The Diary

25 March 2006: The Blunderful World Of Bluenoses!

?Here we are again/happy as can be/All good pals and jolly good companee!?.? Yes, yet another so-called ?uplifting ditty?, this one dating right back to the jobless Thirties ? and heaven alone knows how much Black Country people needed a therapeutic dose of ?cheering up? back then. I?m penning this on the back of watching, at least in part, that First Division (or whoever?s turn it is to sponsor the blasted thing this month!) Burnley-Norwich encounter on Sky. At the time of writing, Burnley were coasting to an easy 2-0 home win; if the result stood, then I guess it won?t half put a big dent into the Canaries? hopes of making the play-offs this year.

Not that the game was much of a spectacle to watch, mind. Having done what they had to, all the home side seemed to desire was finishing the game ahead of their rivals, whose ?main armament? seemed curiously sluggish tonight. Having said all that, there was quite a bit of an Albion interest surrounding both sides. The Beast, of course, James O?Connor, Earnie ? plus, and a real surprise for me, this one ? Frank Sinclair, the former Chelski wunderkind, loaned out to us when we were in Division Three, some 15 seasons ago. As you may recall, his neophyte Albion career came to a juddering halt at Exeter City the day he decided that even making slight contact with the ref?s black-clad body after a decision had gone against him was both big and clever. Personally, at the time, I?d thought the match official responsible had gilded the lily a bit that day, but at the subsequent disciplinary hearing, the FA thought quite different. Having been to bed since then, I can?t rightly remember the length of the original ban, but suffice to say, once he?d blotted his copybook in that career-stopping manner, both Sinclair and The Baggies were soon parted.

Earnie? From what I saw of tonight?s game, he might just as well not have been there, for all the good he was up front. You know, the more I think about the circumstances surrounding that transfer, the more I?m convinced that in this instance, Earnie was very badly advised indeed. To go from a club where he was getting Premiership football, albeit via the subs bench, and straight to one not even looking likely to get into the play-offs, and the prospect receding even more with every successive duff game they have, looks like a pretty bad career move to me. Oh dear, Earnie ? what have you done?

It was during a break in play that the cameras cut to one Delia Smith, effective owner of the Canaries. I would imagine she?s not in the very best of tempers right now, having seen the public health inspectors come forth with some very damning criticism of her Carrow Road catering operation this week. Not the ?posh? end of the market, apparently, just the sector you and I use on matchdays. Oh, whoops. Had their ?pleb-class? catering been franchised out, like most is these days, it wouldn?t have mattered a flying fornication, but given Delia has nailed her colours well and truly to the mast on pretty much everything to do with matchday munching there, it?ll now be largely down to her to pick up the pieces.

Remember my report for the Man United game, and my other half?s puzzlement about what it was the United mob were actually singing? Let me remind you: ?Simon, on hearing the true extent of their collective lung-power for a very long time indeed: ?They sound as though they?re singing ?Jersey mids? up there!?. ?Naw,? said the chap on ?Im Indoor?s left. ?it?s ?thirty years? they?re going on about!? Aha! Now ?Im Indoors could hear for himself what they were on about ? but, as he so plainly lamented afterwards, now the game was over, could someone please explain the precise significance of that phrase??

Hooray for Diary reader David Neale! He tells me that the aforementioned chant refers to the thirty years since Manchester City last won major silverware of any description. Cheers for clearing that Man United chant query up for me, mate. ?Thirty years?? I'm still at a total loss to see what connection that had with our game, mind - but if it's all the same to you, I really do prefer my other half's "Jersey Mids" explanation! Well, at least it got me giggling on a day when rapid descent downstairs, followed by a therapeutic and cathartic bang of one's head on the brickwork, seemed a much better way of relieving seriously pent-up feelings of profound frustration!

So what else have we been up to this week, then? After all the furore over Pompey, and their recent morally-deficient triumph at our expense at Upton Park, it seemed only fair to watch the second half of the Man City-West Ham 6th round tie the other night. City shot themselves well and truly in the foot, though. Their lad Sun Jihai was a little short in the old grey-matter department to whack that West Ham lad, despite having been seriously impeded by him, and on the blind side of both officials, it would seem. Cracking goal by City that brought them back into it for that last nail-biting 15 minutes or so, though. The only snag was that just like us, City have serious (but temporary, in their case!) deficiencies in the goalscoring department, so despite all their huffin? and a-puffin? both in midfield and along the flanks, there was sod-all they could do to prevent The Hammers from having their night of glory.

