The Diary

04 March 2006: Remembering A Needless Waste Of A Young Life

I refer to the absolute plethora of flowers, Albion scarves and replica shirts currently adorning those lamp-posts nearest to the pub; as I said, I hadn?t properly spotted them ? busy nattering to my other half, no doubt - but having been tipped off by my sister, I did take notice on our return journey ? and yes, the sheer number of floral tributes and otherwise left there was truly stunning. This, for one of Albion?s own employees, who met an untimely end early last Sunday morning, in what were, quite frankly, truly horrific circumstances. Scott Poll, age 17, who worked part-time for the club, was the reported victim of a so-called ?hit and run? accident last weekend. Apparently, Scott had just seen his own girlfriend safely into a taxi after leaving the pub (commonly known locally as ?The Jinglers?: older exiled Baggies might well remember the place themselves), when he was hit by what was reported to be a black cab. Poor Scott had been trying to hail one, apparently, at the time of the incident.

What made this even worse was the fact that not only did his friends witness what happened, they also saw the vehicle responsible carry on as if nothing had happened, then continue to drag the 17 year-old beneath its wheels as it did so. They screamed at the driver to stop, and frantically dialled 999 to inform the police, but to no avail. Scott?s body was later found near the Manor House restaurant in Hall Green Road, about a mile from where the accident occurred.

My sister had good reason indeed to comment; early that following Monday morning, she was taking young grandson Ethan to Charlemont Junior School, just a few yards further down the road, when she happened to notice the presence of an ITV camera team taking pictures of all the tributes left on the lamp-posts, and someone clearly being interviewed for the cameras: it was only when my sister asked the other mothers there what was going on, she finally learned of what had happened.

It being a black cab that had perpetrated the deed, I assumed it wouldn?t be too difficult a task to trace the driver, and so it proved to be: well, actually, the driver turned himself in after about 24 hours on the run, and very sensibly, too. He?s now been charged with manslaughter, so I can only assume that the matter will now grind its painful way towards an eventual Crown Court appearance for the chap that allegedly did it, and if found guilty of the offence, a lengthy custodial sentence. Personally, I can?t believe for one minute that the driver was totally unaware of what had happened, but there you go. Looking at the club?s website tonight, it?s been announced that in addition to the minute?s silence held for Peter Osgood this weekend, Scott?s memory will also be honoured in similar fashion. Quite right, too.

So, what of our prospects tomorrow, then? Realistically, I mean? Ooer ? you want my head or my heart to speak on my behalf, then? As Boro proved to the nation?s complete and utter astonishment the other week, it is possible to turn Chelski over and live to tell the tale, but I?m betting you anything you like the same won?t happen tomorrow. Or, put another way, ?won?t be permitted to happen?. What with those oh-so carefully wrapped around the neck scarves, superbly-tailored winter coats and everything, Mourhino might make like a complete and utter poser out there on the touchline most of the time, but he?s as sure as hell not a daft one; whatever it was that went wrong against Boro the other week won?t happen again ? of that you can be sure. Time to start one of those ?reverse sweeps?, I guess: first prize goes to the one who guesses correctly the time of the first goal ? in our own net! Sorry I can?t convey a much more positive message tonight, but I?m not just an Albion supporter, I?m very much a realist: the odds are very much on us getting hammered tomorrow, and there?s naff all you or I can say or do about it.

As far as the visitors are concerned, Frank Lampard will be sitting this one out: hamstring trouble, apparently. Right, then ? that?s one out for definite, so how can we then ensure the same applies to the twenty one or so other internationals ? or near-internationals ? they currently have on their books? The current Arctic conditions give rise to an absolute plethora of possibilities, of course (anyone at the club thought of soaking the half of the pitch nearest the away end in water the night before, then turning off the undersoil heating, so their warming-up period quickly gets to bear a distinct resemblance to the recent Olympic Ice-Skating Finals?) but as far as even more unorthodox methods are concerned, even the most obtuse and dimmest of referees would quickly spot the presence of a whole lorry-load of banana-skins casually strewn about that part of Halfords Lane where it?s anticipated their team coach will disgorge its human (and astronomically-expensive!) cargo.

Seriously, though, the other news from the Chelski camp (incidentally, I wonder if Abramovic will bring once more the absolute phalanx of ?minders? ? blessed with the anatomical proportions of the proverbial ?brick out-house?, all of ?em, apparently ? he did for the corresponding fixture last year?) is of French international defender William Galas, who knackered his knee in their recent European tie, being ?saved? for the second leg ? unexpected and intrusive visions just then of footballer, shut in high tower, yelling from the balcony, a la Rapunzel: ?Save me, save me!?.? ? so it?s not likely we?ll be ?blessed? with his talents, either. As for The Beautiful One, he?s swearing black?s blue he?ll be putting out his full side for this one, injuries previously mentioned notwithstanding, of course. Oh, dear ? this could end up embarrassing?.

