The Diary

21 February 2007: Duke Crowned King For The Night As His Scorcher Seals All Three Points

My God, Albion, there?s going to be an awful lot of good Baggie people needing the services of a good psychiatrist ere the current season finally draws to a nerve-shredding close. Tonight?s game really was too close to call: in fact, midway through the second half, I?d only just expressed my niggling fear to ?Im Indoors that we?d eventually run out of steam, then Cardiff would nip in and nick the winner ? and then what happens?

Had you asked me to identify the Albion player most likely to grab us a much-needed goal before the game, and I would never have come up with Nathan Ellington?s name in a billion years. Given his normal behaviour on those rare occasions he gets possession in such close proximity to the opposition?s eighteen yard box ? i.e. very similar to that of a Tel Aviv bus driver when confronted with a suspected suicide bomber, totally panic-stricken ? then my prediction would have probably been as sound as a pound, but just for tonight, Nathan elected instead to render just about every Albion supporter in the place totally bereft of speech by burying the mother of all pile-drivers instead.

From the very first microsecond that ball left his boot, you knew precisely where it was heading for, which it did right after curling beautifully over their keeper?s head and uselessly-flailing arms, straight into the top right hand corner. And, as Nathan slowly trotted back towards the centre circle, one part of me wanted nothing more than to go on that pitch, run towards him, shake him vigorously, then say: ?Why the flaming hell can?t you do that more often??

Yep, Nathan Ellington, like God, moves in mysterious ways, and never more so than tonight, but, hell ? I sure am glad he did. Thanks to his capriciously-applied talents, we?re now back in second spot, and just one behind the leaders, Derby, who play tomorrow night. A massive, massive win, yet again ? and, just prior to The Duke?s spectacular winner, what Albion supporter in that ground would have thought it?

After all the alarums and excursions of last Saturday, it was most certainly a case of ?back to business as usual? as I made to enter the Hawthorns pub. ?Im Indoors had temporarily disappeared into the bowels of Albion?s Press facility, meeting with Lawrie Rampling to pick up our final piccies folder, now the lad had finished scanning the entire lot in. Coo ? I wonder just how many of those pictures of ours will be providing future Baggies with wonderful memories, some several decades further down the line?

With my other half otherwise engaged as described, time for me to get the drinks in, a more frustrating task than usual, owing to the pub having just two bar staff on duty that night. For a home game? TWO? You?re havin? a laff! Even worse, it would seem that the Gruesome Twosome had even neglected to adequately sort out the till prior to the pub opening its doors: while waiting, on separate occasions, I saw both disappear into the nearby kitchen area for a few moments, then reappear with a bundle of notes in their hands. So who forgot the float, then?

All my needs sorted out, finally, I rapidly repaired back to the table where both The Noise and his daughter were engaged in their favourite pre-match occupation: talking the hind legs off a whole plethora of donkeys! That, and Carly electrostatically charging a balloon by dint of vigorous rubbing against The Noise?s sparsely furnished cranium, then demonstrating the presence of a charge by holding said bladder above what few intact hair follicles could be seen there. Yep, up those hair shafts dutifully popped, with a speed only matched by Guardsmen coming to attention right outside the Palace. Dead easy to see what topics Carly?s physics class had been covering today, wasn?t it?

Many delvings of hands into bags when The Fart finally showed up, mind. What was that, then, a brown envelope, bulging suspiciously, and the old reprobate quickly sliding it into his own receptacle, on receipt? Vague thoughts about the Daily Mirror paying him a sweetener to ditch the Daily Mail and come into their fold instead flitted through my brain ? but, nope. This particular brown envelope contained information about Sky?s latest multimedia/IT package, some aspects of which looked a better bargain than Telewest?s, so that was there for our ripened chum to investigate at his leisure.