And while we?re on the subject of those FA Cup quarter-finals, last Tuesday night, just how many of you, like me, sniggered loudly at the Blues-Liverpool result? A 7-0 home defeat is a complete and utter stonking, by anyone?s lights. I suppose I should still be having a bloody good laugh about it myself, but the fact we're due to play the Scouse persuasion at our place on, appropriately enough, the first of April, does tend to put a complete dampener on such gratuitous displays of schadenfreude! If that's what they can do to Blues without really trying, just what the hell are they going to do to us?

After such a comprehensive whopping, it?s no real surprise to learn that Brucie is now seriously fearing for his job, is it? Never mind the Premiership position, and all that side of it, the bottom line has to be his lot seriously embarrassed both the Sullivans and the Gold chappies the other night, and it?s because of that, he won?t be readily forgiven, I?ll wager. (Never mind the fact David Sullivan made his moolah in ways that would completely embarrass the likes of you or I if asked, it?s Blues that are the embarrassment right now!).

?Tis true we?re all getting very close to the end of the road, now, the Small Heath persuasion included, therefore it might behove their board well to leave things just as they are for the moment, but should Blues and their fortunes (the moral of the story really has to be ?never upset a Gypsy?, however many years ago it might have been since you last did!) continue to decline over the course of the next few weeks, then Brucie might well be waving ?bye-bye? to St. Andrews far quicker than we first thought.

Should Blues choose to give their leader the bum?s rush at this late stage in the game, would that necessarily constitute a help, not a hindrance, to the chances of our lot managing to pull out of the drop-zone in time? True, a radical change in leadership at this late stage of the season wouldn?t exactly facilitate the onerous task of keeping their ship stable ? if there was dirty work to be done, then surely Blues should have done it much, much sooner (and some will argue the same about our very own football club, no doubt) - rather than leaving such nastiness until very late in the game indeed. On the other hand, though, a change at Bluenose Towers could easily turn out very counterproductive.

How come? Well, as I see it, the very reason they?re in the doo-doo right now must stem from one of two reasons: either their manager has suddenly been found wanting, maybe through no real fault of his own ? a nasty run of injuries/ plain bad luck can clobber you horribly and cruelly at this late juncture - or his players have made a collective decision they don?t want to work with him any longer. If the first, pure bad luck, applies, then the very fact of his departure might solve the problem for them. It would all depend upon who was put there in a ?caretaker? capacity. I can?t believe for one moment they?d make serious noises about finding a suitable replacement with their top-flight status still in the balance: after all, they still don?t know whether it?s an experienced Nationwide promotion man they?d want, or a half-decent Premiership counterpart.

On the other hand, what would happen should the real cause of their present plight be their own players, purely and simply? As we all know from bitter Baggies experience, once a side collectively decides they don?t want ?Fred Bloggs? as their leader, the very nature of the job being what it is ? heavily results-based ? it?s all-too easy for them to engineer the necessary boardroom thumbs-down within a matter of weeks. If that should be the case, then once Brucie?s gone, never more to darken the home dug-out at St. Andrews ever again, then the remainder of the season could be, quite literally, a whole new ball game for them, if you get my drift. And even if that?s not strictly the case, once in managerial limbo, so to speak, those players who haven?t got get-out clauses written into their contracts are going to be busting a gut to prove to the next incumbent they?re worth keeping on, ?fizzy pop league? or none. The same, of course, applies should Blues already have someone lined up to jump into the corpse?s still-warm training-shoes.

It?s the ?new broom effect? writ large, of course. Players, when a new manager arrives, have an almost invariable tendency to pull out all the stops in an effort to impress the new incumbent (and, by inference, prove to their supporting ?public? just how hated the previous one was!). All this at the point in the season where desperate measures may be needed to extricate themselves from the mire anyway. Such a high-magnitude step-up in form, individual performances etc. might prove disastrously counterproductive for the purposes of enhancing our own chances of getting out of jail.

