The Diary

14 September 2003: A Suffolk Punch, Albion Style

Albion 4 Ipswich Town 1

?We used to be you, once!? Pertinent pre-match comment from a demoralised Ipswich Town supporter.

An awful lot of water (and heartbreak) has passed under the Albion bridge since the last time we managed to register a League win against the Tractor Boys, but it was certainly worth that long twenty-year wait to see us finally put one over our Fenland friends. Remember 1983, anyone? That was the year a Korean airliner was shot down by the Russians, with everyone scared shitless by the nagging thought the incident was finally going to spark nuclear Armageddon, and also the year that serial killer Dennis Nilsen was jailed for life. He?s still there. Oh, and then there was good old Cecil Parkinson, who took practical biology into a new realm by sowing some wild oats with secretary Sarah Keayes, then dumping her. Since then, we have had our near-misses in the revenge-stakes; on one comparatively recent occasion we actually managed to shove our snouts two clear goals in front, but the inevitable hoodoo struck, and Ipswich came back to share the points, but today, that particular curse finally met its Waterloo ? and about time, too.

Admittedly, our modern-day effort lacked the sheer drama of that 1983 victory; sadly, we didn?t finish today?s game 4-3 to the good after being 3-2 down with but a minute left on the clock, but if you want a master-class on how to absolutely rip your opponents to shreds in the shortest time possible, all I can suggest is you purchase the video of today?s offering, and watch those opening thirty minutes very carefully indeed.

And what a glorious day for cementing our pole-position status further; temperatures pleasantly probing the high-seventies, glorious sunshine, blue skies with nary a cloud to despoil that pristine baby-blue firmament, blue and white striped shirts in abundance everywhere around the ground ? and The Noise in the Throstle Club frantically running here and there trying to keep his younger daughter under firm control! Yep, today was also the day young Bethany (plus imaginary friends, of course!) joined her elder sister for a little taste of Hawthorns culture; not that bag-carrier-in-chief Carly could do a lot about her hyperactive sibling?s activities, because of a pulled muscle, she was on pain-killers. Bethany might have the kinetic energy of a Cruise missile (and can be just as destructive at times), but her proud boast is, she?s never, ever seen us lose. As soon as she walked (barged?) through that Throstle Club entrance, I knew we were as good as home and dry. Well done, young Beth ? fancy doing Wigan next Tuesday?

Into selling-mode, then, and after a slow start, sales of the new issue began to gather momentum. Thirsty work? You bet; our handy bottle of water came under attack from the pair of us time and time again. A curious rumour from supporters then came to our notice; that Neil Clement, spitting sparks in quantity, was seen leaving the car-park in his jalopy, and at a fair rate of knots as well. If true, Lord only knows what it was all about, as come the kick-off, Clem was in our opening line-up, as per usual. Had he mislaid some indispensable item, e.g. his wallet, in the hotel where the players had their pre-match meal, and had to return for it sharpish? I?ve no idea. The whole thing?s an enigma to me.

Looking closer to home, not long after two, I was distracted from my selling duties by some Peculiar Goings-On outside our Halfords Lane turnstiles. Normally, there?s nary a whisper of a queue at that time of day, and yet here I was looking at a line of Baggie people that had suddenly materialised and now stretched almost to where my other half was stationed, some thirty yards down the road. More ominously still, it wasn?t moving an inch, and the same applied some ten minutes later. Another turnstile problem courtesy the new technology? Yep, by half-two, the queue had vanished into thick air; it was only when we entered the ground ourselves we discovered the club had solved the problem by the simple expedient of admitting everyone who flashed their stile-card in the general direction of those genial stewards!

But, I run ahead of myself. As the clock crept nearer and nearer the fateful hour of three pm., in between energetic bouts of wasp-dodging (the little sods get really bad-tempered at this time of year, and a sting?s no joke), I clapped eyes on veteran Baggie Vic Callow. Some will remember him from one of my columns last year; Vic, all eighty-odd years of him, is Baggies through and through, and on one occasion last season, even discharged himself from hospital to see his heroes in action away from home. Today, he was accompanied by a mate of similar vintage, and, much to my surprise, Vic took time to mournfully declare to me, ?This is my last season!?

