The Diary

18 November 2006: 'West Brom's Cult Heroes' - We Have Lift-Off!

Oooh ? what a night!?.. Well, if that title?s good enough for both Elvis and the Four Tops, it sure as hell is good enough for this column, and, in complete contrast to the Presley creation, back in the mid-to-late 50?s, with no BBC broadcasting ban incurred, thank goodness. Or was that ?Such A Night?? Whatever. Not that I?d have expected one to put a damper on last night?s proceedings, of course: we?re squeaky-clean, both of us, honest!

Yep ? in best theatrical opening-night tradition, bar for a few glitches, most of which were beyond our control, last night?s book launch went splendidly. As it turned out, approximately 200 good Baggie souls turned up in what is now the East Stand?s Richardson Suite (finally got to remember the new name, see!), to purchase copies of ?Im Indoor?s mighty tome, and get ?em signed by various former Albion heroes.

One thing I?ve discovered since getting involved, mind: launching a book is an experience somewhat akin to pregnancy, labour and eventual childbirth. No, honest! You undergo a similar gestational period, in His Nibs?s case, around that for an elephant, during which time you start worrying incessantly as to whether or not your brainchild will eventually prove capable of a separate existence: then there?s the literary equivalent of all those trips to Mothercare i.e. visiting the archives sections of local libraries, up to three times a week when we were both going full-blast, in fact. ?Childbirth classes?? The long slog afterwards of writing everything up, commas included, and all inserted by me, in ?proof-reading mode?.

As for the closest approximation to being monitored by healthcare professionals, that took the form of every single chapter being sent to the publisher for review as soon as it was completed. We even had outside ?obstetric and gynaecological consultants? on tap, in the form of some of Albion?s more pernickety ?Stattos?: it was their constant encouragement, advice and assistance that did so much to make this project a genuine going concern, really.

As with a human pregnancy, though, once we?d reached the two-thirds stage, and the initial nausea-equivalent now past, we could see the end looming in sight, at long last ? and with much relief on our part, too. But there was still the ?birth plan? to attend to, plus the sticky question of where our metaphorical infant was actually going to enter the world. Many anxieties of a similar nature to those of first-time mothers, of course, not the least of which was ?would it be painful?? We?d already ?booked? a space at our chosen maternity unit: where better than The Hawthorns? That?s where last night?s shenanigans come in, of course, the Richardson Suite doubling up as ?labour ward? for our various literary hopes and dreams.

One snag, though - just like in real life, you can make any number of detailed plans for the moment when labour starts, but if Little ?Un suddenly decides he?s had quite enough of life in his mum?s tum, when very rapid push actually comes to hard shove, you can quite easily end up settling for something completely different, like the awkward little sod electing to pop out in the middle of a traffic-jam, or similar! In other words, if something can possibly go wrong in ?proper? obstetrics, it most certainly will, and giving birth to a book is no exception, as you?ll see in a minute!

As you might expect, having been constantly preoccupied with all the thousand-and-one minute preparations you have to make for such a function, ?Im Indoors had been spending a good part of his evenings flying at a height of approximately 35,000 feet for most of this week, with adrenalin levels rapidly rising in proportion. The previously-agreed game-plan was to invite several ex-players to give the event some kudos, and sign all those wretched copies, then, with the assistance of Sutton Branch, Amanda, Fraser, and all who sailed in it, holding a question and answer session with the players afterwards.

Result? ?Frazzled and manic, not to mention highly-volatile? is about the best way to describe my hubby?s demeanour these past five days or so. Would the various media contacted give the event enough pre-publicity? Would enough people actually turn up on the night? And if they did, would they still want to buy the book? Would those attending enjoy the event as a whole? Would some - or all - of the booked players cry off at the last minute? It?s not an unknown occurrence, shall we say, but of that, more later.

So, the room was booked, the Ex-Players? Association?s assistance sought, and the event given about as much media publicity as we ? well, it was The Fart that did most of the leg-work in that respect, actually - could manage. We?d also managed to rope in Laraine Astle, for obvious reasons, and even several members of my noisy family pledged allegiance to the cause on the night! We?d thought we?d left no stone unturned ? then, when it actually came to the day itself, various little things, not disastrous in themselves, but borderline-niggly, started to unravel. First of all, the ex-players: the cast-list we were expecting changed slightly, then, with just hours to go, a minor panic when Derek Kevan?s missus rang to say they hadn?t been picked up, as previously arranged. Even The Fart had problems getting to the ground: public transport not living up to its expected billing, yet again.

