The Diary

06 August 2006: Tigers Tamed By Baggies Brace!

How to grab a tiger by the tail, not once, but twice - and, more importantly, get away with it? Or, a meticulously-crafted, strategically-astute home win? Neither of those, as I saw it today, but at least we did emerge with those precious three points clutched closely to our ample Black Country bosoms, which, as good starts go, will do very nicely for me, thank you very much.

Our opening-day Championship win also went very much against the grain insofar as it?s much more normal to see us getting off to a very sluggish start indeed at this level. Remember Walsall, that scorching-hot day three years ago, and the embarrassing 4-1 dicking handed out by the leather-merchants just up the road? Much wailing and beating of breasts from our own after the final whistle, of course, but, as things eventually turned out, that Bescot Stadium opening-day shocker proved very much the exception to the rule. We quickly returned to winning ways, and, after that, were only briefly out of that all-important top six, finally consolidating in an automatic promotion spot for much of the remainder.

No scorcher today, sadly ? even so, the eager queue for isotonic drinks during breaks in play strongly suggested that the 70+ temperature out there was nevertheless exerting some sort of insidious effect upon both sets of participants ? but what we did see was some wonderful football from our lot, especially during that opening 20 minutes. How the hell Hull?s net still remained pristine and virginal after the almighty battering from both flanks it got from our men remains a complete mystery to me. Still, as George Formby aficionados might exclaim: ?Turned out nice again, ennit??..?

Before I begin my tale proper, however, a slight digression concerning the complete and utter bombshell lobbed at us by Supporters Club chappie Dave Holloway as we made our way to the Hawthorns pub with pre-match refreshment in mind. Regular readers of this column might remember my mention of Kiddy Branch leader Roy Haden?s son Steve, and the serious health problems the lad had for most of last season?

The last time I?d spoke to Roy, at the tail end of the season, his son was with him then, and had only just started going to games again following his lengthy hospitalisation and treatment for leukaemia. He?d not long had a bone-marrow transplant, in fact, which had ?taken? very well indeed, apparently, so naturally I?d assumed that there was now a big wodge of light to be seen at the end of the tunnel. I?d even accused Steve of being a ?part-time supporter?, a gently-humorous jibe which was taken in the spirit in which it was intended, of course. That was why I was so shocked to hear of his death last Thursday night, and, as Fate would have it, at the precise time John actually mentioned the lad in his opening address to the Supporters? Club AGM ? and wishing him well for his recovery, as well. John wasn?t to know, of course, so I can only assume he, too, was terribly cut up by what happened. It goes without saying that my thoughts are with Roy and his family tonight.

Another shock, but upon a much happier note, was the one we had on entering the Hawthorns Hotel function room that constitutes the Supporters? Club matchday base these days. Coo ? it hasn?t half gone upmarket, comparatively speaking, that is. There?s still that overall ?Sheikh?s Tent? ambience, with rows of twinkly yellow lights atop the room, but with mirror wall tiles replacing the inky covering that pervaded the venue last season ? a vast improvement, may I say. I?m also led to believe both the ?Ladies? and ?Gents? have undergone revamps, with huge mirrors installed within. Oh ? and at least they?ve managed to solve the ?electrified hand-dryer? problem; now, there?s a paper towel dispenser to restore post-excretory hands to pristine (and sterile, hopefully) condition. Always assuming they remember to fill the blasted thing up beforehand, of course, which they hadn?t!

Close-season tarting-up and titivation has been plentiful, clearly, but not in the bar area, sadly. They still seem to run with staff that don?t have a clue what it takes to run a bar. Not their fault, really, as they seemed to be Czechs ? students trying to make a few bob, probably ? but when I ventured forth to grab a bag of crisps for myself, it seemed to me that they?d neglected to get those all-important beer and lager barrels ready prior to opening. Not to mention the flaming till-float. To be struggling, still, when there?s a row of thirsty Baggies waiting to be served, seemed a bit amateurish to me; having worked in a pub myself, I do know what I?m on about.

But enough, enough. What of the much-travelled Lewis family, they of the Motherwell marathon? When you could get a word in edgeways, it seemed they?d had a good summer; not so young Carly, whose lower limbs had provided their seaside resort?s mozzies with the insect equivalent of an airport refuelling stop ? and she?s still got the marks to prove it! Much sympathy from me, as my pheromones, too, tend to attract the little blighters in droves. Just as well we aren?t in a malarial area, really, though having said that, up until early last century, it was still possible to contract the condition in this country ? Victorian novelists used to call it ?The ague?. Nothing whatsoever to do with the European Courts of Justice and its current location, sadly, just the old term for malaria ? and a term that could make a comeback should global warming land us with the ?wrong? sort of mosquito.

