The Diary

19 September 2006: He's Gone, Then - Let The Guessing Game Begin!

Bryan Robson, post-match, Saturday: ?There?s miles to go in the season. We?ve not lost ground on the leaders, and we?re not going to win every home game?..?

Me (after hearing of his sacking today): ?At least you won?t have to worry about it too much any more, mate?..?

Well ? who would have thought it, eh? As I made clear in last night?s piece, had our dismal Championship performance continued for just a few more dismal games further down the line, then our former leader would have been left under no illusions whatsoever concerning his short-to-medium-term fortune, and all without the aid of any of the Doris Stokes brigade poking their ample noses into everything, either. What I didn?t expect, though, was a seemingly-chastened Robson being given the old heave-ho with such indecent haste by Jeremy Peace the very next day.

I learned for the first time what had happened at around half-ten this morning: it so happened I was contentedly munching on my normal breakfast Weetabix, while reading the Daily Mirror?s football pages, when the phone call came. Cursing the silly sod of an Indian call centre worker who was clearly trying his best to wind me up when I wasn?t in the mood to be wound up in that manner, I gruffly bawled a curmudgeonly ??Allo?? into the mouthpiece ? but instead of getting an enthusiastic half-Hindi, half-English discourse upon the various benefits of taking out a loan with one particularly well-known bank, or, as I got on one particularly fraught day, a brief (and totally-unrequited) run-down apropos of one very well-known double-glazed window firm?s wares, what I got instead was purest Old Fart. Just two short words came down the line ? ?He?s gone!?

Not quite believing what I was hearing, I then sought both clarification and confirmation of what The Fart had just said. ?Er, sorry, Tel ? who?s gone??

?Bryan Robson. Albion have just made the announcement on Radio WM. Pearson?s going to stay in charge for the moment, until something?s sorted out, one way or another.?

?Blimey, that was bloody quick, wasn?t it??

And that wasn?t all. Tel then told me that in the short intervening period between the radio announcement and ringing me, he?d already received around four requests to talk about the Robson affair, one of which comprised a brief telephone piece for Radio Five Live. As for myself, while I was putting finger to keyboard for the benefit of the ?mailing list?, my ruminations were suddenly interrupted by the phone, once more. This time it was the E and S. They wanted a Baggies-regular?s comments on what had happened, so I gave them a few brief quotes, just to keep ?em happy. Yep ? they?re in there tonight, all right.

Fast forward to around six in the evening, now, just as the BBC national news was about to get underway. Once more, the phone rang, once more I acknowledged, and once more, a Baggie chum was lurking at the other end. Jayne, The Noise?s missus, this time, and quite angry our cruel and heartless board had cast out her hero without so much as an illuminated scroll and civic address to show for all his efforts on our behalf. As for The Noise, he was still at work, and despite Jayne?s best efforts to let him know via his mobile, still very much incommunicado. I wonder what he had to say once he?d found out? Come to think about it, I wonder if he?s still at his place of work and arguing black?s blue around the contentious topic of whether or not Robson will get a fair deal from the club, or not. It should be remembered, though, that Our Jayne has the ?hots? quite badly for our former leader, and it?s all down to the Man United connection, see. Similarly, she goes weak at the knees every single time Steve Bruce comes on the telly. (Has that girl no taste, I ask myself?)

Is there a cure? God alone knows, but that?s not the point, really. What she did want to tell me, though, was that upon hearing the dread news, younger daughter Bethany actually burst into tears on the spot! As far as she was concerned, Robson?s departure was the cotton pickin? end of civilisation as we know it; catastrophic times indeed for such a little lass. Sorry, Bethany, but welcome to the realistic side of following a football club.

I can understand her profound disappointment, though; I can still clearly recall the unpleasant taste left in the mouth after learning of the way Albion shamefully sacked their much respected manager Alan Ashman while he was on holiday in Greece. The board had had quite enough of winning cups, so they said; the next stage was trying to wrest the (old) First Division Championship trophy from the vice-like grip of more conventional winners i.e. Arsenal, Man United and Liverpool. So what did our favourite football club do regarding the appointment of the new chap? Bring in former Hawthorns crowd favourite-turned-completely-defensive-minded-pub-bore Don Howe, that?s what!

The board?s justification for his appointment back then was his heavy involvement in Arsenal?s then-recent double-winning exploits. Having seen his team perform on Match Of The Day quite a lot the season before, we already had a pretty fair idea of what the club were letting themselves in for, and tried to warn the club he wasn?t exactly the ideal man for the job, given our love for fast, entertaining, attacking football. As ever, though, The Club Knew Best, and Howe duly embarked upon on the fateful journey that finished in 1973 with our relegation to the (then) Second. Little did we know it would be more than three long years and near-bankruptcy before we were to get a taste of the big time again.

