The Diary

28 March 2006: White Hart Lane - The Ultimate Baggies Disaster Movie.

Self-harm has become quite a growth industry in this country, of late. That?s why the problem was the subject of a well-publicised government report just a few short days ago, but even without looking too hard for cases, you?ll find concrete evidence of it happening in just about every walk of life you can possibly think of. Taken to its ultimate extreme, that?s why organisations like the motorway police and coastguard find them selves so much in demand, sometimes ? sorting out the mess left behind by those of similar persuasion who go on to choose to leave this life in somewhat startling ways.

Not to mention highly-inventive ones: as I recall from around 20 years ago, lateral-thinking skills, normally the preserve of those of a particularly inventive sort of bent, nearly did for one lady I once knew. She tried to arrange her demise courtesy one of those little metal staples holding a common or garden magazine together. How come? Let?s just say she used the aforementioned object as a covert means of opening up a major blood vessel in her arm, and leave it at that, shall we?

But it?s not always in the field of mental health that you?ll find such glaring examples of the genre; even the wonderful game of association football can also provide some quite astonishing sporting equivalents, which is precisely what happened to us at White Hart Lane tonight, sadly. To see us take the lead early on, then watch Spurs get it back, albeit in the second half, was something I could live with, just about. After all, we were playing Spurs, fourth in the table, away from home, and not even the most optimistic of our supporters would openly admit to an expectation we?d actually go on to win the game. But we had done well and for much of the game, too. A draw would have been a fantastic result by anyone?s lights: that was why we were so disappointed by the maaner in which we chucked it away right at the very end. What made the whole messy business even stranger still was the identity of the person primarily responsible for gifting Tottenham their late, late winner ? The Pole In Goal, of all people, and after he?d kept us in it with several brilliant saves, too.

What on earth was going through his mind at the precise moment he elected to kick the ball straight towards that Spurs player, only to see the thing rebound straight off him and towards an undefended net, I can?t even begin to imagine. In fact, he was very lucky indeed to stay on the pitch at all. Conceding the penalty by stopping the Spurs striker in an illegal manner, strictly speaking, he should have walked. I can only assume that the referee elected not to wave a red card on account of the proximity of the offence to the final whistle. In any case, it didn?t matter a smelly fart, Keane quickly achieving from the spot what both he and his Spurs colleagues couldn?t via open play for nigh-on the entire ninety minutes that had gone before. My goodness, I bet Harry Redknapp, Pompey?s manager, must have laughed like a drain when referee Chris Foy pointed to the spot. And so must Birmingham?s Steve Bruce have, of course.

What a rotten ending to what had been, prior to tonight, quite a decent day. Having stayed up considerably later than is my normal wont last night, the act of shifting myself from out of my pit was correspondingly tardy also. Not that it mattered all that much, of course; no particular demands on my time today ? my trips to Smethwick Library are invariably midweek ones ? just a pleasant few hours spent catching up on the greater part of the Sunday supplements I hadn?t read of late. And shouting at the cats, who seemed to have taken the concept of springtime animal feistiness quite seriously, their more-than-usually-animated squabbles giving my vocal chords some unaccustomed exercise this afternoon. Well, it?s not very often the poor things get chance to do anything outside the Hawthorns, is it?

As we were set to watch the game from the relative comfort of our own living-room, we didn?t have a problem trying to beat the London rush hour, which had most certainly been the case when we played them in that abortive Cup replay of ours last season. Just sit down in front of a nice warm fire, and think of England, or failing that, Bryan Robson. Lovely stuff. No forking out exorbitant sums to watch said game, no people standing up at crucial moments and depriving oneself of a decent view of the play, and no half-drunk idiots having to get up every five minutes or so to use the ?facilities? downstairs. Bliss!