One other Carly-related matter ? amazingly, she?s had an offer from a university already! Astonishing stuff, as she?s still to do her GCSE?s. Apparently, Warwick ? one of the best in the country, outside of the Oxbridge brace, trust me ? have effectively offered to pay for her first year should she get accepted for study there. Impressed? I sure am. Even young Bethany, age ten, is a happy little bunny. She?s even offered to show her mum how to use a camera properly. I don?t envy The Noise when it comes to forking out hard cash to finance all this educational largesse, mind ? cats don?t normally attend uni, thank goodness.

About 15 minutes before we all left for our respective ?torture areas?, yet another shock. (Today wasn?t half laying ?em on thick and fast.) Remember Mike O?Leary, who used to be associated with our current board around the time we first gained Premiership status? Well, he?s back again, but not in any ?official? capacity, I hasten to add ? as Mike himself said, he?s ?now well clear of the prawn-sandwich brigade!? Just a common or garden supporter, just like you and I ? and looking very well on it, may I say. Good on yer, Mike ? great to see you knocking around the old place again, mate.

Out into the busy, Baggie-thronged car-park once more, bidding farewell to both The Fart and The Noise ? plus equally-noisy brood, of course ? and off to our respective turnstiles. No change there, still the same old stewards doing the biz, and greeting us enthusiastically as we entered for the first time this current campaign. As I plonked my carcass in my normal socket ? 23 seasons on the bounce in the Halfords, and still counting ? two conversations I?d within a very short space of time were playing heavily on my mind. All to do with the lad Shittu, who?d been feted as an Albion new-boy just a couple of days earlier; as those of you who read my comments last night would have seen, as far as I was concerned, the move was 99.9% ?in the bag(gie). It was disconcerting, to say the least, receiving two identical accounts of why we?d failed to sign the lad at the eleventh hour ? and from two sources completely independent of one another. Sorry, but I can?t say much more. Worrying.

But that was pushed to one side as I surveyed the ground, and all those who sailed in it. As I?d anticipated, there were some pretty large gaps to be seen in those areas where our supporters normally made their homes; clearly, the numbers would do well to rise as far as 20,000. As for the away support, you had to give ?em their due ? one small segment of the Smethwick apart, they?d filled their bit, and were making enough noise to wake the dead in there.

And then ? an ?Aw ? isn?t he cute?? interlude. Nothing to do with our players, more to do with John Homer?s missus, Jean, who?d just acquired a new kitten, and had the pictures to prove it. A pedigree mog, no less, part Burmese, part Abyssinian (but three generations removed, apparently) and one purchased from a vicar, poor little mite ? the kitten, not the vicar! ? who now rejoices in the name ?Zoltan?. Can?t think why for one minute!

And so, to work. As the two sets of combatants emerged from their rectangular bolt-hole, a noisy welcome awaited them, fortunately devoid of all that handshaking nonsense we?d had to endure in the Prem last year. (Mind you, stark curiosity coupled with a naughty sense of humour did lead me to speculate at some length upon what would have happened had our finest been told to shake hands with the Dingles prior to our first meeting proper in yonks - Ouch!) And, as I?d guessed last Sunday, we?d gone with the same cast-list deployed against Real Sociedad; I could only hope our chronic shortage of goals that day would have sorted itself out ere the time we did it for real.

And, to be fair, the positive manner in which they embarked upon their given task of taming the Tigers immediately post-kick-off came as something of a shock to the system. Greased lightning wasn?t in it, as time and time again, Hull were left horribly exposed, especially on the flanks. In the first minute, Hull managed to grab a corner ? but for the first 20, at least, that was the only time, just about, we saw them in with a chance of upsetting us. Right from that incident, Albion charged upfield, and thanks to a clever series of interplaying passes, Zoltan was going through Hull like a surgeon?s scalpel with adipose tissue. Hull were looking sunk, over went the cross, The Duke passed it on to the lurking-with-intent Greening, at which moment every single Baggie in the crowd screamed ?HIT IT!? in tones that must have surely reached as far as Smethwick High Street. ?Hit it? he duly did: how Hull managed to block the shot, I?ll never know, but stay out it did. A huge let-off for the visitors, then ? and there was much more to come.

