The Diary

19 November 2006: Relax! Frankie Goes To Dressing-Room As Buoyant Baggies Bother Burnley!

Before I begin, an apology: the late running of this service is due, not to ?leaves on the line? but a Chinese meal on the way to my tum. For various reasons, all of them excellent, and me not wanting to spoil your Sunday eating, I?ll spare you the gory details, OK?

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Oh, dear ? if there?s one thing worse than having a partner acting like he?s in the grip of some strong mood-altering substance or other, it?s coming across a teenager exhibiting such alarmingly-manic behaviour. But fogies who tend to go into instantaneous ?knee-jerk reaction? mode upon hearing news of such anarchic doings ? generally retired Service people, or similar ? should go easy on this one. The cause was absolutely street-legal, honest, and as for the adolescent ?degenerate? responsible, well, suffice it to say it was The Noise?s eldest, and right outside the entrance to the players? car-park about a couple of hours before yesterday?s game.

Wow ? what a way of celebrating your birthday. ?Sweet sixteen, and never been kissed?? Perhaps it?s better to gloss over the precise meaning of that statement, but one thing I do know is that she certainly made up for the theoretical implications of those words yesterday by having some pretty potent smackers (not to mention loads of birthday hugs, most of the rib-crushing second in close combination with the smoochy first, and I?m now dead jealous, having learned of what happened from the considerable chronological distance of more years than I ever dare mention in print, so yah, sucks, boo to the lot of you!) landed upon her by Baggie worthies such as Darren Carter, Martin Albrechtsen, Paul McShane, Curtis Davies, Luke Steele, Russell Hoult, and many, many more. In all, about ten of our finest gave her the full ?treatment?, which is precisely why the dreaded Green-Eyed Monster is running fully-rampant through my body this Sabbath morrow. Had our players done the same thing for me when I was of similarly-tender years, I don?t think raging hormone levels would have let me survive the experience! ?Oooh,? said a totally-besotted Carly, as she received her rightful birthday dues from a grinning Darren Carter, ?I can feel his six-pack right through his clothes!?.? Blimey, is that what they call it now? I must be even more out of touch with the youthful zeitgeist than I?d thought! Or was Darren merely ?glad to see her??

Came bouncing into the Hawthorns Hotel just like Tigger, she did, with weary-looking Pater tagging along right behind. As did young Bethany, so it was time for me to present her with our own birthday gift, an Albion top, plus a hat for young Bethany, so she didn?t feel left out of things. (?Looks lovely on Baggie Bird!? was the thrilled ten-year-old?s verdict upon her unexpected gift.) Oh, and a birthday card, the outside caption for which was something on the lines of: ?once upon a time, there was a lovely, sweet, charming baby girl?, with the punchline, inside, of: ?What the hell happened, then?? No, we got small thanks indeed for that one! Mind you, she should have seen the other cards in that display dealing with a similar theme!

We also took time and trouble to explain in precise terms the legal implications of reaching such a massive milestone in one?s life. Talk about a ?rite of passage?. Did you know, that once you?re sixteen, you can, quite legally: play the National Lottery, buy fags and smoke ?em, drink, as long as it?s part of a meal, leave school, leave home, join the Armed Forces (with parental consent to the apple of their eye voluntarily getting shot at in either Iraq or Afghanistan), and have consensual sex, provided one?s partner was also of similar age, or older. Oh, and give one?s own consent to medical treatment, up to and including major surgery. Not a bad list, that: reduced to basics, it means that at 16, you can get laid while shacking up with a feller, and smoking like a chimney while on Army pre-embarkation leave, and drunkenly celebrating getting four numbers up on your Lotto entry for that particular week. Then, having slipped on a banana-skin while in such a disgustingly-tipsy state, signing a form giving consent to an op on that newly-broken leg of yours!

