The Diary

21 January 2006: The Plods, The Hitch, So No Ugo!

Cor, what a morning it was. Well, think about it. Hand on heart, how often can you say you?ve spent the time: a) Discovering you know more about a specific medical condition than your own GP does: b) Having a police escort to the nearby Number 11 bus stop, and: c) Striking oil, metaphorically speaking, in Smethwick Library? (Any potential American invaders misreading the above sentence ? not all that difficult if you?re part of their military, after all?s said and done ? and mistakenly wishing to appropriate for themselves Sandwell Council Leisure Department?s hitherto-unsuspected stash of fossil fuel resources should catch the 87 bus and get off at The Blue Gates Pub. Be sure to enter the building quietly, and whatever you do, don?t call in the airstrikes before eleven am ? The Head Librarian will shake her head disapprovingly, ?tut-tut? a lot, then have you chucked out of the building for causing a nuisance, more likely than not.).

Now, where was I? Oh yes. The answer, of course, is ?not all that often, really?, but today really was ?one of those days?, and here?s what happened. Situation ?A? happened when I visited my Villa-following quack for a routine check-up. Well, not so much a check-up as an animated discussion about the recent Albion-Villa encounter: apparently, this particular inheritor of the noble Hippocratic traditions once espoused by such medical notables as Lord Lister, Harvey Cushing, and Alexander Fleming had not only gone to the game, he?d spent the entire 90 minutes sitting in the Halfords Lane Stand as well. Dearie, dearie me ? and here was I thinking you had to be intelligent to go to medical school. It was while I was debating the finer points of that game that I brought forth the knotty question of Zoltan?s condition, and the unusual name it had. Turned out he?d never heard of ?Gilbert?s Groin? before, so I then went into ?explanation mode?. Quite a reversal of the normal doctor-patient thing, I reckon.

The plods? They just happened to be patrolling the area as I was walking out of the surgery, and yes ? one of them happened to know me. Via Anc, that remarkably-animated Baggies ever-present during both our initial promotion run and inaugural Premiership season, only to almost completely vanish off the face of the earth some two seasons later. The lad that knew me was a total Albion nut ? and yes, he?s managed to wangle time off to be there tomorrow night. It?s not every day you get to bat the Albion breeze with such conspicuous fellow-sufferers, now, is it? Mind you, the simple fact I was walking right in between the two plods must have turned heads aplenty ? in retrospect, it must have looked for all the world to passing motorists as though I?d just had my collar felt!

As I intimated earlier, the third and final part of my little tryptich was revealed at the library, while I was busily rootling around for stuff on W.G. Richardson. Interesting to note that even he, an experienced and talented striker more than capable of banging in goals any time, any place, anywhere, suddenly found himself dropped from the first team after a quite miserable streak of games when absolutely nothing would go right for him. Sounds remarkably like a certain underperforming Welsh international striker we?ve got on our books right now, doesn?t it? Then, as now, no player could be considered bigger or more valuable than the side as a whole. The fundamental difference between ?W.G.? and Earnie was that rather than stomp out of the room and throw a ?strop? in all directions on hearing the news, Richardson simply accepted his fate, and quietly got on with playing in the second-string. Just a few games further down the line, he was not only restored to favour once more, but on his return, he almost instantaneously repaid the club by banging in one of his trademark headed strikes.

So what else have I been up to of late, then? Thursday night saw us back on the Supporters? Club trail once more, and to Sutton Branch this time, where they hosted a quite unusual ex-player combo, Joe Mayo and Alistair Robertson, no less. Certainly, their appearances at such functions are nowhere near as frequent as those of, say, Bomber Brown, or Brendon Batson, but fair play to Amanda, who is to ex-players what honey and nectar is to bees, what we got last night was, like a rare whisky, or a vintage wine, well worth the wait.

Imagine, if you will, an old-time music-hall comedy act, one half of the duo quietly playing the ?straight man?, then acting as a deadpan ?feed? for the considerably more outgoing other, who had a penchant for delivering the real funny stuff in rapid-fire bursts. Most of today?s sophisticated audiences regard such antics as corny beyond belief these days, but in the hands of true experts, such bundles of comedic joy can even now give your chuckle muscles a workout they?ll never forget. And that?s how it was last night; in this instance, Joe Mayo played the classical ?straight man?, quiet, dry, while Ally Rob took on the comedy role in which he was surely born to excel, firing the bullets at the audience in a Scottish dialect you could surely have stropped cut-throat razors on. It?s a measure of his considerable expertise in that area (comedy, not slashing people?s faces in peculiarly Glaswegian late-night fashion!) that most of his audience finished the night completely doubled up with mirth.

