The Diary

10 September 2006: As I Was Saying Before I Was So Rudely Interrupted.....!

A very belated greetings to you all, finally ? but there is a very good reason, I promise. Honest. Cross my heart and hope to die, even. As I?d said prior to our departure for the wilds of Hereford, I would have posted a new instalment after our journey back last Friday evening, were it not for the fact that for some reason, our PC well and truly got its frilly knickers in an almighty twist while we were away, and nothing we did afterwards could extricate it from the absolute mess into which it had sunk. The problem occurred when we tried booting the thing up after switching on again ? for reasons best known to its electronic self, instead of booting all the way when requested to do so, it would get so far, then switch itself off again, sending the whole process back to the starting line once more. And not just the once, either. Over and over it went, locking itself into a massively-infuriating permanent loop, and by doing so, beating this column to it by a short head.

Clearly, we needed a ?bigger ?ommer? to sort it out, so the following day, ?Im Indoors rang our resident IT specialist-cum-Ipswich Town supporter for help. After an awfully long time (I?m really dreading the phone bill), our lad finally diagnosed the problem ? a whole set of missing drivers, whatever they are, but that?s what ?Im Indoors told me earlier, so it must be right ? and offered to sort the matter for us. Just one snag, though. Doing so would completely ?wipe? everything stored there! Not an ideal state of affairs for us, so the lad then offered to retrieve everything stored there and save it to another hard drive, which sounded OK, so ?Im Indoors duly carted the offending item over to his place ? and that?s why the awful delay in posting my Leicester City instalment. Don?t blame me, blame Charles Babbage, Alan Turing and all the rest of the pioneering IT gang!

Apologies now well and truly sorted out, I?ll swiftly move on to Saturday afternoon?s doings, and this column?s involvement in them. After an absence from the action of around three weeks, it felt rather good to stroll up Halfords Lane in the brilliant autumn sunshine once more, and acknowledging greetings from various people we knew to a greater or lesser extent. First to join us in our upwards stroll was one of the male members of ?The Drinking Family? (Stuart is his name), great boosters of brewery shares when on away trips in times of yore ? but now the ?Former Drinking Family?!

It all got a little silly after our second promotion ? financially, that is ? so they don?t go away half as much as they did, which is a shame. Their clan are a really hospitable lot when away from Planet Albion HQ. It?s still nice to have a natter, though, and that?s precisely what we did. It turned out that the lad recently completed 30 years service with the firm he works for, no less, but instead of presenting the usual gold watch (or whatever) his firm has a much more practical way of rewarding loyalty. Those who get that much time in are given a month?s additional salary by way of reward, apparently. A gift well worth having indeed, and a gesture about as rare as hen?s teeth in most of the private sector, but not in this particular firm, it would seem. Other employers, only too keen to ?reward? their longer-serving minions with naught but statutory redundancy (usually much less favourable, financially, than contractual packages, of course), or a drastic change in pension rules leading to a vast reduction in actual payouts on retirement, please note!

Taking our leave temporarily ? having a certain reputation to maintain, our friend was heading straight for the welcoming arms of The Hawthorns Hotel! ? the club shop proved to be our next port of call. But not before greeting a very familiar figure parked right outside of it, my niece Donna, now back to her normal duties of flogging credit cards after being on maternity leave for a while. Well done that girl ? and I faithfully swear not to tell anyone about the times you?ve had to go to Molineux to perform the same service. Or the innumerable occasions you?ve had to wear a Dingles jacket while on the job, so to speak! (Oh, damn ? it slipped out anyway!)

Into the shop proper, then, where The Fart, cat-sitter and house-cleaner extraordinaire, awaited us. The idea was to grab his stilecard and sort out some tickets for Luton, you see ? and we didn?t think we couldn?t do that without the personal use of The Fart?s body (ooer missus!) hence the request to wait for us. While we were in there, ?Im Indoors decided to invest in a bag suitable for work purposes, and an Albion one was just the ticket, he decided. That sorted out, finally ? with a few more choice words for my niece chucked in for good measure as well ? off we went to the ticket office, and who did we meet in there? None other than my old mucker Dot Lepkowska, formerly of a national newspaper and now doing freelance work.