As far as we?re concerned, well, we all know who?ll be definitely absent from the party ? our idiot friend Mister Quashie. You have to admit, it really takes a certain genius to turn a sending?off into something more serious by giving the fourth official a series of pointed suggestions regarding the very next place he should try and spend his holidays, not to mention the probable itinerary. Very balmy down there, apparently: mind you, despite the tropical ambience, they do say the room-service isn?t all that hot. Something to do with all those pointy-horned and fork-tailed Red Coats, so I?m told ? and a swift jab in the bum from one of those toasting-fork thingies they all carry isn?t exactly something done in true holiday spirit, is it, now?

Apart from someone who appears to be shaping up quite nicely as the next likely winner of the Fabien De Freitas Albion Players? Brains Trust Award, who else will be absent from morning-muster, I wonder? So far, the rest of the injury news seems quite positive, although with our favourite football club, you never quite know, do you? Steve Watson will be fully hale and hearty following his recent bodily woes, which can?t be bad, can it? Also, as Quashie is well and truly out of it, will Robbo go for Inamoto by way of replacement, I wonder? I certainly hope so ? next on the ?call-in? list is none other than Darren Carter ? tomorrow?s quick-step being hardly the ideal time or place for giving someone feeling badly any backlash from the crowd a game, I?d leave him out on ?own-protection? grounds alone. Other than that, it seems very much a case of ?as you were?.

I?m also left wondering whether or not our leader will go for pace, a la Ellington and Kanu, thereby leaving Kev Campbell freezing his naughty bits off on the bench. Incidentally, my big sister spotted Kanu walking in the vicinity of Scott Arms at around eleven o?clock in the morning the other day ? our training ground?s located about a mile away, of course - and clad in the biggest and warmest duffel-coat you ever did see in you entire life, apparently! And quite right, too: as countless Sixties Ban-The Bomb protest veterans will cheerfully tell you, there?s nothing quite like one for keeping out the cold on those long and chilly demos!

A shame it wasn?t a parka, though ? that would hand to me, on a plate, a super opportunity of taking the rip out of my Hereford-supporting ?other half?: despite many heated protestations to the contrary from him, I still maintain he was one of those junior Bulls supporters wearing a parka that day back in 1972 Ronnie Radford put that absolute screamer in the back of the Newcastle net! But, as you?ve seen, I?ve gone and done it anyway! Fair? Whoever was it said life was ever ?fair?? Certainly not me.

As I?m not exactly banking my entire lifetime stash on getting much change from tomorrow?s proceedings, I suppose it?s rather important afterwards to keep mental note of what Blues are up to at Boro. Despite beating us last week, The Smog Monsters can all-too easily slip back into relegation trouble again, so it?ll be very much in their best interests to try and bury Brucie-Baby?s Blues tomorrow. If that?s the case, if we do dip, as expected, the damage sustained will be relatively minor: the real decider comes when we play them next week, of course.

As the awful state of my back and the weather have both conspired to keep me very much at home over the past seven days, here?s some other sundry stuff you may- or may not ? want to read. That concerns the next four words I want to say tonight: ?in-laws? and ?holiday homes?. Oh, and should you care to chuck ?absolutely sodding barmy? into that little mix as well, I won?t dare complain, honest. The root of the problem lies in the fact that in complete defiance of all common sense, not to mention logic, mine have sallied forth into the frozen wilds of Herefordshire ? in nearby Shropshire it actually got as low as ?14 Centigrade last night - to stay there for several days and sort out ours: i.e. connecting various utilities up to their respective bits of plastic piping, getting the central heating going once more, all to make the place ready for much warmer climes. Said she, hopefully.

Don?t get me wrong, we?re very grateful indeed they don?t mind performing this tiresome yearly chore for us: as Norm?s a retired plumber, brickie, gas-fitter, etc. we know the place is in good hands. And being a former Army NCO as well, he?ll probably have the flower-beds presenting arms as we arrive, too, goddammit. As it hasn?t been occupied since the end of last November, even had distinct signs of blooming spring been percolating through the rock-hard garden soil by this time, and those birds and bees busily indulging in what they?re best at come the vernal equinox, I would still have considered it an unprecedented act of folly to open up this early ? but it isn?t, is it?

