The Diary

23 September 2006: Go To Kenilworth Road? We Must Be As Mad As Hatters!

What a peculiar sort of day I had yesterday. Well, when I elected to visit our local chemist to sort out a prescription, that was. As I?ve mentioned before, the lad?s had some pretty extensive renovations done to the place over the course of these past three or so weeks ? in fact, at their height, the place ended up virtually gutted, and still Dev operated a skeleton service throughout ? but the contractors have now finished banging, drilling, and scattering dust just about everywhere, and that?s why I turned up on his premises in the first place, to ?bless? all those brand-new fixtures and fittings, so to speak.

But that isn?t the real reason why our Albion-share-owning pharmaceutical wizard features in my opening paragraph. When I got there, I found the place practically under siege from customers whose regular prescription ?orders? had gone slightly awry, a natural consequence of all the upheavals, I suppose. It was while Dev was dealing with them, and I was awaiting my turn, I just happened to hear him call one customer in particular ?Elvis?. Doo wot?

Thinking that the pair were just indulging in a bit of a mutual private joke, the daft sort of thing you might do at work, say, I put the whole thing right out of my mind ? until our chemist called his name out a second time to hand the other guy his various medical needs, and to check he?d got the right person, as all good chemists ought to do. This time, we got the name in full: ?Elvis Presley?, and yep ? whether by deed poll or whatever, that?s his real name. How do I know? Easy, I stole a sneaky-beaky look at the prescription proper, which our chum had left lying on the counter, that?s how! Made me want to announce to the rest of the crowd, as he walked out: ?Elvis has now left the chemists?.?, but, somehow, I didn?t think they?d appreciate my somewhat wacky sense of humour.

Dearie, dearie, me. Whatever next, I wonder? Anyone else out there know someone with a name quite so bizarre as that one? But I digress. Back to the present, then, and our Saturday trip to Kenilworth Road, our first bit of proper League action since Bryan Robson got the old heave-ho last Monday morning. (My sister told me, tonight, that according to one version she read, Robson was only informed, in fact, at the unearthly hour of SEVEN in the morning, via a phone call from our chairman! Nothing quite like being straight, and telling someone the bad news right to their face, is there?)

As for the game itself, we?ll be descending upon Kenilworth Road?s away end tomorrow afternoon ? well, we pair, and The Fart, actually. We may not have played them for quite some time, now ? their Last League encounter with us was back in 1995-96, the year they got relegated, and our last Cup meeting a League Cup jobbie, in midweek, season 1997-98 (see below). I can?t exactly say I missed those annual Kenilworth Road treks; at that time, they seemed to have enthusiastically embraced a policy of making life about as difficult for away travellers as they possibly could, making all home games horribly-overpriced ?all-ticket-to-away-supporters? affairs.

At one point, thanks to the best efforts of their then-chairman, an obnoxious Tory MP called David Evans (Acting in what one might regard as exquisite taste, he actually went on record the day of the Hillsbrough disaster as suggesting that had the dead been in possession of ID cards ? that was a horror football-hating PM Thatcher was pursuing quite strongly at that time ? they would have been identified much quicker!) they ended up banning away supporters completely. Which would have been fine, had they been absolutely rolling in it, but they weren?t. Losing money hand over fist, actually, but it was quite some time before Evans finally saw the light. If I remember correctly, he ended up getting some pretty strong hints that he and Luton Football Club would be far better off without him on the board. And there was the parking, of course ? or rather, the severe lack of it near the stadium. Not Luton?s fault, of course, but back then, parking involved leaving your vehicle in some of the less salubrious parts of the town, and hoping like hell your car would be still intact (or still there, even!) by the time you got back.

And there were a whole host of other perfectly good reasons why travel to Luton wasn?t a very good idea at that time. Take the seats in that away end, for starters. Or, being much nearer the point ? DON?T. Back then (and I sure hope things have changed for the better) sitting down meant ending up with your legs wrapped around your chest for most of the game. Despite the fact I?m only five foot three dripping wet, that meant ME, too ? honest, I?m not kidding ? so Heaven alone knows what those of beanpole stature made of it all. Certainly, ?Im Indoors never looked particularly happy to have his style cramped in such a horrendous manner, and he?s only around six inches taller than myself.

During the early-to-mid-nineties, Luton were always known for another nasty little trick they used to pull on visiting sides, their delightful habit of watering the goalmouth beforehand. That meant opposing sides ended up playing in a goalmouth that bore a strong resemblance to the Somme battlefield circa the onset of winter, 1916. Their players, having trained on it extensively, of course, giggled all the way to their goalmouth. What with that, and their generally aggressive stance, it all led to these encounters generally having a touch more belligerence about them than was strictly necessary. I have to say I wasn?t at all sorry when they got relegated back in the mid-nineties.

But, as I touched on earlier, we hadn?t quite finished with Luton, oh dearie me, no. Two or so seasons after they left our part of the League, we drew them in the League Cup. The late Ray Hartford managed us at that time, and was performing minor miracles with our side, somehow transforming them from a bunch of bored First Division also-rans into a group of dedicated professionals with possible upwards-mobility in prospect. And, much more importantly, we were also getting pretty strong vibes from the players that Albion life with Harford was so much better than it had been for a long time.