While all that was going on, The Fart, ?wired for sound?, as usual, gave us constant updates on the Blues-Wulves ?meeting of minds? then in progress. Much rejoicing when our mentally-challenged pals from up the A41 managed to ruin the collective Small Heath day by inconveniently netting just minutes before the final whistle, an equaliser that inadvertently did us an almighty favour. Not quite what the concrete-flingers had intended, of course, thereby making the entire thing even more hilarious!

Oh ? and as for the book we launched so successfully last Thursday evening, it?s rapidly developing into quite a monster, with my other half reluctantly reprising the Frankenstein role! As of today, we?re considering an additional five signing sessions, due to take place in Brum, West Bromwich, and Merry Hill respectively, around the middle of December. Mind you, we are querying whether we?ll get any real interest in Bluenose Territory, so it might not actually come to that in the end. What we are doing, though, is a session at tomorrow?s Supporters? Club Main Branch event, at the Hawthorns, also one for Kidderminster Branch this Thursday coming, so if you want to lay your hands on a copy, and don?t wish to make the long trek to the ground to purchase one, then either one of those two might be favourite.

And quite a large proportion of our pre-match time was spent either glad-handling people about the thing, or meeting customers to drop them a copy. Laurie Rampling yet again, Neil Reynolds, Swedish Ollie said an awed Carly, to ?Im Indoors, ?Where?s Stockholm?? ? and Alison Goth (honest!), most of these transactions being completed in close proximity to what I now intend to call ?Anorak?s Corner?, the bit of real-estate situated immediately adjacent to the Players? Lounge entrance. Not my idea, that name, but Steve The Miser?s, in what was, for him, a rare burst of non-monetarily-inspired humour. Why? Well, because it does what it says on the tin so well. That?s where all the serious Albion Stattos gather in full vulpine glory, to engage in meaningful pre-match conversation about variously-arcane Baggie-related topics, such as whether Jesse Pennington scored own-goals more times with his left foot than his right, or the vexed question of precisely what was on the post-match dinner menu after we?d whopped Preston in the 1888 Cup Final. (It gets really scary once you?ve heard them engage in serious discussion about precisely what kind of operation Charlie Perry had following the serious injury he sustained in the semi-final of our 1895 Cup Final season!)

But, enough of that, onto the main reason for my little piece our doings inside the ground itself. ?Hmmmm ? disappointing!? No, not my considered opinion on the game itself ? Heaven forfend that such blasphemy ever escape the safe custody of my lips ? just my reaction to the size of the crowd. As I?d anticipated, the Burnley mob had come ? erm ? ?mob-handed?, and very noisy with it, they were, too, but of our own faithful, much to my sorrow, there were more empty seats than I rightly cared for at that time. Easy to see why, of course: not being masochistically inclined for the most part, our Black Country fan-base had elected not to witness yet another disappointing showing in person. How they must have kicked themselves afterwards, mind.

A double disappointment, really, as the weather was totally tailor-made for decent football: a baby-blue sky, dotted at intervals by cotton-wool blobs of brick-red hue, and the temperature plummeted to a seasonably-chilly 8 Centigrade, or thereabouts. Never mind, at least we were there. First the Burnley side was read out: as you?ll no doubt be aware, there were no less than three Clarets (also known as The Dingles by their rivals, their reasoning being all-too familiar, of course) with a significant Albion connection on duty yesterday. The Dane Keeper Formerly Known As The Beast was one, Mister Jensen getting a warm reception from the Smethwick End once he emerged from the tunnel and took up his position between the sticks there. Additionally, there was James O?Connor in yesterday?s Burnley side, along with someone boasting rather more tenuous (notorious?) links with The Hawthorns.

Hands up all of those who remember Frank Sinclair, the 1992 youthful Chelsea loanee, who achieved horrible notoriety through getting sent off at Exeter while with us. Not because of what he did to the opposing side, mind, more to do with what he did to the referee. It was no more than a hard shove, at best, but as even newly-minted apprentice pros have it drummed into them these days, it?s a cardinal sin even to touch match officials in anger during a game, however light the end result. Legally, any sort of contact under those circumstances is classified as ?common assault?. Pretty uncommon, I?d say, which was the line the FA seemed to take afterwards, handing the by-now thoroughly-repentant Master Sinclair a massive nine-game ban for his trouble. More about Frankie later, of course.

