The Diary

12 December 2006: A Devilish Dilemma Tonight. Villa Or Sheffield United To Win?

You remember me saying, just a few weeks ago, that if we drew Hereford in the FA Cup, I?d temporarily retire from the human race, on account of my other?s half?s probable display of tiresome symptoms distinctly schizophrenic in nature? To be torn between two possible outcomes, each one highly satisfactory to one?s self, but conspicuously destructive to one?s personal relationships, is an awful thing to have to bear, but it happened again tonight, and not a single Bull or Throstle in sight!

I refer, of course, to tonight?s offering on Sky, the Premiership game involving Villa (Hiss! Boo!), and Neil Warnock?s Sheffield United (Hiss! Boo!), and me in the middle, along with hubby, neither of us not quite knowing who to back for this one. One the one hand, anyone who can turn Villa over is a mate of mine on principle (or any other Prem club harbouring severe delusions of grandeur, come to think of it) but on the other, such is the extent of my antipathy towards the Bramall Lane persuasion ? stoked up as a direct result of that awful away game four years ago, which we eventually ?won?, by League diktat, 3-0, after their manager seemingly busted a gut to get the game abandoned via the simple expedient of accumulating Blades dismissals until there were less than seven of theirs remaining on the pitch, remember? ? had Jesus Christ plonked himself into their forward line beforehand , I?d have still hated every particle of their being.

Quite a quandary, isn?t it? Turning to another channel, quite disgusted with life, after we?d seen Villa take the lead not long after the kick-off, we subsequently decided to revisit the game around the start of the half-time break there, to find the scoreline still the same. But instead of flicking the remote once more, we elected to stay there instead ? and by doing so, saw a real scorcher of an encounter over the course of the second 45.

The thing is, the Sheffield lot just don?t know when they?re beaten. An attribute well-drilled into them by Satan?s Representative On Earth, of course, but it does make for some pretty exciting telly, and one in complete contrast to the ultra-cautious sterility normally seen practiced at that level, as well, so that?s what influenced our eventual decision to bite the bullet and sup with the enemy instead.

And our patience was well-repaid, too; not too long into the half, United equalised ? and to be scrupulously fair (which is more than their manager can usually achieve ? ooh, stoppit, I?ll scratch your eyes out, you naughty bitch!), they genuinely deserved it, having put the visitors on the back-heel for so long. They then took the lead, after a short period of hammering on the Villa door so hard, the latch finally broke.

The trouble was, though, no sooner had United?s impassioned followers sat down after celebrating, they conceded once more, a traumatising worst-case scenario I well remember from our own Premiership days. In all fairness, though, they really should have finished three points to the good, after pressurising Villa so hard, it was only the skill of their keeper that kept them in it. One period in particular, where United did just about everything in front of the goalmouth bar stick the blasted thing into the net where it undoubtedly belonged, but for the vagaries of Fate, held a particular resonance for me, after our own hugely frustrating experience yesterday. On the other hand, perhaps that was the ideal outcome, as far as we confirmed Villa and Warnock-haters were concerned: neither side ended up gaining too much from the encounter, God was in his Heaven, and all was still well with the world. So there.

But enough of the doings of others, what about us? First things first, then ? or should that really read: ?last things last?? The reason I say that is because I omitted one essential post-match detail from last night?s account of our Sabbath adventures in not-so-sunny Barnsley. Well, The Fart reckoned, at the time, I should have got 9.5 for artistic impression, while another Baggie ? anonymous, because I didn?t know him from Adam! ? thought the referee should have yellow-carded me for ?diving?. Probably right on both counts, actually, considering the magnitude of the absolute purler I went right after the final whistle, and in the middle of the Tarmac-covered open bit by the exit gates!

Embarrassing, or wot? One of those times when something completely trivial trips you up, you know you?re falling, try to regain your balance, stagger a few disjointed steps, even, yet end up completely losing all semblance of dignity anyway, once the tip of your nose gets an abrupt introduction to the hard surface below, and the rest of you comes crashing to the ground as well, in best ?TIM-BERRRR!? style. Not nice, as the various multicoloured bruises I later found inhabiting various bits of my torso and limbs will readily attest!

But back to the game itself. Once more, we found ourselves living in the fantasy realm of King ?Nearly Scored?, given the sheer number of cast-iron chances we had of sewing the thing up for good. Looking at the match stats today, I see we had 59% of possession, the lion?s share, compared with the home side?s 41%. Shots on target? A teensy slice more than twice as many as our opponents: 12 from us, and 5 from them. The ?shots off target? tally, 6 for us and 9 for them does suggest we were, marginally, the more accurate of the two, but as the commentators all say, it?s what goes in that counts. Corners? Yep, we were in front on those as well, as you would expect to see from a side having so much of the ball, and getting so close up and personal to the rigging so many times.