And, while we?re on about The Fart, a tale from him showing that Albion?s staff really should know what the other half?s doing at all times. This tale concerns the club shop: apparently, Albion were going to stage an open forum starring all the directors, next week, tickets for the event publicised as going on sale in the aforementioned emporium. Unfortunately, when El Tel decided to pick one up from there, no-one had bothered to tell the club shop personnel what was going on, which was why his request for one was met with so many blank stares and gormless looks on the part of the staff!

In the end, the shop people had to excavate the only member of the backroom staff deemed to be ?in the know?, and get them to pass on the info that should have been shared yonks before. That the tickets were up for grabs, OK, but at a totally different sales point to the usual one. Oh, whoops.

The Noise was certainly on top form tonight, regaling us handsomely with the tale of how he?d verbally sparred with Sky over the vexed question of whether or not he deemed insurance for his newly-installed dish strictly necessary. What settled matters in the end, though, was The Noise pointing out, in his own inimitable style, of course, that he?d paid to have that dish installed, not to buy the thing outright!

?What if it goes wrong?? asked the unfortunate sod of a telesales person lumbered with the Lewis family call.

?It?s your dish, not mine,? was The Noise?s immediate reply. ?If it goes wrong, it?s YOUR problem!....? Exit telesales person, completely defeated by The Noise?s avalanche of logic ? and, in all probability, after finishing the conversation, heading straight in the direction of the call centre?s exit, then finding a nice deep river to jump into. Or, failing that, after the ingestion of enough double whiskies to render the entire population of Glasgow senseless, the fast lane of the nearest motorway.

Not long after that, we all made to hit the road. God knows why, the road?s never done anything to deserve it, but that?s Albion followers for you. And, as we strolled along Halfords Lane, and in the general direction of those Smethwick End turnstiles, I happened to notice a largish plume of white smoke coming from a chimney set atop the stand roof. ?Looks like we?ve elected a new Pope, then!? said I, pointing in the direction of the article in question.

?Naw,? said my other half, ?It?s just Dave Jones doing his pre-match team talk: all hot air, and sod-all else?.?

Whatever the provenance of that almighty whitish plume, it was certainly spectacular. But not as spectacular as the reaction of people in the Halfords to a very familiar figure we saw emerge from the players? tunnel, sign autographs like they were going out of fashion, then proceed his merry way towards the bit of our stand reserved for players and their families. Didn?t know he still qualified, but there you are ? SuperBob, clad in a heavy black overcoat, and accompanied by partner and a couple of kids. Was it my imagination, or had he lost a fair amount of weight, of late?

Then, once Bob disappeared, up popped Jean Homer, bearing tidings of her newly-emasculated puss, Zoltan. He?s in John?s bad books right now, a cat in the doghouse, so to speak. The reason? Biting John?s foot, and for no reason whatsoever, so hubby claims! Jean reckons he did it because she?d had to rush out that particular morning without playing with him, so Puss took it out on John?s metatarsals instead! After sinking fangs into John?s foot in such proactive fashion, I can only hope the cat?s had all the rabies shots going!

No sooner had I giggled my socks off at such an amusing revelation, it was time for the show to start. Enter both sides, then, with the hefty Cardiff presence lodged in the Smethwick making a fair amount of noise as they did so. Only one change for the Baggies, and that as per expectations, with Curtis Davies suspended. Alby was the lad getting the managerial nod tonight: again, pretty much as expected.

Cardiff? The suspension of 19-goal Chopra had hit them hard, so, what with that and some other enforced alterations, they?d started with a slightly unfamiliar line-up tonight. Besides Chopra, they had Glenn Loovens, Simon Walton, Darren Purse and Riccardo Scimeca ? both ex-Baggies, of course ? out as well. Perhaps it was a sign of the times also that they?d put the one Baggies player I?d forgot they had, Kev Campbell, on the bench for this one.

Then, we were away - and almost immediately, Albion had forced two corners in rapid succession, but nothing to show for either. Then, in the game?s third minute, the terrier-like Robert Koren, soon to be my close contender for Man Of The Match, decided to stamp his own personality upon the proceedings, letting fly from way out with an almighty screamer that Bluebirds keeper Alexander did bloody well to turn round the post.

