The Diary

10 September 2006: Something In The Air? And Not Jethro Tull, Either.

Sorry about for the delay posting this particular instalment, folks: it?s just that I?m having a few teething troubles with our new PC. Doesn?t want to talk to the internet, for some reason best known to itself. It really hasn?t been our weekend, period. Yesterday morning, we had planned to travel to Wrexham?s Racecourse Ground, to watch Hereford take on the Welsh side in the League, but the fact that Saturday?s shenanigans had led to His Lordship arriving back at Chez Wright quickly put the kybosh on that one. Just as well, really, as he?d have exited the place dead annoyed ? Hereford lost 1-0.

Looking back upon Saturday?s events at Kenilworth Road, there were a good deal of encouraging things to be found in our performance there. One particularly pleasing aspect of our play was our ability to come back from behind, not once, but twice in the same game. That, coupled with the fact our lads managed to perform precisely the same feat just three days previously, versus Cheltenham, does give me a modicum of renewed hope for the future.

I?ve seen it said that the key to our eventual rescue of the game lay in the enforced changes to the midfield we had to make following that early injury to Steve Watson ? and I?m inclined to go with Boing group member Dave Watkins on that. Certainly, the side that emerged from the tunnel come the start of the second 45 was, to all intents and purposes, a totally different animal from the one that came out for the start of the game proper. Another decent performer who quickly caught my eye yesterday, was the lad McShane, giving a pretty good account of himself at the back in the end.

It certainly made one hell of a difference to our ability to go on the attack for once, to the extent that just about every time we surged up that pitch, they were visibly recoiling, not to mention reeling and rocking, more often than not. Perhaps what was so obviously cobbled together after Watson?s subbing could be given an extended period in that role, to see whether or not we might have inadvertently hit upon the solution to our problems in that direction? It?s got to be worth a go: after all, decent quality replacements, even those used on a loan basis, being so hard to come by, just now.

The one remaining aspect of our game that really concerns me right now is that of our first-choice keeper, Zoobie. A competent enough custodian in most respects, he does have one serious weakness, still ? and that?s his seeming Dracula-like reluctance to come for crosses. There?s a suggestion on the list that he was at fault with both goals, but not having seen the relevant footage for myself, I?ll reserve judgment until I?ve seen both incidents with my own eyes.

On a slightly lesser scale than the above, although nonetheless of equal importance to the final outcome, was the performance of the referee, a certain Mr. Dowd (may plagues of boils forever visit a Very Delicate Place for all eternity). Or should I prefix that with a ?non?? As I said yesterday, our last-gasp Charge Of The Light Brigade-like rush on the Luton goalmouth, culminating in that disallowed Kevin Phillips effort, looked perfectly kosher to me, as it did to most watching the game from that particular vantage-point. Having now got to the nub of the problems that currently plague us, we can only hope that we continue to make tangible progress on that score. The true proof of the pudding will most probably lie in what happens come the Leeds game this forthcoming Saturday. Should still we go tits up after all that?s happened, then I guess we?ll just have to cast around feverishly for another ready-made excuse, then, won?t we?

Having not moved in so very long ago, I reckon there must certainly be times when our new neighbours wonder what the hell we?re both playing at next door. Aw ? you know, all those agonised screams reverberating around our street every single time a bit of club news we don?t particularly want to hear gets a much wider audience than originally intended, the throwing of fairly large ? not to mention easily breakable - household objects at our living-room wall in complete and utter fury, post-match, that sort of thing. All par for the unintentional course, when you?re an Albion supporter, I suppose, but even so, our new neighbours must have really wondered what was going on earlier this evening.

It all came about because of my picking up the Sunday Mirror somewhat belatedly ? or, to be more accurate, their sports pages. Those who?ve seen what I?m about to bang on about already will undoubtedly understand, but for the benefit of those who haven?t, what I rapidly saw emblazoned in black and white across one particular page was a news item that strongly suggested Jeremy Peace would be making overtures to current Swindon gaffer and former Wimbledon hard man Dennis Wise about the vacant Albion job, later this week! No wonder I immediately came up with a Victor Meldrew impersonation-cum-scream that, although I say it myself, really was top drawer ? ?I DON?T BELIEEEEEEVE IT!?

