The Diary

31 March 2007: An Invitation To Loftus Road (Smart Dress NOT Required This Time Round!)

Hey, all you guys and gals out there in Baggie Land ? I?m back again, suitably refreshed from a football-free fortnight, and raring to go. Well, that?s the theory, at any rate. Following their own fourteen day spell away from the strains and stresses of competitive football, I can only speculate as to whether our lot also feel precisely the same upbeat way about Life, The Universe and Everything, right now. As I said last time, international involvement apart, I can only hope that our club have been sensible about things, and told everyone to bugger off somewhere for a mental battery-charge, well away from the wretched game, preferably, for three or four days.

Maximising use of available break time would seem to be favourite, right now, given tonight?s Leeds-Preston result, which finished very much in the favour of the relegation-haunted Yorkshire side, who bested Preston by the odd goal in three, very belatedly. Having been with my folks for most of the evening, I only managed to catch the second half of what was, essentially, a rerun of their play-off clash at the end of last season ? but what a game it turned out to be.

At the time we switched on, Leeds had just equalised, and very early in the second half, too. Preston weren?t out of it by any means, but you might want to argue they ? with piles of unwelcome assistance from a lino who very much appeared NOT to have grasped the fundamentals of the offside laws, much to the away side?s fury - were the architects of their own downfall in the end.

First of all, and just seconds after we?d switched on, in fact, the lad Nugent split the Leeds rearguard completely asunder ? one of the few times the lino called it right, for once ? leaving him with naught but the Leeds keeper to beat. All he had to do was round the chap with the ball, and that would have been the Elland Road strugglers done up like a whole basketful of kippers, but the lad completely blew it, whereupon the Leeds keeper promptly thanked whatever god it is that oversees that part of Yorkshire, these days, then successfully claimed the bladder for himself instead. Now remind me, again ? who was it said Nugent was an England class performer?

And there was still more to come: for Leeds, their lad Cresswell nearly hit the jackpot with an effort that smacked more of a cross than a genuine assault upon the sticks. Another night, and the effort would have gone in via the woodwork, no bother ? but it simply wasn?t his night. But Preston also missed spectacularly with a Ricketts effort, struck from about three yards out. By rights, it should have bust the net ? but it didn?t, ending up in Row Z instead, much to that gentleman?s discomfiture, aided and abetted considerably by a lusty Leeds cry of ?Ricketts for England!....?

But the real twist to this fascinating encounter came really late in the day: so late, the fourth official was busying himself with the electronic board indicating added-on time, when it happened. And this is the real point at which I?d be tearing my defence to shreds, post-match, were I the Preston gaffer. What happened? Well, it sort of went like this: come the final minute or so, Leeds were on the attack, and everyone in the box, friend and foe alike, waiting for the eventual cross. As it came over, a Leeds lad immediately went down as if shot, appealing for the spot-kick, very much as per the Leeds of old, as he did so ? and that?s when disaster struck for the visitors. But not at the hands of a vindictive whistler, this time: for once, the ref had sod-all to do with it.

Instead of their defenders carrying on concentrating upon what they were doing, as they should have done, having not heard the sound of the whistle, three or four of them paused instead, either to protest to the ref at what they thought was coming, or because they?d already adjudged their adversary guilty of ?simulation?. Whatever the reason, the net effect was about the same: ?thank you very much? said Leeds as their Lancashire opponents stood immobile, and in went the ball, straight into the back of the bloody net, much to the joy of their followers, and the profound distress of Preston?s. Oh, whoops.

And there are lots of parallels with tonight?s game that our finest should bear in mind, tomorrow. Relative League positions, for starters: the visiting club also angling for a play-off place come the end of the current campaign, and the home side looking increasingly in the direction of the drop (tonight?s unexpected Leeds win ? it lifted ?em right off the bottom - can?t have done them any favours at all), while we mentally congratulate the Yorkshire side for having done us a real favour, for once. Preston don?t travel at all well, and neither do we, of late. It also goes without saying that the pressures upon both participants to grab something meaningful from this one will be immense.

We?ll also be without Curtis Davies. One other worrying injury note for me concerns reports that both Clem and Paul Robinson will need pain-killing injections prior to tomorrow?s game: as I?ve said before, pain is Nature?s way of warning someone they really shouldn?t be doing what they?re doing, and masking it with injections isn?t in anyone?s interest, really. Or is that yet another downside to having a small squad only at your disposal?

And another thought: will Rangers play things by trying to stop us playing, as so many similarly-desperate sides have done, of late? It?s certainly reaped rewards at our expense: Sunderland, The Dingles, Palace and Blues have all taken that route, and without exception, found the scenery most congenial towards their own Championship hopes and fears. Have we used the intervening 14 days wisely by trying to figure out some sort of solution to this potentially serious blight upon our hopes of getting out of this league in one, I wonder? With just seven left, I?ve been trying to second-guess the likely outcome nearer the finishing-line, and it ain?t easy.

As far as those remaining games are concerned, theoretically, we?re left with a fairly decent run-in. After Rangers, there?s games versus Stoke, Norwich and Sheffield Wednesday (that last one taking place on a Friday, confusingly enough), all of whom are situated in that mid-table ?comfort zone?. Last away game of 2006-07? Coventry City, also caught up in the promotional/dropping doldrums. Will any of them want to bother, I wonder?

