The Diary

05 March 2007: Just Remember, Baggie-People - There's Always Someone Worse Off Than Yourself!

After any sort of Albion defeat, it?s always hellish difficult trying to strike a mental balance between rational and mature insight into precisely what went wrong, knee-jerk anger, and ? well, for me, at any rate ? trying to get things into proper perspective. But now that a distance of some 36 hours separates us from the events of Saturday afternoon, and with most of the emotional baggage from that defeat more or less dissipated, that?s precisely what I?m trying to do.

Sure, thanks to some non-existent marking for their second, we ended up casting forth three much-needed points onto the already flower-strewn path of the Mackems. A costly error we would much rather we hadn?t made, given the choice, and by the same token, it was highly regrettable Paul Robinson got a slightly earlier bath than the other ten out there on the pitch. Then there was the small matter of Blues narrowly defeating Cardiff at St. Andrews, while this column and partner were both stuffing themselves silly with Sunday lunch.

All of those things more or less guaranteed to summon forth above Baggie heads a personal black cloud labelled ?Gloom?, of course. But were yesterday?s loss and subsequent events really and truly the End Of The Universe As We Know It?

Looking at the table as it now stands, following today?s Blues-Cardiff encounter, the one thing that really jumps off the page to hit you is the fact that the promotion race is still far too tight to call with any degree of accuracy: even now, only seven points separate current leaders Blues (spit!) from the outfit in eighth place, Preston North End. Realistically, unless either we or another club below the top two have a run of absolutely scintillating form over the course of those final few games, or the brace of outfits presently enjoying life in the fast lane crash and burn spectacularly, the current status quo might well prevail unto the very end of hostilities.

Certainly, Roy Keane?s Sunderland are setting a blistering pace right now, and at just the right time to forge well ahead of the chasing pack, too. After watching yesterday?s game, and seeing how well they soaked up all that pressure from us, then hit us so hard on the rebound with that double-whammy of theirs, I can genuinely see the buggers going all the way.

And yet there?s still room for a residual shadow of doubt to linger in my mind, a bit like the wafted remnants of a toxic gas leak, once all the casualties have been shipped off by ambulance. How much of yesterday, would you say, was down to the plain fact that most of our players were plumb knackered after their midweek FA Cup exertions? The superficial cop-out of saying ?if only? is neither an ideal nor impartial way of looking back at recent events, then taking on board any necessary lessons to be learned, but that?s what I find myself doing, right now.

If only we hadn?t gone on to contest the FA Cup in the proactive manner we did versus Boro: if only we hadn?t embarked upon that truly awful run of form in the months leading up to Christmas? If only we hadn?t plumped for retaining a squad of truly microscopic proportions, compared with most other Championship clubs? If only we weren?t (unjustifiably so, in my opinion) regarded as the division?s ?bad boys? by the majority of Football League referees? If only we?d changed managers a tad earlier than we actually did? Goes on for ever, doesn?t it?

But don?t give up just yet. Take heart: it ain?t over until the famed adipose opera singer starts smashing fine glassware in your own living-room. Tomorrow, eighth placed Preston take on sixth-placed Southampton, while come Tuesday, mid-table Norwich host second-placed Derby, who then have to travel to St. Andrews for what?s regarded as a bit of a stinker, some three days later. That last one really does have huge potential for clearing the promotional custard, one way or another, and nicely in time for the final run-in, too.

Come the weekend, fourth spot Sunderland journey to Oakwell, for a little bit of relegation-flirters Barnsley (chop, with any luck?), seventh-placed Cardiff entertain Norwich, and Preston go to Hull, who will, no doubt, be really desperate to get something for their 90 minute labours: they?re currently clear of the drop-zone on goal difference only. And then a Sabbath journey to Molineux beckons for our own favourite football club. What heavenly bliss.

I?d really love to think lightning would strike and scorch The Dingles in a very rude place for the third time in succession, but when critically viewed in the light of a recent run of improved ?dog-head? performances, both home and away, things aren?t quite so clear cut any more, are they?

You can see what I?m driving at, here. Some of those fixtures will look, on paper, at least, nailed-on certs for the higher placed side, while others will regard it as a possible points-spoiling exercise for clubs already in contention. What we ideally need, from our somewhat egocentric point of view, is for us to sort out the Dingles good and proper next Sunday, and for both Preston-Southampton, and Blues-Derby to finish up with honours shared. And for those clubs hosting other promotion contenders to rediscover sufficient fire in their bellies to want to cause an upset. Those that have prayer mats, prepare to wear great big knee-holes in ?em over the course of the next seven days.

You still sore about what happened yesterday, despite everything I?ve said? In an effort to convince you that what?s perceived to be a distinctly below-par Albion performance at the time be placed in correct historical context, may I introduce you all to what happened on this day precisely forty years ago? Long-standing Baggie-believers will recognise that date, of course, and with considerable amounts of bile rising to the surface along the way, I shouldn?t wonder. But, as I just said, unhappiness is very much all relative to individual circumstances.