Our cats, all four of ?em, certainly fled the crime scene in complete and utter panic the very minute my vocal chords hit ?top C?, so God only knows what the neighbours thought of the unrequited shrill aural barrage coming from next door. The thing is, though, although I can easily think of a dozen excellent reasons for Albion NOT luring him away from the West Country, apart from the fact he seems to have worked miracles in getting the pasty-munchers to the dizzy heights they currently inhabit, I?m struggling really hard to come up with just one as to why our football club should now go out and do precisely that.

After all, totally-reformed character or not, what sort of decent-minded Baggie wants someone with his unsavoury disciplinary reputation publicly representing what?s good in our club? Mind you, as ?Im Indoors pointed out at the time, Jeremy Peace is no mug ? and neither is Wise?s agent, it would seem. After all, Swindon?s current boss was strongly-linked to the newly-vacant Leeds job just a few days previously, and, should Curbishley yet spurn Ken Bates?s romantic overtures for another, I?d think it far more likely he?d want to head right up the M1, completely bypassing Spaghetti Junction on the way.

Strange, isn?t it? First of all I hear of Curbishley not wanting the Albion job, then, late the other night, I hear the same thing about Dave Jones. Even Burnley?s Steve Cotterill?s ardour seems to be fast cooling. And now, on the level or otherwise, I?m getting wind of a complete and utter ratbag like Wise landing the Hawthorns glittering prize. If that report is kosher, it strongly suggests to me that following rejection elsewhere, our chairman is already working well down his remaining list of ?possibles?, and is now feverishly casting around for a fall-back position applicant, hence the above suddenly emerging from out of the woodwork.

If so, there?s something of a pattern developing, here, and I don?t like it one bit. What sort of image, be it overt or covert, is our chairman ? or, if not him, then SOMEONE - conveying about our club to others in the game, I wonder? Just as the old mediaeval mapmakers used to stick great big ?HERE BE DRAGONS? legends across all the dodgier bits where territory largely unexplored to date was located, I?m now left wondering whether there?s something or other about our club that?s exerting much the same effect on potential takers in this day and age. Let?s be brutally honest about all this, for once; with a club like Albion, and the sheer raw potential for serious advancement and improvement that?s inherently there, but very much in latent form these days, you?d think that serious candidates would be literally fighting each other just to get a hold of a precious application form. We might not bear much resemblance these days to the to the club that had the whole nation talking with the raw explosive quality of its attacking ? not to mention attractive - football just a generation ago (and in my particular case, when King Jeff and Co stalked the earth, two generations, since long gone, of course), but despite all that, we ?re still a pretty well-known outfit, with a wonderfully rich history to match.

Over the course of the last twenty years or so, I?ve genuinely lost count of all the times local people have accosted me when wearing my replica shirt abroad, nattered about this and that football matter, all in broken English, and purely on the strength of that mutual connection ? all with perfect strangers, remember ? all of whom invariably finished by saying: ?Yes, I remember West Brom from when they were REALLY good!? Were that the sole deciding factor, local print firms would literally be working day and night trying to supply relevant details to all those wanting to have a shot at the star prize. And rival candidates scrapping among themselves for a copy of the application form.

But, desirable situation though that may be, it doesn?t seem to be happening, far from it, in fact. As I said above, to date, just about everyone who?s anything in the game is distancing themselves from the post as if it came inseparably paired with the dubious ?fringe benefit? of a particularly ?orrible pong, one that just can?t be shifted from one?s clothes, no matter how many air-fresheners and lemony-smelling scented sprays one uses up in the fond, but ultimately-abortive, hope of ?getting rid?.

I really do hope my gut instincts are completely wrong about all this. There is one small chink of light shining to lift the gloom, though, and that comes from a little snippet provided by one of my ?regulars? after I?d pushed out last night?s piece. Apparently, the guy was returning to Brum on the train following yesterday?s game, when he just happened to bump into someone connected with the club also making the same journey. They then got talking about this and that, and while they were rattling on together, it turned out that the other person had heard, through a well-known and respected intermediary that someone previously tipped as a ?possible? to get the job had now privately expressed a very strong interest in applying for the post.