And that was the nub of the issue, really. What next? As I recall, in both cases, we spent several minutes chewing the cud regarding precisely whom Albion might employ in Robson?s place. More to the point, we both speculated upon why Albion had chosen to arrest the rot even before the cracks had started to show. Sure, I could readily accept the perceived need of Jeremy Peace to take a much more proactive stance after Saturday, but why so soon? And with no so-called ?vote of confidence? from the board preparatory to swinging the axe available, either?

The only rational conclusion I can come up with right now is that Peace already has a managerial successor mapped out, as per my speculation last night, in which this as-yet anonymous ?sleeper? sits quietly at home, knowing full well that should Albion continue to drop down the Championship table like a brick careening down a 200-foot cliff, the summons would come very quickly indeed. Taking the argument a stage further, then, could that be the explanation as to why prodigal son Jason Koumas, hitherto seemingly determined to face his manager out no matter what, fines or no fines, once more saw the light so quickly and unexpectedly? Did someone at the club quietly tip him the wink prior to the lad suddenly ? most unexpectedly - pledging his future to the club once more? If you know the source of a bit of workplace friction is due to bugger off before too long, then you stay your hand regarding a diligent search of the job pages, don?t you?

What does one make of the supposition from Sky TV earlier today that the sacking may have been precipitated by Robson hearing a rumour that Jeremy Peace was contemplating bringing in someone to become Director Of Football, Mick Wadsworth of Gretna, according to the E and S tonight, a move that could quite clearly have led to a clash of ideas between the then-present incumbent and the new guy wanting to make a name for himself very quickly. And another thing. Was it significant, also, that in their quite reasoned and sensible discussion on what ultimately led to Jeremy Peace giving Robson his P45, they stated that only a short while ago, Jeremy Peace had taken the unusual step of moving his office to a location right next to Robson?s, at the training ground?

Think about the implications inherent in such a move for a while, then ask yourself a simple question, basing your answer upon your own experience in industry, public service, or whatever. Suppose you?re engaged in turning out widgets in quantity (or, for that matter, performing chest surgery/teaching schoolkids science/processing benefit claims etc.) and it?s fiddly and highly-skilled work, with lots of concentration required. How would you react if, around the time you were grafting like stink to get a particularly-complicated order/operating list/exam syllabus/government target completed within the time allowed, you then had the additional pressure of your gaffer standing behind and checking up on you all the time?

Wouldn?t exactly be conducive towards the maintenance of a good working relationship, or, for that matter, just treating grown people like adults, now, would it? I?m damn well sure that if I were to be treated in that way, I wouldn?t like it either. Could either event have been the proverbial straw that broke the camel?s back for Bryan? One big bust-up with Peace, then the whole thing becoming very much a case of: ?ta-ta, Bryan ? and don?t come back, now, y?hear?? The main trouble with football clubs is the simple fact that very little of their day-to-day business is conducted upon a clear presumption of both transparency and accountability. A bit like how the current government operate, if you like, which is why we?ll probably never discover the answer to that one ? unless someone with both insight and influence elects to spill the beans at some future date, of course. Whatever caused the final splitting of the blanket, it must have been pretty sudden.

Time, now, to look at who could be reasonably thought next in line for the job. With all the uncertainly over regarding our former gaffer?s future employment prospects, it?s a very convenient time to turn our attention to the vexing question of who is likely to take over. From what I?ve seen while out and about, Alan Curbishley, until recently with Charlton, of course, seems to be everyone?s favourite choice to succeed the former England player. Odds-on favourite with those lovely people, the bookies, he is, which is pretty much to be expected, these days!

One pretty sobering thought about Curbishley, though ? as one Boing group participant posted today, when he ran Charlton and got them into the top-flight, one thing you could guarantee whenever his Cup fortunes took him to The Hawthorns ? or, for that matter, with one horrible 5-0 stonking at their place a few years back being the exception, those few times they came here when they were on the low bit of their former ?yo-yo? existence ? their forte seemed to be getting a quick goal, then piling everybody behind the bloody ball, and defending like crazy for the remainder of the game.

