The Diary

25 October 2006: Ex-Dingle Strikes Two, So The Arse Go Through!

Well ? there?s nothing quite like football to send one?s emotions soaring to their dizziest heights one day, then just over 48 hours later, dump you right in the doldrums, and in unceremonious fashion, too. But I shouldn?t feel too miffed, I suppose. Look on the positive side: we?re out of a competition that could have quite possibly landed our hopes of going up first time round firmly back in Queer Street, and we?ll live to fight another day as far as the bread-and-butter stuff is concerned.

We?ve lost the battle, but it may well help us win the war in the long run: as I said last night, League Cup runs helped deny Warnock?s mob their rightful desserts a couple of seasons on the bounce ? not that I was sympathising any, mind ? and had that happened to us, I would have been miffed something rotten, to put it mildly. And, in any case, tonight?s game really did show up the gap in skills, pace, passing ability, movement off the ball ? everything ? between the two sides, one almost as great as the one that showed up between the Dingles and ourselves last Sunday, in fact.

The only real clouds besmirching our post-match Baggie horizon, though, are injuries to both Darren Carter and Rob Chaplow, and that may prove costly come Saturday next. It would be an irony too far were we to fail against Blues because of what happened, especially as they came through their own test tonight by beating Warnock?s mob, ironically enough, on their own Sheffield muck-heap. Maybe tomorrow?s match reports might indicate they had all the luck going tonight, I honestly don?t know, but looking at it any way you like, it?s got to be bad news for us. I had hoped we could catch them on their beam-ends and make goals while the sun shone ? but very little chance of that, it would seem. Oh, well, never mind ? now, we?ll find out just how good we really are.

My tale of tonight?s doings very nearly didn?t happen: very early this morning, I was completely overwhelmed by some sort of coughing, sneezing, snot-ridden virus, ached all over as a result, slept most of the day because of it, and only really came to shortly before our scheduled departure for The Hawthorns. And I?m still taking pills to suppress the symptoms now ? yuk. Still, I couldn?t miss this one, could I? That would have blown my Baggie street-cred right out of the window, wouldn?t it?

Given my various aches and pains, and the low-level grief they were giving me, it didn?t help much that the Throstle Club premises were out of action tonight, so no pre-match gassing-session with The Noise and The Fart (thanks for the cheque for the Derby game ticket, El Tel!). It?s a peculiar sort of logic on the part of the people running the Hawthorns Hotel that dictates you take out one of your prime sources of revenue by getting electricians in to sort out the lighting in ?our? room on the one night we?re at home, isn?t it? Using educated guesswork, having lived in a pub for years myself, I reckon that must have represented the loss of several night?s worth of income for them.

Also a tad miffed about it were The Noise And Brood, who only found out when they tried to get in! That, I have to say, is partially down to me: I?d meant to ring them earlier today and break the bad news then, but what with feeling pretty rough, and everything, I completely forgot, so if I haven?t done so before, Martin, profuse apologies are in order, I reckon. Mind you, this week?s been a pretty rotten one all-round for the lad ? and it all started right after the final whistle on Sunday. Back they went to their vehicle, parked right next to ours, full of the joys of autumnal Dingle-bashing (metaphorical, that is!), it started OK, they eventually reached the Brummie Road junction ? only to see their jam-jar give up the ghost completely, and come to a juddering halt.

Something wrong with the electrics: dead, dead, dead, apparently. As you?ll all be only-too aware, they control a good deal of what happens in the engine itself, not to mention the cooling system, and all stations west. A good two hours it was before the AA rescued ?em from durance vile: not only that, it was touch and go whether The Noise would get his pride and joy back in time for tonight?s game. Fortunately, the bloke who fixed it came up trumps, and our lad was able to collect it with around an hour or so to spare. Phew!

All this we heard as we batted the pre-match breeze on the Brummie Road/Halfords Lane junction, our discourse only being interrupted by his twin prides and joy, Carly and Bethany, both of whom were hungrier than a ?scabby horse with spots on?, as my old mum used to say. Resistance was futile, of course: within seconds, The Noise found himself digging into his pockets, handing over around eight quid to Carly, who intended to visit the ?greasy spoon? on the pub car-park. As they departed, we started nattering again ? only to find Bethany had returned once more, with news that The Noise hadn?t given Carly enough! ?Hang on a mo, I gave your sister ?8, and that?ll cover the cost of three hot dogs easy. Tell her to do her sums again?.? Oh dear ? a few minutes later saw the return of Big Sister, clutching in her hand the desired delectables. ?Er ? I think I added that up wrong, dad??