With promises aplenty in place for us to arrange an alternative lift for the Kevans should things go pear-shaped, we then set out for the ground, getting there around six in the evening, an hour before kick-off. Even though he?d been delayed, the very first sight to greet us at the door was a very sweaty Mister Fart, doing a bit of ? erm ? ?humping? for our publisher. Books, lots of ?em, and all to be shifted upstairs, at a rate of knots! Inside the suite itself, we found chairs aplenty laid out for the second event, but no provision made for guest seating come the actual signing session, so that had to be sorted as well. Me? As far as heavy shifting was concerned, I was about as useful as a third nostril, so I contented myself instead with examining all the Baggie-related memorabilia dotted around the four walls of the room. First chance I?d had to take ?em all in, really.

It wasn?t all that long before we then learned of other unsought-for alterations to the night?s billing. Bob Taylor was one of the ex-players expected to attend, but we got a message late-doors saying that due to unforeseen circumstances, he now couldn?t. Bugger. Then we learned that Bomber Brown could only stay the hour, and Big Dave, involved in some kids? coaching up the road ? when he?d agreed to do the gig, the coaching session had completely slipped his mind - would try his utmost to get there for the ?second half?, but couldn?t absolutely guarantee it.

What we did have, though, was the Kevans - yes, our publisher had taken them to the ball, thank goodness ? and Ray Barlow, with Bomber there for the first half only, of course. Actually, we had been told that Derek had been unwell, of late, but last night, it seemed to me that the very act of being in sympathetic company of our supporters acted as a real tonic: the more the evening progressed, the more he blossomed, which was pleasing, to say the least. Time to talk nicely in the direction of Laraine Astle, already there with some of her family, wasn?t it? Luckily, she?s very talented when it comes to the sticky question of turning her hand to impromptu public appearances ? a media ?natural?, really ? and very happy to help us out in our hour of need! Phew!

It was around that time that some of my family decided to make an appearance: my big sister, her other half ? think ?Victor Meldrew? and you?ve got it ? plus daughters Donna and Lindsey, their partners, and, in the case of the former, her lickle baby. All together, now ? Aaaaaahhhh! The Derek Kevan and Ray Barlow eras were ?Victor?s? bag, so I was quite pleased to hear that they?d ended up getting on like a house on fire in the end! But of our grumpy relative, there?s a little more to come later, so stay tuned.

With ?Im Indoors busy doing copious amounts of ?meeting and greeting?, I just spent some time ?test-driving? my brand-new camera: well, that, nattering to my family, and introducing them to various Baggie-people I knew, too. While I was doing precisely that, I just happened to catch a short glimpse of a very familiar figure propping up the bar at the end, Ade Goldberg, of all people. Being an ex-GD co-editor from around the time of first launch, he?ll freely admit that it was largely because of a supporters? club publication editorial of his, effectively likening our board to a Communist dictatorship, we managed to upset the then-chairman in the first place! Ade?s contentious words were to see us completely banned from selling inside the ground: that was the prime reason why we craved ?independent? status, so we could constructively criticise and inform as we wished, but within the constraints of existing defamation legislation, of course. And carry on selling, but outside!

As you might expect, within seconds of my having spotted Ade, so did my other half, who instantaneously ?locked on? to his presence, in much the same way a jet fighter would when trying to ?down? an adversary with heat-seeking air-to-air missiles. You can guess what the first question was, once he?d got there, can?t you? ?Er - Ade, we?ve hit a bit of a last-minute guest problem, mate. Would you mind??..? Luckily, our hero didn?t, so that was at least some of our Brains Trust sorted, then!

And that, readers, brings me quite nicely to the second part of the function, the Q and A session. By the time we?d finished with the actual signings, we reckoned there were about a couple of hundred people inside that room, of which quite a considerable number had actually gone and flashed the cash. And we were particularly gratified to see that most of them were staying for the ?second half?, too, despite the actual constitution of the panel changing about as often as the knickers on an incontinent granny! I was a bit confused, by then, so I?ll just recap, for everyone?s benefit: as per the start, our panel now consisted of ?Im Indoors, Ade, Laraine Astle, Sutton Branch?s Mandy and Fraser, plus, hopefully, Big Dave, later on.