As for our lot, much better news was in prospect. Paul Robinson was back after the three-match ban he was landed with following his recent red-carding, also Mister Quashie. It?s been my contention that a considerable proportion of our recent dip in form was down to not having Robbo?s steadying influence at the back, so it goes without saying I was dead pleased to note that normal service was restored, at long last. Yesterday also saw Houlty?s 200th appearance between the sticks for us, a fact he duly commemorated with a near-faultless performance for us. Just as well; with Cardiff dipping on Friday evening, and the Blues-Wulves game ending stalemated, we?d been gifted a wonderful opportunity to make up for misspent time, really.

If there was tension in the Baggie ranks, still, it was quickly dissipated by a dream start from our finest. No sooner had the show gone on the road ? within seconds of the ref blowing his whistle, really ? Burnley were given a bit of a gypsy?s warning, when a sort of stripey cavalry-charge towards their goal resulted in Jason Koumas not quite putting enough impetus on a pass that could (should?) have reached at least three of his team-mates storming the Clarets box at the same time. But that only postponed the inevitable: with only four minutes on the clock, Koumas more than made up for that early error by netting, the assist coming from the much-maligned Ellington?s well-judged through-ball, and Our Jase ? ?Don?t you dare bloody miss it, you!? was my heartfelt cry as he steadied to pull the trigger! ? neatly placing the bladder into the bottom right-hand corner of the Brummie Road End net. A clear case of carrying on from where he?d left off in midweek with Wales, scoring twice for them. Not good news for The Beast, of course, but plenty good news for us.

Then, just a couple of minutes after that, we did it again, and in fine style, too. This time it was the much-maligned of late Duke Ellington in deserved receipt of some sorely-needed supporter-praise, when he plonked the ball into precisely the same place as team-mate Koumas. Even more praiseworthy was the build-up, a beautifully-worked series of neat passes involving Quashie, Albrechtsen, not to mention the ubiquitous Joe Kamara, that would have won plaudits from the Brazil side of old. As for Burnley, they looked distinctly shaken by this unexpected turn of events as they dejectedly ran towards the centre-circle yet again. Wow, what a wonderful start, and very much needed, too.

Not that our two-goal blitzkrieg had totally succeeded in extracting the bulk of Burnley?s venom, mind. They were still very much in the game, much to our continued annoyance. With less than ten minutes gone, Burnley won a corner. With ?Im Indoors screaming ?Pick ?em up, won?t you??, and practically deafening the Bloke In Front Of Me as a result, over came the ball, low, mean and nasty, horrible to defend. Luckily, just about everyone, Baggie and Burnley-ite contrived to miss what was a very tempting scoring chance all round. Just a few minutes later, Houlty was given a first test of his custodial powers, but not so extensively as the one that came his way around the 16th minute. A free-kick, it was, and one lurking perilously close to the edge of the box, too, the taker being former Baggie O?Connor. Belt it, he did: no sooner had ball left boot, the scorcher immediately looked goal-bound ? but hang on a minute? Was it a bird, was it a plane? No, just a swooping Super-Hoult, somehow, incredibly, getting to the ball just a fraction of a second before it crossed the line. I briefly wondered whether the guy he?d displaced from between the sticks, Zoobie, was watching his performance: if not, then he jolly well should have been!

Sure, we still had that two goal cushion to build upon, but even that massive safety margin never felt comfortable, especially when we still insisted upon employing suicidal tactics, like the time we completely failed to pick up the Burnley runner on the right, who, upon accepting the gifted pass, was allowed to head the ball straight into ?the mixer? completely unopposed. Fortunately, we somehow managed to get away with that blunder, not a single Claret being suitably positioned to apply the coup de grace at that time. Phew!