We?d made the running, all right, but just a few minutes later, we were fortunate not to concede: a McShane error led to a Cardiff corner, into the goalmouth soared the ball, up popped Cardiff?s Thompson to meet it in downwards flight, from all of six or seven yards out ? but instead of burying the ball in the back of the net, the lad?s nut sent the thing flying just a fraction too wide of the post. Just as well, really, as could be said when they spurned a similar scoring opportunity some four or five minutes later.

This game was rapidly acquiring all the hallmarks of one so close to call, it was clearly going to need a crowbar to separate the two sides, come the end of the regulation ninety minutes. But there was Jason Koumas, again, trying to sprinkle magic dust in liberal quantities whenever he got the ball, which he had, and from right under the noses of the visitors, too. A shame, then, he could only fire the anticipated shot into Row Z. Cue for the Smethwick to burst forth with a rousing chorus of: ?Brummie, Brummie, give us a song?.? And they did, too.

This game was certainly turning into an Albion Excuse-Me Quickstep: after that Koumas miss, it was then the turn of Chappie for possible goalscoring glory, and only a matter of a couple of minutes further down the line, too. He dipped also ? but that must have only been down to the fact his experience at this level still fell slightly short of what was required from a half-decent goalscorer. Time, then, for Joe Kamara to strut his stuff ? and he didn?t disappoint. Off he went, evading, jinking, pausing, confusing, then handing over to the ever-lurking Koumas. Sadly, he couldn?t convert.

We did get the ball in the back of the net not long after that, though. Ruled well and truly offside, it was, and no sooner had it crossed the line, there was the wretch with the flag, holding it aloft in triumphal fashion. This particular upholder of the laws of the game had already incurred the wrath of Homer by managing to wave his beastly flag on an occasion where no offside decision was possible ? but then again, when you?re part of a trio, the head of which already has ?previous? for officiating disastrously in Albion?s game versus Norwich earlier this season, I guess you just have to bite the bullet, and smile ever so nicely every time Mister Homer snarls in your general direction.

Then came a song from the Cardiff lot that had me doubting their sanity within seconds of them starting it. The one that proclaimed ?Koumas is a Bluebird?. Really? And that quickly followed by their deafening choral pronouncement, upon Kev Phillips uncharacteristically losing out in what looked horribly like The Battle Of The Six Yard Box: ?You couldn?t score in a brothel?? Blimey, and there was me thinking they didn?t do irony. Wow.

Two thirds of the opening half gone, now, and as if to celebrate, at long last, an errant Welshman called Gunter managed to find his way into the ref?s book. Not before time, that, as the Halfords quickly reminded our chum with the whistle. No, belay my last, it was JOHN that finally ?educated? the poor lad ? ?Referee, ?Ee?s got more fowls than Bernard Matthews!? - in deafening tones that must have reached all the way to Smethwick. $p Interjected The Voice Behind Me: ?No, ?Ee?s got turkeys!?

John, not to be outdone: ?Well, ?Ee?s got them as well then?.?

Then, just a couple of minutes later, Cardiff went horrendously close with an effort more or less gifted them by the home side: ?Wider than the Severn Bridge!? was John?s dismissive comment ? but we all knew that we?d ridden our luck a little with that one. When that Kiely clearance had gone awry and fallen straight at the busy feet of the lurking Thompson, it looked like curtains. With Kiely floundering on the deck, all the lad had to do to make it cross the line was wallop it hard ? but he only succeeded in hitting the bar. Phew!

As the half entered its closing stages, that sense of us rapidly running out of both steam and ideas, and the increasing likelihood of Cardiff grabbing their second wind at an opportune moment, heightened considerably. It didn?t help either that Matthews, their keeper, had chosen tonight to be in absolutely blistering form, as he was to demonstrate when the excellent Koren had a late go, forcing yet another Albion corner just minutes from the break, closely followed by a Joe Kamara attempt, similarly stopped by their brave Number One. How in the name of God was this game still scoreless?