And now for the serious bit. As regular readers already know, when made aware in good time, I do make a point of featuring obituaries for regular Baggies now gone to join The King, Ossie, Laurie Cunningham, and all the rest of the blue-and-white-striped greats in what must be, by now, a truly stupendous celestial kick-about. (Do they employ harps as goalposts, I wonder? Come to think about it, what happens when the ball is booted off the cloud serving as a pitch? Is someone duly despatched to Earth in order to bring it straight back? What happens should it somehow end up in Old Nick?s territory instead?) This one comes from Steve Sant, a home and away ?regular? himself, and concerns a good mate of his, a Baggie to the last, who passed away recently. So here goes:

Tony Smith was Tipton born and bred and a lifelong Baggies man. Steve got to know him as a neighbour when he moved into the Dudley area in 1989.Regular Diary readers may recall his wife Shirley passing away last year when we were all up at Bolton, which was a sad day in itself, but on Tuesday last, it appeared Tony joined her. According to Steve, he'd had heart trouble some time ago, but recently appeared to be recovering well.

Over the course of the previous twelve months or so, he'd missed a fair amount of games because he wasn't feeling particularly well, but on other occasions he was very much back to his old self. Once an avid home and away traveller on Sauce?s coaches, Tony had all but given up on away games recently, a combination of his health worries, coupled with a lack of funds brought on by living on state benefits whilst recovering from his heart attack, being his prime reason for not going so often.

From seasons 1990-2000, Tony and Steve travelled everywhere together Baggies watching. Steve vividly recalls nights in Grimsby, days in London, whole weekends in Lowestoft, the last of these deemed by both near enough to Norwich to warrant a February weekend by the coast. Said Steve apropos of his late chum: ?So many great times: the football was often the only thing that spoilt our fun, especially in the days of Buckley, Gould etc. Ironically, the last away game we travelled to together was to Spurs last season, in the Cup. He did get to Man City this season on opening day, but we didn't travel together.?

?I shall be there on Monday remembering my mate Tone. He was well known by Baggies everywhere, but particularly in the Dudley, Tipton, and Cradley areas. In his younger days, he worked for West Bromwich Council as a painter and decorator (and a good one, doing most of my house gratis, or for a pint, extending these favours to almost anybody ? he really was that sort of bloke). Later, he worked for years at Cradley Print, until just before his heart attack Ironically, after three years absence, he'd just started a new job, about a week before his death.

?He was a kind, funny man, but he could be serious. He knew his football, and was a decent player back in his teens and twenties. His beliefs on how the game should be played never wavered, but he loved nothing more than engaging in debate with like-minded fans of any club. He could not, however, stand anyone talking about games or specific players they hadn?t seen, and would end conversations abruptly with anyone he discovered to be an 'armchair' fan. He also claimed to dislike children with a passion, despite acting as daft as a brush with any he met! Above all, Tony Smith was a superb mate. He never faltered in his friendship and he had a lot of friends: I am genuinely proud to say I was one of them. I loved the bloke.?

Tony leaves two sons, Anthony and Terry, who have lost both of their parents inside 15 months. Our thoughts are, of course, with them, and, I?m sure, yours too. Tony died in Dudley on Tuesday 21st May, at the untimely age of 48, the principal cause of death being coronary thrombosis. Precise funeral arrangements have yet to be finalised, but if anyone reading this knew the deceased well, and wants to know more details concerning the service, get in touch with me via the ?Ask the Author? facility, and I?ll gladly act as ?gofer?.

On, now, to yet more levity from this column. Oh, dear ? haven?t I had fun these past few days! Steve Bruce?s problems may or may not seriously impinge upon our own over the course of the next few weeks, but at least I managed to derive subsequent savage amusement from that Small Heath cricket-score mentioned at the start of my piece. All at the expense of The Bluenose Butcher, of course.

I couldn?t embark upon any serious winding-up operations the day after the game, unfortunately ? his shop is generally closed on Wednesdays ? but I most certainly made up for it when I paid a visit just 24 hours later. Poor lad, he really was feeling fragile about the whole thing, which wasn?t surprising as he?d witnessed the entire 90 minutes-worth live at their ground, so was not even cushioned by the barrier TV-watching invariably puts between yourself and the side being watched, poor (Braising? Neck end of? Minced?) lamb. And, just in case you want to emulate my feat ? oh, go on, you know you really want to! - here?s my definitive ? and exclusive! - Guide To Really Brassing Off Already-Brassed-Off Blues Supporters.