It was around then we got wind of the reason for John Homer?s absence from his normal matchday perch in front of me. Apparently, he was in another part of the ground, and watching proceedings in the company of Lenny Henry. Who was the better comedian of the two? A difficult decision, that one, given our chum?s propensity for hilariously-loud opposing player invective ? calling Wenger a ?Gallic string-bean? the other night was but a microcosm of what our tame Master Of Verbal Insults can come up with given sufficient motivation to do so. It?s an unexpected bonus whenever the recipient actually hears what?s being said! It?s also with great pleasure that I dedicate this entire paragraph to him. How come? Easy, that one: John is an internet ?virgin? no longer, his ?cherry? having been well and truly busted in recent weeks by the purchase of a PC with new technology facilities coming as standard, so if you?re reading this, John, consider yourself well and truly ?outed?!

But back to the game, and the fact that the BIFOM?s first cry of ?Rubbish!? came in the 19th minute. More of our critical chum later, but what was really concerning us all right then was the ref giving a whole series of dodgy decisions Burnley?s way. It?s not for me to comment one way or another, especially given that every single incident happened on the other side of the ground to us, and on our ?blind side?, too, but The Fart, who does have an East Stand seat, waxed most indignant afterwards, even taking the trouble to phone me after the game in order to get it all off his well-ripened chest.

Two-thirds of that first-half gone, then, at which point I saw a lovely rainbow appear from behind the East Stand, a very neat contrast with the ominously charcoal sky that gave rise to it in the first place. Cue for me to comment: ?Well, it had to show its face there, didn?t it, given the fact that we used to have the Rainbow Stand there, and everything!? As for ?Im ?Indoors, he was frantically seeking the whereabouts of the elusive ?pot of gold? ? or, should that now read ?pot of goals?? Its appearance must sure have galvanised something within his brain, because not long after that, he suddenly started quoting things for my benefit, in this instance, the famous Lawrie McMenemy statement: ?To succeed at this (?proper? Second Division) level, a side needs a mixture of road-sweepers and violinists in it?.? Ooer ? a bit profound for the likes of me, but certainly pertinent: as I saw it, our main shortcoming was a certain inability to dish out the rough-stuff in response to the distinctly ?robust? line the visitors were taking.

With around ten to go to the break, we should have further increased our lead, and in similar fashion to the circumstances surrounding our previous glaring near-miss, there being three Baggies lurking with menace in our box the very moment Ellington set in motion a beautifully-weighted cross from the right. As things turned out, some Claret or other lamped the ball away for a corner before anyone could get to it, but they were still skating on very thin ice. Over came the ball, then, but instead of converting, we then contrived to hit the post. The clearance was a poor one, so in it came again, The Beast saving the visitors? bacon yet again with a top-notch stop. Cue for our followers to ?serenade? the Burnley keeper with: ?The Beast is an Albion fan?!

Just before the break, both sides had reasonable chances put their way, but neither could capitalise sufficiently enough to get past either keeper. Then came the strike that really clinched it for us: an Ellington light-speed run right down the right, his blistering pace enabling him to get a shot away unopposed, which The Beast succeeded in parrying, but only as far as Darren Carter, who duly did what was expected of Baggies, of course, by poking it in without any further fuss or bother. A timely strike, that: my main concern revolved around us losing the considerable head of steam we?d built up following those two early strikes. Shades of QPR, as we gave away daft balls in the middle, or, as previously mentioned, committed schoolboy defensive blunders aplenty. That must have been a body-blow to them, coming as it did, just seconds before the half-time whistle, a distinctly-horrible time to concede in anyone?s book.

