The Diary

16 October 2006: Ipswich 1 Albion 5 - Wished You Were There?

??..This story shall the good man teach his son???..From this day until the ending of the world/But we in it shall be remembered/We few, we happy few/We band of brothers; For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be his brother; be he ne?er so vile/This day shall gentle his condition/And gentlemen in England now abed/Shall think themselves accurs?d they were not here????

Henry IV Part One, William Shakespeare.

See, I knew there had to be a damn good reason why I spent so many miserable hours trying to consign whole chunks of the Immortal Bard?s deathless prose to memory all those years ago! Just as well the human brain is so accommodating of these things, really, but even so, I still had to delve deeply into my little book of words just to make absolutely sure I?d got it right.

Let?s face it, at the tender age of fifteen or sixteen, what would you have rather done? Grabbed yourself a recent copy of the ?Albion News? and mugged up on what both they and The Football League Review (Junior Baggies, ask your dad) had to say, or bowed to your teachers? incessant (and, at the time, most unreasonable!) demands that Cup wins might come and go, but those of impending O-Levels had to take priority, no matter what. Not when you?d just seen your side win the blasted pot by beating, say, West Ham the night before, they didn?t.

Having said all that, even more years after the event than I?d care to remember, Shakey?s words still have their moments, as I?ve demonstrated above; even five or six hundred years after they were first written (OK, Mister Fart, I?ll bet you anything you care to name you were at The Globe Theatre?s stage door, parchment and quill pen in hand, trying to grab the lad?s autograph the night the play was premiered, so don?t you dare tell me you weren?t!), and Saturday?s events provided incontrovertible proof that this was the case. On hearing that result, there must have been loads of Albion supporters who?d wished like hell they?d forsaken the unceasing demands of DIY projects, taking the kids to the park, or simply worshipping the Great God Of Conspicuous Consumption at Merry Hill, or similar, to make the three-hour road journey to East Anglia.

Yes, those who made it to Portman Road yesterday can consider themselves fortunate indeed. One of Albion?s all-time best away victories (I?ve still yet to receive feedback to suggest that we?d won with a similar score on the boards since the Old Trafford Christmas 5-3, so I guess that?s indeed the case), one to savour and mull over in the weeks and months to come, and a bloody good story to relate to your armchair-supporting chums at work/down the pub/in the local Womens? Institute knitting circle (delete as inapplicable) as well. As an indicator of Albion ?one-upmanship? it?s without parallel. But a crying pity that only just short of 1,400 Baggies actually witnessed it, a considerable reduction on the numbers we?ve had travelling to the same fixture in years gone by ? so how come?

Several reasons, actually, the main one being Albion only asked for that amount of tickets from Ipswich in the first place. No reflection on the club, I hasten to add; they were merely basing their request upon the greatly-reduced numbers expected to travel to that one, and were completely vindicated by the fact that not all that allocation was sold in the time they were up for grabs. As I pointed out in the above paragraph, most supporters have other pressing claims on their time these days. The other consideration would probably have been that until comparatively recently, following our lot away was about as much fun as watching each and every one of the recent party political conferences on the box, with recorded highlights of each and every major speech required viewing as well, just to compound the misery.

And you have to take into consideration the finances required to undertake such a journey, of course. Two people of working age, no concessions, would have found it pretty difficult to find change from a hundred quid once they?d factored every single item into the day?s overall spend. For a whole family to make the journey, the sheer expense involved would have made such an undertaking almost prohibitive. Football isn?t a cheap working-class game any longer, and hasn?t been for around the last 15 years, or so.

