The Diary

18 March 2007: A Small Heath Sabbath Showdown Looms.

You all want to know something? After many more years of Baggie-watching than even I was prepared to admit to, I?d genuinely thought that those matchday occasions when their various failings, minor or major, could actually result in the psychological equivalent of a well-hard kick to the goolies to my good self, were long since past.

WRONG! Good old West Bromwich Albion FC: last Wednesday evening, they went and did it again, and all in the brief space of time it takes for one enterprising Eagle to leave a trail of navy blue and white-striped bodies lying prostrate in his wake, the net shaking like it was in the middle of the San Andreas Fault during a heavy-duty creaming of San Francisco, and the entire Palace bench jumping up and down like a load of Zebedees on crack cocaine.

Traumatic? Too bloody right, it was. And it really, really got to me on this occasion, an achievement on a par with the 4th of March 1967 (League Cup Final v QPR), the 5th of January 1991 (Woking, FA Cup Round Three), and come May the 11th of that same year, versus Bristol Rovers, at Bath City?s ground. Get my drift?

And there was worse to come. Just hours after the final whistle, once I?d compiled the usual piece, I then made to transfer it from Word to the Boing website ? and that?s when Fate unleashed its final dirty trick on me that night: one minute I had a perfectly functional piece of prose in hand, the next, sod all. Nothing. Nix. Gone Vamoosed. Crashed, and the whole file seemingly vanished into thin air, despite having saved the blasted thing all the way.

A few piercing screams and bursts of bad language later, I then tried rescuing it via the ?applications? bit, but whatever had sparked the initial crash had blocked access to that also. In fact, it had landed me in one of those horrible ?loops? where I couldn?t shift out of it, no matter what I did. All seemed lost ? literally! ? then I had another spiffing wheeze. Why not switch the machine off completely, then get back via a reboot? I couldn?t have switched off via the normal route even had I wanted to do so: whatever malevolent spirit had infested our PC had put the kybosh on that, too, so that?s precisely what I did, fingers very much crossed. Poof, off. End of. Then on again, electronics protesting mightily, all the way.

A long shot, that, but not only did it work, a judicious bit of cutting and pasting later, it got my errant file back to right where it should have gone in the first place. I daresay the nerds among you are sniggering mightily by now at my complete ineptitude ? ?Why didn?t the silly sod try to open up X,Y and Z, then right-click on A,B and C?? etc. ? but the sum-total of all I know about computers is confined to clicking upon things I?ve been told about already, and long may it remain that way!

But, returning to the subject-matter in hand, by the time I?d finally sussed out the solution and acted upon it, then shifted my piece to the various holes and corners it had to go to, I?d wasted a good 45 minutes of my precious beauty sleep, and, needless to say, had long before then totally lost the will to live. You?ll not be too surprised to hear, then, that what with that awfully-dispiriting defeat, and what happened afterwards, the very last place in the world I wanted to be, for the next few days, at least, was sitting in front of a PC and banging on about WBA.

Still, the short break did rejuvenate this column, recharged the old creative batteries somewhat, so I suppose it hasn?t all been wasted time and effort. Now Father Time has intervened by inserting a mental ?buffer zone? between the events of last Wednesday night and the present, I?m considerably more able to look at all things Baggie in terms of ?glass half-full? and not ?drinking vessel half-empty?, which has to rank as an improvement of almost quantum proportions, I suppose.

Today?s results acted as something of a booster, of course, turning out about as good as we might have reasonably expected, given the circumstances, and ? ?Rejoice, Rejoice!? as the daft old ex-Prime Minister with the big handbag once screeched, upon hearing the news British forces had recaptured some dependency of the Falklands, back in 1982. We?ve just signed on a loan player from Reading.

Sam Sodje is his name, he plays centre-half, he?s a Nigerian international, his brother plays for Southend, and he will be available for Sunday?s game. Sam, I mean, not his brother. The only thing that strikes me as surprising ? nay, downright odd! - is the length of the loan, one month only, when it?s patently clear that poor Curtis Davies will be out for much, much longer than that. One other vagrant thought: after tomorrow, because of the international programme next weekend, at least some of our lads can have a 14-day break, following what has been a bit of a punishing schedule for them. Get a decent result tomorrow, and, with any luck, we?ll be in a much better frame of mind to tackle all those horribly-fraught run-in fixtures to come. Said she. Hopefully. Crossing just about every flaming digit in sight as she says it!