A pairing about as welcome as a reincarnated Hitler and Mussolini in our directors box, was Luton-Albion, but still we made the trip down the M1. I also remember that game for two other reasons: first off, after flogging Dicks to our hearts content before the game, we then joined the queue for the turnstiles ? and who should be just in front of us in the queue, but a newly-signed Lee Hughes, freckles, curly ginger locks and all. Now this is where myself and ?Im Indoors beg to differ: as we waited to get in, one of their stewards accidentally brushed against our new signing. ?Im Indoors reckons that was the cue for him telling the bloke: ?Be careful, that?s a million-pound striker you?ve got there!? I?d thought The Noise said it ? but what the hell. Lee laughed like a drain ? and so did we, of course.

Ah ? those were the days, of complete innocence, a little bit like childhood before you discovered there was no such thing as Father Christmas: of total commitment to the club, and mostly because of the smashing bunch of people we shared those seats and terraces with over the course of a long, hard season, of much laughter, of bitter tears, sometimes - not to mention the fact that back then, the divide that separated supporters and players was nowhere as vast as the virtual Grand Canyon it seems to be today?.

The other reason? The timing of that game just happened to coincide with a total eclipse of the moon, an astronomical event not quite as rare as that of the sun?s occlusion by our age-old satellite, but just about exceptional enough to make someone with an interest in that sort of thing take notice. And that?s what I did. In fact, so boring was the game ? result 1-1, Supes grabbing that all-important single Baggies goal ? I gave up watching what was happening on the pitch, and concentrated on the skies instead. Much more interesting, actually, as the eclipse lived up to its advance billing completely, the full moon completely disappearing, save for a faint ruddy-red ?sort of? glow, largely caused by reflected Earthlight, then gradually attaining ?full? yellowness once more, as our ancient giver-of-tides and (alleged) causer of madness - ask Bobby Gould, he ought to know! - gradually moved out of the earth?s shadow and back to the anonymity it normally craved.

In those days, and that tournament, there were second-leg games on a later date to behold, not extra-time, then sudden-death penalties, so the action moved to the Hawthorns, some seven days later. No astronomical phenomenon to gaze upon that time, sadly ? unless you want to count ?Supes? at his stellar best, of course - but the plus-point was we well and truly applied the ?coup de grace?, The Hatters eventually bouncing out of the competition, thanks to strikes from Raven, McDermott, and Peschisolido, who managed to hit the net twice that night, with only two in reply coming from the ?other lot?. Not that we stayed in the competition that much longer, mind: the following round, we drew Liverpool, at our place, crashing out 0-2, as it so happened.

Back to the present, then, and what?s on for tomorrow. Having no idea whatsoever at this stage as to whether or not yer man Pearson will elect to chuck his hat into the ring, I?ve no idea as to how his players will take to their first League encounter, post-Robson. Whether Our Nige will, or not, should prove interesting. Certainly, on paper, he has everything going for him ? as I?ve mentioned previously, he?s the lad who ran coaching licence courses for aspirant Premiership managers, Bryan Robson included, so he?s no tactical tyro, by any means.

I?m also given to understand that when acting as our Number Two, he played the Mr. Nasty role, one in direct contrast to Robbo?s cuddly Mr. Nice persona. And he does have some managerial experience under his belt already, albeit with Carlisle. Remember the last day of the season some time ago, when Carlisle needed a draw or better to stay in the League? The game where they were losing 1-0 at home, come full scheduled time, then managed to grab a corner in stoppage-time, so they chucked up goalkeeper Jimmy Glass into the fray pretty smartish ? and he then scored, somehow, direct from the set-piece, thereby saving their Cumberland sausage, not to mention their bacon? Yep ? Pearson was their gaffer back then.

The Hatters currently stand 12th in the table, and are unbeaten in four at home thus far. Not quite the easy affair some might have thought, then. As for The Hatters ? will their current gaffer, Mike Newell, quite well thought of in footballing circles, it has to be said, fancy a poke at the Albion job himself, I wonder? ? they will probably be without club captain Chris Coyne, and definitely out will be Russell Perett and Sol Davis. In the ?doubtful? category for The Hatters tomorrow will be Marcus Heikkinnen (the Dreaded Lurgi) and Sam Parkin (poorly ankle), while Leon Barnett, previously anticipating spending time in? durance vile? following a red card last Tuesday evening, has now had the dismissal rescinded by the FA, so he?ll be available to The Hatters after all.

As for our lot, Kevin Phillips, Steve Watson, Nigel Quashie and John Hartson are all now fit, so should be available for selection, were our temporary leader to subsequently decide to use any or all of ?em. Thanks to the foot thingy of his, Curtis Davies will be sitting this one out, of course. I have heard it said that young shaver Stuart Nicholson, bless his little cotton socks, could get the nod for a start tomorrow, but we?ll have to wait and see, I suppose. (Incidentally, is it me, or does his picture on the club website make him bear a remarkable resemblance to Oliver Hardy, the ?small? member of the famous pre-war comic duo?)