Just a minute or so later, Zoltan had a superb chance to get on the score-sheet himself, thanks to a Greening centre, their keeper doing the damage-limitation bit this time. A shame, that, as the little lad should have easily put it away from that distance, but only managed to drive into their keeper?s welcoming arms instead. Two, then three more cast-iron, copper-bottomed chances begging to be converted passed us by ? and by that time, I was beginning to speculate as to whether or not Hull had cracked the invention one of sci-fi?s most popular literary devices ? the so-called ?deflector shield?. Aw, you know, that bit in Star Trek where Captain Kirk shouts to the engine-room, ?Deflector shields to maximum, Mister Scott ? we have Klingons right on our tail?.? And Scotty, poor lamb, shouts: ?Ah cannae give yez any more, Captain ? she?ll blow!? By that stage, absolutely nothing would have surprised me.

With around 20 gone, and the Hull defence visibly buckling, but to all intents and purposes still intact, you really had to wonder what you had to do to get a goal. Had the outcome been decided upon the most number of corners gained by then, we?d have been in the lead by a country mile. Zoltan was proving a pretty lethal weapon out there; Hull simply didn?t know what to do with him ? if we can hang onto him for the remainder of the season (a big ?ask?, that, as we know some pretty classy Premiership sides are sniffing already), we?ll tear this division to shreds, that?s for sure. In the meantime, we just sat back and watched the football, fast, flowing, a joy to watch, as the game should be played, in fact. The Albion Way.

26 minutes played, and despite yet more alarums and excursions inflicted on the well-battered Hull defence, the scores on the doors still remained bloodless. How that was so was a complete mystery to me, but it was around that time the first Albion defensive errors began to manifest themselves. Whether we?d simply thought the victory was a shoo-in, no matter what, or ?twas just a simple momentary lapse of concentration, I?m not entirely sure, but in the twinkling of an eye, Hull came horribly close to breaking the deadlock themselves. One of their players rounded Curtis Davis, penetrated our defences with ease, got into the box, pulled the trigger ? only to fire tamely into the ever-eager arms of our new keeper, ?Zoobie?. By rights, that effort should have bust the back of the net. Phew!

From that moment in, Hull began to assert themselves far more than they had the previous 25 minutes or so ? and, if truth were known, I?d say they?d had not a little dollop of hard luck along the way; in fact, not long before the break, they could have netted from a header direct from a corner. Shades of last season?s inability to find the back of the net, and being punished heavily later in the game for our serious deficiencies in that area? Too bloody right ? just call me ?Paranoid?.

A timely point at which to call a temporary halt to the proceedings, may I say, if only to enable our lot to concentrate their minds once more, and emerge from the tunnel for the second time of asking wanting to finish the job properly during the second half. One good giggle during the break, though ? as per usual, the half-time scores were being announced via the giant TV screens ? and for some unaccountable reason, our football club had Plymouth playing not the Dingles, but Sheffield Wednesday instead! Oops!

And, as my thoughts drifted amiably along those lines, out came our lot for the second sitting ? but no Hull? Surely they weren?t trying to emulate Chelski?s gaffer Mourhino?s dubious psychological tactics, as per last season, were they? Never fear ? a moment longer, and they were all present and correct. Perhaps they too were caught up in the almighty queues for the bog!

So, off we went, again, and it was around that time, I really began to take notice of our new defensive capture, the lad Perry. For a debut, he wasn?t half having a good ?un. Just as well, really, as Hull seemed to have determined to catch us half-asleep this time, and were succeeding, too. With but a few minutes on the clock, it was they, not us, getting the upper hand. It was one of those nasty moments when you could sense the side to be on the verge of completely losing it ? more likely courtesy of some awful defensive or goalkeeping gaffe or other. Albion error piled upon error, and the momentum was rapidly swinging towards Hull. All the hard work of the previous half was looking to be undone, and very soon, too. An opposition goal looked horribly imminent, especially when a Hull effort completely evaded Zoobie?s custodial attentions, bounced off the post for Hull to have another go, then out of harm?s way, courtesy a timely Albion block just as real damage was about to be inflicted ? which was why it came as such a complete surprise to see us score at the other end instead not long afterwards!

How come? Well, the breakthrough came via a long ball deep into their half, mean-looking, nasty for defenders to deal with. Hartson, on the receiving end, then turned their defender, leaving our new striker with the relatively simple task of lobbing their keeper, Myhill, from just inside the box. Blimey, talk about ?last-minute intervention by the 7th Cavalry? ? in the blasted thing plopped, at long last, much to the relief of a distinctly-wound-up Brummie Road. As for Hull, they must have been excreting bricks; those opening ten minutes had put the visitors very much in the ascendancy, so to see us hammer the ball away just at that vital moment must have hit them very hard indeed. As for the rest of the ground, I reckon it?s fair to say the goal was greeted, not with cheers for our lot, but with distinctly-audible sighs of downright relief!

