The Diary

22 April 2006: Newcastle - The End Of The Road For The Baggies?

Back again, some five days after our godawful evening showing versus Bolton - and I should have guessed what would happen. That game, and its first real warning note of impending relegation, was only the start of what?s been, quite frankly, a week best left permanently confined to those parts of the brain only rarely patronised by that invaluable human resource, memory.

You name it, it?s gone wrong. The first thing was my bloody cat; had Cyrille been in his normal state of rude health, then we would have undoubtedly been trundling down to sunny Herefordshire and our holiday home at a rate of knots tomorrow morning. Sadly, that?s not to be ? well, not until I get a definitive diagnosis from the nice vet man. After examining my poorly puss on Tuesday night, blood samples were taken, and sent to the lab for various tests, with the results promised by Thursday lunchtime. Here I am, writing this on Friday evening ? and they still haven?t turned up. All I?m doing at the moment is treating symptoms, more ?by guess and by golly? than anything, then hoping like stink I?m getting it right ? just. Puss is still painfully thin, but he is now starting to show a little more interest in life, thank goodness. The problem is, until both the vet and I know what?s wrong, we can?t get further forward with a remedy. Hopefully, I?ll get some answers tomorrow morning.

The other thing was yet another visit to Dudley Road Hospital (now known as City hospital, of course, but I still much prefer to use the old name, so soddit!) earlier this week. This time, it was their ultrasound department that got the dubious pleasure of my company; basically, after shoving the business end up a very rude place indeed and ?pinging? the unfathomable depths of my innards for several minutes ? did they manage to find an old German U-Boat or three still lurking in there, I wonder? ? they want me back in to take another, more detailed, look, but under a general anaesthetic this time. The best bit is I?ve got to be at the hospital by the unearthly hour of 7.30 am; given the unholy hour I?m supposed to be there, and my distinct lack of enthusiasm for anything whatsoever at that disgusting time of day, it?s really not worth the candle them bothering to knock me out intravenously. I?ll manage that bit on my own perfectly well, I reckon.

And then there?s the continuing saga of our very own football club, due to play at Newcastle tomorrow. Even a cursory look at the Premiership table will show that we?re already dead meat walking, so I?m harbouring no illusions whatsoever as to the likely outcome of this particular fixture. By the time we play West Ham a week on Monday, it could well be all over, bar the shouting. My already-acute sense of impending doom has been heightened further tonight by the revelation that the injury-hit Michael Owen could well be declared fit nicely in time for tomorrow. A fractured metatarsal, sustained just after Christmas in a collision with England hopeful Paul Robinson, was the fundamental problem.

The other Newcastle concern, of course, revolves around whether or not Saint Alan Of Shearer will be declared sufficiently fit to play against us. As he hopes to hang up his boots come the end of the current campaign, it wouldn?t surprise me one little bit if he doesn?t at least try to engineer a return to normal for himself tomorrow. As for their manager, Glenn Roeder, it now appears that the Prem have granted him an extension of his temporary period in charge. When first appointed, because of his lack of coaching qualifications, the FA had insisted he only stay in that capacity for a maximum of 12 weeks, a period that would have expired shortly after our game, but he?s since been granted an extension covering the period from now until the end of the season.

25 points from just 12 games in charge isn?t to be sneezed at ? thanks to Roeder?s spirited efforts, The Toon now stand on the verge of qualification for the UEFA Cup competition. The Toon?s Ameobi, currently suffering from what would outwardly seem a problem confined solely to the interior of the boxing ring, a busted couple of gnashers, could be fully-operational once more, providing some kind soul can come up with a suitable gum-shield for the lad in the meantime. Roeder is also without the services of Scott Parker (glandular fever, a sorely-debilitating viral malady, is the problem, here) and Lee Bowyer (hamstring), although Emre could return after being sidelined with a groin injury.