All that I can readily understand, and yet?? When I think back to other memorable Ipswich trips, I remember one in particular, just before Megson became our manager and later transformed the side from relegation-haunted, time-serving football deadbeats into one capable of ending the season runners-up to champions Manchester City, back in the big-time for the first time in 16 years. If I remember rightly, it was the season we lost there 3-1, Fabien De Freitas somehow shifting off his adipose rump for once, and grabbing our single reply. Not a memorable scoreline, of course, (although they did whop us 5-0 at their place about two or three seasons before that one, for which I consider yesterday?s happenings more than ample revenge!) and as seen from the eyes of a spectator that day, most certainly one to allow memory the facility of scabbing over the entire thing. Some sights are far too horrible to contemplate in the cold light of day, sometimes.

What did make the whole thing stand out for me, though, was our support. Or, to be more accurate, the sheer quality of it. If I remember correctly, although we were lower mid-table material at that time, and no chance whatsoever of bettering ourselves come the end of term ? far more likely to go the other way, in fact ? we still managed to bring well in excess of 2,000 to the place. And not just that. Despite the fact we were being wiped off the face of the planet by an Ipswich side far superior to our own (they were to finish third in the table and go up via the play-offs that season), during the second half, a certain defiant mood began to gain hold in that away end, and at light-speed, too, a bit like a smouldering forest fire once the prevailing wind?s had a real chance to grab hold of it.

Defiance? Impudence? Sheer bloody-mindedness? Probably a combination of all three, really. Nothing?s more cussedly stubborn than Black Country people with their backs to the wall, and that day was no exception. For the whole of that half, we proclaimed our undying love for the club in tones that must have carried to the nearby town center, reinforcing the message with constant clapping. You could accuse players, coaching staff, manager, boardroom, club chairman, even, of what you damn well wanted, but once you?d got all that out of your system, one constant still remained, always would, of course ? the undying loyalty of football?s version of the 1916 Poor Bloody Infantry.

Suffice it to say that by the time that final whistle went, I?d say well over 50 per cent of our supporters had ended up with the palms of their hands strongly resembling raw meat, and hoarse voices equally suggestive of the fact that their owners had seemingly spent the whole day gargling with a mouthwash consisting of neat alcohol and rusty razors chopped up small. No end of acute laryngitis cases because of that, I?ll bet: local GP?s surgeries must have wondered what the hell had hit them over the course of the days to come.

Sure, it feels absolutely wonderful to be a Baggie on days like yesterday, but the recently-converted should also be aware there?s also other times when a similar ?feelgood factor? comes to the fore, and not necessarily the winning ones, either. In adversity or otherwise, the ?bonding process? that links us can be quite remarkable, sometimes, and for completely diverse reasons. In the face of impending defeat, yet another in but an increasingly-depressing series of reverses, you?re not so much shouting for those eleven guys toiling out there on the pitch as shouting for yourselves, for your basic pride and dignity as Albion supporters, even. It?s what?s known as ?grabbing the moral high ground?, a tactic that can assuage residual bitter feelings considerably. One certainly worth remembering should the unlikely happen, and the current season fizzle out like a damp squib.

Another thought about yesterday. I?d really love to know what Mowbray, watching from Town?s directors box, actually thought of yesterday?s performance. Given that most managers don?t usually take over sides riding high in leagues ? unless directors take the unusual step of sacking the previous incumbent because they?re unreasonably impatient for honours, want it all, and NOW, but on a cheeseparingly-limited budget, of course ? it can?t be that many who get to inherit a side already stuffed full of pretty talented performers, can it? And that brings us on to yet another consideration. Will the new guy operate on the basis that what he?s got needs very little in the way of improvement by him, so they carry on as before, or whether he?ll want to change things again.

And it?s not just at first-team level, either. In the past, changes at the apex of the pyramid have also led to similarly-disruptive upheavals nearer the base, where you?ll find junior and Academy coaching staff lurking, not to mention the blokes that sniff out raw talent in much the same manner as a trufflehound does with those much-sought-after, financially-ruinous, and somewhat pongy French and Italian culinary delicacies. Not the job with the highest of profiles, sure ? that?s scouting I?m on about, not hunting for truffles! - but an efficient system of seeking out young talent can reap just as many rewards in its own way as the putting together of a bunch of lads costing millions. Just ask Dario Gradi at Crewe.

