The Diary

13 February 2006: Tommy 'G', Earnie, Koumas, and Robbo - Some Sundry Thoughts

Well, here I am again, chaps and chapesses, and after yesterday?s self-inflicted dose of pure misery, at least I?m turning up at our PC keyboard with something of a smile on my face this time, thank goodness. But not put there by our favourite football club; no, the real reason for my current state of unabounded joy is partially tied in with the fact I?m actually an hour late starting, and the reason why I was so late in the first place. Confession-time, folks, and whisper it quietly in these circles, but I was watching tonight?s ?Top Gear? in conjunction with my car-mad other half, no less.

Being very much an anti-Jeremy Clarkson bod myself ? mainly because he presents an ?all mouth and trousers? image and constantly comes across like a little kid that never quite grew up, I usually avoid anything involving him with the vigour I would a village priest around the time of The Black Death ? I did have good intentions of starting this piece on time, but I have to confess, one item in particular had me totally gripped by the morbid sort of horrified fascination some reserve for spectacular motorway pile-ups, or high-flying Premiership clubs taken to the cleaners by their more lowly brethren in the FA Cup.

Ever wondered what a Mini-Cooper would look like going at a rate of knots down the Olympic ski-jump ramp at Lillehammer, Norway, then executing a suspension-knackering landing several hundred feet further down the slope? Well, so did Clarkson (no, I?ve absolutely no idea as to why, either!); to complete the task successfully, he engaged a team of rocket scientists to provide the necessary nitrous oxide/rubber jet propulsion, put the Mini on skis (no human occupant, too dangerous, unsurprisingly) and built one hell of an ice-barrier at the end of the run to stop the bloody thing executing a three-point landing right in the middle of the small village below.

The result? Well worth the wait, and what?s more, the entire concept struck quite a chord with my admittedly-warped sense of humour, the marvellously-surreal sight of a full-blown Mini heading down that slope (literally!) like a rocket, leaving the ramp somewhat majestically, describing a wonderful parabolic arc in the ink-black sky above, then smacking solidly into the formidable ice-barrier constructed for the purpose below, about the only time Clarkson?s jolly japes have ever done that, I reckon. Still, anything?s got to be better than shifting one?s carcass to West London for the afternoon, having reluctantly parted with upwards of forty quid to do so, then watching one?s football team crash to a blush-making six-goal nobbing, perpetrated by one of the Prem?s less-able outfits, their superlative home record to date being the sole factor currently keeping them out of the division?s Skid Row equivalent.

It?s a bit like taking drugs on a regular basis, really. Doing business with your supplier of choice for those all-essential weekend ?goodies?, then ingesting to personal taste, and watching a similar amount of moolah literally end up in smoke. Or up your nose/in your veins/where the bloody sun don?t shine. Whatever. Oh, well ? at least you can?t be busted for watching eleven blokes seemingly in the intractable grip of a profound death-wish go and ruin what remains of your weekend. Well, not yet. Unless some bright spark of a plod suddenly gets a strong yen to prosecute for assisting in a suicide, of course.

As I pointed out last night, Fulham simply weren?t that good; truth was, we were so incredibly bad in defence that day, by comparison, we made them look world-beaters for 90 per cent of the time. From the general tone of his past-match comments ? well, the ones he chose to make public - I can only assume that our leader left his charges in no doubt whatsoever as to the full extent of their shortcomings yesterday, and perhaps it?s just as well that the near-on fortnight?s break will serve to put a little bit more distance between our players, their regular followers, and the almost-unbelievable events of Saturday afternoon.

Now is the moment when individual man-management skills very much come to the fore, of course. I?ve maintained for a long time that the true test of a gaffer?s skills is not when their side is sweeping all before them; it?s when there?s a slump in both form and morale that a good many get found out. Having well and truly had it out with his players after the game, what comes next in our case will be very much down to Robbo?s individual style ? or, more appositely, ?style with individuals? - and there?s no ?right or wrong? magic formula that will ever ensure a successful outcome. People vary in temperament, wildly so in my experience, and those who choose to use a ?one size fits all? approach to such matters quickly find themselves in dead lumber, especially at our end of the market. Another valid reason why a good many of football?s new generation of aspiring managers have psychology degrees or similar to their names, with top FIFA coaching badges tacked on afterwards.

This is but a reflection of the fact that present-day footballers tend to be a much brighter bunch than was the case some thirty or forty years ago. John Osborne, possessing only a clutch of O-Levels to his name back in the mid-sixties, was feted by both team-mates and media as being a bit of an egg-head, and therefore considered dressing-room arbiter on a myriad number of everyday topics by mutual consent. Now, young trainees possessing such qualifications are the norm rather than the exception, and even that most conservative of employers, The British Army, will cheerfully admit that senior NCO?s, of both the immediate post-war period and for a couple of decades thereafter, functionally-illiterate for the most part, but shit-hot and stiff-starched parade-ground performers in the eyes of their commanding officers ? ?Bulls**t Baffles Brains? was the laconic comment of not a few educated National Service squaddies at that time - would have extreme difficulties achieving similar rank today.

Not a few players these days are educated to university level themselves, and expect by way of post-match feedback something much more stylish and positive in content than an old-fashioned rollicking given in basic Anglo-Saxon. Try to use British ?sergeant major? style motivational tactics with most Premiership-standard foreign imports these days, for example, and you?ll get laughed out of court, end of story. Some, like Sam Allardyce, Alan Curbishley, have realised this, adjusted their techniques accordingly, and prospered: others most certainly have not, then gone on to wonder bitterly why they managerially ?bombed? at that level.

