The Diary

17 October 2006: Tony Mowbray - A Potted CV.

It?s orft I jolly well go, then, on the eve of our annual Selhurst Park tryst with pain-in-the-fundament Crystal Palace, and my PC finally up and running again, thank goodness. How come? Well, ?Im Indoors, realising that our new stuff wasn?t going to play ball with us until it had some expert attention chucked at it (Saturday?s the day our tame Ipswich Town supporting IT guru is coming, now, apparently) reconnected me with our old one instead. Serviceable, and (thankfully!) reliable, too ? but due to the sheer amount of stuff still lurking in its sorely-put-upon hard drive, blessed only with two speeds, ?Dead Slow? and ?Stop?. And that despite having broadband and a pretty fast ?innards? to match. Personally, I couldn?t give a stuff about the speed right now, providing it doesn?t pack up on me without warning once more, as our newer one did in the wee small hours of this morning.

By dint of carefully rebooting it (as per ?Im Indoors?s instructions: lovely hubby that he is, he even rose earlier than normal to try and rectify the problem for me), then gingerly transferring my pride and joy with all fingers (and legs!) crossed, I finally managed to get Sunday?s creation onto this website around lunchtime today, but the ability to shove out the ?bespoke? mailed version to subscribers eluded me completely. Every time I tried ? CRASH! Grrrr. Thank goodness ?Im Indoors rescued that side of things for me earlier this evening. The problem is, I know the basics of IT, and can correct very simple faults off my own jacksi, even, but anything more complicated than that leaves me swearing quite horribly, throwing things around our ?office? in total frustration, and generally behaving in a quite unladylike fashion. But then again, what manner of silly sod would be daft enough to call me a ?lady??

Now I?m back with the old equipment there shouldn?t be much of a problem producing for the remainder of the week, but knowing how badly these things can go wrong, sometimes, I will add the caveat that if my piece doesn?t turn up wherever you normally read it at the usual time, you?ll know what?s happened, won?t you? Having dealt with all that, on to my next topic, which concerns our new gaffer, Tony Mowbray. It so happened this evening that one of the first things my other half thrust into my hot little hand on his return from work (no, not THAT! Wash your grubby brain out with soap and water immediately, you naughty little Baggie-person, you!) was Saturday?s copy of the Birmingham Post, and in the middle of the sports bit, an excellent article, written by their Chief Sports Writer, Hyder Jawad, giving readers a potted career CV of the latest occupant of football?s answer to The Round Table?s ?Siege Perilous?. Realising that a good many people living overseas and elsewhere in the country might not be aware of our new gaffer?s footballing background, I decided to put together a few words based upon what Jawad?s first-rate article tells us ? so here goes.

November 22nd 1963. What a bad day to be born. The one that saw President Kennedy get assassinated at Dallas, Texas, I mean. While I was watching the BBC at my sister?s house, trying to take it in, Anthony Mark Mowbray was trying his utmost to get out. A Yorkshireman by birth, and the son of a steelworker, he threw in his lot with Middlesbrough at the age of 16, and by the time he reached his early twenties, he captained them. Not an easy time to be a player there, either; by the mid-eighties, when Tony first picked up the armband, Boro were on the brink, financially. So bad was the situation, their then-home, Ayresome Park, was padlocked, by order of the receivers. It was around that time his pal Bruce Rioch uttered those words about Mowbray?s embryonic leadership talents I quoted just the other night, i.e.: ?If you were on a rocket ship flying to the moon, the man you would want sitting next to you would be Tony Mowbray. He is a magnificent man?.? Something I didn?t know was that the founders of the Boro fanzine (still functioning, presumably in the face of unbelievable apathy, given the astonishing change in the demographics of that club?s supporters since their most recent promotion to the Prem, by the way) took those words, and made them the title of their mighty organ, still known to all and sundry as ?Fly Me To The Moon?.

