The Diary

01 November 2006: Albion In Three-Ghouls For, Three Conceded, Hawthorns Halloween Horror!

What an almighty pig?s ear we made of things tonight: would you Adam and Eve it, after a game where we should have emerged winners over a poor QPR side by about a five or six-goal margin, we somehow contrived instead to end up sharing both the points and the night?s ration of goals ? (or, should that read ?ghouls?, perchance?) - three in the case of both sides? No ? and I couldn?t believe it, either. Had I not known any better, I would have strongly suspected some Halloween Rangers assistance or other provided courtesy one almighty hex of monumental proportions, but not being at all inclined towards the fey, I can only draw the conclusion most obvious to this column tonight: WE WERE SIMPLY CRAP.

How else can you explain a situation where we get into a comfortable two-goal lead midway through the first half, and it seemingly coming down to just how many Rangers could manage to keep out, but not only losing that lead shortly after the start of the second half, getting it back once more, by a single goal margin ? then letting that slip also! You might also want to argue that we could have quite conceivably let in a fourth, too. It really was ?a bad day at the office?, tonight. To completely mangle a famous quotation from Shakespeare?s ?Julius Caesar?: ?The fault is in our stars, and not ourselves??.? Sums it up perfectly, that, especially after witnessing several king-size cock-ups coming from the less-than-twinkle-toed-feet of Nathan Ellington, and some suicidal keeping from Zuberbuhler that allowed Rangers to grab their third. Although their supporters must have giggled their bloody heads off, after we handed them that unexpected gift, I wasn?t bloody laughing. Nor were the people sitting in close proximity to my seat, either.

The daft thing about it all was that our approach work on the flanks was nigh-perfect for most of the game: it was what was done with those balls ? or, more to the point, NOT - after they?d been pumped into the box by Messrs. Greening, Koumas et. al. that reduced so many Baggies fans to moaning, frustrated wrecks. And we duly paid the price. Still, that?s the tariff you have to settle up pretty sharpish when you?ve got a side out on the park strong on the fancy stuff, but very light indeed on the alternative, the many times during the course of a game when it becomes necessary to adopt a ?Mister Nasty?, hard man persona, when decisive, positive defending is called for. Tonight, for whatever reason, we simply didn?t have anyone playing that role ? and if we are going to get serious about getting out in one, it?s currently a major shortcoming of ours that needs to be addressed. And quickly.

It?s always the way that there was no inkling whatsoever of the frustration and drama to come as we stepped outside the house, and drove away in search of tonight?s game. If anything, the weather was living up to its Halloween Night billing rather well: a half-moon riding high, flitting fitfully between ominous-looking clouds, and a stiffish breeze blowing into one?s face. The sort of moody-looking clime, in fact, where it wouldn?t have surprised me in the slightest to see a squadron of broomsticks in full-flight, and each bearing its own witchy burden, all of whom were heading in the direction of our game. Going to make it their major ?haunt? for the evening, I wonder? Sorry.

At least we weren?t being deprived of the use of the clubroom in the Hawthorns Hotel tonight. Most certainly open for business, it was, as we said our ?hellos? to the guys on the door, then headed towards the table where The Noise sat in company with both his offspring, Bethany sporting a witch?s hat and cloak, fully in keeping within the ? erm ? ?spirit? of the occasion, of course. And no sooner had we sat down, The Noise commenced rattling on about the Blues game, and Robbo?s dismissal. More important, though, was the drinks situation. Or, rather, the lack of it: would you believe, on a night when it was a slam-dunk that people would want to make purchases in abundance, no Coke to be had at all, ditto Bonkses Bitter, and lime cordial (one Baggie wanted some to go with his lager, not unreasonably, it would seem). Was it a simply case of the owners taking their target audience a little bit for granted, I wonder? Whatever the cause of the shortages, not what you?d expect from a major brewery.