Tremendous excitement on the pitch, then ? but what of events off it? In great danger of ?going off? right in front of us, would you believe? It all started when a bloke sitting about ten seats along from Jean Homer decided to visit the ?facilities?, but took a ridiculous amount of time doing so, to the extent he was annoying me greatly, blocking my view just as we broke promisingly on the left flank. It was all too much for The Bloke In Front Of Me, sadly, erupting verbally in a manner more reminiscent of the Reverend Ian Paisley than a Black Country pillar of the community, albeit a distinctly-morose one at that!

?Treads on yer feet, breaks yer leg ?an cowin? bunions, he does ? and he says he was ?watchin? the match?!? grumped our very own Son Of Fun. Luckily for everyone concerned, the incident eventually ended with gradually subsiding mutual snarls and recriminations all round, as these things generally do. It was good while it lasted, mind! As for John Homer, the normal occupant of the seat just in front of me, and ?entertaining? Lenny Henry somewhere else, when he returned at half-time, he just couldn?t believe what had so recently took place in his absence!

As for the second instalment, fears that we?d somehow contrive to stuff it up, even at that comparatively late stage ? well, it has been known, just ask the West Ham side of some three seasons ago! - were a constantly-lurking presence for me, but to my surprise, ?Im Indoors seemed pretty confident the three points were practically ours, for once! I could see where he was coming from, though: our finest had clearly been given strict instructions from the bench not to indulge in any more stupid tactical errors, and Houlty had equally clearly been told to go for just about everything coming his way from overhead. Which he duly did, and masterfully, too.

The second half, though, started in a pretty low-key manner, both on the pitch and off it, the ground becoming relatively silent at both ends because of it. Sure, their visiting followers must have had the stuffing knocked right out of them, but why were we so reluctant to make any noise? Fear things could still swing Burnley?s way, I wonder? The only notable incident of that early period was when Jason Koumas forced what must have been a pretty stinging stop from The Beast. Burnley also had their moments, but for the most part, it was Albion well and truly in the driving seat. In fact, they should have grabbed a fourth when Duke Ellington quickly found himself on the receiving end of a Joe Kamara pass, but couldn?t quite get enough behind the shot to seriously worry The Beast.

Come the 78th minute, any residual hope of The Clarets pulling something from the fire vanished for good when they had Frank Sinclair sent for an early bath, the reason being a creditable attempt on his part to separate the legs of Jason Koumas from the rest of his body, for which he was then booked for a second time. No thoughts of manhandling the ref on this occasion, though: off he went, with suitably-pithy comments ringing in his ears as he approached the tunnel.

As for our followers, with most of the tension melted away, they could now indulge in a bit of unrequited humour, first serenading their Lancashire counterparts with a chorus of ?You might as well go home!?, followed by one meant for The Beast only. ?Jensen, Jensen give us a wave!? was their next battle-cry, and guess what? Yep, he actually did! My award for the Luckiest Escape Of The Entire Game has to go to our lot who, with just four left on the clock, somehow contrived to land themselves in a situation where Burnley went on the attack again. Down the flank they went, over came the cross, to the far post, and up soared a Claret head, unopposed, unmarked. It just had to be a goal, but it wasn?t. What happened? Easy one, that: the chap who headed it downwards only succeeded in landing the ball right on top of Houlty?s boot. One almighty ?whack? later, and the bladder was right out of sight, if not already heading towards orbital velocity!

And then it was all over. A masterly performance overall, but the real star of the show was a certain Mister Koumas, whose delightful midfield performance neatly over-shadowed just about everything else seen that day. Years ago, the mantra used to be ?Stop Bobby Hope, and you stop Albion.? Well, that was Bill Shankly?s assessment of our tame Caledonian back then ? in fact, I do recall Shankly once making a serious attempt to prise him from our grasp, so who am I to argue? It?s with that in mind that I repeat that immortal phrase, but inserting our midfielder?s name in the socket previously occupied by our genius Scotsman-turned-chief scout. In terms of pure talent, there?s no contest, of course, but in terms of the unvarnished truth, that phrase still has a certain resonance about it, even some forty years after the Liverpool leader first uttered those words.

