The Diary

14 October 2006: Tony Mowbray, Albion Rocket Man?

"?If you?re on a rocket ship flying to the moon, the man you?d want sitting next to you would be Tony Mowbray...?"

Not my words, of course ? far too profound for little old earthbound me. Nope, ?twas amateur cosmonaut Bruce Rioch that first spoke of our new leader in such uplifting terms, when asked about his footballing background, both recent and otherwise. Makes a change from the usual ?World War One trench? quotation so popular in football, I suppose, but the basic message still comes across undiluted, just the same. Oh ? and I?ve also seen ?Mogga? (that?s his nickname, apparently) described as ?an intent, impassioned idealist...? That one came courtesy of ?The Scotsman?, and being the august sort of organ they are, they should know ? as should former Baggies legend Cyrille Regis, who also expressed satisfaction with the appointment yesterday. And he (Mowbray, not Cyrille, of course) also bears a distinct resemblance to a certain Vinnie Jones! If you don?t believe me, just have a quick butchers at his mugshot the very next chance you have of doing so. See what I mean?

Mind you, I still reserve the right to give myself a hefty big pat on the back for what I said about him only last Friday night, when he was still just one of a bloody huge array of ?possibles? to fill that Albion managerial vacancy. Let me remind you of my words once more: ?Tony Mowbray? This is the one that could prove very exciting indeed, should only half of what I?ve heard be genuinely true. I?m not all that au fait with the doings of Scottish football, really, but I am given to understand that the guy has won rave plaudits galore up there for his barnstorming style of football, the sort where attack is the best form of defence?.?

While I was cavorting about the wilds of Herefordshire earlier this week, back at Chez Wright, my inbox was busily gathering other feedback emanating from The Land Of Porridge And Whisky, the sort you won?t necessarily find in the mainstream media, something that makes such input to this column doubly-valuable, as far as I?m concerned ? and what?s more, it?s virtually all pretty positive stuff. That from a chap called Steve Porter was typical:

?If Albion have got Mowbray, then you?re on a winner? Okay, he hasn't actually won anything with Hibs, but our financial resources are very limited. I have no doubt that he will take Albion back to the Premiership. When I first heard he was to become Hibs coach I thought it was a joke. He was a wet behind the ears manager but he soon got Hibs playing "fast flowing football with a cutting edge" as promised, and crowds have risen steadily during his two and a bit years there. He is hugely popular with the Hibs support, who will be gutted, virtually to a man, that he is leaving. He is the best coach Hibs have had in thirty years, and I will be truly sorry to see him go. I have not said that about any other Hibs coach - including Alex McLeish - who I also understand was a candidate. Believe me, Mowbray is the better of the two. He is a real student of the game, and a gentleman besides.?

Well, if we Baggies ever needed a positive ?reference? from followers of the successful candidate?s former club, I guess that has to be the one for me. True, one Albion supporter expressed some serious misgivings about our new leader?s motives for wanting the job in the first place, courtesy something he?d seen on a BBC piece about the appointment of Mowbray to the Albion post. In it, apparently, the Hibs captain admitted he could understand Mowbray's decision to return to English football: "He has always stated his ambition. When he first came in, he said he wanted to be manager of Manchester United within 10 years?"

That?s what first set alarm bells ringing in the guy?s mind, of course. Understandable, as we do have something of a recent history of managers using us purely as a stepping-stone to other things ? Atkinson, twice, and Ray Harford readily spring to mind in that respect, of course ? but hasn?t it always been thus? Had the Robson thing really skyrocketed, for example, instead of going mammaries-up, all the talk of the media would have rapidly centred around the precise moment when our former leader would strike his tent and shift his entire court, camels and all, to the Salford bit of Manchester. Football is a profession particularly notorious for the fact that loyalty is about the last thing preying on the minds of those employed within it; wave a hefty fistful of fivers in the faces of most players and/or managers these days, with the promise of much more to come should they actually deliver the goods, and you?ve well and truly hooked ?em. Or should I qualify that statement somewhat by rapidly appending the phrase: ?? until an even bigger and better offer comes along, as it surely will, should I continue to keep the sods in winning ways for the next couple of seasons or so??

And that?s my basic point: forget loyalty in football, because there just ain?t any. Period. No matter who finally gets the managerial nod, if he?s any good at all, then clubs like Albion will invariably end up sweating hot rivets whenever someone gaffering a much more fashionable outfit gets the push/resigns/is exposed in a steamy sex scandal/manages to shove his car down a forty foot canal embankment, then right into the water?s noisome depths whilst still in?.. Errr, hang on a mo, didn?t we Baggies ? or, more to the point, the late Jimmy Hagan - make my last a ?first? back in the days of Beatles haircuts, the Profumo scandal, and the Great Train Robbery? Drats!