Returning to the Halloween theme once more, it appeared that The Noise?s vehicle had seemingly come out in sympathy with the Un-Dead just recently: well, how else do you explain the eccentricities of a car that will work perfectly when there?s five people in it, but refuses point-blank when just three occupy the passenger seats? Ooer. And, talking of ?haunting?, that?s what The Fart was doing in tonight?s programme, which featured a picture of the old reprobate seemingly lining up in a free-kick ?wall? with a couple of Barca?s more well-known personnel. Don?t worry ? he hasn?t found himself alternative employment in his dotage, it?s just that his boon companions were actually made out of cardboard! And that, dear reader, simply begs the asking of another pertinent question: had we employed cardboard cut-outs against Blues last Saturday, what might our chances of winning have been?

No surprises at the turn the conversation then took, really: I reckon it was the talk of cardboard cut-outs wot done it myself! The subject-matter up for discussion had by now moved to Zoobie, and his (well-notorious, by now) tendency to NOT come for high balls in his box, or manage to hang on to what were seemingly easy stops to grasp, come to think about it. Said an elderly bloke sitting on the same table as ourselves: ?Perhaps he?s got Teflon gloves?.....?

Said this column, all full of newly-minted cynicism ? and showing it!: ?Yeah ? and lent to him by Tony Blair, probably?..?

All the while we were nattering, Carly had been busy. With ?Im Indoors?s mobile, would you believe? Texting our tame IT-wallah, Timm, she was, although they?d never once met: knowing him as I do, though, the poor lad must have wondered what the hell had hit him, all of a sudden! Finally breaking into the conversation sufficiently to make sure Number One Daughter knew what was going on, we then weighed up the pros and cons of journeying to the Stoke game, several weeks away, but away tickets on sale, nevertheless. In the end (well, being as he lived there, he couldn?t have stayed away and still maintained his street-cred, could he?) we all came to the conclusion that a visit to the Britannia was just what the doctor ordered, and both Lewis offspring were game as well. Oh dear ? more ticket-buying expeditions for this column in prospect. I could only hope my plastic didn?t die of shock when suddenly asked to take on the unaccustomed monetary load!

Having been handed those magic bits of plastic after the Lewis clan had negotiated the Brummie turnstiles, and stashing them all in a safe place, it was then time for us to enter via ?The Gates Of Hell?. Once we were sniffing fresh air once more, the very first thing that struck me was the paucity of people overall. Look in the Rangers end, and they?d brought with them around 500, max. And the Brummie and Smethwick weren?t all that much better, either. Clearly, this was a fixture that had met with much apathy on the part of supporters tonight. Because most thought the result a foregone conclusion, I wonder? Well, it?s the only explanation that seems to make any sense, right now.

It was while we observed some young kids disco-dancing like maniacs on the pitch that we first became acquainted with our starting eleven that night. Two changes from last Saturday: Steve Watson in at right back on account of Paul Robinson?s recent three-game suspension, and Albrechtsen holding the fort at left-back. The changes foisted upon us also served to give Ronnie Wallwork a start in midfield, Quashie having picked up an ankle injury somewhere along the line.

As these things go, it was almost inconceivable, at that stage, that our lot would stuff up in such spectacular fashion, so, before the start, Hawthorns hopes were riding high. Rangers, just below halfway in the table before tonight, weren?t the sort of side to suddenly find from somewhere, sufficient skill and guile to turn over a side much higher in the league than they ? and, once the game had started, it seemed highly-likely, they would stick to the script, like good little West Londoners. Especially when Albion barnstormed them from the kick-off, more or less. Mind you, that didn?t stop the Rangers contingent from declaring, very loudly indeed: ?We are QPR, say we are QPR?.? Retorted ?Im Indoors, as succinct as ever: ?Never mind?.?

Five minutes gone, and we very nearly got the show on the road right there and then. Inevitably, it was The Mightly Zoltan who very nearly had their keeper picking the ball out of their net, the chance being worked up by a clever little bit of ball-trickery between him and the lad Watson, our minuscule scorer then thumping the ball from a fair distance out. Time for the Smethwick to sing: ?Stand up if you hate the Wolves,? a chant that puzzles me, sometimes. Doesn?t it naturally follow that being of the Albion persuasion, one doesn?t have to spell out one?s antipathy towards another local side in words of one syllable? Just like in the Catholic religion, such things are an article of faith, and it?s simply taken for granted, and without any need whatsoever for singing about it, either!