That thought must have played heavy among our own faithful: as the clock ran down to half-time, an uncharacteristic silence descended upon the ground, no doubt the result of that awesome weight of expectation finally enveloping our finest, with a strong flavour of having got away with murder after the Kiely incident chucked in for good measure. Never has the sound of the ref leading them in been such music to my ears.

And, as both sets of players disappeared down the tunnel, cue for an exit of a different kind also. Scouts, loads of ?em, stuffed tight in what used to be our directors? box. Not that you?d ever need a indelible dye to suss out who they are, mind: it?s the overall cut of their jib that betrays their presence, eventually. By my reckoning, I estimated a presence approximately 16 strong tonight. Forthcoming opponents running the rule over both clubs aside, I wonder who it was they?d all come mob-handed to see?

And there were unusual things happening on the pitch, as well. Once the usual kids etc. had pitched in for Albion?s Crossbar Challenge, the PA announced another contender wanting a go. Well two, really ? Supes, and his small cousin! Bob being the ex-pro, and the other but a nipper, you?d have expected a shoo-in, wouldn?t you?

But, nope ? Bob registered one hit out of two only, and a pretty dubious strike at that, but his little cousin was to emerge the true star of the show. Two out of two for the lad, the first time it?s ever been done at the Hawthorns, apparently. Says a lot about the power of DNA, I guess.

And another bit of news about Bob. He?s going to become a lot more proactive on the Albion PR front very soon, by all accounts. He?s currently in the process of setting up a website ? that?s www.superbobtaylor.co.uk. - and that should be coming on line in the very near future, apparently. No, I don?t have the foggiest as to how to make the link work, it?s the sole province of my other half, and long may it remain that way! Well done, Bob, for finally going into a line of work he should have been doing ages ago. Albion have got themselves a truly wonderful ambassador, and we some truly wonderful memories.

And so it was time for the second course ? and it started in similar fashion to the first, Albion forcing two corners in rapid succession. But as the game progressed, with only a Robinson headed attempt that should have struck home to show for it, once more the feeling tangibly grew that we?d be made to pay dearly for all our Riverside Cup heroics: there were some awfully tired legs out there by that stage, and Cardiff?s Dave Jones knew it.

With around ten minutes of the game gone, then, and The Bloke In Front Of Me having shouted ?Rubbish!? for the very first time that evening, Mogga ? did he hear our voluble chum?s somewhat negative snap-assessment of our prowess, I wonder? - decided to ring the changes, and in a surprising sort of way, too. Off came Phillips and Chaplow, human dynamos, the pair of them, and on came Duke Ellington and John Hartson. Ooer. Was Mogga really sure what he was doing? As I intimated earlier, Duke?s normal striking modus operandi was to panic, then snatch at what should have been an easy goal: as for Hartson, well, we all knew about him.

And, at first, things didn?t bode too well for us, as Cardiff hit us on the break, and our vulnerability shrieked to the highest heavens. But that was to change in a matter of seconds. It all started when Ellington got the ball from Koumas, began to run with it on the left ? then, when around 20 yards or so distant, just let fly one almighty screamer. It certainly got Dave Jones screaming: one despairing fling from Matthews later, and the ball was resuming acquaintance with the back of the net. As for our supporters, it wasn?t so much a case of everyone cheering in unison, as gasping in complete astonishment: ?How the bloody hell did he do THAT?? Closely followed by: ?Why can?t you play like that more often??

Not that anyone was going to try and analyse it too deeply, mind: lucky or otherwise, we?d finally broken them down. As might be expected, John Homer was the first Baggie to hold forth with his definitive opinion of that superb Ellington effort, taking into account all the numerous times he?d poured nowt but scorn and vituperation upon the poor lad?s head. Said John, now stunned and suitably chastened: ?I?ll goo aert the ground, ?an flagellate meself with twigs and bark?