?Now hang on a minute,? said I, ?Aren?t you supposed to be taking your O-Level maths next summer, and you can?t add up the price of three hot-dogs?? I was only teasing, of course, and Carly knew that, but her response was certainly spot-on. ?Ah,? she countered, ?of course I am, but the sort of maths I?m doing right now is algebra, which is about LETTERS, not numbers?..?

You had to hand it to the lass: ten out of ten for dredging that one up on the spur of the moment. Another few words with her elicited the information that one of the topics she was doing right now was stuff to do with log tables ? and that completely stumped me. ?Why the hell, in an age where everybody from the age of about seven upwards uses an electronic calculator to sort out such things anyway, are you required to know how to use log tables? When I was doing my O-Levels, it was way before those things came in, so yes ? we did need them for physics and maths, but you lot don?t. How come??

The reason was, so Carly tells me, to get them to use their problem-solving skills. Well that was certainly true; with logs, you looked up a number in one column, looked across, saw where the relevant bit intersected, added a couple of digits on for good measure, took away your age in years, and eventually arrived at an answer to the calculation you were doing ? and all in about ten times longer than it took to use a calculator to sort the blasted thing. Should you be useless at doing the ?adding-on/taking-off? bits, like me, you got your calculation completely wrong anyway. Just where, in everyday industry, commerce, laboratory work, even, do they still expect you to use log tables? Dearie dearie me.

But back to the matter in hand. By then, we reckoned we?d passed sufficient time away to split, then grab our seats while they were smokin? hot, so off we all went, on our separate ways. A quick chunter with Steve The Miser later, and we were inside, slightly earlier than usual, which gave me some spare time to update my notes. Looking around the ground, our bits of the ground seemed to be reasonably-filled, but I was quite amazed to see that their away contingent had come to this one mob-handed also: surprising, that, considering the contempt with which most leading Premiership sides seem to regard the competition. Possibly connected with the amazing statement, from Arsene Wenger, as related in today?s Mirror, that he fully intended to take tonight?s game seriously, the reason being that the League Cup was the only bit of silverware not to have landed up in his well-manicured hands in his time there. Was he serious?

You wouldn?t have thought so, mind. Looking at their line up revealed a couple of well-known names, one of which was Theo Walcott, he of the abortive World Cup squad call-up, and ex-Dingle Aladiere ? more about him later - but of the rest naught, save the fact they were all very young indeed, and well past their bedtimes, probably. Albion? Mowbray had certainly rung the changes, possibly in order to keep at least some of his ?powder? dry for St. Andrews, this coming Saturday.

Six changes to our lot, no less, were the order of the day, and to no-one?s particular surprise after Sunday?s Rocky Horror Goalkeeping Show, the main one was between the sticks, Hawthorns Old Faithful Russell Hoult getting the nod over Zuberbuhler, his first senior start in around 11 months, apparently. Also in from the cold were Darren Carter, suspended for the Dingles game, Steve Watson, Paul McShane, blonde hair and all, Richard Chaplow, and former Gunner John Hartson. Apart from our Swiss disaster-area, out were Joe Kamara, (one of the subs that night), Albrechtsen (ditto), Gera (ditto), Chris Perry, and Jason Koumas, currently ?cooking on gas? but his flame very much out of action tonight. Let?s just hope someone is handy with the cigarette lighter come three o?clock on Saturday, then!

Off we went, then ? and as these things go, we didn?t get off to that bad a start, Greening almost striking oil in the first two minutes, then Quashie having a go from a set-piece not very long afterwards. Then, moments later, it was Rob Chaplow?s chance to shine, having accepted the ball from the industrious Robbo, but the shot, when it came, was easily dealt with by their keeper. All of this industry drew some vocal reaction from supporters of both persuasions, the London lot starting with: ?Stand up if you love Arsenal?, and our lot, predictably, in view of what happened last Sunday, countering with ?Stand up if you hate the Wolves?.?