So ? we?d gone one up, entered that dreaded ?Here Be Dragons? bit of the 90-minute road-map we all knew and loved. Could we hang on to the advantage? After all, our Premiership record of last season ? and the one before - was littered with times when we?d gone in front, just like now, but ended up blowing it in the dying minutes, usually because of defending no matter what, and far too deeply for comfort. Certainly, Hull should have potted one right from the restart, the unfortunately named Duffy blowing his own chance of making amends for all those other misses down to him. With our keeper left for dead, it should have been ?no contest?, but once more, instead of keeping things ?hard and low? the lad blazed harmlessly over the crossbar. Phew!

By now, it was plain the heat, albeit of a much gentler nature than had been the case just a week or so before, was getting to both sides. An injury to a Hull player ? at first I?d thought it to be cramp, which would have been a bit odd, the lad having come on as sub himself, but turning out to be something slightly more serious, necessitating in their manager having to take him off in the end ? provided all parties with an excellent opportunity to take much-needed electrolytes on board via those luridly-coloured so-called ?isotonic sports drinks?. Much slurping of liquid later ? shouted a wag in the crowd: ?Mine?s with two sugars, mate!? - all were ready to participate further.

With just over ten to go to the end, The Mighty Zoltan, who, to give him his due, looked absolutely knackered, as he well might, given his enormous contribution to the game, was taken off, Darren Carter ? all of him, this time, not just his legs, Carly! ? coming on by way of replacement. It wasn?t long after that, though, the visitors seemed to have turned down a pretty reasonable shout for a penalty. I didn?t see what actually happened out there, and neither did ?Im Indoors, but there was an almighty bellow from the Hull City portion of the ground to be heard, followed by what looked like profound relief on the part of our finest once the ref had indicated his complete disinterest in the matter. I was to find out what had precipitated the Hull protests via The Fart, who, also greatly puzzled, simply asked a Hull City supporter when on the bus heading into Brum, after the final whistle. According to The Fart?s newly-found boon companion, there were serious accusations of a Hull player being held when about to pull the trigger, which would go a long way towards explaining their profound annoyance, wouldn?t it?

Nice to see us on the receiving end of a little bit of jam for once, though, a commodity that has been in chronically short supply these last couple of seasons. Winding down the clock a little bit more, Inamoto replaced the busy Wallwork with about three to go, closely followed by the introduction of Albrechtsen replacing the excellent Jonathan Greening well into injury time ? which leads me to yet another twist and turn in the plot. By now, the referee had played well over the allotted span, and Brummie Road Enders innumerable busily reminding him what his Acme Thunderer sounded like when blown hard two or three times. Time for new boy Hartson to have the last word. Just as I?d put my notebook away, Albion had a free-kick in the Hull half. Duke Ellington found Quashie (I think) with it, and with Hull caught completely napping, the lad managed to get the ball closer still to the target before laying it off to Hartson, lurking by the near post, who then put the thing away in fine style. There was barely enough time for Hull to start again before the ref blew for the last time; had he closed the proceedings when he should have, by rights, we?d never have witnessed that second strike ? but I?m certainly not complaining. Are you?

Thoughts? Good performances from Greening, Duke Ellington and the menacing Hartson, of course, but for sheer destructive potential/capability, my accolade has to go in the direction of The Mighty Zoltan, who really showed his true class at this level today. There were times when Hull simply didn?t know what to do with him ? and he knew it. A very impressive debut from defensive new-boy Perry, too. And, talking about Hartson, he really seems to have hit it off with our followers already ? one game in, and he?s already had the ?Super, Super John ? Super Johnny Hartson!? treatment from The Brummie! I?m now looking for us to continue the good work over the course of the next couple of away games. Should we come away from them with points in the bag, then I might just revise my views considerably regarding the possibility of a decent promotion push being launched.

And Finally?. One. Sign of the times, now we?re back in the Nationwide (or whatever they?re calling it this year). Post-final whistle, from parking spot situated about five or ten minutes walk from Hawthorns, to our house ? eleven minutes, precisely!

Two. Poor Cyrille. My illustriously-named black mog is once more on the ?injured list?, this time because of a very painful dental abscess which has suddenly appeared in the wake of his current thyroid problems. When we get back, it?s into the operating theatre for him, and the offending tooth very much ?out?, but in the meantime, the poor little mite?s having loads of antibiotics bunged inside him by yours truly. Amazing, isn?t it? Over the course of these last three months, that cat has cost me more than all the other three put together over the last three years! Next time, I?ll get a flaming rabbit, or a stick-insect, even ? much less trouble!

Three. My last posting for a week or so, as we?re both off down to our holiday home for the next seven days. Will pick up the thread once more when we both get back Honest!

 - Glynis Wright

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