The Diary

11 March 2006: Mourhino Woe, And A Blues No-Show.

As the Blessed Leaderene said the night Her Boys took South Georgia back in 1982: ?Rejoice, rejoice!??? Not because of any more Blair-inspired military adventures in faraway places, simply because of last Tuesday night, when Barcelona beat Chelsea at their place, a joyous event which must surely must have taught our old chum Mourhino not to fart in church any more? That was the first decent bit of news: well, after all, by crashing out of the Champions League, it?s hit them where they most understand it, in the wallet. Good.

But that wasn?t the only reason why our house really rocked to the sound of people making merry that evening, and why our new neighbours must think by now we?re a bit of a ?Care In The Community? kind of thing, but very badly supervised by Social Services. It?s all down to ?Im Indoors?s ?other lot?, Hereford, who went to Gravesend that night, and after falling behind and having a man sent off, they emerged eventual winners, the coup de grace being administered by a 19 year old kid, who was only drafted into the side following an injury and suspensions crisis. Too late to do anything about the top side, Accrington, who, with a 16-point start on The Bulls, are current runaway leaders, of course, but given Hereford are in second place, most certainly not doing their play-off prospects any harm at all. Third time lucky for Tucka Trewick, and his Merry Former Baggies Men? Tam Mkandawire, Danny Carey-Bertram, not forgetting ex-Baggie Stacey Caldicott, too? Watch this space.

At least there?s one little piece of good news after last Saturday?s farcical events. The FA have said they won?t be charging Albion with bringing the game into disrepute, which will come as something of a relief to our lot, I would think. Mind you, there still remains the vexing question of what the referee had to say about the conduct of individual players ? which is fair enough, I suppose: a couple of ours weren?t entirely free of blame for what subsequently took place. Oh ? and Chelski have appealed against the sending-off, would you believe?

Talk about brass-necked behaviour. Sure, I know even Robbo didn?t initially think the incident warranted a red card ? an opinion he?s reportedly revised since, following a further look at the incident on video - but I was always led to believe that if someone went for an opponent with both feet and studs showing, then he was bang to rights ? instant red card, no messing. Remember Derek McInnes at Old Trafford, back in August 2002? He saw red that sultry-hot day, and for precisely the same offence. Bearing that in mind, as far as I?m concerned, if Mourhino?s mob do get away with it, then I really will know who (what?) calls the tune in the Premiership. Not a comforting thought at all, that.

With the only opposing manager to date ever coming in the slightest bit close to what happened on Saturday being Neil Warnock, when you consider what stunts he pulled to try to get a game stopped, you have to remember that being a Sheffield United supporter who actually got to see his wet dream come true, at least you know he basically cares, and unlike some gaffers I could name, very much wears his heart on his sleeve. That's why he went way over the top that day - pride, passion, albeit badly misguided, and that's why I can live with his sort of action, just about. Just what can you say about Mourhino that even goes a little bit of the way towards justifying what he did? Oh well ? I suppose his mother loves him. So rumour has it.

That?s all I propose saying about the Cretinous One tonight ? I reckon just about every Baggie in creation?s got my drift by now ? so, our ?starter? dispensed with, on to tonight?s ?main course?, then - Blues, The Universe And Everything. Just so we don?t end up misunderstanding one another right from the start, I?ll just get my retaliation in quick by confessing I won?t be at tomorrow?s game. There ? I?ve said it. I. Won?t. Be. Going. Before you apply digit to keyboard in an angry: ?Call-yourself-an-Albion-supporter-not-going- to-tomorrow?s-game ? how-dare-you-even-try-and-criticise-what you-can?t-even-be-sufficiently-arsed-to-watch? outburst of verbal diarrhoea, let me first acquaint you with the overall background to what must seem a pretty startling decision on my part.

Firstly, it?s not because ?Im Indoors isn?t going either. My other half may do a lot of things in tandem, but I can categorically assure each and every one of you that he doesn?t own me body and soul. As away travel ?regulars will tell you, I have been going to quite a few off my own bat of late, ?Im Indoors having developed severe ?refusenik? tendencies of his own much earlier on in the current season. My last one was the six-goal Craven Cottage thrashing, which didn?t exactly sharpen my enthusiasm for away travel: that?s one reason, the remote likelihood of coming away from tomorrow?s game feeling I?ve witnessed something really entertaining being another. No, the absolute clincher was purely financial, and concerned cash-flow. Birmingham City?s, that is, not mine. For them to charge thirty five quid just to sit in an away end that should have seen the demolition expert?s ball and chain years ago, then watch an hour and a half that will probably bear about as much relationship to the beautiful game as a gang of Irish navvies playing kickabout on a city centre building site is a downright cheek. I refuse to acquiesce to such legalised robbery-with-violence, so I?m not going to do it. Period.

