, long time. Puzzled?

OK ? let me put it this way. If the article in question were a planet, when viewed through a telescope, it would undoubtedly have a balding ginger surface, and would exude great gouts of fire and brimstone from various volcanic orifices dotted around its orb when over-heated, which, because of the excitable nature of the beast, would be often. Mind you, as planets are usually named after mythological characters, there?s no way I could give my discovery the name it truly deserves. You?ve probably guessed the name of my ?find? by now, but I?ll tell you anyway ? at the stiffs game versus Leeds at The Shrine this evening, this column, plus several other observers, clapped eyes on not a planetary body, but our manager, Gary Megson!

When the presence of The Soup Dragon in the East Stand ? seated high in the Director?s Box, and all on his lonesome ? was noted towards the end of the first serving, shock instantly supervened, and it was a close call as to whether to enlist the aid of the nearby St. Johns Ambulance people to revive me, but once back in the land of the living, I immediately telephoned Jodrell Bank on my mobile to see if the scientific community were willing to accept my startling claim to fame. They?re not promising anything, but the implications of my find for the world of astronomy are so great, I fully expect a summons to Buck House come the New Year on the strength of it. And that wasn?t all; also there ? although I didn?t eyeball him at the time, someone else did ? was none other than our former Lunatic-In-Residence, Bobby Gould. Let out into the community, and the moon nearly full in these here parts? Ooer ? what is the world of psychiatry coming to?

To be serious for a moment, what happened on the pitch tonight must have given the Dear Leader some serious food for thought. 2-1 to the Yorkshire boys was the final score, and the overall display could, I suppose, be described as ?partially sunny?. Leeds boasted in their ranks some well-known names, while we packed ours with a combination of young pros ? Dan Crane, Tam, Lloyd Dyer, Simon Brown etc. ? old campaigners not currently engaged in first-team duties, and those who had simply incurred our manager?s wrath at some stage or another! No prizes for guessing who. There is a proper match report, courtesy of my other half, elsewhere on this site, but I?ll merely say that Leeds ? erm ? led when one of theirs blasted in an absolute belter from the edge of the box. Poor Danny Crane could only watch, rooted to the spot, and, no doubt, doing goldfish impersonations with his mouth at the same time. It really was that good. Or was our defending that bad?

Their second was absolutely unforgivable. Let me put it this way: imagine a photograph of the incident, taken at the time with some marvellous new technology, with the ability to capture all our defenders in various frozen attitudes the instant the shutter clicked ? but also with both the Leeds players and the ball still visibly in motion on the print as you looked at it! It really seemed like that to me, and if our leader arrived in time to witness that strike, I can only imagine there?ll be some of our finest having an uncomfortable session with Megson explaining that lot away in the next few days. Or could it be that our failings were because there?s such a preponderance of players in our side who, for various reasons, have little enthusiasm for putting in gritty and workmanlike performances for the cause?

There?s talented lads like Tam Mkandawire who, although in the first flush of their careers, have very little future at the club, simply because there?s little or no prospect of first-team football to dangle in front of their eager young noses. Whatever flashes of brilliance they show on the field, no matter how much effort and guts they put into the ninety minutes, they won?t get a look-in ? end of story. And then you have the old pros; Gilly, possibly, Ron Wallwork, Lee Marshall, and, of course, Jason. For various reasons, some valid, some downright stupid, their cards have been marked in no uncertain terms. Strange, then, that it was Jason Roberts who managed to pull one back, courtesy of a penalty, which was, it has to be said, well taken, the ball going one way, and the keeper the other. For me, though, the star of the Albion show had to be young Lloyd Dyer. On several occasions, he waltzed down the left flank and through the visitors? defence as if it wasn?t there, and on one particularly memorable excursion of this nature, was downright unlucky not to get on the score-sheet himself. To my mind, a lad with ability like that shouldn?t be festering in the second?string, but should be learning the business of being a first-team squad member via a few inclusions on the bench. It?s either that, or let another club benefit from his undoubted talents, and soon, because if not, we?ll simply end up with a bitter and twisted young pro on our hands.

Another good reason for watching tonight?s game was a reunion with some pretty hardcore Albion nuts; greetings, then, to Fab Traccana, plus ?significant other?, Strod Crockett, our fashion and style guru (you can commit murder, armed robbery, the works, but if Strod ?disses? your apparel, your cool and street-cred instantly count for naught!), Tim of Sutton Branch, he of the Albion flags at the front of his house, and current scourge of our manager and Chairman (don?t ask!), and last, but not least, Steve, who also went to Denmark, and made Fab ? he?d pre-booked a holiday, and couldn?t make it - dead jealous with his description of the lovely time that was had there by all. Strange no Anc, though; come to think about it, his absence from his usual pre-match perch outside the Police Post on Saturday was noted by this column, so here?s a heartfelt plea from me via the miracle of cyberspace ? ANC, WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?

And finally?.. Having related the sad tale of my Sunday lunch being blighted by wasps, after I?d put yesterday?s piece to bed, tucked it up, and told it a story, I returned downstairs to read the Sunday supplements, only to discover that although those yellow and black winged horrors had done with me for the day, the local arachnid population hadn?t! I?m blaming Cyrille for this one; no, not the ex-player, the cat. There I was, reading away, not a care in the world, when my eldest moggy came trotting in with something vaguely-insect-looking in his mouth. Thinking he?d caught a moth, his usual party trick, I took no notice ? until he suddenly jumped on me bearing his ?gift?. One minute I had the Sunday Times spread out in front of me, the next, the cat neatly plopped onto the page and directly under my nose the biggest wriggly, scuttly spider I have ever seen in my entire life. Scream? What do you think? I?ll murder that bloody cat ? when I finally get unstuck from the ceiling, that is.

More from me on Thursday or Friday, when amongst other things, I?ll be discussing Watford Football Club and all who sail in them.

 - Glynis Wright

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