The Diary

22 February 2007: A Challenge To Derby Begun, Another Hillsbrough Only Averted Through Luck.

So how was it for you last night, then? Elated that we finally overcame bloody Cardiff, even though the frenetic and exhausting nature of yesterday?s game meant we may have only succeeded in heaping even more pressure upon our weary selves, come the death throes of the current season? Ecstatic because of the sheer quality of the incredible Ellington strike that finally proved the winner? Or simply relieved that such a superlative performance from the entire side got its just and proper reward in the end?

Whatever your viewpoint - agree, disagree, abstain, whatever ? thanks to our win, and tonight?s events, it?s pretty good to see us nestling pretty comfortably in second spot this evening. We?re now in the enviable position of staring straight at a part of the Derby anatomy ? they didn?t earn the name ?Rams? for nothing! - that only gets a mention whenever and wherever rude conversations take place. But there?s still an awful long way to go, of course: Blues, sitting just one point below, still have two games in hand on us: additionally, despite the inadvertent 2-0 favour our conversationally-prone chums from the Potteries did us tonight, top-slotters Derby still have one point more than us tucked away safely in their little spherical Ram-bags.

Mind you, that surprising reduction of their safety margin to only one point and one game in hand has had the desirable effect of changing the picture completely for us. Four weeks or so ago, we could only look at that end of the table with great envy: whoever was going to make the quantum leap from Championship to Premiership come the end of the season, it wouldn?t be us. The road to glory seemed completely locked and barred at the time, the best we could hope for was advancement through the play-offs, and that a straw-clutcher, if ever there was one, thanks to the continued porosity and generosity of our back four to other sides? goal differences. But since then, the overall picture has changed completely.

I don?t know as yet the full extent of tonight?s Derby cave in, or the reasons behind it ? how much do you want to bet their recent public spat over contract terms and bonuses had something to do with it? ? but, with any luck, the next few games might well see Derby stage an unrequited and unwelcome (for them) re-enactment of the spectacular Dingles collapse we saw back in 2001. As we discovered then, much the best thing to do under those circumstances is just win your games and bide your time.

Having cracked once, and on their own doorstep, too, the chances are they?ll do it again, and soon. Which is where we come in, of course: no sooner my prophecy comes to pass, we grab the next couple of three-pointers, and by doing so, turn that teensy chink in their armour into a gaping chasm the size of the Grand Canyon.

But don?t start digging out the blue and white bunting from your loft just yet. We?re still locked into this horrendous run of fixtures against clubs desperately scrabbling for all the points they can get, for one excellent reason after another. This coming Saturday, it?s Leicester, still seeking the sturdy lifeline they want to utilise in order to escape getting sucked into a possible relegation dogfight, then the week after that ? assuming we don?t get past Boro in next week?s replay, of course ? it?s our lovely chums the Dingles, at their place, and with our local rivals desperately seeking revenge after the two-legged drubbing we inflicted upon ?em in recent months.

And it?s not just a simple matter of local pride with them, either. Following their win at Portman Road last night, this coming Saturday, they?ll be busting a gut to get back into the play-offs proper once more. And it?s depressingly possible they?ll do it, too: the fringes of that zone are a complete and utter bear garden, right now. The principle of ?Might Is Right? is a definite favourite in those there parts, the only practical way to operate when you find yourself stuck between two other bright eyed and bushy-tailed play-off hopefuls, and all on the same number of points.

One might care to liken the current situation in our division?s play-off zone to the journey made by zillions of spermatozoa in order to fertilise one lousy egg. Loads set off to make the long trip, but hazards such as weak swimming ability, attacks from the female immune system, dodgy genetic material, and the sheer length of time that elapses between ejaculation and subsequent arrival in the lady?s egg-laden Fallopian tube quickly whittles down the opposition to just three figures, and that reduced even further still, because normally, one sperm only is permitted to penetrate the thick mucus lining protecting the egg: once that takes place, those mucous barriers go up once more, as does the stark message to dawdlers: ?TOO LATE ? SORRY. TRY AGAIN NEXT TIME?. Not quite ?there can only be one? territory, of course: our division throws up three spare promotion slots per season - but the analogy?s as near as dammit - many try, but only the lucky few succeed - all the same.

There is a clear gap now opening up from eighth place downwards, at long last, but not even the best mathematical calculations available can get around the stark fact that come the end of term, two of the aforementioned bunch are going to dip out on a crack at the play-offs, no matter what. And that?s just one excellent reason why the pressure?s at white heat, right now ? it?s a mad scramble for the lifeboats, of which there aren?t nearly enough to go round. The late master of the Titanic would have understood our situation immediately.

Returning to the vexing question of our own hopes and fears once more, then, what about Duke Ellington?s superb strike last night? From what our gaffer said at his press conference, he sees that goal in terms of being an absolutely massive confidence-booster for the lad. In many ways, Nathan very much reminds me of a young Jason Roberts, who also experienced similar difficulties when with us, a few seasons back. Jason, being the sort of articulate, intelligent, deep-thinking player who greatly needed licking, not biting, found it almost impossible to flourish under the far more inflexible ship captained by Gary Megson at that time.

And that?s the fundamental difference in approach with the two men: Megson would have taken the ?hairdryer? to Nathan, no messing, no exceptions, but Mogga?s far gentler man-management methods will, I?m sure, prove the key that finally unlocks the door to our former Wigan striker?s troubled head.