More worrying, though, was our tally of fouls conceded during the course of the game, 12 for us, and 8 for them, with McShane notching up the most. That sort of thing seems to be the current trend, and I can only hope it doesn?t end up costing us, via suspensions, in the end. On the other hand, some might regard it as a natural consequence of a closely-fought game. Yer pays yer money and takes yer choice.

Thoughts, now the dust?s properly died down? John Hartson most certainly should have put away at least two of his four serious attempts, and as for the follow up to the second of those chances, just after the break, it was just typical of our current luck ? or the lack of it ? their keeper somehow prevented the rebound from going in. Koumas then had a well-hit effort saved, and, immediately after that came Hartson?s third, which somehow bashed their keeper?s boot on the way in, keeping it out, if you get my drift. Well, anyone who nuts a ball from just outside the six-yard box, and through a crowd of players standing in front of an unsighted keeper, deserves to get at least something for their pains, don?t they?

I don?t know why God?s got it in for our dome-headed former Celt right now ? perhaps Yer Man is of the Protestant persuasion, after all, as The Reverend Ian Paisley would no doubt have us all believe ? but how the hell one particular shot-cum-cross failed to find the target is a complete mystery that just might merit possible occult involvement by way of explanation. Dead parallel with the goal line was that effort, and one that positively begged for a flailing Baggie boot to convert it into a palpable strike, too, but try as they might, not one of our finest could manage to reach it in time.

Add to that little lot a Phillips effort also foiled by their keeper, although had the lad kept his wits about him, he could well have potted, a penalty shout some would have given, and an Ellington poke a couple or so minutes from the end that actually got past their keeper, but their lad?s desperate lunge and undignified scrabble for the ball finally succeeding in rescuing it just a mite before it passed the ?point of no return?, and you begin to understand just why we?re not exactly setting this division on fire, right now. Frustrated? Hugely I am: right now, I?m getting really fed up with hearing both our own and other gaffers? repeated post-match assertions that in our current lot, we have the best squad in the entire division. No we haven?t: what we DO have, though, is the best PREMIERSHIP squad in the entire division, an entirely different kettle of fish, when you come to think about it.

Not the fault of the current batch, of course; they can only do their best with what abilities they?re currently blessed with, but something?s telling me, in three-figure decibel levels, that once the transfer window opens, what we should be in the market for is a no-nonsense type, or maybe two, strong enough to stand up to all the thuggery, obvious or otherwise, that this division generates as a matter of course. That doesn?t mean complete abandonment of all our dewy-eyed, sentimental thoughts of playing the visually-exciting sort of stuff, of course: I still remain firmly convinced there?s ample room for both operating modes at this level, but a stiffening up of the backbone would, I?m sure, result in our lot looking less like rabbits caught in car headlights every time opposing sides make a determined effort to go on the offensive.

Our repeated inability to keep a tight ship in the face of such onslaughts is also a pressing issue, and one we need to resolve quickly, if we genuinely want to figure in the division?s end-of-season honours. Yesterday?s equaliser was a striking example of how not to defend: I can only assume that so elated were our people in finally grinding the Tykes down, they (literally) took their eye off the ball for a moment, and paid the price as a direct result of such inadvisable inattention. What our line-up is crying out for, right now, is someone with outstanding leadership qualities on their CV: having someone like that directing operations at the back, our end-of season aim of reaching escape velocity would be helped considerably. We?re now ninth, and three points off a play-off spot, thanks to yesterday?s point: but for our carelessness, we could have grabbed all three points, and done even better still.

Mind you, our manifold lapses thus far this season could quite easily end up costing us anyway: even with the best will in the world, coupled with the unlikely event of a motivational miracle abruptly descending upon Mogga?s head, I really can?t see the two automatic promotion places having spare an end of season slot with our name on it. Lost far too many away from home, I reckon. Our only real chance of doing it the ?easy way? might lie in all the other clubs scrapping for a place in the top two dropping points left, right and centre ? after all, that?s a simplified version of how we managed to go up in the first place, back in 2002 ? but ours was a fluke manufactured largely by the sheer incompetence of the Dingles in blowing it so badly come the run-in.

