The Diary

20 March 2006: Albion - An Inexorable Downwards Slide?

I suppose that having been a Baggie for so long, and seen so many disasters of varying magnitude befall the club along the way, I?d have thought my immune system would be particularly well-attuned to yet another dank and dismal display like the one we saw yesterday ? but it ain?t. Profound rejection symptoms are now beginning to set in, and I?m not the only one by any means, as those of you who subscribe to this site?s mailing-list will readily confirm.

Although our current plight is far less serious than the one that threatened our top-flight status just twelve months ago, I now harbour a feeling of increasing unease much more profound than ever before. Last season, despite our parlous Premiership position, there was a defiant spirit about the entire place ? directors, players, supporters, the whole whack, and the fundamental reason why Albion?s ?Great Escape? concept was so successful in the first place ? that seems to be horribly absent right now. Disillusioned followers paying out-of-this-world ticket prices to watch performers earning telephone-number salaries fail miserably. Add to that coaching staff completely unable to not only recognise fundamental team-selection errors the moment they first go pear-shaped, they then compound the magnitude of the original mistake by doing precisely the same thing the very next time they play competitively.

Incredible, isn?t it? In the space of just twelve short months, we?ve gone from a straight yet morally-sound standpoint of ?us against the rest of the world? to that of ?we?re going down for sure, and because of what I?m watching week in, week out, I simply can?t be arsed to care any more.? Not a bad achievement, that, a reversal of popular opinion even faster than that achieved in this country when Hitler?s Germany turned on, then invaded, another lot of all-time baddies with whom they?d already signed a love-pact, Stalin?s Russia.

One of the quickest changes of political stance ever witnessed, that. Uncle Joe enjoying top-billing as the bloke most likely to be the devil?s spawn one minute, the next he?s being transformed by the spin-merchants ? yes, although they weren?t known as such at the time, they certainly existed back then - into ?gutsy leader of a country that refused point-blank to yield to German aggression?. Then-BBC employee George Orwell probably used that audacious governmental use of ?reverse gear? as background material for one of his most famous works, 1984 ? check out the bits concerning Oceania being alternately at war, then peace, with the other two rival totalitarian superpowers, and quite happily switching from one state to the other within a matter of minutes - but the point I?m making now is that in football today, current underlying morals are no better than those of Winston Churchill back in the summer of 1941.

Thinking back to yesterday?s performance, it was managerial intransigence that struck me as being almost wholly responsible for what subsequently happened. Memo to Bryan Robson: Sticking your fastest forward on the pitch in combo with your most talented isn?t a party trick meant solely for those vexing occasions when you need to chase a game. Just in case you weren?t aware, it?s perfectly street-legal to deploy the pair of them out there and well up front right from the kick-off! At the very least, why the hell we didn?t change it as soon as we realised we?d be chasing the game, is simply beyond me. Of one thing I?m sure, though: should our leader not pair up The Duke and Kanu in our initial strikeforce at White Hart Lane next Monday, then it?ll be a case of ?ructions guaranteed? the very next time we play at home. Which will be Liverpool. How nice.

And while we?re contemplating the Byzantine mental processes of our manager this wonderful evening, it might inadvertently reveal a spirit of magnanimity commensurate with that surrounding Christian martyrs and those of similar self-sacrificing personality, but I would have hoped, at the very least, he might have intimated that Pardew fielding a similarly-dilute outfit when we come to play them at our place come the end of April would undoubtedly go some way towards The Hammers making amends for dropping us in it in the first place.

Bearing that in mind, perhaps their club title should now read: West ?We?re-all-right-Jack-take-the-ladder-away? Ham United? Their almighty tearing of the arse from out of whatever remaining moral scruples those involved in the beautiful game at this level still publicly espouse ? Bobby Moore is probably spinning in his grave a deal faster than Tony Blair?s Press Officer right now at the very thought - will do for starters. They?re not in any relegation danger, they?re currently onto a nice little earner with that protracted FA Cup run of theirs ? and we most certainly are. Not involved in the Cup I mean; as for the other matter, for the first time ever since the New Year, I now genuinely fear the worst.

Regarding the dangerously-lax moral climate within the game that permits this sort of blatantly-cavalier attitude towards the rules to happen in the first place, before the entire game ends up even more consumed and corrupted than it ever was before, someone has got to step in and put a stop to all that ?grey-area? skullduggery ? and quick. You either quite blatantly tinker around with your squad every time an FA Cup game comes up, and with automatic official blessing, or you don?t, by order, with the prospect of having your fingernails pulled out without anaesthetic by way of mandatory penalty. And no exceptions, whatever the circumstances. Ever. At least everyone would know where they stood. Oh ? and the FA not displaying the IQ of a Dingle by making clubs play Round Six in the week, and their normal League fixtures in their normal Saturday slot, would nip that sort of sharp practice well and truly in the bud. As would threatening to come down on offenders like a ton of bricks.

It?s a credibility issue, basically. Unless checked, and soon, what we?ve seen happen this weekend will undoubtedly constitute the thin end of the wedge. Warp the rules so blatantly for one side, allow such dodgy practices to go through on a sly nod and a quick wink for the benefit of those involved ? the FA, when overseeing the gradual decline and demise of what used to be known as ?sporting behaviour?, are also complicit - and the seeds for subsequent disaster are well and truly sown. Before you even know it, the old order has lost credibility, completely and utterly. Not to mention irretrievably.

And not just in football, either; it?s the British public?s perception of those appointed to high office to be both independent and incorruptible that so wonderfully underpins the fabric of our modern society. Dig out a posse of rogue judges here, bent council leaders aplenty there, plus a sprinkling of very senior corrupted coppers, and all quite blatantly ?open to (even more) offers?, shall we say, and ?Bingo?! There you have it - a sure-fire recipe for complete anarchy and/or serious civil unrest. Sorry, FA, not to mention those who can?t or won?t accept West Ham-type tactics to be the pernicious sort that will eventually see the game reduced to little more than that of a third-rate circus side-show, but you really do have the makings of a knotty problem out there, still.

Back later in the week, with thoughts about our Tottingham trip next Monday. Hopefully, by then, my mood will have improved considerably. Let?s face it, it couldn?t get much worse. Er, could it?

And Finally?. Not quite Albion-related, but it does ?have its moments?, shall we say. Last Saturday night, having been made thoroughly-depressed on account of our dire performance just hours previously, I decided to listen to music that in part reflected my mood that night. Seventies ?folk-rock? as churned out by performers like Steeleye Span, anyone?

It having been so long since I?d last picked up anything done by the aforementioned band, once it started to play, the entire album very much took on a ?voyage of re-discovery? mantle. Before I knew it, all cares were banished as I joined in with singer Maddy Prior?s lusty rendition of ?Hard Times Of Old England? a traditional ditty that gave them a minor chart hit back in the mid-seventies.

But I wasn?t the only one highly-appreciative of the song?s musical content. No sooner had I commenced joining in, up jumped my black cat, Cyrille, howling piteously. At first I failed to make the connection, but within a matter of seconds I was provided with incontrovertible evidence of the link between the two events: every time I opened my mouth in order to bravely attempt to emulate their lead singer?s magnificent vocal range, there was the cat, not just howling, but licking my face furiously as well. As far as I was concerned, all I was doing was warbling along ? very badly, but loudly - to a favourite I hadn?t played in yonks, but as far as my cat was concerned, I was another feline howling in mortal pain! A bad case of ?In felis veritas?, I wonder?

Quite ridiculous, of course, but ? er ? hang on a minute! On reflection, and following all that mental torment caused by yesterday?s game, I think the cat might have had a point after all!

 - Glynis Wright

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