After ten years with Boro, Mowbray moved on, this time to bonny Scotland, and Celtic, in 1991. Unfortunately, while he was a player there, tragedy struck. His wife, Bernadette, died of breast cancer, aged just 26. The chances of someone contracting that form of the disease at such a young age are normally so far off the radar, they?re almost negligible: breast cancer is more often than not a condition encountered by the over-50?s, but the dignified manner in which Mowbray conducted himself in the presence of immense private grief commended himself to many involved in the game at the time. It says a lot for the bloke that when he married her, she was already diagnosed as having the disease, and was actually terminally ill at the time, with only but a few weeks to live.

Prior to Celtic?s next game after the tragedy, as a tribute to his late wife, Mowbray asked his fellow players to form a ?huddle? as a show of solidarity, and they readily agreed. Now, it?s a club tradition, moreover one firmly entrenched in their folklore. Furthermore, he?s universally known as one of the game?s ?good guys?, and considering it?s a nasty sort of business where verbal fisticuffs, ?dog-eat-dog? type managerial tactics resulting in the rapid elimination of underachievers very much come to the fore, it?s even been said he doesn?t have a single enemy in the game. If that?s indeed the case, it must surely be a ?first?. One other observation: it was around the time of his wife?s death that Bruce Rioch offered him a post at Bolton, but Mowbray declined, saying he owed it to Bernadette?s family to stay in Scotland for the immediate future.

Come 1995, he was on the move again, this time to Ipswich Town. It speaks volumes about the guy that just before he moved, he wrote a wonderful ?open letter? thanking all those Celtic supporters who?d comforted him, by both word and deed, around the time of his wife?s death, and for ages afterwards. Mowbray did marry again, taking an Ipswich lady called Amber as his second wife, leaving him with two sets of family members in Scotland. Taking over the Portman Road captaincy very quickly, his five years at the club as a player seem to have been happy ones. The climax of his East Anglian sojourn came in 2000, the year that saw Ipswich reach the Premiership for the first time, via the play-offs. Barnsley were their opponents in the final, and Mowbray, in his final season as a player there, put the perfect seal on his career in football?s ?front line? by scoring the winning goal.

?Always quit when you?re ahead? is a common enough saying in football, and that?s precisely what Tony did after Town reached the Promised Land. But he didn?t leave Ipswich: instead, he took a post on their coaching staff, and ended up their caretaker gaffer for four games in 2002, after the departure of George Burley, presumably. Not landing the permanent post, I can only assume that his ambitions subsequently led him to seek yet another challenge. Come May 2004, he went instead to Hibernian, as their coach, and later still, their gaffer. And that?s where he?s been ever since. Until now, of course.

As far as his time there was concerned, he didn?t win all that much, not nearly enough to satisfy the likes of an Arsenal or Chelsea, certainly, but by all accounts, quickly had the cash-strapped club performing far above its natural ?promotion ceiling?. Not only did he get them finishing in the Scottish Premiership-equivalent?s top six in successive seasons, last year, his players also enjoyed the kudos of getting to the semis of the Tennents? Scottish Cup. A shame, then, that is was an injury crisis, and not necessarily any particular superiority that finally defeated him, their opponents Hearts blitzing them by four clear goals on the day.

In football, it?s being noticed that gets you noticed, if you get my drift, and it didn?t come as any surprise to anyone in Scottish football to discover that quite a few English sides ? Ipswich (unsurprisingly), The Dingles, and Boro (ditto) - were now keeping tabs on his managerial progress, and his name mentioned in lights every single time some poor sod or other earned the dreaded ?vote of confidence? from their club?s boardroom. But every time the question was put to him, Mowbray?s reply invariably was ?There is work still to be done with Hibs.? It was Albion who proved the first to finally put their money where their mouths were, and succeed in tempting the lad away. Seeking a new incumbent after Bryan Robson unexpectedly met his Waterloo earlier this season ? and I don?t mean the London railway station, either ? Albion made their approach to Hibs for permission to talk to him last weekend, it would seem. Although our board did put out a pretty noncommittal press statement about the situation, back in Scotland, it quickly became apparent that their Hibs counterparts were rapidly resigning themselves to the inevitable fact that Mowbray would be heading down the A1 within days.

