The Diary

08 January 2007: Round Four Thoughts, And Transfer Talk.

So ? through to Round Four we go, then, and the draw being tomorrow, on BBC2, at half-one, I?ll be there in front of our goggle-box, pen poised, so ?Im Indoors can have a summary courtesy my trusty mobile, ASAP after the event. With any luck my three healthy felines will have more sense than stick around, while our immediate knock-out competitive destiny?s being settled via the expertise ? or otherwise ? of a couple of gentlemen spending five or so minutes playing with their balls.

Perhaps it?s the classic hallmark of a curmudgeonly Old Fart I?m acquiring these days, but in my experience, the so-called ?magic of the Cup? is much-diminished, compared to what it was like, say, twenty years ago. The difference between the ambience generated by the draw back then, and now, is about as great as that between cod?s roe fried in the local chippy, and Beluga caviar purchased for an arm and a leg in Rackhams Food Hall, right here in sunny Brum.

And it doesn?t half show. These days, come ?that time of year?, half the media and its brother generates so much pre-match hype, mostly revolving around Premiership sides, when it comes to the actual day these games are played, familiarity bordering on total boredom leads to supporters suffering from complete information-overload by that time. A jaded palate soon leads to diminishing appetite.

And it doesn?t help much having games spaced thinly all over the weekend, like Marmite spread on toast by a particularly stingy breakfaster. (Hang on a mo, that sounds very much like a Steve The Miser-type stunt: perhaps I should qualify my last? On the other hand, maybe not!) TV very quickly sucks the juiciest prospects right into the capacious maw of its mouth, of course, and with daft start-times to match. Getting to a game by three in the afternoon is one thing: shifting one?s (hung-over?) carcass to one starting before the sun?s properly cleared the yardarm, even, is another matter entirely.

I still retain fond memories of smuggling my trusty tranny into school, on Third Round draw day, for example, straining to hear those plummy Oxbridge-educated tones indicating our fate emerge from a portable radio turned down as low as possible, so as not to attract undue interest from patrolling teachers and prefects. To be caught in those days was a hanging offence, one second to being caught smoking, for which the penalty was death by firing squad. Not to mention an angry letter sent to your parents, arguably the worst sanction of the two. Well, maybe not, a detention one probably, but you sort of get my drift.

As I remarked yesterday, I?m hoping for a draw that lands us on home turf, purely and simply because we?re a pretty good bet to beat most clubs still remaining in the competition at The Shrine, half-decent Prem sides excepted, of course. And it would be nice to get as far as the Fifth Round, for once: the last time we did so was in our first promotion season, under Megson, our tap being well and truly stopped in the sixth round by Fulham, who narrowly beat us 1-0, of course.

There?s not that many Baggies around that remember the times when Cup ties were our ?signature dish?, practically, these days. It?s one thing to read about such things in a book, but another matter entirely to witness these events in the flesh, right down to the twisted-knot anxiety you get burning through your stomach lining, as kick-off time approaches, and the nagging worry your favourites will ?freeze? on the day, overcome by sheer nerves as soon as that referee?s whistle blows to start the game. I have known it happen, of course: remember QPR, back in 1982? Or Ipswich, circa 1978, both semis being played at that eternal elephants? graveyard for Baggie Cup hopes, bloody Highbury?

Sure, I do realise that for a variety of reasons, the competition will be carved up even more than usual by the Premiership Mafia ? the Arse, more or less out of title contention, barring a miracle, and unlikely to go all the way in the Champions League, will be looking for a sure-fire way back into Europe, should worst-case scenario become reality, is a bloody good one to start with ? but maybe, just maybe, wouldn?t it be great if we could end up gracing the stage on which we strutted so proudly just a couple of generations ago, just one more time, just for old time?s sake, just for we supporters? More chance of the Archbishop of Canterbury publicly renouncing his faith and becoming a devil-worshipper instead, I reckon, but you?ve got to have hopes, dreams, ambitions, the sort of heady stuff that gets you accused of serial inattention at school, work meetings, and the like, haven?t you?

