The Diary

30 November 2006: Albion's League Campaign Goes Further Down The Gurgle.

And it?s not just every single Albion-related news item I want given a damn-powerful purging enema, right now. Take the pitifully-slow progress we?ve made ? or, to be much more precise, the progress Norm And Son HAVEN?T made! ? with our replacement central heating/hot water boiler. I?d had a Cunning Plan, you see, and it went something like this: once I?d finally left the electronic company of all you lovely lot, back in the wee small hours of this morning, I?d aimed to get a few hours-worth of zeds in, so as to meet and greet our pipe-laden pair in fine fettle once they?d come back to do more work that same afternoon. Sounds good, on paper, doesn?t it?

The problem was, my original good intentions then took a truly savage hit, and in the form of that well-known Robbie Burns saying: ?The best laid schemes o? mice and men gang aft a-gley.? There was I, having had something to eat, and about ready to put my head down for two or three precious hours before all that horrible hammering and banging got going once more ? but first, a brief pause to shift some sort of dust or grit from my eye. It was while I was diligently performing this necessary ophthalmic duty that I heard a loud tap on our living-room window; rapid investigation showed it to be Norm, and on the premises some three hours earlier than originally expected!

It turned out that after he?d left us the previous afternoon, he?d suddenly remembered he had additional bits to plumb in before finally securing the boiler to the wall; not only that, but he had to install the thermostat, yet another job he needed to do before he could proceed further. Had I known he was coming early, I?d have re-arranged my sorely-needed kip around the change in plans, getting my head down directly after finishing yesterday?s blog, and not leaving it until much later: as things stood, what with me trying like mad to evict a distinctly-gritty foreign body from my eye when he knocked, and everything, I was not impressed, and made my displeasure quite clear.

And what really put the cap on it was my later discovery that the pair of them would be coming back tomorrow morning as well. For a job that was supposed to only take a couple of days at most, it?s rapidly assuming all the hallmarks of another lengthy daily performance run, Agatha Christie?s ?The Mousetrap?. So far, I?ve had to put up with the dust and noise for six days: another one, and I?ll be lighting candles, and wishing it ?Happy Anniversary?. Either that, or getting hold of some of that polonium, the radioactive substance that did for the Russky guy, and administering same to Norm and Son: opportunities aplenty for me to do it, mind, given their combined craving for tea being more or less on a par with that of a dosser?s for methylated spirits. And a Dingle?s for ASBO?s.

So now you know why my ?anger? glands are so productive right now! That, plus what happened the night before, was justification enough to make me blow a gasket earlier today, I reckon. Even the late but very nearly sainted Mother Teresa would have reacted in similar manner, given the same circumstances, I?ll warrant. And that brings me neatly to some more pertinent thoughts, all of which naturally surround the shocking Albion performance The Fart and I were unfortunate enough to witness last night at Hillsborough.

As you?ll no doubt know by now, Blues were involved in an absolute humdinger of a game at St. Mary?s tonight, the final score reading Southampton 4, Blues 3. Sweaty, that one, if for no other reason than Saints somehow contriving to whittle their numerical advantage down to just one measly goal. That, plus the scary fact that our near-neighbours managed to hit the bar in the last minute or so: great sighs of relief in the Wright household come the final whistle, as a draw there, or even better, all three points, would have given their chances of achieving escape-velocity one almighty boost, and at our expense, probably.

Looking at last night?s stats told an all-too familiar tale, sadly: of actual possession, we had the lion?s share, 54%, as opposed to Wednesday?s 46%. Yes, and shots on target, too: six, in direct contrast to their three, but not those efforts wide of the mark, Wednesday notching up 10 of those, as opposed to our 5. On the number of corners we were even, on five apiece, with 15 being the number of fouls committed by both participants, too. This strange synchronicity also extended towards the player committing most offences for either side, Carter for we Baggies, and Wednesday?s Lunt, both on four come the end of hostilities.

This marked similarity in approach on the part of both sides isn?t reflected at all well in the number of yellow cards actually waved by referee Wright ? no relation, honest! - during the course of last night?s game. The scores on the doors finished with no less than five waved under our noses, and just a measly two for them. Yet I don?t rightly recall it being that sort of a game, as far as we were concerned: maybe the group sitting right behind me and fretting constantly about the match officials being ?homers? genuinely had a point, for once? Whatever the truth may be, something tells me we?re going to run into all kinds of grief with suspensions etc. before too long.

The net effect of tonight?s malarkey, in conjunction with last night?s, means that Preston are now ?king of the castle?, on 38 points. Next, on 37, come Cardiff and Blues, with newly-ascended boon companions Derby continuing their astonishing launch into the division?s equivalent of Earth orbit via the telling ?seven games without a defeat? run mentioned above. After those three come Burnley, currently on 34. Just one measly point behind them sit Stoke, conquerors of Cardiff last night, and Southampton. But the really astonishing story emanating from this week?s full midweek programme has to be that of Colchester United, now in an amazing 8th place, and on 30 points, the same as Plymouth Argyle, old campaigners at this level.

So where do we currently rate in the overall scheme of things, then? After that spectacular collapse in form of ours, right down in tenth spot, on 29 points, and at least eight points short of an automatic promotion place, would you believe? Yes, chaps and chapesses, this minefield of a division is getting pretty wearing on the old nerves, isn?t it? But our manager is now calling for those same unhappy people that gave the side the bird at Sheffield to back them: he says our supporters have got to get behind the team, the same dedicated lot that have been doing precisely that for two or three campaigns on the bounce, in fact, and are now rapidly reaching the point where patience is most certainly NOT a virtue. Should that slide then become an avalanche, it doesn?t need any great leap of the imagination to realise that there will surely be a cold, cold wind running right through the club come the New Year and the harsh conditions it brings in its wake.

But why am I fretting so much over matters that seem to affect us less and less with every single day that dawns afresh? I know, it?s all part and parcel of the dreaded: ?Yow must be cowin? yampy, yow!? syndrome that gets to us all from time to time, but even considerable familiarity with all the boring vagaries of our league form fails to sufficiently cushion that colossal hammer-blow to both our finances and pride any more. Quite frankly, were there ever to be invented a way of putting gut feelings into a handy bank account, then both The Fart and I would have gone well into the red yonks ago, and hastily ringing some charitable organisation or another for the psychological equivalent of debt counselling, by now!

And so I finally come to the end of what is a somewhat shorter piece than normal. That?s the price one has to pay for being totally cream-crackered, I guess. Back on Friday, with all the usual stuff, plus whatever verbal detritus my ever-flapping ears manage to lock onto: a bit like how a guided missile detector operates, really, but without all the messy explosive stuff that accompanies it!

And Finally?.. At least one Albion side managed to achieve something we couldn?t last night. Result? Albion Reserves 2 Sheffield Wednesday Reserves 0. Scorers? An early strike courtesy Steve Watson, the second coming from John Hartson (the sheer quality of his goal, struck from 15 yards out, was something truly special, apparently). Maybe we should swap both elevens around completely come our next first-team game, which is versus bloody Derby, who won yet another game tonight 2-1, their current seven-game unbeaten run now taking them up very close and personal with the division?s four play-off spots? Just what is it they?ve got that we haven?t? I think we should be told.

 - Glynis Wright

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