And just like any ?classical? comedic turn you care to mention, not a little of their success hinged upon their vastly-different outlooks upon life. Joe, the quiet one, had just the right knack of providing his former team-mate with the bare foundations of the humorous anecdote or observation that Ally would then enthusiastically take by the horns, in true Billy Connolly-style, but without the drip-drip foul-mouthed obscenities. The thing was, with Ally, he had absolutely no need of such distasteful material; he really was a comic ?natural? all of his own, as are many-ex-players of his generation. And, before you start to put the question ? no, they DON?T write players like that any more.

As I pointed out to another Sutton Branch regular as we left the building afterwards, these days, the moment a youngster arrives at a football club ? any football club - to embark upon a professional career, one of the first things he learns is how to talk and act in front of the media. This will eventually give you a young professional who can then be totally relied upon not to drop either himself or his club in it, of course, but by doing it that way, there?s quite a price to be paid. All the interesting aspects of someone?s personality are quickly coached out of them, stamped upon, ruthlessly eradicated, completely and utterly. Continue the treatment for any great length of time and what you then end up with is someone completely bland, uninspiring, spiritless, even, totally devoid of either spontaneity or wit. With some of today?s star performers, you?d probably get far more in the way of animation by doing a vox-pop among the ?inhabitants? of the local cemetery. You only have to listen to ?Match of The Day? interviews for a short space of time to realise that, which is more the pity, I suppose..

The sheer variety of topics covered by the pair of them last night was truly amazing. Johnny Giles (the respect both men clearly had for their former gaffer was huge, and plain to see, a ringing endorsement for their former manager?s firm but fair leadership style); Don Howe; Willie Johnston (as you might expect, loads of stuff about Oor Wullie); The King, at some length; Ron Saunders (oh dear, Ally), and life with The Dingles, including one memorable moment back in the eighties, following a home defeat to Torquay, when some of their choicer element decided to give manager Graham Turner a ?token of their esteem? in the form of great gobbets of saliva at point-blank range. ?Wolves fans? Horrible, just horrible?..? was Ally Rob?s short but brutal verdict.

Then there were the many changes in football and footballers wrought since those distant days. The gaping chasm that?s now developed between supporters and players, and the resultant almost-constant media pressure exerted upon those who play the game today. In days of yore, players and supporters alike shared similar leisure-time interests, and because it was much easier for players to socialise with their followers back then, any unfortunate off-duty occurrences for the most part remained out of the media. Football, lacking both its present-day ?sexiness? and the pirhana-like inclinations of modern tabloid journalists out to grab a juicy bit of scandal for themselves, was left pretty much alone by the media. Nowadays, of course, players are routinely put on a pedestal, and just about everything they do, either on the pitch and off it, is subject to constant press and TV scrutiny.

Also interesting ? not to mention quite alarming - was the somewhat different and far more robust approach taken by club coaching staff to player injuries back in the sixties, seventies and early eighties. Ally, of course, cited the story of the limb he fractured not long after getting himself a regular first-team berth. Not only did he fracture the blasted thing, until diagnosed correctly and despite repeated complaints of the injury becoming increasingly agonising, he had no option but to carry on training and playing through the pain, which must have been excruciating by then. These days, we have virtually on tap people like Nick Worth, properly qualified to assess and treat injuries sustained during a game, not to mention modern diagnostic facilities that wouldn?t disgrace a small district hospital, but back then, the nearest thing ?trainers? had to ?proper? anatomical, physiological, and clinical expertise was carving the Sunday joint for the family. This, of course, meant that occasional serious stuff like fractures sometimes went unnoticed, as was the case with Ally.

Joe, too, had a similar story to tell, but this one happened while he was with Orient, ending up with an elbow in the face during one particularly fraught lower division game. Joe was pretty groggy afterwards, of course, but so ingrained was the macho culture back then, instead of reporting his altered state of consciousness to the club quack, he made light of the injury instead. Big mistake ? severe concussion symptoms supervened, and he was packed off to hospital PDQ. A few hours rest later, Joe was getting distinctly ?stir crazy? and asked ? no, pleaded with! - the doctor in charge of his case to let him go home, upon which the crafty quack then began to ask him what seemed some pretty silly questions eg. ?What?s the thing covering my upper body?? (answer, a jacket), and ?What?s the thing hanging in front of my shirt?? (answer, his tie).

Feeling very silly, and getting rattier by the minute, Joe answered all these questions, then the quack lobbed in completely without warning what was to ultimately prove the bombshell ? ?What?s the thing at the top of my tie and just underneath my shirt collar called?? The answer, of course, was a knot, but suddenly, Joe found himself totally incapable of remembering what it was. More questioning on similar lines later, more inability to remember the names of similarly-trivial items ? when you start confusing common items of cutlery, that?s when it really gets worrying! - and it then became pretty clear to Joe he was still suffering from a severe form of concussion. The force of the blow had affected the part of his brain dealing with such mundane things ? stroke/cerebral haemorrhage patients quite often show similar signs of confusion, caused by severe bleeding/ brain damage in the region of the brain responsible for ?nuts and bolts? day-to-day memory - and it was to be somewhere in the order of four to five days before he was finally allowed home again!