And enjoying it far more, I would imagine: having spoken to a chum who was, until recently, employed in that field, as I understand it, ?proper? newspaper journalism, at both local and national levels, is fast becoming a nightmare for those who toil in it. So many demanding, bullying ? not to mention downright abusive - editors, so many cowed reporters doing their job for miserly pay rates, well below NUJ recommendations in some instances ? and it?s not a profession where those wronged have frequent resort to legal procedures to gain redress, either. Sexual harassment, sexual discrimination, outright bullying leading to what?s known as ?constructive dismissal? ? it?s all there in heaps, and Industrial Tribunal redress practically unknown.

Complainants, successful or otherwise, seem to have the devil of a job just finding alternative employment in the same field after tribunal proceedings. Probably seen as a sign of weakness by those editors still stuck fast in ?dinosaur? mode ? which seems to be an awful lot of them these days. Just to survive in journalism you?ve got to have the constitution of a horse, not to mention a skin of elephantine thickness. Why so many bright kids want into such a stressful existence really escapes me, sometimes. Oh ? and one other bit of news, one I genuinely didn?t know. Belated congrats are in order to Birmingham Mail Albion wallah Chris L, Dot?s brother, apparently. He is now a daddy, and has been so for some time, so Dot tells me. See ? just goes to show how badly out of touch I am these days!

Tickets all sorted out to our mutual satisfaction, off we went to our usual pre-match haunt, nicely in time to meet up with the Lewis clan, we reckoned. At least that was the plan! On our way there, we were collared by Adam Cotton, no less. Regular Boing people will know the name, of course, but for the benefit of those who aren?t, Adam lives and works in Thailand, regularly corresponding with the list whilst over there. He?s also a Baggie of long standing, and was putting his time in Blighty to good use, by doing some serious Baggie-watching while he was at it. What his missus, a Thai national, thought of it all, I really don?t know: perhaps the mere fact she was there with him suggested she, too, had caught that strange affliction known to medical science as ?Albion?!

And we needn?t have worried about The Noise: as it happened, he and his brood were just behind us through the door of the pub. It?s a bit of a pre-match ritual with them, going to McDonalds beforehand, albeit an expensive one, I would have thought. Still, that?s the way kids are these days, and nothing the health police say will dissuade them, I suppose. Young Bethany was particularly glad to see us: just the other day, her long-awaited stilecard had materialised in the post, and it was with the greatest of pleasure we finally handed it over, especially as she?d been fretting to get it in her hot little hand for quite some time.

Ah, well do I remember the time when I regarded the arrival of my Baggies season-ticket in a similar light! Aeons ago, too: let?s just say that when I first got mine, it was still possible to ?change ends? at half-time, by the simple expedient of walking along where the East Stand now is ? it was part-terraced back then - then arriving at either the Brummie or Smethwick, depending upon how the toss had gone pre-kick-off, of course. All without any manner of let or hindrance from the plods, of course ? and all stopped when the idiot tendency first started to make their presence felt at the ground. What year? About the time Pontius was a Pilate is the way it now feels, but modesty forbids me to be more precise than that!

Once inside and sitting down, a chance to check out the programme, the contents of which happened to be of some personal interest to us today. ?Im Indoors himself was writer of an article within it, and all to prepare the ground for his forthcoming book, ?West Brom?s Cult Heroes?. I understand release date is just weeks away now. As one of the slightly press-ganged proofreaders/researchers, I know just how much work has gone into this tome. So much of the content adds something new to the club history. Naturally, the Albion News was keen to plug club shop sales but you can pre-order now direct from the publisher at the reduced rate of ?15 all-in. See separate section on Finbarr?s site or indeed several of the more prominent Albion websites. Ooops, sorry for the commercial. Blame Im Indoors.

Next up to greet us was Dawn, she of the Astle clan, with more news of her lad, the one looking favourite to follow in the footsteps of his granddad. Apparently, at the tender age of eight, he?s had someone from a leading Premiership club ring her up and ask permission to watch him play. To say Dawn was rendered totally mute by such a conversation would constitute a masterpiece of understatement. All Dawn could counter with was one sentence repeated over and over again: ??..But he?s only EIGHT, for goodness sake!?..? Mind you, I don?t think the King would have approved of this particular approach had he been alive: the club concerned was one with which Astle Senior would have had a particularly strong antipathy in his day. (No, before you ask, it wasn?t the claret-and-spew situated two miles away! Sorry.) I really can?t give anything away on that front, of course, as their involvement is still very much ?active? so to speak, but suffice it to say that should a sudden thunderbolt take out Dawn?s roof in the near future, you won?t have to use a great deal of deductive-power to figure out just who the culprit might be!

