The Diary

13 March 2006: For The Want Of A Nail?......

Looking at the way things now stand from the feather-bedded vantage point of hindsight, I really do hope that all those wasted chances we had versus Blues yesterday don?t rebound something horrible on us come the end of the season. At least four such, there were ? and I?m not talking Alan Clarke-esque (younger Baggies - ask your granddad!) half-chances of ?sniffs? of chances, either. This is all about the kind that positively implore: ?Take me ? I?m yours!? as you give that last remaining defender the slip at last, then see the opposing keeper get his feet into a complete and utter mucking fuddle trying to impede your progress, and it?s only once you?ve overcome that little lot with the ball still at your feet, you then perceive the cavernous and newly-unoccupied netted area looming right in front of you to be very large indeed. That?s my personal definition of the word ?sitter?, and of all those Albion chances I saw gifted then completely and utterly stuffed up on the box yesterday, off the top of my head, I?d say that at least three of that four fell right into that category.

Let?s face it, versus Blues, we could (and should) have done far better than we eventually did. What do we want, for Heaven?s sake ? jam on it? They?re nothing particularly special at the back, are they? Put any sort of pressure on, and they react in similar fashion to a highly-strung female suddenly confronted with the sight of a small rodent scuttling across her kitchen floor. Particularly annoying, this ongoing problem of ours: had we managed to get more points on the board at the expense of sides such as Blues thus far this season, by now, we?d have been a mid-table side, or better, even. Left unaddressed, we?re now in grave danger of it sinking us, completely and utterly, but the transfer deadline having long-since come and gone, I genuinely can?t see an easy way out of it for us.

As I sit writing this piece tonight, I begin to note there?s an awfully loud rustling and clucking sound coming from the roof of our house: all those chickens coming home to roost, of course. Why am I not surprised? Above all, I find it quite ridiculous that we found ourselves in this barren strike situation long before the January transfer window opened, back in October and November. Back then, the main thing supporters were screaming for was a little extra firepower for the gun turrets. I can only assume that because we still had five or six alleged goalscorers on our books back then, very little was done to address the problem at that time. A bit short-sighted if correct, my hypothesis, because we?ve only recently got Koumas (loan to Cardiff), Earnie (Norwich) and The Horse (loan to Sheffield United, like Our Jase loaned out with a view to subsequent purchase) off our books. Well, it?s either that, or Robbo genuinely trying to draft in reinforcements/replacements, only for someone to belatedly discover that such potential targets were priced considerably higher than our budget was prepared to go at the time.

A false economy? Probably. Over the course of recent seasons, having seen lots of other ex-Nationwide clubs massively infected by the purulent fiscal boil calling itself the Premiership crash and burn in their own particular way ? Bradford, Barnsley, Swindon, with just a brief station-stop at poor doomed Sunderland and cash-strapped Leicester City, doing just for starters ? then I can readily understand our directors? continual reluctance to chuck heaps of good money straight after bad. That?s one good reason why we?ve now got a balance sheet that?s halfway solvent, and not bearing strong resemblance to something first picked up in the local joke shop ? and, if your sole reason for being in the game in the first place be fiscal prudence, having opted for both minimal risk and a continuance of the status quo, it?s then very likely you?ll stay content for years, of course, but very unlikely indeed you?ll still remain in the top flight.

Being no great admirer myself of people whose sole claim to fame seem to consist of having a swinging brick take up residence inside the pericardial sac, it does go a bit against the grain to say this, but sometimes there comes a time when it?s eminently sensible to simply adopt Steve The Miser-type tactics and hide the club?s biscuit-tin well beneath the mattress, but equally, there are many others where you find there?s no realistic alternative but to get from under, and start chucking some of it around. Had we done so back in January, and gone for someone (or more than one) with a more profligate striking CV, or, more pertinently, stumped up sufficient cash to satisfy their ?personal terms?, we might by now have found ourselves in mid-table, or possibly slightly better.

And we did get chances to sign people back then; it?s not for nothing our email incoming box got absolutely jammed with mail from supporters suggesting possible ? and genuinely realistic: despite what some in the game might think, most supporters do possess sufficient intelligence to appreciate the need for comparative restraint in this area - transfer targets around that time. So, my message is this ? if you do want to kick ass if and when we sink below the waves, don?t bother doing it to the bit-players in all this: I would put it that true responsibility lies fair and square at the feet of those currently calling all the tunes in Baggie-land.