So, what sort of guy are we likely to get? Even before ?Im Indoors handed Hyder Jawad?s piece over, I was already acutely aware of the fact that his reputation among his footballing peers was unparalleled. Having read the aforementioned piece thoroughly, tonight, I can now see why. Apparently, he?s widely regarded as cast in the same managerial mould as Villa?s Martin O?Neill. In other words, he?s a damn good man-manager and motivator, and intelligent, with it. Jawad thinks that he needs a fresh challenge, which I interpret as meaning he feels he?s outgrown Scottish football, and the unfortunate ?glass ceiling? their Celtic/Rangers dominated domestic set-up imposes upon small outfits like Hibs.

In other words, he felt he couldn?t take the club much further, and wanted career progression opportunities back in England, where he knew suitable managerial openings would be more readily available. Sure, he isn?t exactly a well-known face in footballing circles, right now, but his CV certainly suggests he might well be before very long. Said Bruce Rioch: ?I always knew Tony would be a success in management. It was obvious. I knew there was something special about him from the first time we met??. Tony was 22, but a very mature man for his age. Competitive, and fierce, but he was also great at handling the dressing-room, even at such a young age. He knows how to look after players, and get the best out of them. That was true as a player, and now, as a manager.? He?s already been publicly quoted as wanting to manage in the Premier League, and should his managerial skills benefit our finest, that?s almost certainly what he?ll be come the end of the current campaign.

So now you know. Judging from that little lot, we?ve somehow landed ourselves an absolute gem. Accident, or intentional? You really do have to wonder. Let?s hope our board reward him accordingly, should we finish the current term in high style. Should the quality of the football he practices and preaches prove only half as exciting as it?s billed, then the remainder of the season should prove remarkable indeed for we Baggies. As I said, though, it?s a crying shame Nigel Pearson will be shoving off when ?Mogga? ? for that is he - takes over come Wednesday morning. As Mark Venus doesn?t seem all that keen on coming, surely someone with the necessary clout could broker at least a temporary deal? With Bobby Hope as ?interpreter?, perhaps? I?m given to understand the guy comes with an atrociously-impenetrable Scottish accent!

Mind you, he?ll certainly get a baptism of managerial fire come next Sunday. What a way to start a new job ? taking up the reins nicely in time for what supporters of both sides regard as a stern test of their own pride, both local and personal. Albion versus The Dingles. Come out of that on the winning side, and ?yer man? will do no wrong in Baggie eyes, no matter what. The disappointment will be felt acutely, should we fail, of course, but I?m sure that our followers will be graceful enough to grant the guy a reasonable honeymoon period, all the same. As for me, I?m already thinking the next few months should be bloody good fun for our supporters. Let?s hope nothing happens to make me want to eat those words.

And that?s about it for tonight. Back tomorrow night, post-Palace, hopefully. That?s assuming our PC doesn?t throw a hissy fit again, of course. I shan?t be going, myself, but I do have my ?spies?! Licenced to kill, the whole bloody lot of ?em, if only through inflicting terminal boredom on people!

And Finally?.. Message to John Hartson. I see from reading a Sunday ?scandal sheet? that you crossed swords with Bobby Gould when he was manager of Wales. Not all that surprising, really, a hell of a lot of people do, eventually. We Baggies supporters didn?t christen him ?Barmy Bobby? for nothing. Just ask some of our former players who were around when he was our manager, circa 1991. What I was surprised to read, though, that he was still an admirer of the ?boxing gloves at ten paces? school of management; after all, didn?t he pull the same stunt on Colin West, the time Barmy Bobby deemed him getting ?lippy? above his station? Even more surprising, though, was reading that you fell for it in exactly the same way! Dearie, dearie me.

 - Glynis Wright

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