Let me put it this way: I have only to hear the faint sound of a bass drum being banged, and some matchday crowd or another chanting ?ROD-NEE! ROD-NEE!? and forty years will slip away, as if by magic. That?s when I find myself, once more, within the confines of Wembley Stadium?s terraced section (yes, kids - they used to have one, now closed, due to serial misgivings following all the fall-out from the Taylor Report) where we contested the very first ever League Cup Final to be held there, on the 4th of March, 1967.

Jimmy Hagan was our gaffer back then, of course, and with a reputation about as impregnable as uranium-depleted tank armour. Sure, he?d enjoyed a degree of success the previous season, with Albion finishing that campaign in sixth spot, and, thanks to our two legged win versus West Ham in the previous season?s Final, a feat that saw us go into European competition for the first time ever in our entire history, too. But he did have a somewhat inflexible downside, with its (inevitable?) apotheosis coming in the fierce winter of 1963, during which he adamantly refused to allow the wearing of tracksuits, either top or bottom, during training, the entire episode subsequently entering Baggie folklore as The Great Albion Tracksuit Rebellion.

All the above wouldn?t have mattered one jot, had it not been for the fact that come season 1966-67, we never quite managed to build upon our newly-acquired respectability. On the contrary: for much of the time, we bumped and banged our way around the bottom of the First Division table, with only a vigorous defence of the trophy won the previous season brightening an otherwise frustrating campaign. Once more, we found ourselves facing West Ham United, but this time at the two-legged semi-final stage. And, once more, we put them to the sword, winning 6-2 on aggregate, thereby setting things up nicely for that first-ever Wembley Final appearance, with Third Division QPR providing the opposition.

On paper, it was a sparkly-clear shoo-in for the First Division Baggies: in practice, it turned out to be somewhat different, and I know because I was there at the time. The first half went more or less as predicted, with Chippy Clark firing us into a deserved two-goal lead, but as far as the second course went, chronic dyspepsia supervened.

I don?t know what Alec Stock said to his charges over the course of the break, but it sure as hell fired them up. Before we knew it, they?d levelled the scores ? and then, just minutes from the end of normal time, there came the goal that was to break my heart. I wouldn?t have minded all that much had the sodding thing been street-legal ? but it wasn?t. As Rodney Marsh was about to pull the trigger from around six or seven yards away, out rushed keeper Rick Sheppard, in a valiant attempt to nick the ball from his foot, and thus prevent what was looming ominously from coming to pass.

These days, most strikers would have pulled back, allowed the diving keeper to grab the ball from beneath their feet, shrugged their shoulders and walked off ? but not Mister Marsh. He went for the kick anyway, with the predictable result that Sheppard sustained a knock-out blow to the head, and the not-so-predictable outcome of the ball somehow slithering under Sheppard?s writhing body as both players tangled, then into the back of the unguarded net. From my standpoint, the strike was about as kosher as a nine-bob note, Marsh?s goal eminently disallowable ? but not according to the ref. After a lengthy period of time spent with Albion?s trainer on the pitch bringing Sheppard round, he gave the strike legitimacy, much to the astonishment of most people in the audience, so Albion ended up losers by the odd goal in five.

What an awful journey back to the Midlands it was. Conducted in complete silence for the most part, and occasionally punctuated by the sight of tearful Baggies casting forth their colours onto the railway track via an opened window or three. The mood of our supporters that day was far, far worse than after any other Cup Final or semi-final defeat I was to see. And the ambience must have been of a similarly-downbeat nature in our boardroom, too: not too many days later, and with the club languishing far too near the bottom of the table for comfort, Jimmy Hagan finally got the chop.

So there you are. When placed in proper context, yesterday?s performance doesn?t look quite as bad as it seems, now, does it? At least we?re still at the right end of the table, and not quite cast in a hopeless role. We are still banging in those goals for fun, Mowbray?s one of the best managers we?ve had in an awful long while, and it?s been an awful long while since I last came out of an Albion game feeling as though I?d been badly short-changed in terms of entertainment. There?s still an awful lot to play for, out there, and numerous other pitfalls awaiting our promotion rivals. The best could be yet to come.

And Finally?. Hearty congratulations also go forth from this column to Jason Koumas, named today as Coca Cola Championship Player Of The Year, and Best Football League Player Of The Year, at the 2007 Football League Awards (in conjunction with Four-Four-Two football magazine) dinner held at the Grosvenor House Hotel in London, last night ? I?m assuming, via intelligent guesswork, that was when the function was held, because there?s no date actually given on the FL website.

Apparently, Our Jase lifted both pots on account of his ?inspirational performances, as West Brom look to gain promotion back to the Premiership at the first attempt following their relegation from the Premiership in May, 2006.? That?s how their citation read, so who am I to argue?

A pity the League don?t also give an award for ?Growing up in the shortest amount of time possible, after having chucked dollies out of prams with unceasing regularity over the course of the past couple of seasons? because it?s the lad?s sudden and startling acquisition of maturity in heaps over the course of the past few months that?s led to both the Football League and Four-Four-Two recognising his many talents in the first place. All we need now is for the lad to provide engine-room services of a calibre that will enable Premiership audiences to truly savour what he has to offer the football world, and everyone will be happy.

 - Glynis Wright

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