With everyone settled down, drinks purchased at bar, etc. it was time to get the show on the road. ?Im Indoors got the ball rolling by explaining just how we?d been able to start with a ?short-list? consisting of around 90 names, then gradually whittle them down to the 20 finally chosen to appear in the book. As he said, such was the quality of all the candidates, we?d had to be pretty ruthless with our selection process, many otherwise excellent nominations being left out of the final cut ? Bobby Hope, and Chippy Clark being a couple culled from the sixties alone ? mostly for reasons that didn?t reflect upon them, either as players or persons. We?d also had to consider a reasonable spread of names along the Albion timeline: as you?d expect, the trophy-laden fifties and late sixties, plus those lofty late seventies and early eighties, produced a positive plethora of possibles. By the same token, other, more barren decades, saw us all scratching our heads as to who was genuinely worthy of inclusion.

His Nibs ? with more than a normal ration of facetiousness on his part, perhaps? - also touched upon the feasibility of doing a ?follow-up?, but this time looking at those players considered a hindrance, rather than an asset! Naturally, there were many horrible suggestions coming from the floor, on that one! Seriously, though, ?Im Indoors did concede there was enough material out there for a follow-up of some description: perhaps my suggestion, a compilation of Albion managers through the years, successful or otherwise, might be an interesting fork in the road to take were a second book to be a possibility.

So who were the panellists? personal cult heroes of all time, then? Ade reckoned on Willie Johnston, with Paul Robinson having sufficient potential to become one, should he stay for long enough, of course. With ?Im Indoors, it had to be The King, of course, with Bob Taylor getting the ?current? accolade. Naughty Fraser even roped me in on that one, something that caught me very much unawares, seeing as how I?d clung to my ?civvy? status for this one. My own ?fave rave?? No contest, The King, first time, every time. Another lightning-bolt in my direction: which chapters in the book had I contributed to? Again, easy ? incessant trips to the library to do general research apart, my main contribution had been to the Harold Bache stuff, my interest in the Great War proving invaluable.

Another thoughtful point raised by my other half, then. Would Big Dave prove to be our last ever ?Cult Hero?, in the strictest sense of the word? To properly worm your way into the hearts of those who follow the side you play for, you?ve got to first establish some sort of rapport with them, but what with the increasing divide that now exists between both parties, it?s becoming increasingly difficult to achieve such a happy state of affairs. One can be admired by supporters, but genuine ?cult status? is something completely different. It?s largely because of the above factors that we?ll never see quite the same thing again, Ade?s comments apropos Paul Robinson notwithstanding.

Now for the really heavy bummer, man. The worst Baggies game they?d ever seen. Laraine? Stoke, for various reasons, all connected with the fact we could never win there, of course; in fact, His Nibs would have elaborated further, with an ulterior motive of completely embarrassing the publisher, a Stokie, had it not been for a ?certain person? entering the room at that point! I?ll explain in a minute, but as far as ?worst game? went, for my other half (and me!) it just had to be that bloody Twerton Park shambles, versus Bristol Rovers, in 1991.

What we hadn?t realised at the time was the enormous hatred felt in Gashead territory for our then-manager Barmy Bobby Gould, something that was to contribute to our downfall that day. Had they not been bothered ? they finished mid-table, if I remember correctly ? and had The Nutty one played proper strikers up front, instead of a couple of players totally unsuited to the role, we might have got away with it! Revelations from Ade, also ? he was working for WM at the time, and covering the also-important Leicester-Oxford relegation waltz ? that he was the one responsible for the rumour flying around Twerton Park that Leicester had conceded a last minute strike.

All to do with one of those unfortunate misunderstandings (no doubt Ade would describe it in much more scarifying terms!) that arise from time to time, Person B in the studio being convinced that Person A, the commentator, had said something, but the complete opposite of what he?d actually meant. That resulted in the WM ?goal? hooter being sounded, and that then being relayed to the faithful suffering in Bath! A brief blossoming of optimism, some of our followers actually believing we?d been ?delivered from evil?, but to have their hopes so cruelly dashed once Rovers read out the actual final score at Filbert Street ? and laughing their bloody socks off, too, I shouldn?t wonder! It was at this point that a very dark shadow descended upon the room, everything in it ? and stayed there! Strong men gasped, nervous women crossed themselves, and hugged their children more closely, believing themselves to be in the grip of some unearthly force or another, while at the entrance, there stood Big Dave, grinning hugely, making ready to join the panel!

Having been told to ?come on down?, in best Lesley Crowther style, he did precisely that. Among the topics he discussed was the amazing reception he?d had from our away support when we?d played Derby at their place, and the lovely thought that followed: ?Those are my people out there?? Apparently, try as they may, the Derby supporters just couldn?t get their heads around the chant: ?There?s only one Big Dave?.? Er ? who the hell?s Big Dave, Darren? Or, should I say ?Mister T?, aka the fictional B.A. (Bad Attitude) Baracus, of ?A-Team? fame? Yep, that?s what our ram-raiding counterparts have already christened him!