Spring, I mean ? it?s most certainly not springing, not the last time I looked, anyway. The forecast for the next five days or so tells of temperatures not likely to climb much above freezing by day, and very likely to cause many tintinnabulations of brass monkeys by hoar-frosty night. In other words, we?re now well and truly entering the realms of: ?Yow must be cowin? yampy, yow? ? but just you try conveying this message to either ?Im Indoors?s mum or her other half, and you?ll quickly find yourself getting precisely nowhere, not to mention completely losing the will to live while you?re at it.

The prime stumbling-block is childishly-easy to suss out, of course: stubborn pride rapping sharply upon the ill-defined bounds of masochism. You try telling them, as we did the other day, that both being in their seventies, neither of them are spring chickens any more, and a freezing cold place hardly the best remedy going for severe rheumatoid arthritis. The generation that routinely stood up to just about anything Herr Hitler could lob at it doesn?t back down all that easily in the face of a few mutinous flakes of snow, so it would seem. Or thinks it doesn?t.

Knowing the pair of ?em like I do, they?ll stoically freeze their knackers off for a few days, then come back, bragging loudly to the pair of us about how The Youth Of Today hasn?t got half the get-up-and-go they had at their age, when they had to endure constant air-raids, chronic fuel shortages, 60-hour days, and about the time they had to resort to eating the family cat because their fresh-meat ration (the size of a matchbox, and all to feed a family of fifty starving kids, all dressed in rags because their entire clothing ration went the same way as the nosh) had run out by the time Mum finally managed to spare a few seconds of her 5-minute lunch break to queue at the butchers.

Or Norm from heart-rending tales of repeatedly blagging ? or just plain nicking: by his own admission, the eleven-year-old Norm could easily outrun even the most fleet of foot Cook Sergeants they had, which considering the many culinary temptations inherent in their sweaty trade, wasn?t all that many - fresh fruit and veg from sundry American Army camp kitchens based in the Exeter region. How the hell that country?s economy stood up to the severe bashing it took at the lightning-swift hands of both father-in-law and his juvenile cronies, I?ll never know. And relating this, all this while not even beginning to notice the hypothermia creeping up on them insidiously all the while they?re still busy moaning their bleeding bag off!

It certainly came as quite a shock to me on Wednesday to hear of the untimely death of Peter Osgood, of Chelsea and England fame. Only six years older than me, too, much to my surprise, and very sudden, in a crematorium, no less: if, contrary to rumour, God does have a sense of humour, he?s certainly got a pretty warped way of showing it. I remember Osgood primarily because he was the one who just pipped The King to the honour of being Division One top goalscorer, back in 1970. Had the Cup Final not gone to a replay, then Albion?s finest son would have undoubtedly reaped joint laud and honour. Oh ? and they do share another thing in common: both scored in every round of the FA Cup, which makes them both members of a very exclusive club indeed. I also recall that they sometimes roomed together when on England duties, so I can only assume that?s yet another funeral for Laraine to go to ? and as mentioned earlier, another minute?s silence to be observed prior to tomorrow?s game.

I was also quite perplexed, not to mention saddened by one posting I saw on the mailing list the other night concerning Derek Kevan, and my request for supporters to send him birthday greetings (see below for details). The gist of the argument was that he wasn?t all that great anyway, never featured in any lists of ?great Albion players?, so why should we bother? Written by a younger follower, I?m sure: no ?veteran? would have dared say that.

A rather negative and narrow way of looking at our club, its former players, and its wonderful history, that. It's only by being conversant with the deeds of former players one can truly appreciate what a marvellous past our club does have. And what we most certainly don't have right now. OK, I only really saw one season of Derek in action for the club ? he was transferred to Crystal Palace shortly afterwards - he may not have featured in most 'best player' lists, and he didn't even get any silverware whilst at the club, but I can quite categorically assure everyone that Derek was truly one of the Albion 'greats'. 291 appearances for the club, and 173 goals - a ratio of just over a goal every two games - speak for themselves.

Oh - and the small matter of 14 England international caps; as any Albion supporter of 'mature years' will tell you, back then (and even now!) just getting the England selectors sufficiently excited enough by your performance to give you a try for just one international was an achievement in itself. The fact he got to play in 14 such games alone tells me that there was something about The Tank that served to lift him well above the masses of more ?ordinary? players at the club around at that time. Then, as now, both Birmingham and its Black Country environs were very much 'terra incognito' for these people. Speaking in terms of my own supporting life, The King only got five caps, all told, and Bomber Brown only one - ridiculous, as was the more recent serial omission from the side of Derek Statham, who kept losing out to Arsenal's Kenny Sansom time after time. Albion players have long suffered from this curious 'blindness' on the part of the England people, as, no doubt, they will continue to do in future. No, age doesn?t come into it: whether you?re young, old, whatever, get those bloody fingers hitting that keyboard NOW. Derek gave his all for this club when in his prime, and for that alone, we owe him such a lot: 173 goals scored for his beloved Baggies; let?s not forget that. Ever.