Out to a sun-drenched Halfords Lane, finally, and a quick walk via Steve The Miser, full of gossip, to our turnstile. On the way there, I happened to catch a glimpse of the new academy, which must have taken its very first ?customers? this month, but more to the point, the huge badge which now graced the front entrance. A design drawing very heavily on the new Albion number, so it seemed. Probably not a coincidence, as the club had a considerable stake in setting the school up in the first place, of course. What did intrigue me, though, were the letters on the front replacing the Throstle, S.A. S.A? Now, what else could that stand for, I wondered. South Africa? Salvation Army? Or, more sinisterly, the early thirties Nazi organisation of the same name, decimated by Hitler?s other ?lot?, the SS, in what later came to be known as ?The Night Of The Long Knives?? Ooer. Oh well ? anything?s got to be better than bloody creationism, Reg Vardy-financed academy-style!

Inside, at long last ? and I have to say, Leicester?s away support looked pretty impressive to me. Not surprising, though, them having recovered well from a grotty start to the season, and it being around eight years since our path and theirs last crossed. Some might remember that one, the season Richard Sneekes scored at Leicester, and bookies everywhere broke their hearts as a result. Martin O?Neill managed the Foxes back then, and the game was remarkable for one further incident in particular. Thanks to a late, late strike, Albion emerged the winner ? that meant the final whistle was the cue for some very het-up City supporters to assert on local radio that night that O?Neill had completely blown their chances of promotion, and in very rude terms, too. But crafty Martin ?O? had the last laugh: he quietly recorded all those heated words, and then took great delight in playing back on air precisely what his brain-dead detractors had said in the wake of City?s subsequent play-off victory just a month later! ?Oops?? Not?arf!

But back to the present. It would appear we have a new Hawthorns ?signature tune?. ?Let Me Entertain You?, as performed by alleged Port Vale lover Robbie Williams. In the wake of that awful Sunderland performance I felt somewhat inclined to suggest the club change the title to ?Let Me Bore You Something Silly?. As for our line-up, I was surprised to see we?d left established people like Zoltan Gera and Nathan Ellington on the bench, I was even more surprised to see Hawthorns prodigal Jason Koumas sat alongside them. Was he fit? Oh, and a bit of a giggle inadvertently provided by one of the linos, who rejoiced in the unfortunate surname Pollock. I bet he had fun at school, anything labelled as belonging to him rapidly losing that all-important capital ?P? and the naughty capital ?B? quickly inserted in its place!

Time to get things moving, then ? but not before John Homer had ample time to assail our nostrils with the pong from his usual Balti pie, mind. A slow start for both clubs, it has to be said, and one where the sight of Jason Koumas warming up on the touchline was enough to move his Halfords Lane Strand audience into cries of general encouragement coupled with (mainly) profuse applause, something that was taken up enthusiastically by the Smethwick when our lad?s perambulations finally took him towards that part of the ground. Giving the guy a fair chance to prove himself, I suppose, a sentiment with which I wouldn?t disagree.

Over the course of a tedious first 45, a highlight was a Darren Carter free-kick hitting the post with about ten minutes gone, then cleared by Leicester for an Albion corner, totally stuffed up, as per usual. On the breakaway from that, Leicester attacked, the incursion resulting in a corner for them. Over came the ball, flashing right across the face of goal and with not an Albion defender anywhere near. Nor a Leicester attacker, either, fortunately: had there been one, the ref would have been pointing towards the centre-circle by then. It really was that sort of game ? a ?comedy of errors?, in fact.