The really depressing aspect of my little piece ? our home game versus Sunderland tomorrow ? I?ve decided to leave until last this time round. The reason? I can?t see anything other than a brutal 90 minutes-worth played for our delectation tomorrow. We need those three points, sure enough, but Sunderland, without a cat in hell?s chance of avoiding the drop now we?ve reached this stage of the season, will be going into tomorrow?s game not caring a stuff either way. They will, however, be playing for pride, both individual and collective, which is why I suspect neither side will be winning plaudits galore from Match Of The Day?s Gary Lineker for thrill-a-minute tip-top entertainment value.

The agreed six-month loan, pending personal terms, of Artmedia Bratisklava?s central midfielder Jan Kozac apart, the other good piece of news to emerge from Planet Albion today was of Clem being declared fit for duty versus The Mackems; truly have we missed his defensive action out there of late. Also back in contention is Big Dave, his one-game suspension having now been completed. I strongly suspect he?ll get a game tomorrow, too. There?s not that much else to pick from out there. Ironic, though, had not Ugo ? or his agent, perhaps? ? decided to spurn our repeated romantic overtures, in all probability, our ginormous defender would have been well and truly out of a job by now. As things stand, I?m more than willing to bet that after that gobbet of truly terminal stupidity on his part last Sunday, his fortune has been well and truly told for him. And don?t forget, with a good 11 days of the window still remaining, and the word ?no? usually meaning ?maybe? in transfer-speak, it could still happen.

More in doubt is the fitness or otherwise of The Horse and Steve Watson, also Kevin Campbell and Paul Robinson. It looks very much as though Robbo will have to delay a judgment-call on either/all much nearer kick-off. While the absent Joe Kamara and Kanu both engage in African Nations Cup conflict, definitely out, still, of course, will be Tommy Gaardsoe and Zoltan Gera, both with groin problems, one bog-standard, the other with a condition closely related, but somewhat more exotically-named. See Diaries passim for more details.

Sunderland? If we?d thought an injury crisis not far in the offing, then right now, Sunderland must feel their training-ground bears an unusually strong resemblance to the set of ?Casualty?. They have no less than five regulars hors de combat right now, these being Kevin Kyle with a hip problem, George McCartney with a tendon injury, Stephen Elliott and a back problem, Stephen Wright with calf trouble and Chris Brown still out with a knee injury. Take all that little lot out of the reckoning, and you readily begin to appreciate why their gaffer is tearing his hair out right now; the only possible variable remaining in the equation being Christian Bassila, who just might be fit enough for a recall. Other than that, absolute ziltch, I?m afraid.As I said earlier, this one?s going to be pretty gruelling, make no mistake. The fundamental mistake we have to avoid is that of thinking the game?s well and truly won when it ain?t, quite frankly. Expect the ref?s notebook to be busy, and both goalmouths relatively undisturbed. I?m also expecting my sister and her husband to be occupying our normal seats tomorrow, primarily because we?ve both got a spot in what used to be the directors box ? that?s what you get for entering card competitions in pubs, so don?t do it, see? That won?t stop me from heckling by sibling and her beau from (not so) afar, though! Despite my gloomy outlook, I suspect we?ll triumph. Just.

And Finally?.. One. ?There?s A Rat In Mi Kitchen, What Am I Gonna Do???? Not so much a question, more a nice little earner for UB40 back in the eighties, but last night, after we?d got back from the Sutton Branch meeting, that was the poser I was frantically setting my other half as he worked diligently upon some new material for his book given him only that night. The reason, as you might expect, was my cats ? or, more to the point, one only - who now seems to have taken up his personal War On Rodentism with renewed vigour all of a sudden. Saddam Mous-sain isn?t a juicy enough prey for the Tabby Avenger these days, apparently, now it?s got to be nothing less than Osama Big Ratten heading for that Big Nest In The Sky.

Two?.This one comes into the category of ?Something I meant to mention the other night but completely forgot, silly me?..? and/or ?Now I really do know great minds think alike!? ?Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery,? anyone? Those of you who regularly follow my little periodical pieces, and watched Match Of The Day for the Man United-Burton Albion Cup replay the other night may have found something vaguely familiar about the lyrics of the song used to ?play out? the programme/hold together brief footage of that night?s highlights once Gary Lineker, Ian Wright et. al. had finished inflicting their own particular brand of post-match verbal diarrhoea upon the nation. Still not sure? OK, the track used was the strangely-poignant ?It?s Over?, from ELO?s 1978 album ?Out Of The Blue?, but the main reason I?m mentioning this at all is that via this column, I beat the lot of them to it by at least a couple of years!

 - Glynis Wright

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