On to some vagrant (and not-so-vagrant) thoughts about yesterday?s game, then. Although new boy Koren?s inaugural appearance on the sacred Hawthorns turf was a brief one, I reckon there?s the glimmer of good times ahead in prospect. Admittedly, by the time he did get on, just a minute or so later, Kev Phillips had sewn the whole thing up about as neatly as a Nelson-navy sailmaker sewing a corpse into a canvas shroud ready for burial at sea. That meant an immediate lessening of the severe pressure placed on both midfield and defence by a pepped-up Leeds (well, would YOU want to face the Wrath Of Khan, in the guise of Denis Wise?) over the course of the 15 minutes or so prior to our third hitting the back of the net: with the heat well and truly off, our lad got a feel for our style that wouldn?t have been so readily obtainable, had the visitors been threatening, still.

Nevertheless, he did look good on the ball, those times he was in possession, passed it around with confidence, and even manufactured a half-decent chance of getting on the scoresheet himself, come added-on time, the ball zinging narrowly wide of the target, instead of hitting it. Never mind: I?m sure there?ll be lots more chances to shine for the lad, once he?s properly settled in.

I was also heartened to see that Paul McShane, not Jason Koumas, as I?d initially thought, ended up with yesterday?s Man Of The Match Award. As I?d said only a few days before, I?m really warming to the guy?s playing style, highly reminiscent of previous defensive greats privileged to wear the famous striped shirt. Yesterday?s superlative performance certainly made up for the previous time we played Leeds: that time, he ended up with an early bath for his pains.

And there?s something else I hadn?t realised: thanks to yesterday?s match sponsors, Floors 2 Go, he?s also landed himself a four-day cruise for his trouble. I haven?t a clue where the ship?s going, mind: it being of only short duration does narrow things down considerably ? the Dudley Canal, perchance? - but if the lad carries on in similar mould until the end of the current campaign, I?m damned sure he?ll have well and truly earned it by then.

Another little gem I spotted, post-match, was Mowbray?s thoughts regarding Nathan Ellington, and his non-appearance for yesterday?s tie. His comments (and I quote)? ??..A young man who has got plenty of things going through his head at the moment?..he was left out because I don?t think he could have contributed what I want from him?.? Hmmmm. One way or another, it?s sure looking as though Nathan?s time at the club will be coming to an end, very shortly. Whether it?s Wigan that comes riding on a pure white charger to sweep him up, and take him far away from the Black Country, I don?t know ? they?ve certainly made their intentions pretty clear these past few weeks, assuming they are in a position to stump up the necessary ackers, of course ? but he?s certainly on his bike, one way or another, by the look of things.

Other transfer stuff I?ve seen today? Bar all the old chestnuts, here?s some more to ponder over, and all of ?em culled from one scandal-sheet or another. First off is the stuff about John Hartson. As you may have seen, there?s a buzz currently going the rounds that Alan Curbishley badly wants his expertise to help his piss-poor, cash-rich, conspicuously-consumptive West Ham side pull out of the smelly stuff they find themselves well and truly bogged down in, right now.

Hartson does have ?previous?: back in 1997, he was very much a Hammer, so he wouldn?t be a total stranger to Upton Park. But he reckons he?s as happy as Larry playing for us, and thoughts of a move have never so much as darkened the doorstep of his mind, thank you very much, so there. I think I know why Curbs is sniffing around Jeremy Peace?s trouser-leg, mind. Having done his crust after the Reading fiasco last week, and given a pretty blistering appraisal of his side?s current performance to the Press afterwards, he might well be on the lookout for someone who has extensive experience playing at that level, yet isn?t infected by the ?glamour and bling? culture that seems to hold sway over so many of his players, especially the younger ones, all of them on massively-inflated salaries. In another newspaper article yesterday, Curbs reckoned that not all of his side were bad apples: some (former Baggie Danny Gabbidon?s name was mentioned in this context) were simply in dire need of guidance from an old sweat, so Hartson, or someone like him, would fit the bill superbly.

But would Mowbray necessarily want to get rid? Sure, our striker?s pretty long in the tooth, even by our division?s somewhat gentler standards, has the turning-circle of a supertanker, and isn?t really up to a full 90 minutes of fresh air and Championship fun these days, but an awful lot of what we do also revolves around ?horses for courses?. It?s not all about what a previous manager used to call ?tippy-tappy stuff?. There are games where Hartson?s heading skills are just the thing needed to secure the three points, so it might well prove counterproductive to simply take the money and run.