Twelve gone ? and by way of ?celebration?, almost, the very first outburst, from The Bloke In Front Of Me, of course, of: ?GERRIMOFF!?..? Almost a record, that. Will he better that start-time before this season finally runs its course, I wonder? I really must keep tabs on it, and let you all in on the joke accordingly! Meanwhile, back in front of the Brummie, Houlty had his first ?baptism of fire? in a long, long time, kicking the ball away under pressure quite well, this feat eliciting quite a cheer from the Brummie, whose collective patience with Zoobie had been wearing very thin, of late.

Around two minutes after that, it was The Arse?s turn to give us a bit of what-for, Walcott?s run down the right aborted by Watson, who put the ball out for a corner, from which their lad Song was only inches from earning one all of his very own, the effort only narrowly missing the spot. Time for the away support to make their presence felt, so they burst forth with a heavily North London-accented rendition of what sounded to me very much like: ?There?s Only One Arse On Wenger?.? Anatomically correct, of course, but how many did they expect him to have, three or four?

Mind you, they did suffer a bit of a blow around the 25th minute when the lad Adebayo, a Togo international, apparently, had to go of because of an nasty knock ? he didn?t look a happy bunny at all, as he limped off - to be replaced by a still-wet-behind-the-ears Armand Traore, making his first-team debut tonight, it would seem. Yet another lad just emerged from their Emirates Stadium youth production line, it would seem. And, once that change had been effected, it was time for Houlty to show what he was made of, yet again, when he took firm command of his box by decisively rushing out to meet an opposing player who had the ball, seemingly on collision-course ? but Houlty?s no mug. All that experience showed, as he met with his charging opponent ? and won! Something told me that provided Houlty carried on in similar vein, Zoobie?s first-team place would be in considerable doubt come the weekend, no question.

By now, Albion had hit something of a purple patch. Of the two sides, it were they that seemed to be making the most midfield progress, Ellington?s Exocet-like rocket struck from around 20 yards out forcing their keeper into making a stunning save to concede the corner. Not that The Arse were letting such impudence pass, of course. Just seconds later, their lad, Flamini, put on a repeat performance in front of the Brummie, giving Houlty something to think about also. On the whole, though, Albion were just about edging it, in my opinion. All they lacked was the means of getting right behind that locked-down Gunners? defence: a shame, then, that their final ball into the box seemed to be the main weak-link in the side.

In fact, you could take that statement to read several ways, another of which was our undoing. One thing you can?t do when playing a side like that is screw up on your chances, however tenuous they may seem, but screw up we did, and, around a minute later, paid the price. Let The Gunners into the box with the ball, try to effect a serious challenge, and it?s ?ten pounds to a penny? that their wel-honed thespian skills will immediately come to the fore ? and that seems to have been the case in this instance. It didn?t help that McShane did a convincing ?elephant-on-a-gob-of-lard? impersonation when trying to frustrate the rampant Gunner in possession, but it was Watson that was adjudged to have arrested Alladiere?s flight illegally.

A penalty it was, then, right on 32 minutes ? and just what they wanted, of course. ?Im Indoors might have thought that Watson had been caught ?bang to rights?, but I wasn?t convinced. Even less after speaking to The Noise, post-match as we headed back fro our respective cars ? he was based in the Brummie, where all the relevant action took place. ?That were never a penalty?.? was his Last Word on the subject. Say what you like about The Loquacious One, if we?re at fault for anything, he?ll always come out and say it. He?s also the proud owner of hawk-like vision skills: if he says the penalty wasn?t legit, I believe him without question.

No surprise, then, that Aladiere, the lad adjudged to have been fouled, put it away with minimal bother, despite Houlty having made a respectable attempt to stop the ball?s flight, only just a fingertip away from actually doing it. That buggered everything, of course, and it didn?t help, either, that Carter was injured and had to leave the field of play with around five remaining to the half-time whistle, and Joe Kamara getting an unexpected outing as sub for his pains. We did try and muster up a tad more fighting spirit, though, finishing the half with Ellington having a go, then McShane heading over, from a Greening set-piece, from the right hand side of the target-area.