Meanwhile, in the Smethwick, much police activity signified the first sign of autumn?s approach, or something ? a Leicester supporter being chucked out of the ground for some sin or another, be it venal or cardinal. Or simply for breathing out of turn? the way things are in there, sometimes, who knows? Mind you, shortly after that, and with just 15 minutes gone, to enliven the proceedings somewhat, The Smethwick ? why do all such initiatives have to come from there, and not The Brummie these days? ? decided to commence singing that old favourite ?Stand Up If You Hate The Wolves?. No surprise, really, when a goodly number of their Leicester counterparts also stood up in total agreement ? they genuinely are the pariahs of the entire Championship!

The half having reached the halfway stage ? aw, you know what I mean! ? that superb Carter effort apart, we were getting very little change out of them, if truth were known, and former Baggie AJ seemed to be an integral part of their tactics. Our problems seemed to stem from a distinct lack of communication between midfield and strikers, all of which coupled with passing of ?amateur hour? standard, at times. Passing to someone who simply isn?t there (but who should be, presumably) isn?t all that heartening, quite frankly. And at the back wasn?t any better: at one point, I watched a Leicester player waltz his way towards goal as no less than three of our defenders just stood and watched. It was only a matter of luck the ball was finally put away for a Leicester corner.

Not only that, John Homer was already waging his customary verbal war with both the referee and nearest lino. Bawled he, in tones that must surely have curdled all the milkshakes in nearby McDonalds, ?If that?s offside, then I?m a Villa supporter!?.? Me: ?Shall I go and buy you that Villa shirt now, John?? Somehow, I don?t think the lad?s reply was all that complimentary!

That was the state of play with 50 per cent of the half gone, then. Meanwhile, in the Albion dug-out, a surprising face popped out to sniff the air, Craig Shakespeare, no less, presumably taking time from his reserve team duties in order to sample the managerial ?high life?. Did that mean Craig was about to spread his fledgling managerial wings a tad more over the course of the current season, I wondered. And the way things were going for us right then, I reckon any sort of managerial intervention would have come as a timely change. (Nigel Pearson was apparently taking a wider view from the front row of the old directors box).

As the half progressed, you could feel the tension building with every single minute that passed. Almost imperceptibly at first, then becoming far more palpable, much more tangible: come the last ten minutes or so, Albionites were groaning audibly, jeering, even, misplaced passes, of which there were plenty, of course. All caused by the enormous weight of expectation that hung around the players? necks like the Ancient Mariner?s Albatross, and likely to prove equally pernicious, the way things were shaping out there. Commented ?Im Indoors: ?As far as the standard of play?s concerned, is this much different from the Rochdale-Hereford Fourth Division game we watched a couple of weeks ago?? I had to concede he certainly had a point.

Once more, Jason Koumas did his ?trotting down the line? thing, and once again, Halfords Lane Stand people were generous with their applause. Genuine encouragement/ desperation, or just a sign that the game really was downright awful, I wonder? And, from the seat in front, yet another ?bon mot? from an exasperated John Homer: ?Come on Albion ? let?s ?ave a bit of movement?..!? Said I, equally fed up with what we?d paid good money to see: ?What, a bowel movement??

Just five minutes to the break, now, and even more groaning from the groundlings as yet another Albion move fell flat on its face. Our expressions of discontent must have been very audible in the away section, because no sooner had the boos and jeers died down, there began the faint but indisputably audible strains of their followers yelling en-masse ?ROBSON OUT! ROBSON OUT!?..? Just one to go, now, and as if in agreement with that assessment of our own ineptitude, a silver balloon suddenly left its East Stand moorings, to fly off in the general direction of the town centre, it would appear. Not that I could blame it, mind. Cue The Voice Of Optimism, situated several rows further back, of whom I?ve spoken before. ?Come on, Robbo ? wake ?em up at half time?..? That, and a sorely-needed ?few words? on top, I thought. Whatever that guy puts in his tea before games, I really would like a dose of it, sometimes!

Half-time it was, then. Not surprisingly, as our finest left the scene of the accident, much jeering erupted from the Halfords. Predictable, really. But as they all trooped off, something else completely different struck me. Why was the TV screen situated at the corner of both East Stand and Smethwick not showing any action today? (Not that they?d have had much to show from this one, mind, but you do have to show willing sometimes, I suppose!) Next up was, of all institutions, the West Midlands Fire Service! Publicising their free smoke alarm scheme, a highly laudable project, of course. Mind you, the way the game was going, it would certainly need some sort of conflagration to kick-start it into action once more. Some sort of creativity emanating from the feet of one of our so-called ?strikers? wouldn?t have gone amiss by that stage, come to think about it ? no Fire Brigade attendance whatsoever required to put out that sort of spark, of course.