Now for another chance to scream ?heresy ? where?s the Spanish Inquisition when you need ?em?? at this column. Instead, I?ll be accompanying my other half to Edgar Street, to watch their second-versus-first clash with Accrington, the Conference leaders. Given the visitors are currently 15 or 16 points ahead of the pack, and, barring a sudden collapse of almost Dingle-esque proportions, they?re almost certain to be playing in the Football League next term, so it?s not exactly a ?cliff-hanger?. No, the outcome will be purely academic (although second-placed Hereford wouldn?t mind grabbing the psychological advantage for themselves, I daresay), but when it comes to a straight choice between an outlay of ?35 and one of ?13, then pecuniary pragmatism, not what amounts to daylight robbery, rules OK, for me. OK?

Not that I won?t be taking a keen interest in what develops at St. Andrews, of course. Our in-car radio will most certainly be pressed into service en-route, and no-one will be more delighted than the pair of us should we actually manage to wrest three vital Premiership points from the buggers. The stakes are large: win, and we put six points between us and them. Lose, and they draw level, with a game in hand on us, and the clock remorselessly ticking off the minutes and seconds left to zero. ?More cards than goals?? You hum it, I?ll play it. For the sake of those actually present, I really do hope that we try and be a little more adventurous away from home than we normally do. Or, because of the sheer enormity of problems defeat could mean to either club, will the outcome simply be a stultifying and sterile nil-nil, I wonder? A state of affairs that would leave things very much as they were before the kick-off, certainly, but for ?35 squid?s worth of outlay, you really would expect to see something of a much higher standard, wouldn?t you?

It almost goes without saying, of course, that much will depend upon whom Robbo actually chooses to start the game. And Steve Bruce, of course. Once more, it looks very much as though we?ll be without Zoltan Gera. Just what is going on with that groin injury of his, I wonder? Shouldn?t we be expecting to see him on the sub?s bench, at least, by now? Apparently, he did 45 minutes for the reserves in midweek, but no more ? and now it?s being called a ?pelvic problem?, not one strictly appertaining to the groin. As for the other ?absentee?, the elegant, lovely - and suspended, for a very long time indeed - Mister Quashie, ?nuff said.

As far as the rest of tomorrow?s cast-list go, though, everything else should be much as we expected ? bar what appears to be a small selection poser on the part of our gaffer. Does he go with Inamoto in the middle, or chuck in Darren Carter instead? Sure, he?s not exactly The Brummie?s darling right now, but he does owe us several, and being a former Bluenose, St. Andrews might just be the dose of salts he needs to turn it on to our advantage. On the other hand, he could well crash and burn in spectacular fashion ? and let?s face it, his stock with our supporters simply couldn?t get much lower, right now, without splitting the blanket completely by erroneously handing the three points to his former mob on a plate.

Blues? From what I?ve seen, their treatment room must currently bear a strong resemblance to the set of ?Casualty?. Muzzy Izzet, Matthew Upson and Kenny Cunningham are all struggling to get fit for this one, so scuttlebutt has it. Izzet has a calf injury and is touch and go for the game, while Upson and Cunningham both have groin injuries and could also miss the game. According to tonight?s blurb, Upson has had an injection to speed up his recovery in the hope he?ll be able to go to the ball after all ? pain being Nature?s way of warning you not to exert an injured part excessively, I?m not altogether sure that?s a wise thing for them to do, but having said all that, it?s very much their problem, not ours! - and Steve Bruce will check on the fitness of all three players before naming his ?bestest? squad. The lad Sutton also has a groin problem, and Brucie-babes is keen to have him fit and raring to go; they, like us, have ?goalmouth-phobia? coupled with ?goal-starvation?, the malady a nice cup of Horlicks most certainly won?t cure (ask your dad!). They need a healthier goal difference just as badly as we do. Martin Latka is also in the wars, suffering with a shin problem, apparently, but should be OK come the morrow.