It was John Homer that got the biggest laugh from those Halfords Lane Stand folkies sitting nearby, though, providing an amusing end to the half. It all started when Quashie, in a bit of no-nonsense action, won both the ball and the throw right in front of our little ?glee club?. Commented John, in booming tones, when Wenger tried to protest to the referee about him not giving the Arsenal lad the nod, as per what seemed to be the script: ?Shaddup, yer Gallic string-bean, yow??? Immediate dissolution of everyone in that vicinity into gales of laughter, of course. As you might expect, though, Old Misery-guts remained as impassive as ever.

Come the start of the second half, the pair of us had decided that we weren?t going to get this back, no matter how hard we tried. Sure, The Arse may have had all the breaks, but they were playing with a degree of skill, of verve, of imagination, even, that was positively frightening to behold. And these were only their reserve and fringe-squad players? Their mums might have been asking where they were, but by God, were they quick off the mark. Hesitate, even for a moment, take your eye off what you were supposed to do, even for just one second, and you were toast.

That was proven beyond all reasonable doubt just minutes into the second helping, the second Arsenal goal coming from a free-kick just outside the box. Walcott was the youthful provider, his ball neatly evading our defence, and that man (kid?) Aladiere belting the thing for all it was worth from around 12 yards out, I would say. Houlty didn?t stand a chance, poor thing.

Now two down, that was it, game over. ?Tis true that Greening, not long afterwards had the visitor cold, almost, in possession very close indeed to their net and about to pull the trigger ? but instead of going in, as sweet as a nut, as per Sunday, it blasted over the bar instead. The Greening we all know and love, n?est ce pas?

Frustration set in, tempers rose, and Robinson got booked as a result. In order to try and jizz things up, presumably, Mowbray then sent Gera into the fray. When Gera ended up on the wrong end of a stinging Arsenal tackle, John, absolutely furious, reacted like Pavlov?s famous dogs to a bell at feeding-time. No, he didn?t salivate on cue, just protested, loudly! What had raised his ire that time was the ref?s willingness to book Watson earlier on for something quite mild by comparison, but nary a flash of plastic when one of theirs was caught well and truly in the wrong. ?Yo?m wearin? a cowin? red shirt, yo am?? was the comment directed at the hapless official that time. As I?ve said many times before, John has a certain ?way with words?. Especially when it came to pre-recording answerphone messages for his place of work, back in the early eighties so it would seem! How do we know, John? A former colleague of yours told us just the other day, actually: just send us a couple of thousand quid in a plain envelope, and we promise faithfully NOT to repeat everything he told us! OK?

By now, The Arse had found another gear, and every single time they went up the park, they looked dangerous. With pace like that, it?s the devil of a job just keeping up, as our sorely-pressed defenders were rapidly discovering. First Traore, then ex-Dingle Aladiere carved us wide open, from buttock to bucchal orifice. Not funny at all, that, and we were lucky not to be even further behind. Trust resident ?old lag? Houlty to have the last word, though. In favour, out of favour, at least he?s pretty dependable between the sticks. What a way to sign off a comeback, by superbly saving a Walcott scorcher, tipping it around the post, thereby preventing the Young Pretended from grabbing the night?s glory. I don?t suppose you?ve got anything planned for next Saturday afternoon, have you, Russell?.?

And that was it, really. As I said earlier, it really was a case of Wenger?s Bright Young Things proving far too strong for Mowbray?s Workers. We took out lumps with dignity, they go into the draw next time, and we return to the seasonal hard slog, first of all versus Blues, then with the visit of QPR to the Hawthorns next Tuesday night. I can?t say I?m too disappointed to have crashed out of the competition: at least we were beaten by a better side, even though the circumstances that led to the first goal were dodgy. We?ll just have to avenge ourselves the very next time we play them in the Prem, then, won?t we? With any luck, we won?t have too long to wait.

And Finally?? Having walked past the mobile ?greasy spoon? that the Lewis clan sometimes use to grab their pre-match vittle from on numerous occasions, and having smelt at considerable length the various aromas emanating from it, I?d long ago come to the depressing conclusion that their meat supply consisted of naught save badly-cremated pensioned-off bactrians and dromedaries ? and seeing what Carly brought back with her after her pre-match visit there didn?t do an awful lot to make me change my mind, either. The Noise must have been on a similar wavelength as well, because he then commented: ?Coo ? I bet Baggie Bird had to watch out?.? Said me, as quick as a flash, ?Never mind about Baggie Bird, what about Charlie bloody Camel??

 - Glynis Wright

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