Joe Kamara? He?s now admitted Reading are seriously considering whether or not they?re going to chuck their hat into the transfer market ring, and secure his services that way. Additionally, it would appear that Torino, one of his former clubs, are also sniffing around. It?s significant that he?s expressed a keen interest in a return to the Italian outfit, but wouldn?t be half as keen on a move to the Madjeski, and Steve Coppell. ?Italy?s been fundamental to my life, and I can?t wait to return?? Reckon that?s pretty conclusive, then.

And so we come to Curtis Davies. Yes, I know, this one?s a tune played on a very worn fiddle, but the ante has now been upped to ?5 million. A true ?Cuban Missile Crisis? moment, this. Sure, Jeremy Peace is no Kennedy, and former Baggie Martin Jol no Khrushchev (unless you take into account the ginormous bulk of our former midfield Rottweiller!), but I wonder which of the two will blink first?

Other stuff? Well, Calum Davenport?s name has appeared in lights, in connection with our lot. Reading and Watford are also reported to be interested, but the Spurs England U21 midfielder still insists he?s very happy at White Hart Lane, thank you very much. Whether that euphoric state of mind?s conditional upon the lad getting regular first team football, or not, I really can?t say. Still, the month is yet but young: expect things to hot up nearer deadline day.

Rowan Vine. What an unfortunate name for a pro footballer. Perhaps it?s my biological background, or something, but every time I see that name, it immediately conjures up images of leafy tendrils trailing along a support specially erected to encourage healthy and productive growth, and organdie-clad Victorian young ladies engaging in scurrilous gossip about current summer-time liaisons, both ?parentally approved? and clandestine. And a wonderful harvest of fruit, come the following autumn.

But the lad does get hormones raging, even though the ones he?s stimulating aren?t exactly those produced by the feminine side of the equation, Victorian or otherwise. Mogga has a bad case of ?the hots? for the young Luton striker, by all accounts, but there might well be serious competition in the offing, should we make a move for the lad. Blues are also keeping tabs on him: sadly, should it come to an out and out price war between the two clubs, I have strong suspicions we?ll end up disappointed, unless those holding the purse-strings have a conversion of Damascene proportions in the meantime.

And so we come to John Park. Who? Youth manager at Hibs, that?s who. It?s looking quite likely he?s going to be crowned as Albion sporting and technical director very soon: where that leaves old-stagers like Shakey, Bobby Hope and Appy, I haven?t a clue. Maybe his duties will be considerably wider in scope than just matters affecting the youth side of the club.

If appointed, he would come with a good pedigree, though. During the course of his 9 year tenure with the Scottish side, he?s brought on Scott Brown, Kevin Thompson, Gary O?Connor (now with Lokomotiv Moscow), and Derek Riordan (Celtic). Clearly knows his onions, so we?ll just have to wait and see.

And Finally?. One. There?s many a true word spoken in jest, and what follows is but one of those times. Yet another observational gem, this, and culled from the half-time stage of yesterday?s game. While nattering to Jean Homer about her daughter, currently in Oz (Melbourne, I think), I happened to mention to her that we?d been to that country about five times over the course of the last few years, on the West Coast, mostly. Cue for John to interject, all of a sudden. ?Seeing relatives?? he enquired.

?Nope: Seeing Albion supporters, actually!?

?Oh, well,? replied the Homer with the Y chromosome, after but a short moment?s deliberation, ?It?s just like family, isn?t it??

Two. Puss appears to be somewhat better, today. It may be my imagination claiming time-and-a-half for weekend working, but I can now detect minor improvement in the way he walks: not dragging the lame leg quite as much as he was yesterday, and seeming to make an effort to put slightly more weight on it, also. And very bright and chirpy, too, greeting the pair of us every single time we made to use either PC, not to mention eating his nosh like it was in acute danger of going on ration.

Great news for me: what wasn?t so great was my attempt at ?slopping out? his loo, first thing this morning. Having shovelled up everything into a plastic bag hastily culled from a supply I normally keep handy in our kitchen, I thought I?d cracked it. That was before I saw a long cat-litter ?trail? winding its gritty white way behind me, as I made to put the offending article into an empty sack: the bloody thing had a stonking great hole in the bottom, didn?t it? Suffice to say, our stricken mog instantaneously learned a fair number of Anglo-Saxon phrases, and not one of them complimentary about the makers of these useless objects!

 - Glynis Wright

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