As for our prospects of nicking all three points tomorrow, I would hope that the very fact that these guys understand they might be slogging it out in front of a potential gaffer would concentrate their minds wonderfully. A psychologically-important first win on the road this term would help enormously ? and by virtue of association, might well vastly enhance Pearson?s managerial credentials, too. Certainly, at least one of our lot, Nathan Elllington, has already expressed the hope he does get the job. As for myself, I wouldn?t complain too much if he did ? at least all the players know him, know what he likes to see out there on the pitch, and so on, so the ?bedding-in? process wouldn?t be a tediously-long sort of thing at all.

It would appear that at least one of the ?names? expected to show for the Albion job, Steve Cotterill of Burnley, is currently holding his cards very close to his chest indeed as to whether or not he?ll show a formal interest in the post. At the moment, he?s being very cagey about it all. Another hotly-fancied candidate, former Dingle Dave Jones, is also acting all coy about the possibility of his ?jumping ship? to take up the Hawthorns reins. ?No comment? seems to be his current stance regarding all the speculation that?s arisen over the course of the last few days.

Oh, and another pertinent thought apropos a possible managerial successor. It would seem that Gleen Hoddle and Pearson himself are now neck-and-neck (29%) in the latest supporter poll as to the guy they want as Albion?s new leader. Having said that, thre is some speculation out there that the result may have been ?nobbled? by Dingles voting for their former leader en-masse, in full knowledge that the very thought of him getting the Albion job represented complete anathema to most Baggies.

Pearson, what with his qualifications, and everything, I wouldn?t mind at all ? but HODDLE? Remember the last time we made overtures to him, right after Megson got the bullet? He wanted a million quid for six months work, according to scuttlebutt. We refused point-blank, apparently, so he went to the Dingles, instead, asked for precisely the same terms ? and got ?em, too. I can?t believe for one minute Jeremy Peace would entertain making overtures to him a second time ? erm, would he? To be perfectly honest with you lot, I?d rather finish up with a stiffish dose of bird flu than have THAT gracing our dug-out every home game.

It appears that once more, we?re looking at ?Cuban Missile Crisis?-type psychology. In other words, just as Kennedy and Krushchev went eyeball-to-eyeball in the nuclear stakes, way back in autumn 1962, and the whole world hoping and praying like hell that one or the other would ?blink first?, so to speak, on a vastly less-dangerous scale for the planet, of course ? although, with an ex-Dingle being in with a pretty good shout for the job, you never quite know what might happen! - we now have some pretty good potential Albion managers doing precisely the same thing, it would seem. The coming days and weeks certainly promise to be ?erm ? ?interesting?.

One other parting thought concerns the sad announcement the other day that Tommy Gaardsoe might have to pack up the game because of injury. What a thing to happen to the bloke whose defensive displays back in 2003-04 did so much to ensure our passage back to the Prem, the very first time of asking. As I said to the Boing list the other night, that season, I would have bet serious money on seeing him make the transition from the Nationwide to the top flight with comparative ease. Of all the players in the squad at that time, he was the one that really stood out for me in terms of ability. A shame, then, that he never quite realised his true potential once there ? or was that down to the first intimations of that injury affecting his game, even then?

Oh ? and another thought. Many apologies ? not least to poor Tommy, if he?s reading this! ? for describing him as ICELANDIC on the mailing-list! Of course he?s Danish, and as much so as the half-pound of bacon I?ve got stored on the middle shelf of our fridge ? and what?s more, just like The Fart, I?ve still got the spoof Viking helmet I wore that day in Reading when we celebrated both our promotion, and Tommy?s contribution to it, all in fine style!

And Finally?. Just to let you all know that at the moment, our house seems to have become a ?rodent-free zone?. For the last three weeks or so, not one mouse or rat, be it alive or dead, has been seen scuttling within our four walls! Or adorning our living-room carpet as a bloodied corpse! Not so much our moggies making life really unpleasant for them, I suspect, more the fact that about six doors down from us, the Indian takeaway there is currently having extensive renovation work done. In fact, from what I?ve seen thrown into the five or so skips that have carted away the debris thus far, just about everything INCLUDING the proverbial kitchen sink has been chucked out.

Due to the extensive nature of the refurbishment, all those scrummy little mouseholes and nests around the place ? no real reflection on the establishment concerned, by the way; wherever one finds a place serving food in great quantities, there or thereabouts, you?ll always find rodents of one sort or another trying to nick a free lunch! No wonder all our former rodent chums have since packed their bags and left! I can only hope that come the day the place is fully open for business again, they don?t take it upon themselves to return. One perfectly good reason for not wanting them back is the knowledge you can ? potentially, at least ? catch no less than 17 varieties of nasty disease from rats, and a lesser number from mice.

Mind you ? and this is no word of a lie, as it?s happened to me in the past ? the worst possible thing you can have bite you is, believe it or not, a HUMAN BEING! No, I?m not joking, either. Every single time either myself or a work colleague got attacked in that manner, unless you shot to the doctor?s surgery ASAP, and grabbed some antibiotics, then took ?em as directed, you could always guarantee the wound would infect ? first time, every time! Yuk.

 - Glynis Wright

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