On the other hand, there?s no real substitute for watching an Albion game in the flesh, so to speak: watching the proceedings second hand, courtesy of satellite TV, just isn?t the same, sadly. Despite almost saturation-coverage on the part of Sky, they do still retain some distinctly-irritating little idiosyncrasies. Take their constant insistence upon replaying incidents, even though the game was still proceeding full-blast off-screen. And not just one rerun ? twice, or on a couple of particularly frustrating occasions, a mind-boggling three times! Nice to see such things in retrospect, of course, but at the expense of the action still going on? Not my cup of tea at all.

I have to say that once announced on the box, the team news was everything I?d hoped it would be. Nathan Ellington and Kanu on right from the start, and Campbell sidelined on the bench, as briefly mentioned (and so eagerly anticipated) in my Sunday effort: with that news came genuine anticipation that Robbo was actually going to go for it away from home for once. And how good to see The Mighty Zoltan back in the swing of things once more, albeit from the subs? bench, and relatively late on in the proceedings, too. Still, it?s a start; during the relatively short period of time we did see him in action tonight, he almost retrieved the situation with a late header not far from the goal-line, one their keeper did really well to stop, it has to be said.

But back to tonight?s game proper. Our 4-4-2 line-up was quite a bold move on the part of Robbo, given our present close proximity to complete disaster. Also quite surprising was the return of AJ to the fold, at Inamoto?s expense, presumably there after his outstanding performance at The Valley relatively recently, and to provide a replacement for the injured Kamara. It?s all a matter of ?horses for courses?, even though the genuine article is no longer with us.

As early as the second minute, Spurs managed to win a dodgy-looking free-kick about 15 yards from the edge of the box. The alleged ?injured party?, Robbie Keane, thought it all quite funny. Er ? no, it wasn?t actually, Robbie! Never mind, The Pole In Goal soaked it up like it was rich gravy. Other than that incident, those opening minutes were conducted in a very cagey sort of manner by both sides, each presumably tying to sound out hidden strengths or weaknesses in the other?s style of play.

Come the eighth minute, we managed to win our very first corner of the night. One surprisingly conceded by the home side, it has to be said: as far as I could see just playing the ball out of trouble would have been a much sounder option for the home side. Still, that was their problem, not ours, and so it was when it was taken Wallwork got to the ball first, but had the effort blocked by a Spurs defender before he had time to do any lasting damage with it.

Come the 12th minute, we witnessed a quite remarkable effort on the part of Nathan Ellington. Grabbing the ball on the halfway line, almost, he then ran with the thing, easily beating a couple of Spurs chappies on the way in, then letting fly with an absolute scorcher from all of 25 yards out. Sadly, his effort ended up well wide of the target, but at least he?d had a go. The same could be said of his colleagues at this stage of the game; overall, they?d spent much more time decamped in Spurs territory than vice-versa. Good to see, of course, and naturally, because of that, the home side started to look distinctly rattled.

Even with just a third of the half gone, Spurs were looking surprisingly vulnerable at the back, so it came as no surprise at all to see an enterprising Wallwork long-range effort blocked by Spurs defender Dawson. Greening won the ball back once more, then went on to beat two defenders before being dispossessed just inside the box, the hasty clearance ending up as yet another Albion corner. Again, one does have to wonder about lack of support at that crucial time; had there been more attacking options for Greening to choose from, we might well have made much better use of the chance than we actually did.

While all this was going on, our supporters could constantly be heard giving it really big licks in the vocal department. They, too, must have sensed we were on the brink of a breakthrough; as each kick brought us closer and closer to the much-desired target, so the noise made by our people became even more discernable above all the general clamour.

And, come the 19th minute, all that hard work finally paid off. It started when Nathan Ellington won a free-kick about ten yards from the left-hand corner of the box, and a lucky one, it has to be said; immediately prior to the incident and rapidly running out of options, he?d looked far more likely to lose possession than achieve anything of real significance for The Baggies. Still, that?s the way the mop flops, sometimes.