Looking at sundry other matters arising from yesterday?s disaster, just like The Horse, I?m also left wondering as to whether or not we?ll ever see Tommy Gaardsoe perform in an Albion shirt again. If the answer to that should turn out to be ?no?, then what an appalling waste of potential talent that would turn out to be. Cast your minds back to the circumstances surrounding our second promotion to the top flight, and more specifically, who subsequently emerged as Albion?s true defensive saviour. That?s right, head and shoulders above everyone else, literally and metaphorically, Tommy Gaardsoe himself.

Now, cast your minds back once more, and try to recollect the heated discussions that took place among supporters around that time as to whom they thought most likely to successfully make the transition, in terms of ability, from the Nationwide to the Prem. That?s right, Tommy ?G?. I don?t think there was a single Baggie who seriously doubted his seeming aptitude for life at that level at the time ? as I recall, he won that season?s ?Player Of The Year? title in a walk, hence our Viking tribute theme at Reading come that last away game of 2003-04 - which is why his subsequent seeming inability to properly adjust was a complete mystery to this column, and, no doubt, to quite a few other Baggie people reading this as well.

The long and short of the matter is that life in the Prem has found him seriously wanting, defensively. Yesterday?s various clangers were a case in point; trouble out-jumping opponents, being forced into dispossession too easily, as per that first Fulham goal, and much more besides. On the positive side, he does seem to keep his head when others are quite clearly losing theirs out there, and skills are good, but in the Prem, is that enough? You have to be a little bit more mean and nasty than that to survive, and that?s very likely what?s let him down. In other words, it?s quite feasible he may simply be ?too nice? for defensive life at this level. No way of knowing Robbo?s real opinion, of course, apart from deductions made as a result of my own observations, but it wouldn?t surprise me one little bit to see the lad well and truly on his bike come the end of the current campaign. What a sad finish to what had been a truly promising Albion career.

And while we?re on the subject of underachieving Albion players, I see the Sunday Mercury have been well and truly raking the ordure with their comments in today?s edition about both Jason Koumas and Robert Earnshaw, and what both ex-players had to say about both the current Hawthorns managerial regime and the one that preceded it also. Not being someone who habitually picks up that paper on Sundays ? there are numerous excellent reasons for being a ?refusenik?, honest - I only discovered their article as a result of what The Fart said on the Boing mailing-list today, plus comments made by others, but having fully digested this topic by now, I really do think Koumas had a bit of a brass neck coming out with what he did concerning his time at the club.

Not wishing to heap coals of fire in the form of a libel writ about my head, I can only go into generalities, but let?s just confine what I do have to say to the general observation that Koumas?s social life was one of the worst-kept secrets in Midlands football, and leave it at that? And that not one, but two Albion managers felt it necessary to drop him from the side, both acting more or less independently of the other? As for his heated assertion that he and Megson were never at loggerheads, the sheer nerve of that statement simply beggars belief! The next time Cardiff are on the box, I really must watch so as to check whether or not the overall length of his nose has manifestly increased, a la Pinocchio!

As for Earnie, maybe his comparative youth is the real reason for such petulant behaviour towards his former club. I can?t help but harbour a gut feeling he?s been very badly advised by someone somewhere along the line. If he genuinely is of the belief that remaining at The Hawthorns significantly hampered his international career, then what a step backwards in the form of a transfer to Championship Norwich will do to help his cause, I?m at a complete loss to understand, right now. What with our temporary lack of firepower as a result of both Kanu and Joe Kamara going to the African Nations Cup recently, plus others being injured, Earnie had the perfect opportunity to impress his gaffer, and therefore gain a secure first team striking berth ? but he went and totally blew it instead, most notably versus Reading.

I can only go with what I myself have seen, and in the case of Earnie, it?s this: a volatile young man with undoubted ability, and a turn of speed that leaves most opponents trailing feebly in his wake, but sorely lacking in a decent first touch, a prime attribute for strikers wanting to succeed at our level. He also seems to lack sufficient composure to put away one-on-ones, not to mention half-chances. A little more assisting others in the team as and when necessary wouldn?t be a bad thing, either.

If only he could grow up a little, listen to good advice, act upon it, and stop moaning to the press, Earnie would probably rate among the best. The true hallmark of a great striker is turning half-chances into goals, when and wherever they may occur, learning from mistakes, and putting in serious time on the training-pitch in order to improve. The King and Bomber Brown had what it takes, Cyrille Regis also had it in heaps, and, more latterly, so did SuperBob. Earnshaw, in his current state of development, doesn?t. Oh ? and none of the illustrious predecessors mentioned above ever whinged like spoilt little brats the very first moment the nasty manager told them off, either.

And Finally?. Events at Craven Cottage yesterday seem to have got to The Fart in a big way. What do I find on the old mailing-list this evening, but song titles culled from West End musicals? Ooer, he?s well flipped his lid. Oh, soddit, working upon the sound principle of ?fighting fire with fire? I have managed to come up with a few of my own, so here goes:

?Somewhere Over The Rainbow?? That?s the probability of our local rivals getting out of the Championship and safely into the loving arms of The Prem once more. ?I Got Plenty Of Nuttin??? Same club, same supporters, about the same IQ. ?To Dream The Impossible Dream?? Seeing ourselves safely established at this level, and competing for decent players on a level platform once more. ?Some Enchanted Evening? is, of course, a musical prediction that one day, we?ll participate in an FA Cup replay away from home, and actually emerge triumphant, for once. By the same token, ?I?m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair? is precisely what a lank-locked Jonathan Greening is going to do regarding his recent well-documented Middlesbrough managerial comments! And, on that musically-dubious note, I bid you all farewell. Back with a bit of a round-up, probably come next Friday ? unless Albion do something somewhat sooner to warrant writing even more!

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index