The other thing that caught my attention? Some of the best passing and movement to be seen at this level, and all of it from us. That?s down to us having a line-up more geared up for Premiership football than anything, I suppose, which is probably the reason why we still have problems when trying to engage opponents in a style more suited to the division we?re in. It?s nice to indulge in the over-elaborate stuff from time to time, of course, but there are other occasions when you just have to come down to Planet Earth, sometimes. Mind you, I expect it?ll all come out in the wash, eventually.

The downside? Two more in the book, Quashie being one, and Joe Kamara being the other. Luckily for us, neither yellow-carding will have any immediate bearing upon subsequent appearances for either offender. And I know I can?t help it, but even at three in front, I still had that horrible feeling, constantly lurking just below the borders of conscious thought, that they?d go and throw it away again. There were more times than I care to think about when our defence appeared a tad shaky. Were we to sort that one out, finally, we?d be home and dry.

Our win also elevates us to sixth place: not much in terms of actual progress, sure, but it does close the gap on Cardiff a little. They still remain seven points distant from us, but as they?ve been catching a few crabs, of late, it?s not totally beneath the bounds of impossibility that we can?t go on and catch them, provided we can sort out most of the remaining glitches in our game, of course. Preston still go strong in the runners-up spot, of course, but they?ve yet to play us at our place. Something tells me they won?t like it one little bit. And, at long last, we?ve managed to banish what was rapidly developing into a bit of a hoodoo completely from sight. I refer, of course, to our infuriating inability to find the back of the net, coupled with a distinct liking for woodwork. Let?s hope that now we?ve got the general idea, we can push on from there. Well, someone?s got to sort out flaming Stoke, haven?t they? It?s high time they got their come-uppance next week, well, at least as far as I?m concerned, but they are on a bit of a run, right now, as are Derby, much to my complete astonishment. Talk about ?coming up on the blind side?.?

Another quirky little thought to emerge from the end of yesterday?s game, then: the fact that by scoring 31 goals thus far this term, not only are we the highest scorers in our neck of the Football League, we?ve also scored as many over the course of that time as we did the whole of last season! It?s also significant that by netting three yesterday, we managed to hole, and right beneath the waterline, too, one of the meanest defences in the entire division. Not to mention the fact that they?d only lost on out of the last eight: before yesterday, they?d conceded only five times in eight away trips, information that immediately puts the true importance of our win into very sharp focus indeed.

More tomorrow night, when we attend Main Branch to flog more books and to listen to what three or so of our players have to say about yesterday?s win. Oooh, I?m feeling much better already!

And Finally?.. One. More about the newly-sixteen Carly Lewis. Apparently, in between all the hugging and smooching, that dear young lady asked certain of our finest to score for her on her birthday. And I?m sure that both Darren Carter and Jason Koumas were absolutely delighted to oblige some two hours later!

Two. Great rejoicing in the Wright household this weekend! And not just because of yesterday?s result, either. Our tame British Legion stalwart, Norm, is finally coming tomorrow to sort out our new central heating boiler for us. Just as well, really, as the weather?s turned distinctly parky over the course of the last two or so days. As I said recently, it?s only Norm?s Remembrance Day celebratory duties that prevented him from sorting us out sooner, not the least of which was the almost-Sisyphean task of having to both count and record the Legion?s collecting-tin entire takings for this particular area. That amounted to some ?3,000 in pound coins alone, so God knows how long it took him to tot up all the rest!

Not only that, we?re also ?greasing his palm? with two bottles of his favourite tipples: ?proper? Navy rum, the over-proof stuff once given to thirsty ratings, and malt whisky. ?Im Indoors fetched the latter from our local off-licence this lunchtime, the grog coming from a local cash and carry just the other week. One way or another, we?ll put a vacuous smile on his weather-beaten features! What we didn?t go for, though, was the massive bottle of Johnny Walker on display in the very same shop: well, at ?130-plus the full throw, what would you have done?

 - Glynis Wright

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