Today?s maintenance dose of the spherical-balled code came not courtesy of The Championship, nor the Premiership either, but much, much lower down than that. ?Twas the siren-call of Conference-standard football that summoned us northwards, today ? but not Conference football in the strict sense of the word. Confused? Quite easy, really: what we went hotfooting up the M6 for was the FA Carlsberg Trophy semi-final second leg, Kiddy Harriers versus Northwich Victoria, with the Midlands based outfit already two goals up from the first leg. With a trip to Wembley for the final the prize at stake ? and, don?t forget, the place only being newly opened this season, yet another excellent reason for the winner making the history books ? there was a lot to play for. And all for just fourteen quid, too: excellent value, as you?ll see. But first, the prologue.

Today also marked the very first time we used our new satnav to guide us to a ground: prior to this, we?d always relied either on printed ground guides, or some helpful club website or other. I have to say I was dead impressed: spot-on with every single instruction, it was. I wonder, now: is there an equivalent to navigate our favourite football club straight out of the Championship? Seriously, though, we almost thought the directions given were wrong, purely on account of the fact that once off the M6, the signs were all reading ?Witton Albion FC?, where Victoria had shared while their new ground was taking shape!

Then we sussed out what had happened: their new place was only a matter of a few hundred yards away from their erstwhile ?lodgings?! Even more curious, when you consider that the new place almost bankrupted Northwich, a season or so back, the money almost running out while the ground was only half-completed. And, being damn-near relegated last season, they?re still sailing pretty close to the wind. Am I missing something, or does this urgently beg the question of why they felt so constrained to have a place of their own in the first place? After all, the entire project could so easily have ended up the equivalent of the Albatross around the reluctantly-accepting neck of the Ancient Mariner ? who was nothing whatsoever to do with Plymouth Argyle, by the way, but everything to do with boring double-English lessons.

But back to Northwich, and their new place. Plenty of car-parking space around it, I suppose, for a stadium that was only pulling in an average of 700 punters per game. Horribly low, even by Conference standards. Today?s, however, was estimated to do much better: nearer the three thousand mark predicted, although the actual attendance turned out to be 2191 in the end. Good, but not quite good enough, really. Paying our two quid to park, we finally dropped anchor not far from one of the seated stands, and not too far in front of the Kiddy coach contingent, of whom we?d already seen on the motorway ? on the hard shoulder! By the look of things, one coach had broken down, and the remainder simply hanging around to absorb those passengers ?abandoning ship?, so to speak. Mind you, the convoy they brought was dead impressive, the number of ?charabancs? actually running into double figures.

Some time to kill before kick-off, so what we did was have a quiet read of our paper in our car, then go in search of much more salubrious surroundings, which we eventually found in their bar. Quite am impressive place, too, and all modelled upon an overall ?sports bar? theme. Walk in through the door, and on your left you came to a structure that owed much to the common or garden greenhouse, lending a considerable amount of light and spaciousness to the whole thing, no mean achievement in such a crowded environment. Next to all those huge windows were curiously-shaped chairs, with their attendant tables for placing drinks, while at the far end nestled a couple of settees, leather look, and again, surrounding coffee table-type furniture. In the middle of the room nestled an ?island?, roughly rectangular in shape, housing the bar.

Well-spacious it was, well-designed, and as such, an absolute godsend for the sweating staff ? had there been enough actually on duty that day! Only three in action, which was a bit of a nonsense, considering the size of the crowd: had the management trained at the Hawthorns Hotel, I asked myself! A solid wall comprised the other side, with similar ratios of furniture for the delectation of those drinking ?in the shade? so to speak. Oh ? lest I forget, not too far away from the entrance, and just inside it, lurked a guy selling hot pork sarnies, freshly carved, all the trimmings, crackling included, and all done right in front of you: a quick glance at his rapidly-vanishing wares was enough to tell me that this was one hell of a popular place to grab some pre-match vittle. See, it can be done when you put your minds to it, as opposing club Kiddy would no doubt tell you, their catering operation being one of the best of its kind anywhere in the entire League, not to mention the Conference.