My best guess on this issue is that the club will want to continue to keep those sort of personnel matters completely ring-fenced. Sure, there?s no ?quick fix? involved when you?ve got an extensive and well-run youth set-up in place: the reaping of any potential benefits only comes after a period of investment taking years, as long as four or five, in some cases, around the time it takes to bring talented kids up from schoolboys, into the club as trainees, then gradually versing them in the efficient performance of their first-team duties.

It?s for that reason it makes no sense whatsoever to chop and change policy with the appointment of each and every manager that wants to call the shots on such matters. In fact, I reckon that one of the prime reasons why we underachieved so badly in the old Division Two (later to become Division One, of course) was because there was no real stability, consistency or continuity to be had at that level. No, I reckon that Shakey, Appy, and all the rest of the merry crew will live to fight another day. It?s only common sense in operation after all?s said and done.

Come Tuesday, it?s off to Selhurst Park for our mighty warriors, there to do battle with our old chums Crystal Palace. Before Robson left, I would have written that one off completely, but now I?m not so sure. There?s nothing quite like success to reinforce confidence, and the way our lot are flying right now, anything could happen. A shame I won?t be hitting that coach, really.

Yeah, I could have gone there off my own bat quite easily, but asking my other half to collect me from the ground in the wee small hours of the morning when he?s got to attend work the following day wouldn?t have sat very easily on my conscience. No, I?ll just keep my ears glued to my radio (or Sky) and hope for the best. I?m sure that, if nothing else, our mob will want to give Nigel Pearson a send-off he?s not likely to forget in a very long time. Back tomorrow night will more thoughts on the subject, so hang loose in the meantime!

And Finally?.. One. Oh dear. Many apologies once more for the lateness of this piece. Surprise, surprise - I?m having technical trouble with our new PC yet again, and can?t cure the fault until our resident expert (who is an Ipswich supporter, would you believe? ? GULP!) comes over this Friday coming to fix the problem for once and for all. ?Im Indoors has tried to do his best to cure our wayward machine, bless his little cotton socks, but it clearly needs a far bigger ?ommer than we can provide, so that?s what we?re doing.

As we?re operating strictly on the basis of damage limitation until Friday, it might well be I?m rendered unable to knock out some or all diary pieces before then. Should that happen, please accept my profound apologies in advance. Oh, and while you?re at it, give your own PC;s a darned good thumping on the principle that if I have to suffer, then so should the rest of our silicon chipped world!

Two?. Half-time at Portman Road, and the very moment The Fart hit me with an unusually-profound statement. There was I, minding my own business, when he turned to me, and pointed in the general direction of Baggies veteran Vic Stirrup, chronological age around 88 (although I do suspect, in my darkest hours, that he?s secretly engaged in a pact with the Devil just so he can go on supporting the club he loves for a good few more years past his previously-allotted span) sitting in the front row, two in front of me. I immediately knew that at any minute, there would be a Meaningful Thought issuing from the venerable lips of our little chum ? and there was.

?Between the pair of us,? intoned Our Hero, ?did you know there?s about 161 years of combined Albion support??

Yeah, right, Tel, but when you come to add on all the years the pair of you DIDN?T admit to, don?t you think that?s a far more accurate representation of the true picture? No wonder Henry VIII looked so askance at the game of football. Not so much on the grounds it interfered with British lads? archery practice, as today?s history books dutifully declare, more that Tel And Vic were both caught teaching said lads to sing such mediaeval choral delights as ?Come On Ye Baggies?, ?Albion Until I Should Lay Down My Very Life For Mine Club,? and ?Smite A Dingle?! Didn?t sit very easily with the mindset of a monarch reputed to have composed the lovely ?Greensleeves? in honour of one of his many adoring admirers!

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index