Come the end of the season, they usually finished around the mid-table mark, but if I were an Addick, I sure as hell wouldn?t have been very happy paying good money to see them play in that awfully negative manner. I recall them doing precisely that the first time we made it into the Prem and played at their place. We had most of the play ? and should have had another penalty courtesy Jason Roberts getting upended yet again ? but breaking them down proved a task as insurmountable as trying to break into the USAF national missile-defence place they?ve got at Colorado Springs. Curbishley would very likely get us back in the big-time OK ? but, unless he?s undergone a conversion on the scale of the one affecting Saint Paul while out of the game, I don?t think the end-result would look very pretty. One very late bit of news, though ? according to The Times, Curbishley has ruled himself out of the running for the job, and Burnley?s Steve Cotterill is now the bookies? favourite to land the job. Could Curbs be persuaded otherwise by Peace? I still suspect he?s holding out for another London club, so I personally doubt it. But what do I know? I?m only a blasted supporter.

Other suggestions I?ve seen tonight are George Burley, Tony Pulis, and Peter Taylor. Kevin Keegan? That old chestnut has also surfaced, as well I thought it might. The only problem I have with him and his managerial style is his notorious tendency to walk out as soon as the going gets tough. He did it with Newcastle, he did it with England, and he also did it with Man City. He does believe in playing good, attractive football, though, as seen when he took City up the same year we finally achieved escape velocity ? which would constitute a considerably improvement upon what we?ve been watching of late, methinks.

One name in the frame I DON?T want to see gracing our dug-out, either now or in the future, is bloody Graham Souness. If our players thought Megson autocratic, unreasonable and unyielding, then Souness would probably end up writing yet another chapter in what will undoubtedly come to be his authorised autobiography, provisionally entitled: ?How Not To Manage A Football Team?, at our players? expense. Either that, or someone quite unexpectedly finding his corpse floating in the canal situated at the bottom of Brasshouse Lane. And the same goes for flaming Glenn Hoddle, too. Never mind the fact he has a recent Dingles background (from the look of his track record while with them, a total stranger really would have thought a covert Baggie with malicious inclinations might have expedited his appointment to that post!), not only would he demand the Earth when it came to salary discussions, he?d probably punt on also wanting a large chunk of Mars surreptitiously placed in a brown envelope and left in some prominent place or other for him to find. And in any case, he might call himself a Christian, but in terms of what appears genuine sincerity, not only on the surface but also within, Big Dave he most certainly ain?t. David O?Leary? Thanks but no thanks!

Mike Newell, of Luton, who just happen to be our away opponents this forthcoming Saturday, is the choice of ?Im Indoors. He?s certainly got a lot going for him, mind. Mike Newell, I mean, not my other half. Anyone that can take a grot-hole like Kenilworth Road into a much higher sphere of football than the one they were previously used to ? and also win them a lot of friends via their Cup exploits last season ? must have a lot going for them. They are very much worshippers at the feet of the attacking code, apparently, which would be a definite ?plus-point? for most of us were he to get the nod. But could he handle the enormous pressures and expectation-levels attendant on managing us, I wonder? Hmmmmm. If we haven?t made an announcement by next Saturday, I shall be watching that game with renewed interest.

There is another possibility, of course, and one that no-one appears to be taking particularly seriously at the moment. If, after all our labours, we still can?t agree on a suitable mug ? er, better belay my last, quick! ? ?candidate? for the job, why not simply tell Nigel Pearson to get on with it on a pro-tem basis, then see how he copes? After all, the bloke has coaching qualifications crawling from every available bodily orifice. He even instructs aspiring Premiership managers taking their UEFA licence to qualify them for work at that level. If he can?t motivate our lot, then who the bloody hell can?

And Finally?? One. An Albion ?poet? and he most certainly knows it. A topical bit of verse for you all, now, courtesy of a lad called Graham Woodhall, one of my regular ?readers?. Any other budding Wordsworths or Byrons out there feeling hard enough to have a go themselves?

The hallowed turf, where mighty men have trod, is called The Hawthorns or, by some, The Shrine.

And battles have been staged upon this sod on many days since eighteen ninety nine.

Pennington, Bassett, Bomber and The King were all great heroes in their time but, since

those glory years, with Willy on the wing, the faithful few would settle for a prince.

Pretenders to the throne have been and gone but none has matched the heady heights of yore.

When Bryan came, we thought he was the one but now his tactics we shall see no more.

For on the field he stood above the rest but on the line he didn?t stand the test

Two. Seen on a council notice in our local High Street this morning: ?STREET WARDENS NOW HAVE THE POWER TO ISSUE ON THE SPOT FINES FOR DOG FOULING?

So there you are, it?s now official. How many times did I have to tell you before you?d listen? Now you?ve got it in writing, I?ll say it again. For goodness sake, stop tackling that poor little mutt of yours from behind!

 - Glynis Wright

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