Me, also a vocal critic of Duke in the past: ? ?And when you?re finished flagellating, just pass ?em over to me, would you??

Now we?d made the breakthrough, we were finally cooking on gas. Another Mogga change, then, Koumas off ? and he didn?t half look knackered as he left the park, poor lad ? and Carter on. But Cardiff still kicked and twitched: two minutes after that subbing, the superb Kiely pulled off one of the best saves I?ve seen in a long time in response to a horrible Thompson long-range effort. He really earned his coin tonight. Oh ? and before I forget, had that one gone in, I reckon just about every Albion supporter in the place would have been up and ready to lynch the ref, who?d totally ignored what looked very much to me like a Cardiff backpass, just a matter of seconds before the Kiely thing had us cross-eyed with agony.

That save must have represented a bit of a watershed: although they still remained a threat, piling on the pressure to the very end, Cardiff were never to look quite as menacing again. Even during a supposedly three minute long injury time, which the man with the whistle somehow saw fit to elongate to a good four, possibly five, to the complete and utter fury of the home crowd. Do these people do that sort of thing just for a laugh? If so, it?s a joke in very poor taste.

Still, everything turned out OK in the end. Just. We grabbed the three points, and by doing so, levered ourselves back into second place once more. But the relentless slog of the Championship doesn?t get any easier. It?s all to do again this coming Saturday, when we travel to Leicester, in newly-confident form themselves, following a few handy wins recently strung together. They need the points ? and so do we. Valium, anyone?

And Finally?. One. Memo to Albion: if you MUST give out other relevant scores after our game?s concluded, can you please make it abundantly clear that it?s the LATEST scores you?re giving us, and not those after the final whistle? There we both were, thinking Blues had lost, only to discover they?d actually finished with points shared, after Campbell got them out of jail with a handy bit of last-minute good fortune. Sure, my hearing?s really awful, but not so with my other half. He was totally convinced that 0-1 was the final score at St. Andrews, tonight. And, I?ll wager, so were a hell of a lot of other Baggies, also!

Two?.Apparently, John Homer paid a visit to the National Mining Museum at Blanaevon, South Wales, yesterday. It would have been a rather spiffing day out as well, had it not been for the hordes of Cardiff City followers choosing that particular day for a visit there, too. And John wearing a woolly hat, on which was clearly inscribed the words ?West Bromwich Albion?, plus a gurt great club badge!

Two. So that?s told me, then! Very recently, I asked of Aussie Baggie Mark Brown, aka Tassie?s resident Albion-lovin? lunatic, what one of his multitudinous leisure-time interests, Taiko drumming, was all about. I?d never heard of it before, you see, so curiosity got the better of me. Thanks to Brownie, now I know, so just in case you might want to impress casual acquaintances ? or, far more beneficially, your boss! ? with your astonishing grasp of what is generally regarded as a minority interest subject, either in the pub after work, or whatever, here?s the scoop.

It goes back zillions of centuries in Japan, brought out of the doldrums by a chap called Diahachi Oguchi, who created its modern form, very energetic, and Brownie?s kids love it, apparently, lots of upper arm 'action' involved. It was used even to motivate troops in wartime, and is still a big part of festival and cultural events today. Just one teensy thought, though. Given that splendid history of Taiko drumming?s wonderfully-effective motivational qualities, would it go down a stormer in the Brummie, I ask myself?

Three. D?oh! Homer Simpson, eat your heart out! Another bijou gem from Miser-In-Residence Steve Carr regarding my recent assertion that Ipswich Town were the last ever winners of the Cup from outside of the top flight. Wrong! West Ham were the last Cup winners to hail from the Outer Darkness of the then-Second Division, not Ipswich, apparently, so that?s told me yet again!

 - Glynis Wright

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