It?s the other two that really do concern me, though: away at Burnley, who might yet get sucked into the relegation places if Leeds continue their revival, and they don?t, then Coventry ? see above - ending up with a Sabbath home showdown with Barnsley, currently far too near the drop-zone for my liking. Should we need all three points at their expense to secure a play-off place (I?ve already adopted the pragmatic approach of totally writing off going up as of right, you won?t be too surprised to hear!), and them also requiring three to stay up, then I?ll be a raving basket case, a shivering lump of human protoplasm, even, well before the kick-off. You can almost hear their gaffer?s pre-match team talk, can?t you? Something along the lines of: ?Lay into ?em well ?ard early on, their midfield and strikers, and they won?t like it?.?? The rest I?ll leave to your (already well-developed, no doubt!) imaginations.

The good news? Yes, there is some, honest. All of our internationals survived their respective games, apparently, and Alby will be available once more, following suspension. Well, in the case of our recently-travelled persuasion, that?s what the club are saying, at any rate. In fact, Jason Koumas, Joe Kamara and Zoltan Gera all went one better, by finding the back of the net for their respective countries, while Macca also played a big part in Ireland?s brace of wins, as did Koren for Slovenia. Now you?ve all rediscovered the precise whereabouts of those dratted goalposts, any chance we could see a belated Loftus Road encore tomorrow, chaps?

A ten o?clock start will also see us winging our way towards Loftus Road, tomorrow morning. No car this time, as ?Im Indoors hates parking up for this particular fixture, so Baggies Travel will be taking the strain, instead. No Noise this time ? but we do have the pleasure of his company at Carrow Road, mind ? just The Fart, and lots and lots of similarly-minded people all going in the same direction. Not a patch on the ?dress-up day? we had there, around seven years ago, mind, but it?ll do, I suppose. Let?s hope we?re all smiling in 24 hours time, eh?

And Finally?.. One. Welcome aboard young David Worrall, formerly of the Gigg Lane persuasion, and at the tender age of just 16 years, too. Signed on scholarship forms initially, he does have a three-year pre-contract agreement that kicks in once he reaches the relatively gnarled and grizzled age of 17. Remarkably, he?s already worn a first team shirt for The Shakers, coming on as sub in a home encounter versus Bristol Rovers last November. For just ten minutes, ?tis true, but as rumour has it that several Prem sides were also chasing his signature, perhaps we may have just cause in the future to congratulate Albion on a transfer job well done, for once. Either that, or commiserating with the poor sod for the almighty pickle he?s got himself into!

Two. What?s the connection between two appearances at Dudley Road Hospital?s Casualty Department, an auction, and an afternoon at a birds of prey sanctuary? Easy, that one: both ?Im Indoors and myself were at all three, over the course of the previous fortnight.

The first? That came about as the result of my other half?s GP deciding to send him there that very same Wednesday evening; because we couldn?t get a doctor to do the necessary after over three hours of waiting, my other half signed himself out, eventually, but come the Friday, and yet another GP visit, she then had ?words? into their shell-like ears? Result? Wonderfully Megson-like: the second time of asking, that same evening, we went through the place like a hefty dose of salts. Thankfully, they didn?t keep him in, but they do want to see him as an outpatient for further tests (which I subsequently proceeded to explain, and in graphic detail, poor lamb!). Oh, well ? look on the bright side, he might even get into The Lancet, if he plays his cards right!

The second of my little trio? That was held at Ludlow Racecourse, last Wednesday, our particular interest being that we had various football-related items up for sale there. And, having never witnessed an auction in my entire life before, I found the whole thing quite novel. A couple of myths dispelled, also: first off, the old joke about scratching one?s nose at the wrong moment, then ending up with a couple of elephant?s feet umbrella-stands, say, as a result. It just can?t happen. How come? Easy ? in order to buy, you have to register with the auctioneers beforehand, and wave the numbered card they give you when you want to bid!

The other? The sheer speed at which the whole thing was conducted. I?d always imagined auctions to be drawn out affairs, chock-full of drama and angst, as two or more interested parties battled it out for the goods on offer, racheting up the asking price considerably as they went ? but nope. On average, each item changed hands over the course of just thirty seconds work on the part of the auctioneer. One modern twist: these days, internet bids are very acceptable. When it doesn?t go down, that is, which it did when we were there, much to some prospective bidders? fury, I?ll wager.

The third of my tales concerns our visit to the wildlife place previously mentioned. Near Derwent, in Gloucester, it is, and a good run-out for my new camera, too. Lots of luvverly piccies to be had there, might I say. The best bit of the lot was the falconry display involving several species of birds of prey (the dry humour of the handlers, when their admittedly newly-fledged charges got excited and forgot their ?routines? really got me going), but running it close was a practical demonstration of the peculiar habits of an African avian known to naturalists everywhere as a ?secretary bird?.

Can?t rightly remember just how this largish feathered beast first got its peculiar name, but you sure as hell don?t see that many office-based Girl (or Man?) Fridays spending considerable time kicking a colleague?s head in, do you? Or have I just worked for the wrong sort of employer all these years, I wonder? Mind you, a few Prison Service social functions I?ve witnessed in the past have run it pretty close! ?Nuff said, ?nuff said?.

Let me just put it this way: a big rubber snake was the victim this time round (these birds can reduce one to bits in the space of just a month, so I?m told) but when this bird really means foot-stompin? business, its meal of choice, any serpentine, scaly creature you care to mention, would very likely end up with a stonking great headache, at the very least. One of the handlers reckoned that even a human would end up with a fractured metatarsal or three, should they be so stupid and Dingle-like as to stand in the way of those enormously muscular legs and huge feet, while the bird was ?performing?. Nearest possible human parallel? Think ?Chris Kamara during his Stoke City playing days?, if you?re a Baggie of fairly mature years, or ?Denis Wise in a real strop?, if you?re not, and you?ve just about got it!

 - Glynis Wright

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