It was Greening who took the kick, a lovely curling effort from him that landed right on top of Curtis Davies?s napper, and within the twinkling of an eye, almost, he?d headed the ball home from close range to give Albion a much-deserved lead. Cue for very audible ?Boing? from the away end, closely followed by a rousing rendition of the 23rd Psalm, which must have cheered up God-squadders like Kanu and Greening no end. And, by way of complete contrast, views of some distinctly brassed-off home supporters, who hadn?t found that Albion strike in the slightest bit amusing. Can?t think why for one minute, really.

It?s one thing to go in front away from home, but another matter entirely to keep such a lead intact for the remainder of the game. We aren?t very good at it, quite frankly, which is why I still harboured serious misgivings about the final outcome of this game. Still, by the time the game?s first half was almost two-thirds gone, Albion still retained that precious lead, and deservedly so, as far as I could see. At the back we were putting in some sterling work so as to completely mop up any perceived attacking threats on the part of the home side. Wallwork was having a seriously good game, as was Albrechtsen.

Turning from one good display to another, on the flank, Greening had been absolutely superb for much of the half, constantly giving Spurs something to think about with those runs of his on the flank. Unfortunately, he did get a tad carried away: with 31 minutes gone, he was yellow-carded by the ref, a booking I thought a little harsh, personally. It was from that moment on that Spurs began to turn up the wick. Almost imperceptibly, we were finding ourselves spending more and more time decamped in our own half rather than the opposition?s. This upsurge in their fortunes coincided with Lennon finally hitting pay-dirt by changing wings: once he?d done that, we were suddenly looking increasingly vulnerable.

A nasty series of Spurs corners then followed. Twice within as many minutes their efforts ended up in our box, and our defence finding it really difficult to negate the danger. Not that Wallwork?s stab at a bicycle kick to get us out of trouble helped any, mind; having lost possession in that suicidal manner, it took the best efforts of The Pole In Goal to keep Spurs from scoring off the inevitable chance they were presented with as a result of the ex-Man United lad?s bizarre actions.

The last five minutes of the half were one-way traffic, pretty much. How the hell we kept them out, I?ve no idea ? but we did, and with some panache, too. Meanwhile, all those alarums and excursions apart, The Pole In Goal was finding life between the sticks a tad hazardous, but nothing whatsoever to do with the opposition ? or his colleagues, either. Close-up camera work during the break appeared to show our lad from mid-Europe having to put up with an aerial bombardment of a quite different variety ? stuff coming down from the direction of the home supporters? seats.

At one point, I even saw The Pole In Goal retrieving a banana skin from the middle of the box. Luckily, such antisocial actions seemed almost wholly confined to a small minority of home supporters, but even so, the lad ended up having to shift sundry thrown objects from his area of the pitch for almost the entire length of the second half. And having to make yet another wondrous save to keep us in it.

Half-time, and a very good moment to take stock of what had been happening on the farm of late. Davies?s strike and The Pole?s goal-area heroics apart, apart, we were well in control of the situation, our rearguard seemingly coping quite well under pressure, the intensity of which had been doubled or trebled, even, over the course of those last few life-saving minutes. As briefly touched on earlier, the main perpetrator of the damage appeared to be the lad Lennon, whose workrate could be quite easily likened to what my late mother would have undoubtedly termed ?a cowin? little fart on trespass?! Something told me he was going to be big, big trouble for the rest of the game ? and that?s precisely how it turned out during that second half.

Less welcome during that half-tine summary was the repetition of that age old canard concerning Eric Clapton and his allegedly-professed undying love for The Hawthorns persuasion. Isn?t it about time this old story died a complete death? As far as I?m aware, there never has been any connection ? well not the obvious ones, of course. Whatever Clapton had been doing that night, it most certainly didn?t involve watching our favourite football side notch up yet another defeat.

Spurs came literally roaring out of the blocks that second half- well what with the constant flow of verbal flak from the back of the stand, they had to do something. Time after time, both our box and defenders in it came under pressure of safety-valve blowing proportions, but our luck held out. Just. First Jenas came close, then Keane let fly with a blistering shot that narrowly went over the bar.