Nothing is ?forever? these days, and long-serving managerial stalwarts like Dario Gradi (and, until the end of last season, Charlton?s Alan Curbishley, of course) are increasingly looking more and more like an anachronism, or an endangered species, even. Unless you just happen to be a certain Alex Ferguson, of whom stories about him signing a clandestine pact with the Devil, with the secret of eternal youth the eventual pay-off, abound. But even he will succumb to the twin ravages of Old Father Time and age-related genetics, eventually, of course. No, the possibility of us losing a good manager through the poor chap being quite blatantly poached has, like the poor, always been there. It?s an occupational hazard, sure, but not a new one, not by a long chalk. And let?s be totally fair about all this: were this particular dilemma to be suddenly transferred to the factory floor,or your office, how many of you could find it in your own hearts to condemn a genuinely talented workmate out of hand for simply trying to better him (or her) self?

No, the BIG thing to do right now is make the guy feel thoroughly at home, see how well his attack-minded principles make the huge transition from the Scottish Prem to our somewhat more robust Championship set-up, then worry about the remainder of it afterwards. It?s all we can do, really. Let?s all hope the lad does do well, propels us right back to where we came from. God knows we need something to shout about, after all the various tribulations we?ve been through, of late.

But that doesn?t exactly knit the baby a new bonnet in the meantime, does it? Right now, we have to seek a way of getting our form on the road kick-started pretty damn quick, otherwise we?ll find the gap currently between us and the front-runners completely insurmountable before too long. Certainly, Nigel Pearson could do a hell of a lot worse than leave us with a nice little parting gift tomorrow, were we to finally break our nine-month-long away-form duck with a timely three-pointer at Portman Road. For this one, I?m hoping that he?ll carry on with the good work he started when we played Leeds the other Saturday afternoon. What a joy to see an Albion side playing entertaining football once more. More, please?.

According to the club website, Albion will be looking to give Joe Kamara a start tomorrow following his starring role in that rout of the Tykes. Sounds fair enough to me, yeah? It?s not going to be an easy task, mind: Ipswich have only lost one at home in their last five, and they have real expectations of upwards-mobility this time round. Still, you have to make a start somewhere, so why not at Portman Road? Personally, I quite fancy our chances of actually getting something there, so let?s just hope my better instincts and finer judgment don?t let me down. Apart from all the above, in the absence of anything more tangible, I?m assuming that bar the really nasty stuff, all the usual suspects will be available for this one. Except one, mind. That?s my other half, who will be headed for the joys of life in Division Two, as lived by Hereford United, instead.

As for me, I?ll be keeping The Fart company on that coach. I have agreed to keep in touch with His Majesty courtesy my spanking-new mobile, so the chances are we might both be getting into a mutual commiseration society-type situation should the many positives we showed versus Leeds not fulfil their initial promise, come the break. Do have a care when talking to my other half about his ?other lot? mind: they?re currently on a bit of a slide, having only won one out of the last seven, or something equally ridiculous!

And finally?.. Who?d be a cat owner, especially one travelling from A to B with a moggy riding shotgun in the back seat? As you might already know, Cyrille, our black cat, has been put on regular daily thyroid medication, which now means he has to come with us every single time we venture out into the wonderful world of the countryside. Not much of a bother, you might think ? but think again.

The problem is the actual journey there and back. Not the actual stay, mind; once settled down in our holiday home, he absolutely loves it, mainly because he?s spoiled something rotten while there, and there?s lots of peculiar wild creatures to glare at from behind some window or other. Stick him in his cat-carrier prior to shoving off in either direction, though, and it then becomes a different matter entirely. Not only do we have to contend with the occasional explosion of cat-sick, the last few times we?ve taken him down there, a new problem has reared its ugly (and very pongy!) head. To put it bluntly, our furry pride and joy gets so wound up and stressed on these car journeys, he quite literally messes himself! Today was no exception, either; no sooner had we passed the boundary of the village where we stay, a plaintive feline wail arose from the rear of the car, closely followed by??. Yep, you?ve guessed it. Confined to a cat-carrier, and with plenty of newspaper down, ?tis true, but it sure didn?t make matters any better. And we still had a good hour and a quarter?s travelling time left to complete!

One excellent reason why we travelled back with the car window well and truly open, but it didn?t help one little bit when we were diverted several miles out of our way following a serious accident on the road ahead. The first we knew of it was when we spotted the Dayglo-jacketed coppers redirecting other frustrated motorists: in order to hear it from the horse?s mouth, so to speak, we also slowed down ? but while doing so, completely forgot about the awful pong in the car, our noses having been rendered completely immune to such outrageous olfactory insults by then. Tell you what, though, I?ve never before seen a copper retreat as quickly as that one! Practically scorched the tar from off the road surface in his frantic efforts to get away, he did!

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index