Meanwhile, at Planet Albion, we now hear that Nathan Ellington?s bruised toe-bone will be declared OK nicely in time for tomorrow?s wake, while our other significant absentee, Ronnie Wallwork, can only be admired from afar. He?s still very much suspended, of course. Meanwhile, it?s suggested that Chris Kirkland, formerly of Liverpool, but minister without portfolio at present, might yet permanently sign on the dotted for our lot. In view of the bargain-basement clear-out shortly to commence under Robson, no doubt, I guess we?ll have an up-and-coming youngster to keep amused pretty soon.

Not that many of ours will be at St. James?s Park to witness what could well turn out to be a pretty sordid example of a Toon turkey-shoot; my understanding is that attendance figures will be significantly down on those recorded for previous meetings of the two clubs. The white heat of pure anger having subsided for the moment, I reckon the predominant mood among regulars right now to be one of ?resigned acceptance?, nothing more, nothing less. This has had its very own knock-on effect upon ticket sales for our very last Premiership away game, at Goodison Park; when first up for grabs, tickets were strictly restricted to away season-ticket holders first, with purchasing opportunities cascading down to other groups in their turn as the days and weeks progressed. Right now, we?re at the point where even left-handed Martians with a peculiar penchant for intergalactic domination get their very own chance of a look-in. And still we won?t fill all that space. Quite a turnaround, that, from the normal state of affairs to be found come the end of hostilities, isn?t it?

And here?s yet another take on the current situation. It?s when you hear someone closely connected with the football club I once dearly loved (and would gladly do so now myself, were its very heart and soul not well and truly rent asunder by an endless procession of uncaring money-men and sharp suits) comment on how awfully sterile an atmosphere is to be found on Planet Albion these days, you finally know we?ve got problems. I won?t reveal their identity, as I wouldn?t even consider for a moment upsetting my chum via this diary offering, but suffice to say, now I?ve heard even them admit that they simply don?t enjoy going to games any more, then you know the club?s got a problem of almost intractable proportions.

And they?re not alone in their opinion, not by a long chalk. These days, I would say approximately 75% of my correspondence feedback on recent matchday postings revolves around exactly the same sort of topic And not from fickle kids, totally unable to differentiate between mere Premiership hype and genuine entertainment value, either. I?m talking about seasoned supporters, here, those who?ve enjoyed the good times along with the bad, seen both depressing shockers at Bath and pure elation at Wembley, seen Cyrille Regis and the match-ball take on half a disbelieving Middlesbrough side in truly spectacular fashion, then launch what can only be described as the Black Country?s very own answer to an Exocet missile at the poor sod of a keeper on the receiving end. And witnessed FA Cup embarrassment writ large at the hands of non-league Woking FC some 15 years ago, with redemption coming some three years later with that wonderful Wembley play-off final versus Port Vale, not to mention the wonderfully-emotional Swansea home leg that preceded it.

Intelligent and knowledgeable people are these Baggies, each and every one of ?em, and all with a combined supporting age of several hundred years, I would say. Love ?em, hate ?em ? yes, sometimes I do feel constrained to violently disagree with what they have to say , but, hey, it?s a free country, and it must be because Tony Blair has said it is in the Sun, so it?s got to be true! ? but never, ever ignore them, for what emanates from their tongues is the truth, unvariable, undiluted and totally incorruptible.

Enlarging on this thread in particular, yesterday evening, ?Im Indoors, The Fart and myself travelled to Rubery, and South Birmingham Branch, their guest being the wonderfully charismatic and sincere Darren Moore, aka ?Big Dave?. For once, what he had to say has to take second place to South Birmingham?s stark announcement beforehand that unless they could persuade another of their number to carry the burdensome load of running the branch, they would have to fold come the end of the current season. (They were able to hand over a cheque amounting to over ?400 to Big Dave?s ?Faith In Football? charity, however, that sum being the surplus dosh currently on the branch?s books, so I suppose that just bears out the truth of the saying about dark clouds having a silver lining.)