Whatever does happen tomorrow, I can only hope that things don?t even begin to get half as acrimonious for our leader as they were during the corresponding fixture last season. As those who attended that one might recall, so badly were we stomped upon by Brucie?s mob that afternoon, our gaffer ended up getting abuse hurled at him in true ?French Revolutionary? style ? even to the point of some naughty people actively chanting for our former leader to reincarnate himself in the away dug-out. So nasty did the situation get, at one point, I fully expected to see the speedy appearance of a tumbrel on the pitch to cart Robbo away for a pressing appointment with Madame Guillotine. No Madame Defarge look-alike knitting away that day, though ? unless you want to reserve that role for Karen Brady, of course. My forecast? I?m going for the draw, with or without goalmouth action included.

Now here?s a nice idea for a quiet night in ? howzabout spending it watching a Cyrille Regis video? That?s precisely what we did last Monday night, as part of our ongoing book research ? and what a pleasant yet poignant trip down Memory Lane that proved to be. Watching the games, all those wonderful Regis goals, once more, although while viewing, above everything else, I was struck by one particular thought. Just what quirk of DNA, what random combinations of those vital four letters in the genetic code is it, that so wonderfully conspires to turn an amiable electrician with both a Gallic name and the build of a boxer into a serial destroyer of opposing defences the length and breadth of the entire country?

Such a seemingly-intricate yet commonplace sub-microscopic phenomenon, that, the constant reproductive ?zipping? and ?unzipping? of that famous ?double helix?, and yet despite seeming so outwardly complicated, it?s really something easily translatable into not just Auntie Flo?s Concorde-esque nose, or your family?s trademark ginger hair and freckles, but precious talents also. That?s why such a fortuitous combo of just four magic letters (signifying the four ?nitrogenous bases? that do the actual ?one-armed-bandit-hitting the jackpot?-ish genetic bits when it comes to making sprogs) can also translate into a truly wonderful ability to shake off defenders as if they simply weren?t there, coupled with an exciting rippling of ebon torso and upper thigh muscles signifying the start of a powerful run into the eighteen-yard area. Marvellous.

All that, plus a simultaneous tight turn in one easy but balletic movement, leaving any close markers for dead, then a ninety degree swivel on the hips to make sufficient space, finally letting go with an absolute rocket of a shot ? an instantaneous explosion of thigh-muscles, its sheer power imparting to the ball a velocity giving the poor opposing keeper absolutely no chance whatsoever 95 per cent of the time. That description, in a nutshell, pretty much encapsulated Cyrille?s astonishing predatory prowess, back in the late 1970?s and early eighties: how much ?caught?, and how much actually ?taught?, I wonder? Crack that one, and there?s very likely a Nobel prize in it for somebody. Well, either that, or an Albion season-ticket!

Come Wednesday, it was back to the solid grind of dipping into all those wonderful local newspaper archives down in Smethwick library. With an experimental cushion to stop my back giving me any more gyp ? and no, it didn?t work. Sorry. I?m checking out the 1935 FA Cup Final right now, the one where we played Sheffield Wednesday, the score being 2-2 with three minutes to go to the final whistle and extra-time ? only for Wednesday to quickly break every Baggie heart at Wembley by getting two more in rapid succession. Not a good time to be a supporter, that.

That was one thing, but what struck me far more was the peculiar sense of journalistic priorities they had back in those days. Take the local coverage of the event: how many of you would expect to find more in your local rag about the dinner held on the evening of the game (Albion invited just about every prominent citizen and minor celebrity in the borough to attend), than the entire ninety minutes they?d not long finished playing on the park at Wembley?

Oh ? and just one other thought. Former players and club officials are one thing, but those apart, never, ever do I want to see again a blow-by-blow account of not only who attended this thrash (coupled with a detailed listing of precisely who toasted who ? no innuendo, please, this isn?t that sort of a diary!), but every word, every subtle nuance, even, of just about every speech made by a load of pompous old Town Hall twits and their various acolytes and hangers-on that night! A page or three?s worth of reading such stuff, and I rapidly gave up the will to live!