On our way in, although very much in the country, it was remarkable the sheer number of chemical works we sighted in close proximity to the ground. Then I remembered ? well, should have sussed much earlier, actually ? this part of Cheshire is very much ?salt country?. No kidding, this, below ? well below, in fact! ? the surface, you?ll find substantial deposits of rock salt. No, they don?t send people down mines to get it: what they do instead is blast the stuff with super-heated water, in which it obligingly dissolves, then all they have to do is pump the brine (proper name for dissolved salt solution) back up again. How do I know all this? I actually went around one of those places when I was a student, that?s how!

Oh ? and a couple of other things, while I think about ?em. One. Don?t let anyone ever try and con you into thinking there?s a ?salt crisis? about to hit the nation: even conservative estimates have around a thousand years-worth of the stuff still lurking in situ, far below our uncaring feet. Two. To the best of my knowledge, unlike the Russians, we?ve never once sent political dissidents to toil down there: mind you, it wouldn?t surprise me one little bit to hear that Tony Blair?s secretly working on it!

Just outside the turnstiles there sat a Most Curious Object, a green Reliant Robin, it was, similar to the sort of thing seen in ?Only Fools And Horses?, only Del Boy?s was a grungy sort of yellow. Another item also singled it out, the legend, printed on the side: ?NORTHWICH VICTORIA FC OFFICIAL SUPPORTERS TOUR BUS?. Hey, howzabout that, supporters with a sense of humour, great. And, once inside, something else totally supporter-driven caught my beady eye: there, right in the Kiddy bit opposite, was a huge St. George flag, and proudly bearing the legend: ?FORZA KIDDY?. Not quite the San Siro, mind, but, for them at least, an acceptable alternative.

As ever, there was an Albion connection with this game. Hands up how many of you remember Junior Smikle? Well, Kiddy is where he fetched up, finally, after a short diversion by way of Hereford United. Sub today, he was, but only coming out of the trap towards the end of the game. Being a sudden-death thing ? no Continental-type nonsense about away goals counting double, or anything ? then it was always going to be on the cards that his tie would be an eventful one. As to how eventful, we didn?t know the half of it, trust me on that one!

The only imponderable left was whether Kiddy would sit on what they had already, or go for it again. Remember, the aggregate score, at the start, was 2-0 in Kiddy?s favour. We soon got the answer to that one: just seconds after kick ?off, they nearly made it 0-1 on the day, and 3-0 in total, thanks to them shoving two strikers up front, and in the home club?s faces all the time, that elusive ?final ball? proving their downfall in the end.

And so it went on for around ten minutes, and with Harriers calling most of the shots. Cue, then, for one of the biggest acts of daylight robbery I?ve seen in a long while, when Northwich took the lead, and totally against the run of play, too. That?s what happens when you try to push up on the opposition a little too far than is rightly good for you: get hit on the break, and you?re scuppered, as we discovered last Wednesday night.

Then, as if to prove that what they?d done was no fluke, two minutes or so later, they went and did it again! This time, it was down to the Kiddy keeper, who made a right mucking fuddle of what should have been an easy clearance for him. Very Paul Crichton-esque, too. Cue for the lad Coles to snap up the golden chance so charitably donated by the Midlands side, then, using a great chunk of initiative, mercilessly lobbing the poor sod that made the mistake in the first place. Ah, I don?t think this was the way Kiddy had wanted the game to go, somehow!

Still, although now reduced to equal terms again, Harriers didn?t panic. By dint of hard work they got one back with some twenty minutes gone, the strike a textbook header around three or four balls after a corner. What did surprise me, though, was how porous the Kiddy defence actually was, seemingly prone to being vulnerable on the break. Now who did that remind me of, I wonder? Dearie, dearie me, must be the old memory failing me again.