Our proactive stance must have woken up the opposition, because they then countered with a pretty respectable effort themselves. Once more, the chant: ?We are QPR, say we are QPR?.? ?Im Indoors again: ?Never mind. There IS a cure?..? A chance spurned for Rangers, but it wasn?t very long before the ball did pass over the goal-line ? and it wasn?t Rangers doing the scoring, either. Enter into the equation Jason Koumas, the man who did the spadework that made the strike possible. His effort was kept out by their keeper, but he couldn?t hold onto it: instead, the rebound appeared to fall to Ellington, although I would have sworn blind the whole thing was an ?oggie? on Rangers? part. Certainly, it went in the hard way, our finest needing several bits at the cherry before they could put it away.

Mind you, the goal did serve to put the Bloke In Front Of Me in a more positive frame of mind. Tonight?s first ?GERRIMOFF!? came as soon as the third or fourth minute, I reckon, Ellington being the unfortunate party to get on the wrong end of our chum?s righteous wrath. By now, Koumas, almost witch-like in the way he was making the ball do his every bidding, was really imposing his presence upon the proceedings. Magnificent ball after magnificent ball was sprayed here, there and everywhere, in an effort to set someone else up for yet another. But inability to latch on to such sublime ball-work apart, there was yet another factor playing the devil with our every attacking move: a linesman whose interpretation of the offside laws left an awful lot to be desired. Time after time he was flagging when our people were clearly onside: how our lot kept their tempers, I really don?t know. The end result was, between the two, that we simply couldn?t capitalise further, something that didn?t exactly help assuage our collective frustration with the situation.

18 minutes gone, now ? and inexplicably, one of ours, rather than pass back to our keeper, elected to boot it into Row Z instead. Many groans in the Halfords, of course. Said ?Im Indoors, apropos what happened, when the BIFOM started with his three-pennorth: ?Well, would YOU want to pass back to him (Zuberbuhler)?? Great timing from hubby, that was, that reply coming just as our incident-prone keeper managed to fumble a perfectly-stoppable save! ?Yeah,? I commented, ?I?d sooner juggle with a live hand-grenade than pass it back to him?.?

Getting towards two-thirds of the half gone, now ? and suddenly, Albion were revelling in a sublime display of pass-and-move football, each member of the side operating like parts of a well-oiled machine. Our collective joy was still being tempered somewhat by complete mystification with the antics of the same lino that insisted on flagging for offsides that just plain weren?t! His finest hour came when he managed to flag offside a player that was still in his own half, and therefore not subject to that rule. Annoying, because the bungling antics of this gentleman were primarily responsible for disrupting no end of Albion attacking moves: so farcical had the situation become by then, mocking supporters were gleefully shouting ?OFFSIDE!? every single time Albion went on the attack, and irrespective of how many QPR people were in front when the ball was actually played!

Each time something of that nature happened, the one sound I could discern above all else was that of the Rangers gaffer screeching like some enormous bird of prey settling upon its latest furry victim. With a scream like that, I reckoned he should have been drilling platoons of Guardsmen on Horse Guards Parade, never mind use it to try and sort out his players at our place. That was around the time we began to hear a positive plethora of ?GERRIMOFF!? type moans from Chummy sat in front, and all seemingly aimed in just one direction, towards Nathan Ellington, who, it has to be said, wasn?t of his very best form tonight. But even his voice was drowned by the almighty cheer that arose around the ground the very moment our friend with the flag actually got an offside RIGHT!

It was just as John Homer was asking of me the following profound question ? ?You know there?s no ?telegraphs?, now ? so do you have to ?email? the ball instead to intercept these days?? ? and I was about to smite the silly sod heavily for having such a warped sense of humour, that we managed to make it two ? and with just five to go to the break. Joe Kamara was the man responsible that time, what would have been called a ?poacher?s goal? back in an age long since gone. My goodness, did he need that, after all the misses he?d strung together at St. Andrews last weekend. All it needed was the infamous lino to get another offside wrong ? and guess what, dear reader? Yep ? he dutifully obliged us Halfords Lane peeps!