And Finally?. One. . As I was just saying above!?. Just a quick reminder that it?s still not to late to send birthday greetings to Derek ?The Tank? Kevan, terroriser-in-chief of opposing defences back in the late fifties/early sixties. All the details you?ll find in my last posting but one. Failing that, if you simply want to send an email wishing Derek all the best on his birthday, which is Monday next ? and I do know this column is read by an awful lot of veteran Baggies, most of whom were busy waving a rattle at The Hawthorns at a time when I was busy waving mine in a pram - heidi123@blueyonder.co.uk will get you to the man in possession of the original pictures of Mafeking getting relieved ? The Fart, who is suitably primed to hand over any messages received for the great man this Monday coming, and will be really tickled pink should he get even more over the course of the forthcoming weekend.

As for the picture I referred to, that?s the classic shot of The Fart himself, posing with General Kitchener, timely rescuer of that Boer-beleaguered city. Bit of a bad show, that, to wear your Albion scarf for the photo-shoot, though, wasn?t it, Tel? Not exactly British Army uniform, that: these modern-day soldiers, haven?t got a clue, have they? They?ll be wanting armour-plated horseless carriages to take them into battle next, not to mention rifles that automatically reload after firing ? honestly, some people don?t know they?re born!

Two? Oh, the joys of modern technology?..NOT! Being the good little Baggie that I am, and realising my TV licence was nearly up, instead of hoofing it straight to the Post Office to renew, as I normally would (the present ?orrible state of my back also played a significant part in my final decision), and having seen TV Licensing?s email service heavily featured on advertising hoardings innumerable in the area of late, I then decided, for once, to do the renewal online.

No problem whatsoever finding the necessary website, and very little at all following all the instructions on how to correctly fill in the form on screen, so once I?d done, it was with great confidence (and credit card details poised in readiness to actually do the deed) I pressed the ?Proceed? button at the bottom, the one that would push me onto the next step, actually paying for the bugger. Oh, whoops. Big mistake, that. No sooner had I clicked to do the necessary, my renewal was bunged straight back. How come? I hadn?t keyed in the correct expiry date for the old licence, apparently ? despite having taken said date directly from the reminder notice they?d sent me earlier that month. Some mishtake, shurely?

So, off I went again ? only to get the bum?s rush in precisely the same maddening manner. And there was sod all I could do about it ? no matter what I tried to get round the problem, keying in days and months the US way, reducing the year of expiry to two digits only, that sort of thing - their technology simply refused to let me get past Stage One because, as far as they were concerned, the info I?d given them was duff, despite the fact I knew for certain the expiry date I?d given them was the correct one ? after all, I?d only taken it straight from their very own bumf, hadn?t I?

Only one thing to do in those infuriating circumstances, chaps and chapesses ? admit defeat, ring their ?normal? payment line, and give them the necessary credit card details the ?old fashioned? way. Yes, I am now perfectly ?legal?, the little man taking my details has noted my complaint, and my new licence will be in my hot little hands within around 10 days, so I?m told ? but I can?t help but wonder what?s the point of taking such enormous time and trouble ? yes, and taxpayers? money, OUR money, mind - to set up and publicise a facility like that, when TV Licensing?s very own IT can?t even deliver what it says it?s supposed to do on the sodding tin? Grrrrrr.

Three?.And now for a ?quickie?. While we?re banging on about IT, and all station stops in between, many thanks to the (anonymous at own request) Baggie who?s offered to assist regarding whether or not my stilecard?s valid for the Chelski goal-fest ? theirs, that is, not ours! What I?m going to do is visit the ticket office very early tomorrow, and hope they can sort it for me then. Failing that, they?ll just have to take it off me, as they should have done in the first place. As long as they don?t refuse me entrance, of course: should that happen, they?re very likely to find out what a temper I have when suitably riled!

Four?. And an even quicker ?quickie?! Whist trolling around the various football websites for Chelski team news tonight, I happened to chance upon an ad from the Government that said (and I quote): ?In the event of terrorist attack, or other emergency, everyone should have a plan?..? If the definition of the phrase ?other emergency? happens to encompass ?ending up on the receiving end of a complete dicking from the Premiership leaders tomorrow lunchtime?, I know damn well what mine will be: sticking a paper bag over my head for the duration of the following week!

 - Glynis Wright

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