It?s that time of the year, again. Nope, nothing to do with Council Tax assessments, or payments, just the urgent need to grab tickets for our forthcoming local derby against Villa, at Seal Park. As I belatedly discovered today, that fixture?s due to take place on my birthday, and at midday, too, so even had I wanted to celebrate my entry into the world with a combination of strong waters and syncopated rhythms, I wouldn?t have been able to anyway ? end of story. Some things are so vitally-important to one?s continued well-being, they transcend other happenings completely.

I do feel sorry for ?Im Indoors, though. Yep ? he had to queue for Villa tickets, and roughly for an hour and a half, too: once back, and in the warm once more, he did start to feel a little better about the whole thing, though. Having recently contracted some form of the dreaded lurgi, or something ? I blame my big sister, who recently caught some bug or other off my young great-nephew, then had to spend the next couple of days in bed - I didn?t keep him company out there, but hubby did assure me that what with just about everyone in Baggie-land wanting a piece of the Villa action, trade was pretty brisk. In all, it took the poor mite around 90 minutes to get those tickets slapped right into his little mitts, and every single one of them as Arctic-cold as a blast from the Urals. Some relief gained once inside the Ticket Office proper, but every time the door opened to let successful purchasers go, it didn?t half get a bit chilly around the gonads!

To keep him amused while he waited, my other half took with him a little quiz set by Herefordian tormentor-in-chief Nick Brade, whose capacity to both vex and infuriate with the printed word is easily the equal of Norm Bartlam?s for exceedingly-sick jokes delivered by word of mouth. I only caught a brief glimpse of it yesterday afternoon, during the interval at Edgar Street, but basically, what you have to do is suss out each and every one of the numerous fiendishly-obscure clues provided to figure out the names of several-score League (and, in some cases, non-league and foreign) grounds. To work out the identity of some, you need a pretty good handle on both British and international historical dates and events; for others, mere proficiency with the Times crossword will serve as an adequate substitute. It really is a stinker of a cryptic quiz, and believe you me, I?ve participated in a fair few in my time over the years.

Naturally, as ?Im Indoors stood there wrestling with the clues, and finding it impossible to make much progress, other Baggies we know from away trips standing in close proximity ? Fred Carter, he of the ongoing struggle to kick the dreaded weed being just one ? all decided to come in on the act as well, which meant about 25% actually done and dusted at the time of writing. It?s all in aid of a good cause, mind: Hereford United Supporters? Association, a body that?s very much in synchrony with the parent football club in their mutual struggle to get back into the league after spending so long out of it.

Back next Friday, by which time every single remaining pathogen should have well and truly had their notice to quit from the council. Oooh, and it?s Man United in prospect, too. Lovely ? having not so long ago endured the arrogance of Chelski, we now have to put up with that of Bryan Robson?s former mentor instead. Any advance on holding up the second half for a good four minutes, then having one of your finest give a BAFTA-winning performance, Sir Alex?

And finally?.. Now here?s a nice little poser for you lot. The moral dilemmas involved make that most hoary and problematic of ethical situations, viz: ?Who Gets To Use The Kidney Machine?? a mere bagatelle by comparison, so cop a load of this! Back in the Championship, we currently have the distinct possibility of our old mate Neil Warnock finally making it to the Promised Land. But there are clouds on his horizon; indifferent form of late has seen Sheffield United?s safety-margin whittled down to next-to-nothing, comparatively speaking. Both Leeds and Watford, neither of whom want to dip out on a promotion shot via the main chance either, are pushing like stink to chase them all the way, and hopefully precipitate a Dingles-type collapse whilst doing it.

Meanwhile, down in the lower reaches of the play-off positions, we have, lurking like a U-boat waiting for a nice fat oil tanker to cross his periscope sights ? yep, you?ve guessed right - our old chums The Dingles. Having embarked upon a bit of a decent run recently, and at totally the wrong time from an Albion supporters? point of view, it could well be they?ll embark upon the rocky road that leads to Cardiff come the end of term ? and that?s where my dilemma comes in.

Finding both equally obnoxious, do I plump for Warnock finally winning out and getting automatic promotion, or do I merely smile a little should Hoddle?s mob seize the day, then emerge triumphant? A bit like trying to choose between Hitler and Stalin?s governance of their respective countries, isn?t it? Or comparing George Bush with Margaret Thatcher. Either way, should we somehow manage to win a stay of Premiership execution, that?s sure as hell one fixture next season we?ll need body armour for!

 - Glynis Wright

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