The Diary

19 October 2006: Vengeance Is Mine, Sayeth This Column!

Oh, what a lively day it?s been for me. Not being a particularly religious person, and lacking anyone to give me the appropriate amount of guidance in such matters these days ? my late mother, being very much a ?lapsed? member of that faith, had views about the Catholic Church that would have made even the current Pope give it up as a bad job, and take up needlepoint embroidery instead ? I?m not about to be so rash as to assert that our win last night was down to divine intervention. Neither am I about to opine that our local rivals, Blues, deserved everything they got, mainly because the Good Lord hates Bluenoses something awful. I leave that sort of thing to the serious God-botherers: they?re so much better at it than I am, for one thing.

What I will say, though, is that when in the vicinity of the Bluenose Butcher?s meat-strewn hidey-hole both yesterday and today, the quasi-religious concept of ?hubris?, arrogant pride just spoiling for a fall, whether of divine origin or a la ?the other mob?, pointy little horns, cloven hooves and everything, definitely sprang to mind. Plus, of course, that twin brother ?nemesis?, bog-standard retribution, in other words, and all the more delicious, as it?s been on the cards for quite a while. For the past two seasons or so, Paul?s been guffawing something rotten at our expense (not that he didn?t have a valid point, mind, but I couldn?t very well stand there with a crowd in the shop, and tell him that, could I?), and now the football boot?s very much on the other foot, I?m giving him absolute hell.

I can only assume that were those ?normal female nurturing instincts? to kick in the way God originally intended, I would be feeling dead sorry for the bloke right now, especially considering that the league fortunes of our Bluenose chums have been so awful: no wonder the lad has been on a bit of a downer recently. Take yesterday morning, for example, when I called in for some lamb chops. While he was sorting out my requirements, I casually asked him whether he was going to their game that night. Aw, you know, the sort of conversations you have, sometimes, where you greet someone while your mind?s set on ?auto-pilot?, and the last thing you expect to hear is a negative response. Something on the lines of: ?Hello, are you well?? perhaps. Expected Answer? ?Oh, fine, mate. Never felt better.? Actual Answer? ?No I bloody well am not ? me head?s banging awful, my bunion?s giving me all sorts of gyp, and as for my back, don?t even think of starting to talk about it?..? Know what I mean? Doesn?t normally happen in the real world, does it - unless you happen to have a right misery-guts as a neighbour or workmate, of course.

That was why The Bluenose Butcher?s answer to my polite question was all the more startling for its sheer simplicity: ?I ay gooin,?? said the bloke, in tones more suited to that of a funeral parlour, and not a butchers.

Me (quite taken aback by this unexpected oral reversal of the fabric of the football-supporting Cosmos): ?Er ? did I hear you right, just then? You?re not going??

Him: ?Ar, that?s roight. Fed up with ?em, Oi am. It?s all tek down theer and no bluddy give ony more, they?m playing rubbish, Sullivan?s threatenin? to pull out, Karen Brady?s a-gooin? ter Capital, more loike than not, and Steve Bruce is absolutely floppin? (cleaned-up version!) useless??

Me: (Putting on best soothing ?oil-on-troubled-waters? voice.) ?Oh, dear, Paul?. You really have got it bad, haven?t you!?

Him: ?Ar, and Oi used ter goo home ?an away all the toime, but I ay gunna do that no more. Oi?ve ?ad it with ?em, roite up to ?ere.? Then, just to make his position perfectly clear, and indicating the mug-shaped hole where his now-absent Holy Receptacle used to reside, ?Oi?ve even stopped drinkin? out of me Blues mug in here, that?s how disgusted Oi am??

At last, common ground! ?Er ? you don?t mean the Blues mug you just happened to break the handle off in this very same shop, just a couple of weeks ago, do you?? The response? Instantaneous. They say that a picture can paint a thousand words, and right at that very moment, my little meaty chum?s face was creating a whole Sistine Chapel?s worth! Caught, bang to rights! WHOO-EE! And after many months of seething quietly under my coat, I?d finally got my revenge! Champagne in the Wright household? You better believe it.

And this morning, full of the joys of last night?s Selhurst Park win, I simply had to reinforce the message with yet another bit of sheer devilment. Not that I?d made the short stroll into town just to wind him up, mind. No sirree. The reason I?d gone there in the first place was to sort out a serious bog-roll crisis in the Wright household, and it just so happened that when I passed by his shop, the door was well and truly open. Normally, he?s closed on Wednesdays, but sometimes opens up to await a delivery, and this was one of those times. Having said a few pertinent words to the lad on my way out, once I?d made my purchase in town ? eight whopping great rolls of Andrex if you really want to know! ? come the return journey, I quietly poked my nose around the door again, then snuck in while he was occupied in his fridge.

And I didn?t have to wait all that long for my moment of glory, either. Coming out about a couple of minutes later, and seeing me standing there again certainly came as a bit of a shock to the poor guy. Before he could even get one word in edgeways, there was I, plonking every single one of my eight toilet rolls well and truly onto his counter, each prettily-coloured absorbent cylinder in true military alignment, just like a collection of soldiers on parade, and this column grinning hugely all the while. ?Never mind, Paul, old bean? I intoned, in what I?d fondly hoped was my best bedside manner, ?Here?s something to dry your tears with! OK??