I must confess I was dumbstruck. Vic? Give up watching The Baggies? He couldn?t do that, he was a Hawthorns icon, a national institution, almost ? and I told him so. His mate didn?t help matters by telling me that for a long time, Vic had been threatening to go over to the claret-and-spew Dark Side by investing in a season-ticket there. Mind you, he then ruined the entire thing by declaring to me in mirthful tones that, ?The day he does that, I?ll drop dead!? Ooh, you little tinkers; any more misbehaviour, and I?ll set The Fart on you, so I will!

Back to the game, then. Once inside, some team news, and no surprise to hear Sakiri was on the bench; after all, two hard games in the space of seven days is a lot more football played than most of his Albion colleagues. Accompanying him in the dug-out was AJ, whose feud with Georges Santos ? an Ipswich substitute also - is well-documented, but more of that later. From the start, of the two teams, we looked far likelier to get off the mark first, and we didn?t have to wait too long either. In the 11th minute, Gardsoe got the Albion show on the road with a header from a Koumas corner ? and I swear there were at least three other Baggies there patiently waiting in line for the ball as it dropped! Just five minutes later, it was then Our Rob?s turn to completely ruin Ipswich?s day for them, this time courtesy of a rebound from a free-kick, partially-cleared by the visitors? keeper.

By then, we were firmly in the driving seat, and that scintillating display of football, played in brilliant sunshine, and some of the best I?ve seen from the lads thus far this season, was a real joy to watch ? Ipswich, completely all at sea by then, simply didn?t have an answer to it. And yet, the strange thing was, for a team looking at the least-desirable exit option from this division, the visitors weren?t playing at all badly. ?Pass and move? seemed to be their watchword, and once the game finally settled down after our initial onslaught, they began to promise future danger. I?m convinced, had it not been for those early (and completely demoralising) two strikes from us, they might have given us far more trouble than they did, especially when we seemed to lose concentration towards the end of the half, and began giving the ball away far too cheaply for my liking. Still, we left the pitch at the end of the first 45 minutes two goals to the good, which wasn?t bad at all. The question was, though ? having done all the hard work, could we now hold on for another 45?

I don?t know what our leader said to his finest during the interval ? perhaps it?s best not to know, sometimes ? but from kick-off, every one of them seemed totally focussed upon finishing the job off properly this time. Within a few minutes of the restart, Hughsie, Clem and Hulse could and should have done better with their goal-bound efforts than they did, but no matter; having seen his own effort desperately cleared for a corner just a minute earlier, Mr. Hulse then increased our winning margin yet again. Once more, the agent of the Tractor Boys? downfall, a corner, came courtesy of the ever-willing Koumas; it was the work of a moment for the former Crewe striker?s head to send the ball running home to its mum.

And, fair play to the visitors, they might have been three down, but they certainly weren?t out. Suddenly, their passing stuff began to threaten ? as I said earlier, we do have this kamikaze tendency to gift the opposition the ball, sometimes ? and following a threatening series of attacks, culminating in a corner, they finally struck oil, courtesy of a Naylor header. Given we still had that two-goal cushion to prop us up, I suppose there was no real need to panic, but right then, visions of other Ipswich games where ?that curse? had struck were foremost in my mind. I can only assume the same thought had crossed the mind of our manager, because just after that goal, and in between bouts of looking more like a dyspeptic but fully-erupting Vesuvius than a top-flight football manager, Koumas was taken off, and The Scourge Of David Beckham brought on, to resounding cheers from the packed and brightly sunlit Brummie. ?Ingerland, Ingerland, Ingerland!? was the away end?s contribution to the proceedings. Ours? ?Albion, Albion, Albion?..? Both of which, when you thought about it for a moment, summed up the whole distasteful affair quite neatly, really.