Enter into the tale a Rangers substitute, a bloke who first attracted my attention when running up and down the touchline in an effort to keep warmed up. It wasn?t so much what he was doing, it was the ridiculous hairstyle he had when doing it! Imagine, if you will, someone dangled upside-down over a vat of industrial bleach, then being lowered into it sufficiently enough to wet his hair in the stuff. That?s precisely what this guy?s coiffure looked like ? but then another thought struck me: ?Blimey ? it?s Jimmy Saville!? I cried. I could just imagine him, cigar firmly clamped between massive gnashers: ?Now then, now then, guys and gals ? here?s another little number bubbling right under the charts, it?s by QPR ? and it?s called ?We?re Going To Take You For Complete And Utter Chumps Later on?.!?

It was while my thoughts were firmly stuck in that direction that we managed to concede ? and totally against the run of the play, too. An object-lesson in carelessness, it was, from a Rangers corner, and with most of ours seemingly fixated upon their half-time cuppas, it was the easiest of tasks for their lad to bung it in the old breadbasket from very short range indeed. Not exactly what we?d wanted, but at least we?d triumph in the end ? er, would we?

Not by playing like complete and utter novices, it would seem. Within less than two minutes of the second half gone, they?d managed to draw level. Unbelievable, absolutely unbelievable. Smash-and-grab once more, this time by the handily-placed Gallen, putting away the cross with considerable aplomb. Our lot just stood there and watched, seemingly. Just what the hell was going on out there? ?TOO EASY, ALBION!? was the furious cry coming from my other half. Nedless to say, when another Albion attack broke down in mutual recrimination not long after that, guess what the BIFOM had to say about it? Yep, spot-on!

But we hadn?t finished yet. Come the eighth minute, we were in front again. For once, Ellington did the right thing, and threaded the ball through to his Senegal international mucker, who didn?t mess about. 3-2 it was, and the whole ground alight with joy again. Surely we couldn?t stuff it up a third time? Er ? could we? Bawled ?Im Indoors, all decorum gone by now: ?CONCENTRATE!? That last almighty roar must have really penetrated John Homer?s poor lughole, because he actually turned round seconds later, a beatific smile on his face, and the one short word - ?OK!? ? on his lips!

This is the moment when I would have dearly liked to have told you we?d then put our foot on the gas pedal, and gone on to see Rangers off in fine style ? but we couldn?t and didn?t. First of all Ellington cocked up a decent chance to sort things out for once and for all, then it was Jase?s turn to do precisely the same thing, with a lob that only just looped overhead, their keeper helping it along with a well-placed palm. And, as the half progressed further, all we saw was more of the same. Result? Half the Halfords were in such a state of apoplexy at our serial incompetence, I genuinely feared for the integrity of their coronary arteries. As for the rest, acute hypertension must have ruled OK.

Not long after that, both Koumas and Kamara saw pretty decent chances go begging, while at the other end, we were heartened, slightly, by the sight of Zoobie actually managing to hold onto the ball cleanly again. Blimey ? twice in one night? You really did have to wonder what was going into that half-time tea of theirs. Time and time again, we were putting great balls into the box, but when it came to the crunch, we just couldn?t put any of those nailed-on chances away. We also saw the introduction of Kev Phillips back into the fray with just over 70 minutes gone, but he didn?t make all that much difference to the situation either.

Given most of the scoring chances were coming from that direction, you would have thought they?d have hit the jackpot again, and very quickly, wouldn?t you? No chance of that, though ? with around eight left on the clock, disaster struck. Rangers managed to nab yet another equaliser ? and I strongly suspect that our errant keeper was the one at fault on that particular occasion. You really couldn?t credit it, could you? Needless to say, there was much noise emanating from either end after that ? and none of it too complimentary about our woefully-underachieving side, either.