1. Enter shop when your victim?s got his back turned, but before you do, be sure to ascertain he has company. For maximum wind-up effect, you really do need witnesses, football supporters, ideally! Sober ones, too, but given this might present insurmountable difficulties in the case of Bluenoses right now, just bide your time until there?s a suitable audience in the shop, not to mention a really cringe-making reason for acting thus - and then really let rip!

2. Once in position (it helps, also, if you?re mentally decided beforehand upon what to do, and when), just state your legitimate butchery requirements, finally suffixing your request with a pointed yet plaintive: ?Now hang on a mo ? should I be asking for SEVEN of those, or?.??

3. Next, ask for your usual egg (or other delicatessen) requirements: by now, tactical insertion of the word SEVEN should be a piece of the proverbial liquid nitrogenous waste matter.

4. While your victim is sorting everything out, and seriously-fuming, no doubt, start singing. This bit is up to both you and your creative juices, really. For what it?s worth, I started off by mangling ?SEVEN ? I?m in SEVEN?..? quickly moving on to ?Every time it rains, it rains - pennies from SEVEN!?.? concluding my performance with something from ?SEVEN Brides For SEVEN Brothers?.

5. By now, your victim should be well and truly on the ropes, and your ?audience? ? in my case, one Baggie and one Bluenose ? in absolute hysterics. The coup de grace is dead easy ? or can be dead subtle. It all depends upon how fast those creative juices flow, as I said earlier! In this particular case, I let the guy off lightly by coming up with all the old chestnuts like: ?What time is it? Oh, dear ? SEVEN past Blues?? and ?What time does your shop close? You?re sure it?s not SEVEN, are you??.?

6. By the time you?ve finished, you?ll know for certain whether or not your jibes have hit the spot by the close proximity, or otherwise, of hand to chopper, and body language signalling clear intention to use same in a homicidal manner! (Yes, I know, the boot might well be on the other foot come the end of the season, but as I see it, over the course of a campaign that seemed to promise us so much in the way of Premiership stability at long last, but is now going well and truly pear-shaped, you?ve got to take any sort of gratuitous merriment where and when you can, haven?t you?) Back on Sunday with a look at both what we got up to on Saturday, and a quick look at the forthcoming Spurs-Albion clash.

And Finally?? One. As ever, the definitive final word on that embarrassing St. Andrews goal-blitz had to come from the mouth of my eldest sister tonight. ?A real shame they weren?t sponsored by that Yank drinks firm ? aw, you know, ?Seven-Up? ? the other night!?

Two. Earlier in the week, we both decided to grab ourselves a bit of culture, taking our collective carcasses to what used to be known as the Birmingham Science Museum, now calling itself ?The Thinktank?. Situated way out in the sticks for my money, and with horrendous car-parking charges on top, the place was considerably different to what the old Museum was like when I was around ten or eleven years of age. Everything now seems designed to fit in with the mindset of primary/lower secondary school kids, an approach not necessarily likely to appeal to adults, but there you are.

While we were there, we also took in a visit to their planetarium, one of the very few left up and running in this country now Madam Tussauds? have decided to ditch theirs in favour of yet more celeb waxwork exhibits. Or are they the real thing, albeit writ very slow indeed, I wonder? Oooer, shades of Vincent Price and that Hammer Horror ? buggered if I can remember the title, although I?m sure keen cinema-goers like The Fart will soon put me wise! ? actually set in a waxworks, and involving the liberal coating of victims with red-hot wax, then subsequent public display!

Whatever ? but getting back to my original theme once more, one feature of the show they did the day we went was a simple guide to finding the more obvious stellar constellations e.g. The Plough, Orion etc. plus a potted guide to finding any planets known to be lurking in the celestial undergrowth around this time of year. But, sad to say, no instruction whatever on what current configurations of both stars and planetary bodies actually portend for the Premiership fortunes of our favourite football team! Shame on you, Patrick Moore, and chums. Or should that be Mystic Mog?

 - Glynis Wright

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