This is the point at which I?ll let The Fart loose in my piece. I?m sure that having said what he?s going to say, he?ll then leave this bit of my diary really nice and tidy for the next occupant ? our ancient chum is an absolute whiz at cleaning things, honest! As you may remember, last week, with Derek ?The Tank? Kevan?s birthday coming up, I asked those Baggies who remembered him playing ? also those who were just a microscopic part of their mum?s reproductive system at the time, but having heard of the legend via their grandparents or similar, wishing to come in on the act also ? to send via our Methuselah stand-in some suitable messages. So, without further ado ? take it away, El Tel!

?Just to let you know that Derek Kevan was thrilled with the cards and messages he received courtesy of the Boing and Rivals lists. He was delighted that so many fans still remembered, and the look on his face as he read the comments was a picture! Some great tributes. Lovely 'footie' cards, recalling his time at the Hawthorns WERE REALLY APPRECIATED.

?We chatted over 'old times' (but he's still younger than me!), and when he saw me wearing the famous Albion shirt of the 50's he kept saying: " I can't help looking at that shirt!" His wife, Connie, bought along one of his England International caps for photographic purposes, and I took a variety of old fashioned snaps (no modern-day Digital technology for me) proudly holding the shirt/cap/cards. etc.

?So if anyone who sent a card or message wants a copy to remember a familiar face, let me know. And yes, that includes you far-flung Baggies who live in places such as Australia, Japan, Thailand, USA - and Smethwick! The last named is, of course, my quirky sense of humour coming to the fore!

?They wouldn't be duplicate copies, but photocopies. Nevertheless, as I frequently adapt this cheaper method for my own 'star' collection, not all sports personalities, the quality of them is invariably very good.

?Naturally you'll have to contact me 'off list' - heidi123@blueyonder.co.uk gets you to me - to give me your Postal Address (does anyone else out there still write letters apart from me?)

?While we there, a couple of Villa fans wished us all the best for Saturday, they're desperate to see the Blues relegated, while one of them was so amazed at the 'Tank?s' presence that he tried to ring one of his Albion mates who is apparently covered in Albion Tattoos!. He was mortified that his mate was on 'Answerphone'. Thus denying him the chance to speak to a Baggies Legend direct. But he said he couldn't wait to tell him! Thanks also those of you who kindly inserted cards thanking me for 'organising' the opportunity to be remembered to Derek. They were very much appreciated... so thanks to Chris Flanagan and Robin Martin.?

And Finally??One. Be afraid. Very afraid. After almost an entire lifetime?s steadfast refusal to acknowledge the gradual encroachment of the microchip into his day-to-day existence ? and complete rejection of almost every county and local authority boundary change since 1974, which is why anyone living in Sandwell will receive correspondence from him addressed ?West Bromwich, Staffs? - but that?s another story! ? former GD co-editor Steve Carr, ?The Meanest Man In West Bromwich?, has gone all hi-tech on us, all of a sudden. In other words, having bowed to the inevitable, recently, and gone on the internet, he?s now taken modernisation moves that one step further by starting to flog stuff on Ebay.

That might not sound like much in the way of progress to you lot out there, but knowing Steve The Miser as I do, as far as he?s concerned, it really is the equivalent of Tony Blair going on TV and confessing to the entire nation that yes, maybe he should have listened to the electorate, not George Bush, and told the latter precisely where to go the minute he first suggested jointly invading Iraq. And he?s really, really sorry. Honest. And how can we ever possibly forgive him for listening to Idiot Features, not his own countrymen, so where?s the birch twigs, so he can repent by continually whacking himself with them during the hours of daylight? But, Steve being Steve, he can?t entirely eradicate the frugal habits of a lifetime: prior to putting things on that website to sell, he takes pictures of them. Normal for eBay? Certainly. Using young David?s digital camera? Now come on, give us a break ? you didn?t really expect him to spend his hard-earned money buying one of his own, did you?

Two?. Now I know even the Beeb have some well-developed chuckle muscles. On last Monday?s Midlands Today, when their sports presenter launched into his customary round-up of all the footie action in the region, he eventually reached The Dingles, fresh from their bore-draw with Stoke ? so soporific was the fare on offer, apparently, when announcing the result, and offering to show ?highlights?, all the viewer got to see was a blank, black screen, with the Wolves badge superimposed upon it, and spinning slowly. Soporifically slowly.

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index