And so it continued, in a similar ding-dong fashion, until the interval. ?Spirited? some might have called it, but only one short adjective - ?Brutal? - would do as far as I was concerned. Both sides were giving it big licks out there, and the ref was choosing to ignore all but the most blatant stuff. Most certainly the sort of game where you have to watch through splayed fingers, in much the same manner as kids used to with ?Doctor Who?. Just in front of us sat several First Aid people, all of them chatting in a heated manner. Were they laying odds on the time of the first injury to need a stretcher, I wondered. The way both factions were going about their respective tasks, they were going to need an entire ?crash? team at the pitch-side before too long, never mind an entire bloody stretcher party!

Half-time, then ? and still you?d need a crowbar to separate both sides. And talking about ?bars?, but not those of the crow genus, there then ensued a remarkable PA announcement, for the benefit of the Kiddy lot. Apparently, the away bar (didn?t know there was one, but there you are) was closing, as they?d run completely out of beer! Shades of Wycombe Wanderers and Swansea for we Baggie ?veterans? ? not to mention the Dunfermline special train, back in 1969! Ah, such memories!

Just after they resumed kicking great lumps out of each other, an incident which demonstrates admirably what was being ignored by the ref: a Kiddy lad, quite blatantly, taking out a Victoria counterpart. A certain red card, I would have said ? but, nope. Yellow, only: had he been one of ours, mind?.. Well, you draw your own conclusions. Oh ? and another thought. What is it about Conference managers that conspires to make them adopt a distinctly ?roughie toughie? air when dancing around on the touchline? A prime example was the Victoria gaffer who, despite the near-freezing weather, still insisted upon wearing a pair of shorts. Oh, well ? if nothing else, his missus would have been pleased, were she trying to get pregnant: cold whistling around the old ?family jewels? increases one?s fertility levels no end! Just don?t go dangling the relevant parts in the freezer, now, ya hear, boy?

Come the middle of the half, Kiddy?s full-time status, and its attendant boosting effect upon fitness levels, was finally beginning to tell: suddenly, Victoria began to feel the strain of trying to keep up with the footballing Joneses. That was the physical and mental moment Kiddy had been waiting for: in the twinkling of an eye, they pounced, slicing the home side?s rearguard athwart ships as they did so, thereby setting up their lad for a nice one-on-one with the keeper. In it went, no messing, and suddenly, it was Kiddy asking all the questions.

Predictably, that was the cue for all the Kiddy followers in that away end to go quietly ?or not-so-quietly, more like ? bonkers. Understandable, considering they?d be flying the flag for the Conference during the course of the final, to be held at what should be a spanking-new Wembley Mark Two come the end of the season. Oh, yes ? and it was around that time that the Victoria PA bloke came up with what must now rank as a prime contender for my ?Do We Look Half-Blind, Mate?? Award Of The Year, by drawing conspicuous supporter attention to the phalanx of away coaches newly parked right outside the away end exit ? all that, when every single Kiddy person in sight could see the damn things with their own eyes, lurking conspicuously just beyond the wall that sundered them from the car-park!

And so we came to injury time ? but there was still a twist in the tale to come. Midway through what was a lengthy stoppage period, Victoria got a penalty! This had theoretical potential to make for a very nervy finish, but Harriers managed to weather the remaining two-minute storm, much to the delight of their many followers, who promptly invaded the pitch as quick as the good Lord God would let them, once the ref blew up for time. But not before the game was blessed with the appearance of Junior Smikle on the field of play, as per a ?time wasting? subbing on the part of Kiddy: clearly, the whole of football had been waiting for this very same moment!

Not a comprehensive account by any means ? I?m sure the E and S will do it far more justice, come Monday evening ? but from what I?ve just said, you should have gleaned, at the very least, that the game was a real thriller from beginning to end, and well worth the fourteen squid admission. Tremendous stuff, both halves really sped by ? how often can you say that about games at our level? ? and it could so easily have gone the other way, had Northwich put their minds to it, and tried to further increase their tally before their legs went towards the end of the second half. ?Forza Kiddy?? Ar, aer kid.