It was also interesting to note that although still very much a player, all those essential coaching qualifications, European ?A? Licence included, are very much in the bag for our former man-mountain. His aim is to get into that side of things once he finally hangs up his boots, the extra stuff he does at Handsworth with kids in danger of going off the rails being yet another way of gaining that all-important experience. Candid as usual, Big Dave admitted that in football, it was very much a case of ?who you know? rather than ?what you know? but would give coaching and/or management his best shot if given the chance to prove himself. As a future Baggies gaffer, perhaps? Well, you never know.

At the conclusion of the session, there was yet another almighty scramble to get books autographed, this time, by the former booter of Dingle Shaun Newton into orbit; it says a lot about the patience of our hero that every single Baggie got a small piece of him, eventually. And that, dear readers, included my family!

Unbeknown to old ?Victor Meldrew?, all manner of devilish plotting took place behind his back to get his personal copy of our book adorned with Big Dave?s signature inside the cover. But it was the precise wording of the accompanying message that really had me knotting my legs with raucous laughter: apparently, Number Four Daughter, Lindsey, had asked Darren to put the legend ?To The Old Git? alongside the obligatory signature! And put it he did, along with the expressed hope it wouldn?t land him in any sort of trouble with the recipient! What, argue with Big Dave, he of the light-eclipsing bulk? No bloody chance, mush.

As I said, ?what a night?, and one our publisher seemed well-satisfied with, which is the name of the game, when all?s said and done. And well-received by our audience, too. The first to arrive, almost, were we, and, along with The Fart, hitching a lift home with us, the last to leave, almost. As for His Nibs, it was just as well he wasn?t due to go into work the following day: well, I ask you - what can you do to motivate someone mentally soaring through the very frontiers of Outer Space as you speak? Yep, And gassing like a Stokie on crack cocaine all the time ? all he could do was relive the entire thing over and over again.

But there?s still more to come. For the benefit of those unable to get to that session, we?re doing another, at the following Monday evening?s Supporters Club Main Branch thrash, at which there are players scheduled to attend. See the various notice boards around the ground, or the Supporters Club website, for more details. I?m also under the impression we?ll be showing our grotty faces at Kiddy Branch as well. That one?s next Thursday. And, not only that, flushed with success ? or something! - our publisher is currently trying to set up a couple of additional signing sessions at W.H. Smith, at Merry Hill, also West Bromwich town centre itself. Good chance to get one for the Baggie in your life, isn?t it? More details as and when I get ?em.

And that, dear Baggie people, leaves me with but little room to comment apropos tomorrow?s Stan Ternent-orchestrated ?ordeal by fire? versus Burnley, yet another side that?s proven a complete and utter pain in the butt over the years, the Armistice Day 8-1 rout I recently mentioned being the exception that proves the rule, of course. And we really do need those precious League points on the board, otherwise we?ll be falling behind badly. All it needs is for a couple of other promotion-hopefuls to embark upon a winning streak, and we?re well and truly deep into the smelly stuff.

My sister thinks we?ll triumph, and by a two-goal margin, too, so I hope she?s proven right. Oh ? and, while we?re at it, don?t forget to give your collective regards to The Beast, the custodial Dane formerly known to all and sundry as Brian Jensen, until The Brummie took him to their own, of course. I wonder how many supporters of other Championship outfits still think those multitudinous cries of ?BEEEAAST!? to be popular expressions of mass-dissatisfaction with his performance between the sticks? And we?ll be seeing a little of James O?Connor as well, no doubt. A shame he never quite cut the mustard when with us, but that?s football for you.

Two final thoughts, then. First? ?Oh, What A Lovely War??? According to yesterday?s Guardian headline, President Bush, the effective Commander-In-Chief of all US armed forces, recently called for ?a final Big Push in Iraq?. Remind you of a certain someone wearing the red hat-band and collar tabs of a Staff Officer around 1916? If we don?t watch ourselves, he?ll be calling for yet more men to ?make up the wastage? before too long!

And the second? According to this week?s New Scientist, among the various gadgets we?ll have at our disposal come 2056 will be a device capable of interpreting the thoughts and desires, however simple, of animals, pets or otherwise - then putting them back into spoken form. Should really go down a stormer with the punters at the Wolves Club Shop, that one!

 - Glynis Wright

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