What with finally settling Paul?s hash in such a highly-satisfactory manner, and last night?s win, no wonder there was such a spring in my step this morning. For the first time in absolute ages, I?m really proud to be a Baggie again. According to a chap called David Neale, who went last night, the chant that said it all at Palace was that 1970?s classic: ?Hello, Hello ? West Brom Are Back, West Brom Are Back?.? Tune courtesy the despicable Gary Glitter, of course, but nothing despicable whatsoever about our win, apparently. To quote further from our away-travelling contributor to the Boing mailing-list tonight:

?Another superb performance at Selhurst Park. The passing and movement were a joy to behold. The whole team were comfortable on the ball, and looked like they were enjoying their football. Davies was outstanding at the back, while Kamara's pace and movement up front were exceptional. MOTM for me has to go to Jason Koumas. His ability to find the killer pass. His ability to run at & beat Palace players. Also his tracking back and tackling! Much more of this and the crowds will surely come flooding back. Mowbray (who joined Shakey on the bench half-way through the 2nd half) must be rubbing his hands in anticipation!? What more could a girl ask for?

This afternoon, Albion had made a great thing about a press conference they were hosting, so that Mowbray could be ?officially? paraded for the benefit of the press guys. Also making quite a big thing about it were Radio WM, by all accounts. They?d set up some sort of visual e-link from the ground to their website, and had advertised that fact extensively. I didn?t get to see any of this, sadly, but I have heard since that the whole thing ended up a bit of a damp squib, the actual ?conference? bit only taking about five minutes, and nothing of any substance whatsoever given an airing during the brief time that the newshounds had at their disposal. After that, it was ?out on the pitch for the obligatory photo-opportunity session?. Oh, and the audio link to the WM website wasn?t up to very much either, apparently. That?s progress for you, I guess.

What I did see on TV tonight, though, was my first proper glimpse of our new gaffer. My immediate reaction? Whoever it was fed me with the duff information that Mowbray had an awful Scots accent will be fed to the pirhana fish reputed to infest the local canal the very first chance I get to do so! No, he doesn?t have any Caledonian twang to his diction whatsoever, but what he does have is a predominantly North Yorkshire accent, and seemingly with a soupcon of Tyneside/Wearside mix thrown in for good measure. Oh ? and one other thing that struck me when I watched ?Midlands Today? this evening: our lad also boasts a hooter of truly magnificent proportions!

Forget Brian Talbot, Barry Manilow, even. Concorde?s nose-cone? Maybe, just maybe. As rhinologists the world over would say without question, Mowbray is the proud owner of a nasal orifice truly wondrous to behold, the entire thing rising in almost triangular fashion, at a 90-degree angle to the rest of his face, but in much the same way as Mount Everest soars in solitary splendour way above the Himalayan mountain range surrounding it, only horizontally, if you get my drift. Gave rise to a whole new train of thought, the moment I first clapped eyes on the thing, it did. If it gets lasting deposits of snow on its upper reaches in winter, do his brain-cells then turn travel-agent, and organise short seasonal skiing breaks for those microscopic organisms busily engaged elsewhere in his body at other times? Is the thing flexible, like a bit of hosepipe? Can it see round corners, even? Could it make an efficient substitute for a powerful vacuum cleaner, should the one used in the East Stand?s function rooms clap out unexpectedly? A bit like the title of what was once a popular hit song, really, i.e.: There Are More Questions Than Answers?.

Now down to what was said at today?s press conference, according to the club?s own website. Mowbray?s been signed on a 12-month rolling contract, apparently, and with Mark Venus as his Number Two. (Any chance we can now sort out a few more ?astronomical signings? as well? There was at one time Overmars, former Arsenal player, now retired, presumably, but no-one called ?Moon?, or ?Sun? on anyone?s books, as far as I can discern!)

Said Mowbray in today?s (potted by me, for brevity) introductory session at the ground: ?I like footballers who can manipulate a football, and handle it well?? Hopefully, all I?ve got to do is try to keep the ship steady, keep it going in the direction it?s going, and see how far we can go. I won?t be changing much immediately??.I?ve been very conscious of maintaining the same routine for the players because they?re in a pretty good vein at the moment. I will ease my way into the club, and get to know them all. I will chat to them over the next few weeks, and find out what makes them tick, what their motivations are, what their lives are like, and what they like and don?t like.? And, by way of a parting thought, ?For me, football management is no great secret. It is about how good you are with people, and how you put yourself across.?

Well, he certainly ?talks the talk?. Can he ?walk the walk?, though? Scottish football is a damn sight different to its Sassenach counterpart, and that we all know. We?ll start getting a clearer perspective come next Sunday, I guess. What a way to start, almost immediately having to prepare for a local derby where the atmosphere will be electric, and the gloves most certainly off. What a way to start, then, by beating the sods completely out of sight!

And that's about it for tonight. I'll be back once more the night before we meet the Dingles. No doubt there'll be lots to say in the wake of Saturday's Championship results, and how relevant they may be to the outcome of Sunday's game. Can't wait.

And Finally??One. Saw a Dingle-related absolute gem on the Boing mailing-list tonight, and I?m still laughing like a drain even now, so here goes. It comes from a chap called Keith Burrows, and concerns a mate of his, who was treated to a pre-match ground tour at the Custard Bowl last night. Said the guide to his chum, in all seriousness, ?The pitch is made up of 80 per cent grass, and 30 per cent sand?..!? Priceless, just priceless.

Two. While we?re on the subject of managers arriving etc. I see that former Baggies keeper Tony Godden has recently taken on the Rushden And Diamonds ?hot-seat?. Should be interesting ? you don?t see all that many former keepers wanting to go into that aspect of the game, do you?

 - Glynis Wright

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