The reasons? Very much bound up with what I said earlier in this piece. Certainly, our chum cited, amongst other things, difficulty getting guest speakers to attend; after all, there are only so many ex-players or footballing personalities, in the wider sense of the word, you can reasonably ask to give up their precious time. The real killer, though, has been outlying branches? increasing inability to secure current players for their meetings. Obviously, it?s the chance to meet their heroes that has made the supporters? club what it is over the years, and the club?s adamant refusal to supply guests has constituted the killer blow for many branches. Warwick, East Birmingham ? they both bit the dust ages ago; South Birmingham?s simply following in the wake of what truly has to be a desert-like climate for supporters? club people. Expect many more branches to go the same way over the course of the next twelve months or so.

Not that the parent football club will weep too many salt tears, I reckon; these days, I get the distinct impression that supporters? organisations are, to them, just like a tiny wart on the backside - a minuscule nuisance to be either tolerated or patronised at best, and actively discouraged, at worst. To use these people?s own jargon for a moment, grass-roots followers with minimal spending-power are not a terribly efficient source of ?effective revenue-streams?. Or something. Local business concerns, willing to pay daft amounts to woo prospective clients into the sort of frame of mind where the subsequent signing of a juicy deal becomes a mere bagatelle? Now that?s a completely different kettle of fish. Oooh, suits you, sir!

That, remember, was just at branch level; what cash-strapped individuals propose to do could well be equally, if not more, damaging for the club. What with the monstrous attrition rate expected of regulars next season ? several formerly loyal Baggies at South Birmingham last night intimated they wouldn?t be renewing season tickets next time round, the prime reasons being much the same as the ones highlighted earlier in this piece ? so my prognosis really has to be a gloomy one. Forget the glory-hunters, the part-timers for just a moment; the people who really matter are our hard-core, our formerly-indefatigable foot-soldiers, those who, up until comparatively recently, would have unhesitatingly and unquestioningly signed up for a midweek game at Grimsby scheduled to take place a week before Christmas, one played in temperatures and conditions approaching those of much more frigid climes, at that.

To be brutally honest, great swathes of these formerly-loyal stalwarts have had it up to the eyeballs with their football club and its seeming indifference to their needs and views, their ever-increasing desire to take, take, take, and very little given back ? even the annual supporters? club Player Of The Year Night has been taken over by the club, and what was once regarded as an excellent chance for both players and followers to let their hair down among like-minded company, now turned into a formal, dinner-jacketed, semi-corporate back-slapping-fest costing an arm and a leg to attend ? ?80 per person, in fact - money most Brummie Roaders etc. simply don?t have. Supporters, once loyal and involved, now feeling increasingly marginalized, are starting to vote with their feet ? and don?t say I didn?t warn you, either. As Joni Mitchell once sang in her 1970 chart hit ?Big Yellow Taxi?: ?Don?t it always seem to go?/You don?t know what you?ve got ?till it?s gone?.? Too bloody true. And it?s quality support I mean, the kind you really need once those parachute payments have finished, and most major sponsors long since headed for the hills. Are you listening, Albion?

Contrast this depressing thought with the information I got about our chairman via the mailing-list the other day. In direct contrast to those mugs who have stood by the club through thick and thin, Jeremy Peace is reported to be sunning himself in the Caribbean right now. Yeah, right ? there we are, the good ship Albion right on the brink of disaster, and the captain completely disappeared from the bridge. True, there?s very little he (or we!) can do, now, to influence, adversely or otherwise, the likely course of events, but whatever his faults regarding both seamanship and crisis-management, at least the Captain of the Titanic had sufficient decency and courage to go down with his own ship.

And Finally?? After her recent Mediterranean cruise, my sister turned up at my stepmother?s house tonight looking disgustingly tanned and healthy. Quite a ship she was on, too, extensive satellite TV facilities, apparently, which meant no-one had to miss out on their footy fix while at sea. But it was during a stopover, during the course of which both my sister and her beloved took themselves to a handy sports bar to watch the Arsenal-Albion game that they spotted it. Someone else using the same premises to watch the game, and clad in a Baggies shirt, they were, too. So, who was our mystery viewer, then ? and was it just the sheer awfulness of our performance that prompted them to walk out come the end of the first half?

 - Glynis Wright

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