And so to tomorrow?s shindig. The Sodje thing I?ve already mentioned, but I really do reckon Paul McShane hit the nail on the head on the club website today, when he described the Championship as ?a madhouse?. Out tomorrow will be both Alby and Curtis Davies, of course, not forgetting the curious announcement John Hartson is still ?doubtful? courtesy a knee injury. Yeah, right. Our sudden lack of bite at the back prompted the Sodje move, of course, but the most important thing of all will be to try and nip in the bud this horrible run of defeats we?re in, right now. Some of it due to sheer bad luck, of course, but that still leaves an uncomfortable residue looking far too much like a self-inflicted wound, for my liking.

Apparently, Blues will have N?Gotty out with a hamstring, also McSheffrey, who is still serving a three-match ban. Forsell may be in for a recall, after he impressed away from home as a sub recently. How much of what?s to follow is pure propaganda I don?t honestly know, but it appears that our Small Heath chums claim to have been have been hit by a bit of a virus over the course of the last few days. This has left Neil Danns, Oliver Tebily and Nicklas Bendtner ? now there?s an unfortunate combination of given name and surname for you! ? looking very much the worse for wear, apparently, with a wilting Rowan Vine looking fifty-fifty to start, by all accounts: wonder if it was sprayed DDT that caused his subsequent horticultural problems? Hmmmmm. How much of that is kosher we?ll just see, come the time, shall we?

As far as we?re concerned, the above Baggies absentees excepted, we will gain Ellington, now he?s finished his suspension, thank goodness. As for today?s results, a pretty mixed bag ensued, but they did pan out about as well as they could have, all things considered. Preston won 2-0 in a nasty local derby versus Burnley; Derby blew Cardiff City away 3-1 at Pride Park, thereby doing us a bit of a favour; Norwich prevented Stoke from getting last-minute ideas above their station; Wednesday and the Dingles shared the points 2-2, and Sunderland beat lowly Hull by two clear goals.

As things stand, we?re sixth, jointly with Cardiff, and both on 63 points. That leaves us with a near-impossible amount of ground to gain upon the automatic promotion places, with second?placed Sunderland currently on 70, and just below them, tomorrow?s opponents, on a similar tally. To be perfectly honest, I can?t see anyone catching The Rams, and the way the Mackems are going, I can?t see anyone catching them, either. Unless Blues put in a final spurt and do it right on the last day, or something. As we?re only too aware ourselves, it?s not exactly unprecedented in this competition, now, is it?

As far as we?re concerned, we really do have to get something from this one, or we stand in grave danger of our season ending somewhat prematurely. Only eight or so games left in which to make a name for youselves, chaps, so please bear that in mind when you go through that players? tunnel tomorrow!

It?s as much in your interests as ours, to make that final cut, what with the Prem being pitched as a worldwide showcase for everything that?s good about the British game, and all. And that?s before we even start to get to grip with all the material benefits that promotion to the top flight can dangle right under an ambitious player?s nose.

And if you can?t quite bring yourselves to fully appreciate what promotion would mean to all those adoring people sat on the Brummie and Smethwick Ends, hanging upon every single move you make, then just think of the lolly! Yerss, I thought that would get those little pink snouts of yours all a-twitching like crazy! Oh, well ? it?s very much all in the lap of the gods, tomorrow. Let?s just hope Mogga can sort it, one way or another. It all makes for some pretty nervy stuff, mind. Anybody know the address of a good psychiatric nurse?

And Finally?.. One. Is there any truth in the rumour that Tony Mowbray?s been so desperate to get three points, of late, he?s been seen driving around bawling loudly into a hand-held mobile phone?

Two: This one comes from reader Ray Gibson, so cheers, Ray! His brother-in-law works at Coventry City Football Club, apparently, and the night they played the Dingles, he was given a couple of freebies, which our hero lapped up like gravy, unsurprisingly. Obviously, he enjoyed the game, but a memorable bit came before the kick off. As is the usual form there, apparently, the MC welcomed each stand i.e. Welcome to the Wolves fans in the Whatever-It-Was Stand, then welcome to the Coventry fans in the ? erm - TESCO stand! Went down very well with the Wolves, apparently. Not. Can?t think why for a minute!

 - Glynis Wright

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