A quiet little voice inside tells me that none of the current contenders will show such benevolence, intentional or otherwise, this time, so if we?re going to do it, it?s going to be via the play-offs, or bust. The trouble I?m having with that particular concept, right now, is dead simple to explain: the side we have at the moment is totally unsuited to the rigours of knock-out football. Can you see our lot having the strength, both mental and physical, to cope with a two-legged contest, and one bound to end in tears for someone, via the highly-unsatisfactory, but necessary, if need be, means of producing an eventual winner via extra-time and penalties?

If you can, then bloody good luck to you, if only for possessing far more imagination than this column ever will in a month of Sundays. With a mind as creative and visionary as all that, coupled with the undoubted ability to make even our worst performance sound good, it?s not reading this piece you should be doing, right now. Ever thought about going into politics?

Back on Thursday evening, all you lucky Baggie people, after our Merry Hill signing-fest. Should be good for a laugh, what with Supes being there. No doubt I?ll be meeting up with some of you there, as well, so here?s a sloppy big kiss, in anticipation!

And Finally? One (And the offer is dead genuine, folks, honest!) Want to get hold of a bit of my artwork dating from the earliest days of GD, and incorporating some stuff I did for ?Fingerpost? as well? Now?s yer chance, and what?s more, a good cause will benefit, and most certainly not this column.

All proceeds from the sale of these cartoons will be donated to the Alzheimers Society and for that reason, on this occasion, I would prefer a cheque, rather than Paypal.

Laraine Astle believes that this cause deserves more funding, for obvious reasons, and my dad died from senile dementia (root cause somewhat different, degenerative signs and symptoms similar, but just as distressing, believe you me) around six years ago, so that?s incentive enough for anyone. Sure, I know I?m not fit to be seen in the same company as The Guardian?s Steve Bell, or that of Gerald Scarfe of the Sunday Times, even, but at least you?ll be helping a worthwhile cause while you?re at it.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, here?s the blurb we put on eBay about this item. You?ll find the relevant entry under ?West Bromwich Albion Original Cartoons Charity Item?. ?For sale, then, are 30 individual pieces of original artwork by ?Glynis Wright? (or Harrison as I was for some of them) between 1989 and 2001, all of which featured in the long-running fanzine Grorty Dick. Readers may recall "The Trekkies", "Escape from Stalag 3", "Dr Joe" and "Tony Daley and his troublesome Tribble". All are included, together with half a dozen individual cartoons. Most of the items are A4 sized (they were shrunk to A5 for GD) so therefore the subtle details are more clear.

These are working documents so there will be some creases while a number of items also bear Blu-Tak marks on the back (they've been displayed on a wall for a decade or more, because we liked them so much) A few bear autographs and additional autos can be added upon request. Get in touch if you have any more questions?.? Go on, you know you want to?.

Two?. And while I?m in best ?mercenary mode? don?t forget His Lordship?s book signing at Merry Hill W.H. Smiths, this coming Thursday, the 14th of December, between 6.30 and 7.30. SuperBob?s promised to be there as well, so if you want that essential ?Cult Hero? monicker to grace the inside cover of the one you?ve just purchased, want to visit Smiths to get the book, then get it signed on the spot ? or just play at ?Back Seat Driver?, like wot I will! ? then get yer backside from off the sofa and down to the West Midlands Temple of Mammon. Play your cards right (wrong?), even, and you could well end up nattering to me - in between frenzied bouts of ?back-seat driving?, of course!

Three?. Whisper it quietly, O ye of ?tree-hugging? tendencies, but Man City have gone all green on us by having a wind-turbine installed atop their Eastlands home. Mind you, it was David James telling us, via his Observer Sport column, last week.

An excellent idea, and the case ?for? put together so well by ?Calamity? too, which surprised me a bit, I must confess, but that did have the unfortunate effect of making me wonder whether such a project would be worth pursuing at our favourite football club. After all, even though our ground does get a fairish amount of wind on it at present, thanks to our elevated location, there is one essential difference to the City plan that would instantly catapult such a scheme into the realms of a cast-iron success ? and that?s by sticking a certain Baggies-lover called Steve Brookes right in front of it ? or his somewhat noisome rear end, to be more accurate! After all, methane gas is one of the worst environmental offenders, and as Steve is certainly capable of producing the stuff in huge, room-clearing quantities, I can?t think of a better way of putting it to good use!

And while we?re banging on about the subject of ?The Windy, Smelly One?, what about the headlines in the papers only last week? ?Plane Diverted After Passenger Lights Match To Disguise Flatulence?, it said. I wonder if Steve?s got a passport, and uses it? Remind me to ask him before the Coventry game!

 - Glynis Wright

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