By now, we were entering what some cynical supporters refer to as ?The Twilight Zone?, that fifteen or so minutes before the final whistle when players are wont to do some extremely silly things, like lose possession of the ball on the edge of our box. Sure, thanks to our rearguard, Houlty hadn?t really had a lot to do the whole game, but all it needed was one silly error on our part to really curdle the custard ? and while those thought were trickling through my mind, obliging Ipswich then saved us all a great deal of heartache by doing the damage to themselves! What happened? Well, by the time I?d stopped giggling helplessly on the floor, and gathered my wits once more, I came to the conclusion that the lad Dialo intercepted Clem?s pass on the edge of the box, and with only substitute Scott Dobie to worry about, then headed the bladder straight back to his custodian-colleague, a move that?s normally a footballing no-brainer. Trouble was, the ball didn?t go where our hero had intended, but rolled at a fair lick straight past their horrified keeper instead ? and kept on running, slowly but surely, right into the right hand bottom corner, despite a last-minute Ipswich attempt to salvage the situation. Oh, whoops ? and, for us, game well and truly over.

Joe Royle then brought Santos on for Armstrong late-doors, to a predictable chorus of boos from those in the Brummie who remembered The Battle Of Bramall Lane two seasons ago, and not long afterwards, our manager let AJ have his few moments in the lime-light. I looked at ?Im Indoors and he looked at me, and the expression on both our faces said much the same thing, ?Er, is this wise, Gary?? Luckily, the pair of them were stationed on different parts of the pitch, and didn?t come into close proximity during the four minutes that remained on the clock. Just as well, really! And, right at the end, just to prove that beneath it all, the ?Semper Te Fallant? factor was still quite capable of wreaking its malign influence on our favourite football club, after a lengthy spell of comparative inertia, Russell Hoult was suddenly called upon to pull off a series of absolutely blinding saves, one after another. Did his colleagues all decide that as Houlty had sod-all to do for most of the game, they?d make those last few minutes ? erm ? ?interesting? for him, I wonder? Whatever brought it about, Russell?s impeccable goalkeeping display once more underlined his sheer class when performing between those sticks; that burst of applause from the Smethwick afterwards was much deserved. And, not long after that, the game was over, but not before our stewards intercepted a bloke running onto the pitch; the body-language suggested to me he was aiming to have a pop at one of the visitors, but it now seems the lad only wanted to be nice to Sakiri by giving him a dirty great big hug! All together, now, ?Bless!???

What with Sheffield United dipping today, and the other results going favourably for us, we now have some clear blue water between ourselves and the next on the greasy pole, who are, of course, Wigan. All the signs suggest next Tuesday?s encounter at their place will be a memorable one. Win, and it?s a virtual six-pointer for us, but more importantly, the game represents the first real test of our ?P? credentials; thus far, Walsall excepted (maybe), all the opposition has come from the lower regions of the table. (Incidentally, is it me, or are things in this division now polarising to the extent we now have, to all intents and purposes, two separate leagues, one consisting of the ?Haves?, us, Wigan, Sheffield United et.al., the other, the ?Have-nots?, Derby, Watford, Ipswich etc.?) If we can dispatch the Lancashire newcomers with the same ruthless efficiency we displayed during the earlier part of today?s first half, then the Premier League fixture planners can save themselves a deal of trouble by pencilling us in right now for 2004-05. And if not? Well, at this stage in the game, there?s ample time to go back to the drawing-board, utilise Plan ?B?, tweak things a little. We aren?t going properly on all four cylinders, as yet, but the more I watch this side, the more I get the feeling of latent power as yet untapped. Should everything finally come together one day, then God help the opposition.

And finally?.. One. A little bird has told me that when we play Palace next weekend, some of our supporters who can?t make it to The Smoke will be journeying to Cheltenham Town by coach instead. The reason? To see SuperBob in action for The Robins!

Two. Blame a Dublin-based Baggie called Tony (no names, no pack-drill!) for this one. What?s the connection between the late Johnny Cash and our very own Bernt Hass? No idea? The ditty ?Ring Of Fire? of course!

And on that awful note, until tomorrow night, tara.

 - Glynis Wright

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