So ? what to do now? Would Robson try to bring on a bit more creativity in the form of Jason Koumas come the next 45? Let?s face it, so low was his personal stock in the eyes of a good many supporters at that time, he needed every bit of help the good Lord could provide to get Baggies all-too mindful of the exact circumstances surrounding his re-appearance at the club completely won over. Bring him on and clock up a few much-needed Brownie points as a result? A winner all round, one might say. Oh ? and another half-time programme advert intrigued me somewhat. It appears Albion are to go into the travel market. Not just for away trips, which they do already, of course ? but ?proper? breaks and holidays. Got to be a joke there, somewhere, one along the lines of turning up at the airport, getting on the plane, taking off, even ? only to find the aircraft lacks sufficient fuel to reach its destination airport! Feeble, I know, but if anyone else out there can do better, please feel free to chip in!

Time for the second portion of the ?dose? then, and very quickly, it became apparent that the crowd were becoming even more intolerant of errors, no matter what the cause. (Certainly, as one of our finest sliced horribly a free-kick taken just outside the left-hand side of the box with six minutes only on the clock, the jeers really started.) Came the inevitable remark from The Bloke In Front Of Me: ?I?m really losing my temper now, I am!? Well, I?d never have guessed, had he not told me!

But all this negativity had a surprise ?knock-on effect?. From the Smethwick came the gradual groundswell of a much more supportive frame of mind, thereby creating an atmosphere much more conducive to the players labouring out there. All that noise caused the Leicester contingent to raise their game too, the end result being a far better atmosphere than had prevailed the entire first half. And yes ? as Jason Koumas did his touchline thing yet again, another heartfelt plea for his inclusion rolled across the Halfords and into the home dug-out.

With 20 minutes gone, and yet another Carter effort hitting the bar, signs of movement from the bench at long last: well, after all, he?d had more than enough hints from us by then, subtle or otherwise! About four minutes later, on he came, and in tandem with Ellington, the ?sacrificial pawns? being Greening (who had looked distinctly off form the whole way through), and Hartson. The changes made, come the 27th, we were lucky to survive when Phillips lost his man completely while helping out at the back.

With just fifteen minutes remaining, Nathan Ellington finally had his chance to shine. With naught but the City keeper to beat, instead of slotting it away and taking all the plaudits, he managed to smack the blasted thing straight into his opponent?s prone body instead. Oh, whoops! But there was more to come, and very soon, too. With just six minutes remaining, the game headed for what seemed like a dead-cert bore-draw stalemate, and a goodly number of Halfords Lane Stand regulars headed for the exits, Albion were thrown an unexpected lifeline ? and not one that came from the feet of our players, either. Under very little pressure that I could see, Leicester?s Darren Kenton managed to get his head to the ball while in his one box ? but instead of the ball looping across the touchline and out for safety, it somehow contrived to enter their own net instead! Oh, whoops! Not that I was arguing, mind.

No sooner had they kicked off, it was Nightmare Number Two for their crestfallen defenders. This time, it was Philips that was upended in the box, just as he looked about to pull the trigger, too. No real guarantee he would have netted, mind, but that didn?t matter to the ref, who immediately pointed to the spot. As the ?injured party? our newcomer decided that the honour of taking it had to fall to him. Seconds later, it was ?job done? as the ball entered the Leicester domain for the second time in as many minutes. What a farcical way to earn three points, but that?s just typical of this division, isn?t it? Mind you, the last word just had to come from the Smethwick, who had unerringly carried the torch for our manager in the face of much abuse emanating from the other end of the ground. ?Robson, Robson, give us a wave?? was their triumphal cry ? and, much to my surprise, he duly did! Mind you, to be absolutely fair, it wasn?t the Smethwick giving him the greater part of the stick earlier, so I suppose he had to do something positive just for them. Having said that, after all the grot we?d seen, especially during the first half, you really had to smile, didn?t you? Either that, or tear your hair out through sheer frustration, I suppose!