To us, sat nervously in our living room and watching the half unfold, it appeared that our concentration and determination to keep the buggers out was keeping us above water, fortunately, but for how long could we hold out? Keeping the scoreline the way it stood looked increasingly unlikely, despite Kanu having a go and narrowly missing on the hour mark, almost. The sight of Mido, a potential nuisance by any other name, preparing to give it some heavy-duty licks of his own, didn?t exactly inspire us with confidence either.

And mistakes were now creeping in: the normally-reliable Robinson unaccountably lost possession in a very nasty position indeed; just as well The Pole In Goal was on the case when the cross came in. And, following anAlbion corner easily sorted by their keeper, the play broke with lightning speed, the ball ending up at the other end of the park with frightening rapidity as newly subbed Mido tested our defence with a carefully-placed effort that went frighteningly close for comfort. This wasn?t just mildly annoying, it was downright worrying; the situation was rapidly turning into one of almost constant one-way traffic for the home side.

Seven minutes later, just about, the scoreline read 1-1. Keane was the perpetrator of the damage, ironically enough, just minutes after Robbo had taken Kozac off and brought Inamoto on, in an attempt to frustrate the best efforts of Lennon, still a thorough nuisance on the wing. The equalising strike came about as the result of Keane rounding his marker then letting fly with a half-shot half-lob that arced right over the head of The Pole In Goal and into the back of the net. Offside? Apparently not. Bugger. No wonder the cats all fled the room at that point ? being at least ten years of age, the whole bloody lot of them, they tend to know the signs by now!

Oh, well, we reasoned ? no three pointer for us, maybe, but the single one would be very nice to have instead, just the same. And, as the game entered its final throes, a point seemed to be what we would eventually get ? and I could visualise right then The Fart screaming for all he was worth something on the lines of: ?I?ll take it, I?ll take it!? With ten to go, Kev Campbell replaced the clearly-knackered Kanu, and amazingly enough, Steve Watson nearly made himself the hero of the hour with a header that nearly hit the spot. Just after that, we saw the welcome return of Zoltan Gera to first team duty, coming off the bench to replace Ellington, who?d also worked hard for much of the game.

It all seemed to be coming together, our marvellous workrate and our proactive stance when dealing with the North London side getting us a well-deserved point ? and then The Pole In Goal chose that precise moment to stamp his somewhat suicidal presence upon the occasion. What happened? Buggered if I know ? one minute there he was, with an easy-looking kick upfield to sort out, the next, he?d managed to get same kick to rebound off the back of a Spurs player, then see the blasted thing headed straight for the back of the net!

Defoe (I think) went chasing after it, and Kuzsczac pulled him down, with predictable results: as I said earlier, he was lucky to stay on the pitch, the card shown being yellow, much to the home crowd?s disgust. And Keane made no mistake from the spot. Cut to Robbo, who looked about to be violently ill on the spot. Sure, Gera nearly made amends with a late effort courtesy a cross from the busy Greening, but our fate was upon us, and we know it. What a cruel ending to a game that had promised so much.

Writing these words just a few hours after the final whistle, I?m still at a complete loss to account for what went through the mind of the Pole In Goal when he tried to make that disastrous punt upfield. A bigger goalkeeping clanger you couldn?t imagine, and totally out of character for the guy, whose performances between the sticks have been of world-beating class, sometimes.

Reading the club?s site just now, I notice that Robbo said that The Pole In Goal had apologised profusely to his colleagues in the dressing room after the final whistle. And he is absolutely livid about what happened, that apology being only the latest in a series from erring Albion players over the course of recent games, apparently. Hate to say this, all you guys out there, but that?s the sort of thing that can get you relegated quite easily. And, with just seven games to turn things around, and both Blues and Pompey chasing our backside with a game in hand each, the prospect of lower division football next season now looms large. Anyone out there got the phone number of the Samaritans?

 - Glynis Wright

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