The Diary

16 September 2003: Leeds Crisped And Wigan Thoughts

I have to say I?m starting this piece in quite a good mood tonight, having just seen Leicester wallop the living-daylights out of Leeds United at their place, courtesy those nice folkies at Sky TV. The rotten part was, as I was busy upstairs putting the finishing touches to another piece, I only managed to see the second half; by the time I?d joined the action, The Foxes had already stuck two past the hapless Tykes, so this lessened the snigger-factor slightly ? and just in case you?re wondering why I?ve got it in for the Yorkshire side, all of a sudden, the answer?s simple. Last season?s tryst at Elland Road ? remember the ?penalty-that-wasn?t? incident and AJ?s dismissal? - plus the plain fact me and Leeds simply don?t get along. A bit like oil and water, really, or, for the scientifically-minded, sulphuric acid and ?corporation pop?; the roots of my antipathy go back to the sixties when Don Revie ruled the roost, and his side were the nearest thing to licenced GBH you could ever encounter on a football field, and the hatred really festered then came to a head nicely in 1982 when their lovely supporters wrecked our ground the night we relegated them. Childish, I know, to holler and whoop like crazy when Leicester?s fourth crossed the line, but the passing years haven?t diminished the sheer pleasure I get on seeing ?em thoroughly-whopped, especially tonight when those doing the whopping only cost around half a million all-up, a trifling sum by Prem standards. Sorry.

Right, then ? on to tomorrow?s little jaunt up the M6, for what should, on paper, be an absolute cracker. First versus second, the visitors looking for revenge for that embarrassing League Cup exit last season ? all the ingredients are there, aren?t they? But before I explore the possibilities of putting one over The Latics tomorrow night, a leetle culture, my lieblings. Did you know Wigan started life as a Roman garrison town called ? no tittering at the back, please! ? Coccium? And that during the Civil War, although Cromwell?s lot passed through the town twice, it stayed loyal to King Charles and was subsequently presented with a ceremonial sword in recognition of the fact, hence the former motto: ?Ancient And Loyal?. The 19th century saw Wigan slap-bang in the middle of the Lancashire coalfields, but of the mines, nary a one remains today; the last one closed in the 1990?s.

Famous Wigan bods? George Formby, the bloke who played a ukelele a lot, made an awful lot of daft films around the time of WW2, sang in an awful nasal Lancashire twang, and had the annoying catchphrase: ?Turned out nice again!? Roy Kinnear ? the comedian, who was no relation to the former Spurs star ? also hailed from the area, as did 1970?s miners? leader Joe Gormley. George Orwell? No, he didn?t come from the borough, but he did write a book called ?The Road To Wigan Pier?, a scathing indictment of 1930?s working-class life in the north. And, talking of that famous pier, yes, it was a joke, a music-hall one, perpetrated by George Formby Senior, who regularly trod the vaudeville boards in that area. There really was a pier there, but it was more of a wharf on the canal than a place of seaside amusement, and the place where large quantities of coal were loaded onto barges from railway-wagons. Other Wigan claims to fame? Well, that was where Beecham?s Pills were first manufactured, and also where good old Marks and Sparks started. As did Northern Soul, around thirty years ago. Remember that, folkies? Oh ? one other thing. The last remaining clog manufacturer in Lancashire, Walter Hurst, recently put up the shutters (popped their?..?) for the last time. Shame!

Back to tomorrow?s game then. As I said at the weekend, this one?s The Biggie; no two ways about it. If we can get something from tomorrow night ? and The Latics are no mugs, mind ? it?ll do our ?P? credentials no end of good, especially as we are now entering a period where we face some ticklish opposition. After the JJB, we then head for the south of London, and Palace, and following the interlude of the Hartlepool trip in ten days time, we then entertain Stoke City, another ?bogey? side, closely followed by Millwall (ditto), at our place. As The Noise said recently, depending on how these results drop, we could either come out of that lot with our pole position even more firmly embedded, or ? worst-case scenario ? we could be out of the top six altogether. Of one thing I?m thankful; that Jason Roberts plumped for Pompey rather than journey up the M6 to the JJB. The thought of our former striker heading their main armament and no-doubt thirsting for revenge tomorrow evening simply didn?t bear thinking about. As far as I can ascertain, after Saturday?s 4-1 win, there should be no injury problems for our lot, the long-termers excepted, of course, which is splendid news by anyone?s lights. As for our opposition, it looks as though both Neil Roberts and Steve McMillan are in the frame for a return, but midfielder Jason Jarrett might not be ? he knackered his knee during their win versus Wimbledon. As for ?The Horse? aka Geoff Horsefield of St. Andrews fame, he?s set to make his home debut. Just one thing, chaps ? please, no more ?feminine hygiene-aid? chants concerning that gentleman!

For those who didn?t get the chance to - erm ? grab a Dick before Saturday?s game, we?ll be selling outside the away turnstiles, as per usual ? and no doubt holding our noses while we?re doing it because of the awful pong emanating from the nearby stream. I did remark on it after our last visit, for the League Cup-tie last season. It was enough to make grown men weep then, so heaven knows what the recent upturn in temperature will have done to the aroma by the time we pitch our tent there. Presumably, the evolutionary biologists are getting very excited at the thought of examining the contents right this very minute. Don?t say I didn?t warn you!

And finally?. Another tale of Saturday?s game. Our matchday reporter, Norman Bartlam, must have been the most pig-sick bloke in Baggie-dom come the final whistle. Why? Before the game, Norm wagered a small sum - not so small, when I think about it ? on us to win 3-0, and Gaardsoe to net the first. I can?t rightly remember the odds, right now, but suffice to say that had his chosen bet done the biz, the beer-money was guaranteed for quite a few weeks. No ? make that ?months?. Imagine his delight, then, when our tame Dane and ex-Tractor Boy opened the account early in the first half. Come the second period, our 3-0 winning margin, and visions of lots of jangly coins in his ample pockets, Norm was really flying at 30,000 feet. A shame, then, that our visitors applied the ?Semper Te Fallant? factor with a vengeance by getting one back and totally ruining the bet! Never mind, Norm, there?s always the Lottery??

 - Glynis Wright

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