Thoughts? Well, we somehow got away with it in the end, much to my astonishment. Perhaps we attract the same sort of three-cornered luck small children and drunks seem to enjoy. I have to say there were not a few instances during yesterday?s game I thought we?d end up on the losing side. And the quality of our passing let much to be desired also; it?s a bit embarrassing when something intended to sail right across the pitch and right at the feet of the recipient lands up some twenty yards or so behind, isn?t it? And not just once, but on several occasions. Turned what could have been a promising attacking move, leading into a chance to get behind their defence for once, into yet another rapid tracking-back move lest the opposition use our inaccuracy to their advantage. As I said, we held a candle to the Devil, as it were, yesterday - and got away with it. Had the opposition been of a more predatory nature, we might well have ended up in much bigger lumber.

A wonderfully big Baggies hand, then, to Leicester?s Darren Kenton, who has netted as many times for us as Paul Robinson in his entire Albion career. It?s been an exceedingly long time since Albion last had me rolling in the aisles like that. Still, maybe it might ease the former Norwich man?s embarrassment marginally if I add that in April 1966, another City man ? Sjoberg - scored twice for us in one game as City were buried 5-1. It?s a club record apparently, and one no footballer would want to break, I?m sure.

Thoughts? Something tells me that once the division?s genuine front runners get their feet well and truly under the table ? alarm bells should be clanging at a deafening pitch with that last-gasp Dingles win at Leeds earlier today, which puts them joint top, of course ? those glaring inadequacies we put on public display yesterday might well come home to roost much sooner than we think. We have to greatly improve on our current act or run the risk of not making the top six, even. The Dingles have a decent away record to date, for example, but we don?t. Clubs who can?t win away don?t often reach the play-offs, period. As for Robson, he needs a situation like that like a hole in the head. I strongly suspect that despite our favourable League placing, right now, he?s still supping from the bar in the Last Chance Saloon; land in a bad losing streak, and he could find himself seeking alternative employment very quickly. Jeremy Peace might not possess the cruder personal attributes ?enjoyed? by some of this division?s more notorious chairmen, but that doesn?t mean to say he hasn?t got a ruthless streak in him. Still waters run exceedingly deep in Jeremy?s case, and managers daft enough to risk venturing into them in an overly reckless manner do so at their peril.

And Finally?. One. Here?s a lovely story about The Noise for you. The other day, he decided to have a word with his bank about changing one of his cards, and what other options were available to him in that line. A pretty reasonable assumption, you might think ? and were it any other Albion supporter making enquiries, I would have totally gone with the flow, but this is The Noise we?re talking about, remember? A full 90 MINUTES later, he emerged, finally.

Nothing at all surprising about that, mind ? finance can be a particularly complicated subject to cover, even at the best of times ? but what WAS unusual was the way the conversation went. Their ?expert? started off advising The Noise all right, but somewhere along the line, the roles then switched. Result? The Noise ended up advising the woman bank employee as to her own best pension options, and what action she should take should her own agreement prove less rewarding than it should! All that, mind, from a bloke who failed his eleven-plus, and got chucked onto the educational scrap-heap as a result! Yet another case of our school system letting down kids deserving of far, far more. You really have to wonder, sometimes.

Two. (And he?s going to kill me when he sees this!) Oooh ? it?s got to be the first signs of decrepitude creeping in, or something! By that, I mean ?Im Indoors and his fruitless search for the fridge magnets we purchased for The Fart while away in Herefordshire (our veteran Baggie collects the things, a fact to which his fridge door will readily attest, believe you me!). Anyway, yesterday morning, my other half really turned the entire place upside down looking for the blasted things, and was actually on the verge of conceding defeat before trying what seemed at the time to be a very long shot indeed ? thinking ?out of the box?, as it were. Which proved, in his case, to be slap-bang in the middle of the bloody fridge. Eureka! Well, plumb-spang in the salad crisper drawer, to be more precise. Keeping company with all our cucumbers, lettuces and tomatoes, if you really want to know. Oh, well ? at least one could deem them all ?well-preserved? by the time my other half got to find them! Not to mention dead cool! As for this column, 50 per cent of me was genuinely pleased the lad had located ?em finally, while the other 50 per cent was left wondering as to whether now was the right time to cart him off to our GP for a full senility assessment!

 - Glynis Wright

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