We?ve got nothing to lose by trying, after all?s said and done: unhappy or distressed players can?t ? or won?t - score many goals, and if they can?t quickly cut the mustard in this very competitive environment, then it?s hasta la vista time, I?m afraid, and not much chance of our chairman cutting his losses on the eventual deal, either. You don?t need to be a rocket scientist to realise that if Nathan?s current psychological problems can be sorted quickly, then everyone?s a winner, Jeremy Peace, and private back-ache specialists treating sorely-overworked opposition keepers included.

Young Ellington apart, there was lots more that was good about last night, of course. Robert Koren float your boat? He certainly did mine: not only was he engineering some pretty slick moves from the middle, he was dead unlucky not to get onto the scoresheet himself. How the hell their keeper got to that absolute rocket of a shot he launched from all of 25 yards, I have not the faintest idea. He seems to be getting better with every single game he plays, and that?s not all.

The next time you go to a game, watch the way he moves the ball around the park to his team-mates. Not so much of the oh-so-boring safety first type of pass in evidence, more the sort of thing that invites a multitude of ?Ooohs? and Aaahs? from the watching crowd. Anybody can chuck the ball around the ground just like the coaching textbooks say. It takes much more in the way of skill to evade your marker with the aid of an exquisite shimmy-shuffle, or three, or engage in hip-swivelling antics of Hawaiian proportions to relieve your opponent of the ball when they?ve got it.

No, much of what I saw from Koren last night was very much about flamboyance, panache, skill ? pure entertainment, in other words. Our ethos these days is not so much about worrying about what the opposition might do should we lose possession, more to do with having sufficient confidence to lose your marker through judicious use of finely-honed ball skills, and less of plain brawn. And that?s what?s making the whole damned deal so entertaining right now. It?s all exciting stuff, football on a knife-edge, the sort of attractive play not witnessed at our place since the days of Ashman or Atkinson. And not a single long ball in sight, I?m glad to report.

Kiely? Superb. Jason Koumas? As creative as ever: the vital spark that creates the right climate for our front-runners to shine, in fact. Greening? A bit like the curate?s egg: brilliant, one moment, then reverted to lumpen-like donkey the next. Chappy? Goes from strength to strength, he does. Phillips? Should have got one that counted. Robinson? On the whole, solid at the back. What?s good about this side is that in terms of skill, it isn?t static. We have yet to see an end-point, because we have players believing in themselves again. Assuming we can keep him at The Hawthorns, of course, just how far can Mogga take us, I wonder? I may be acting a little ?previous? here, but I am inclined to remember, right now, the Al famous Jolson phrase that launched the ?talkies? in 1920?s cinema: ?You Ain?t Seen Nothin? Yet!? If current playing style is any indication, that might well be the case.

After seeing us painfully carve out that much-desired top-two slot for ourselves, then experience the warm afterglow that comes with unexpected success, it was by way of total contrast, when opening my paper to catch up on the latest news this morning, finding a large-ish piece of copy inside, complete with accompanying photo, that had my blood running as cold as you like. The reason? Some 18 or so years after the terrible tragedy that was destined to exert such an astonishing effect upon our domestic game, there it was, and nearly as bad, too.

Pictures I?d never thought I?d see ever again, showing thousands of Manchester United supporters, some of whom were clearly in great distress, all shoehorned into an enclosure that was never meant to take that many people, pressed against a high fence blocking access to the pitch, and an indifferent and complacent police force, all of whom were clearly thinking ?troublemakers? and not ?safety?, first of all doing sod-all to alleviate their suffering, then making things much worse. Sound familiar to you? All bar the tear gas rounds the police fired into the panicking crowd, and the lack of actual deaths, it bloody well should. It?s Hillsbrough Mark Two, by any other name, and an absolute disgrace, too.

One thing emerged clarion-clear from all this, as far as I was concerned. Those French police: whoever was in charge that night, they?d clearly lost it. In fact, I?d go further still, and say that the whole situation reeked of an entire police presence being led by someone who didn?t go to games, had no love for football, knew nothing whatsoever about football supporters or their culture, was not only inflexible, but clearly reluctant to accept good advice from those officers more conversant with matchday policing.

(Was there an English police presence there to provide intelligence on potential troublemakers, I wonder? I?d be very surprised indeed if that turned out not to be the case.) Then, when the shit finally (inevitably?) did hit the fan, tried to restore control by taking the easiest and laziest route, assuming the entire thing was completely down to supporters behaving badly, then ordering in true knee-jerk fashion that those trying to get out be kept in that pen, no matter what.

How the hell it didn?t all finish with another Hillsbrough-style death toll, I can?t even begin to imagine. Time for the football authorities in both countries ? not to mention both governments ? to look at setting up a public inquiry, methinks. Clearly, even though almost two decades have passed since those awful events in the Leppings Lane End of Wednesday?s ground, it would seem that some congenital-idiot chief plods have still to get the message. How many more near-misses will it take before they realise that when it comes to policing crowds ? any crowd, not just the sort you find at football grounds ? safety, not security, has to come first, second and third, every single time?

And Finally?.. I knew the tensions of our race with Derby and Blues for one of those two automatic promotion slots would get to me eventually. How the hell I did it, I don?t know, but last night, for some unaccountable reason, I kept calling their goalkeeper ?Matthews? despite his mother having christened him ?Alexander?, God help us all.

Could it have been the absolute plethora of Bernard Matthews jokes John Homer so unwisely set in train in the Halfords, went and started off a train of thought all of its very own in my own head, I wonder? Anyway, whatever the cause, I promise faithfully to ensure I have the Leicester chappie?s correct appellation right in front of me when it comes to writing up Saturday?s Walkers Stadium affair!

 - Glynis Wright

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