From then on in, Albion chucked everything bar the kitchen sink at Rangers, but they still stood firm, despite the serial aerial battering they got from our forwards. Even John Hartson was brought off the bench in a desperate attempt to wring three points from the game ? and you can just imagine how well that one went down, can?t you? Try as they might, Hartson waiting for Route One stuff or not, the blasted ball just wouldn?t drop into a position from which some juicy capital or other might have been gained. Result? The crowd, frustration increasing incrementally with every single minute of time that passed, told their former favourites, in no uncertain terms, what they collectively thought of the night?s performance. As for Rangers, buoyed up considerably by the thought of grabbing a point they?d never even dreamed of getting a sniff of, they cheekily tried to snatch the winner ? and given a bit more luck on the night, they might well have got one, too.

What a complete and utter disaster of a night. No wonder both of us were emitting variations on a general theme of ?GRRRRR!? as we wearily wended our way down Halford Lane after the final whistle. Just when we should have been nicely consolidating that third place of ours, we?ve now managed to lose it, and slide down to fifth, courtesy Burnley winning tonight. And just to make things worse, both Preston and Cardiff also managed to register wins, so that will increase the amount of clear blue water they?re enjoying considerably.

I suppose, in keeping with the general tone of the night, I could blame evil, malicious spirits innumerable for what happened ? but we know better, don?t we, children? Sort it out, Albion, because if you don?t, you?ll have far more than the odd few words of protest to think about. It doesn?t need a witches? coven to make a bunch of former Premiership players perform like idiots over the space of 90 minutes. On tonight?s showing, we?re perfectly capable of doing that ourselves, supernatural assistance or none!

And Finally?.. As you probably gathered from reading yesterday?s piece, I somehow contrived to end up suffering from an acute version of ?repeated phrase syndrome? in which I managed to cover the ground about the last time we played QPR twice. I won?t repeat what I said when I finally sussed what had happened. Sure, I could have pulled the main bit from this site, rectified the error, then put it back on again, but by the time I?d finally realised what had happened, several hours had passed, and just about everyone in the known Universe had digested the thing by then.

I do have an excuse, though ? and it handily comes in the form of a simple phrase: ?Bloody PC Trouble Again?. I?ve heard it said on many occasions that the Good Lord is never malicious, just subtle, and no more so than the way in which He?s currently driving me round the bend, believe you me. It?s the latest problem in a series to hit our various PCs: sure, when I came to write up my piece last night, the machine I was using behaved perfectly, but the minute I tried running the internet in tandem with Word to check up on background stuff etc. it then started to ?crash? and without any warning at all, in some cases.

That not only meant a sudden obsession on my part with saving my work every minute or so, it also meant that whenever I needed to go onto the net, I had to close down the window dealing with my piece, then open up the internet site I wanted, jot down stuff in note form, then go back and open up my piece once more. For my PC, a bit like an inquisitive small child suddenly finding two really exciting things to do, and in its keenness to get to grips with both, not doing terribly well with either of them. For poor old me, just frustration, pure and simple!

Time consuming? Not half, and because I was constantly extracting stuff in the horribly ?bitty? manner previously described, errors, like the repetition problem already mentioned, rapidly started rearing their ugly heads at me. Most I managed to spot, and change accordingly before they were subjected to public view, but the one about QPR somehow slipped under the radar completely, unfortunately. All the more reason why it?s going to be champagne and caviar to the fore in the Wright household the very same minute all these irritating technical problems I mentioned are finally fixed!

Perhaps, it being Halloween, and all that, there?s some witchy person or other lurking out there with a predilection for IT, and positively itching to try out some modern-day spells specifically concocted with the sorting out ailing bits of electronic doo-dahs in mind? If so, don?t hesitate to get in touch with me via the usual channels, now - ya hear? Right now, I?m off to start sticking a whole boxful of pins into a wax effigy of Nathan Ellington. And ditto for Zuberbuhler. And all with the assistance of no less than three black cats, so SOMETHING?S got to work, hasn?t it. Anyone else want to join in?

 - Glynis Wright

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