Sorry to be talking in riddles at this stage ? it?s a situation I greatly deplore, but I don?t want to upset either party to the conversation or, for that matter, any secret negotiations that may or may not be held with this person in the days to come. As this particular ?possible? comes packaged with a decent pedigree, plus a great deal of discreet positive feedback as well, I wouldn?t be all that averse to them getting a look in, shall we say. Or, it might well be that the pair of us have been deliberately given a bum steer to throw us both off the scent of the real target. Who knows?

It?s also interesting ? although not connected with the situation outlined above at all ? to hear, from yet another source, belated corroboration of something I?d heard previously from someone having pretty good connections with the club up until just a few seasons ago. It?s all about a chap called Roger Dickens, now deceased, sadly, who had assets of approximately 40 million squid, and was featured in the Sunday Times Rich List.

The information I have about this guy now leads me to suspect that at one stage, he was planning to head a consortium of wealthy business people not very happy with the current Albion regime, and were planning an eventual takeover bid, preparing the ground for such a move accordingly. That was the master-plan, then, according to both sources ? so what went wrong?

So what completely scuppered the whole concept, then? The heavy hands of both Fate and Death, apparently. Before anything could properly get off the ground, Roger died, last January, as I understand it, from cancer. He?d been ill for quite some time, so I was told, but the imminence of what was planned strongly suggested to me that the guy thought he?d get over it. Apparently, Dickens was an accountant who?d made his original stash leading the flotation of computer-based software firm Isoft on the Stock Exchange.

Additionally, he was chair of both the West Bromwich Building Society, not to mention the National Exhibition Centre, and also sat on the board of Carillion, formerly known as Tarmac, so he was no business lightweight ? or a boardroom one, come to think about it. Presumably, Roger must have been a vital part of what was being planned, as since his untimely death, the entire idea seems to have gone the same way ? unless someone out there knows different, of course. Makes you think, though ? had he not popped his clogs so unexpectedly, I wonder what might have been?

Back the day before the Leeds hone game ? unless we receive news in the meantime that Albion have appointed someone or other to the seemingly-much coveted post, of course. Should that happen, I?ll be the first to congratulate our leaders for a job well done. But only middling so, mind. The next thing I?ll want set in stone is likely to be a continuance of the much more proactive style of play we?ve seen since Albion finally parted company with Bryan Robson. We can but live in hope.

And Finally?. One. As we finally drifted away from the bounds of that bloody Sainsbury?s car-park in Luton last night, ?Im Indoors received a text message on his mobile. On opening the wretched thing ? not easy, as: a) We were under way at that time, and: b) I wasn?t at all familiar with the buttons on his phone: in fact, it?s no exaggeration to say that whenever I find myself lumbered with the onerous task of having to open messages from this particular gadget, I always find myself turning the air very blue indeed! ? I eventually discovered the sender to be none other than that Norman Bartlam chappie, he of the awful pun-addiction I?ve come to know and love. (The thing is, though, do the rozzers regard his groan-making material ?Class A puns? - likely to cause the user serious harm, either mentally or physically, in other words - or something of considerably less potency? If I had my way, he?d be bloody well shot, as a ?service to humanity?!)

What did Norm have to say, after all that? Tell you what, I?ll simply quote straight from the horse?s mouth, so to speak! ??.Going through Luton, saw a church bearing the message: ?Jesus Saves?! Perhaps he could teach Zoobie??..?

Two?. Former Albion manager and resident lunatic Bobby Gould recently found managerial pastures new, according to a mail we received earlier this evening. As of next season, he?ll be assisting (hindering?) his son Jonathan, apparently, at New Zealand outfit Hawke?s Bay United. Gould Junior is already their manager, but after an awful first season in the hot seat, where the New Zealand Football Championship club only managed to pick up one solitary win the entire campaign, he?s now bringing dad over as a sort of ?bigger ?ommer?, as we Black Country folkies would put it. Dearie, dearie me. First of all, we send ?em all those bloody convicts ? and now THIS!

 - Glynis Wright

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