The Diary

02 April 2007: Our Play-Off Prospects Ledger, Debits, Credits, And All Stations West.

How do I feel, today? ?Bloody happy to be a Baggie?, satisfy you? It?s been so long since we last picked up all three points, in private, I was even harbouring serious doubts as to whether we?d ever experience again, this season, the warm, final-whistle glow of a three-pointer job well done. Emerging from Loftus Road after yesterday?s game, I couldn?t help but notice what a massive contrast those deliriously happy scenes made to the serial funereal silences we encountered at the end of our previous four fixtures, three of which ended in a loss, and the fourth, versus Blues, in a tense and turgid 1-1 draw.

Despite grabbing the solitary point and running, that Blues thrash about as useful to our promotion hopes as balls on a prize milker, to be perfectly honest: no wonder so many Baggie chins scraped and banged against the pavement, as we walked down Halfords Lane towards where we?d moored our jalopy, pre-match. I didn?t actually hear of the law dredging both nearby canals for dead bodies, but going by the prevalent mood of most Albion aficionados, that dreadful Sabbath afternoon ? their distinctly-depressed demeanour would have made even an afternoon spent in a funeral parlour, counselling grieving relatives, seem like stand-up comedy - it wouldn?t have surprised me in the least.

I must say, though, that Sunday morning found me much more optimistic than I?d ever been, immediately prior to our London jaunt. Yesterday?s win - deserved, undeserved, whatever, make your own minds up on that one ? has altered our immediate landscape completely. Our chances of being handed an angst-ridden extension to our season were improved immeasurably, thanks to a combination of a brilliant penalty save, and Zoltan Gera finding the net, at long last. Come to think of it, if only in sheer gratitude, perhaps I should plant a really sloppy smacker on the ample lips of Dean Kiely, the next time he attends a Supporters Club function? My appreciation really does know no bounds! Er ? hang on a mo. Better change that to ?reasonable ones?, perhaps?

So there you have it: Outwardly, at least, I?m happy; most other Baggies, peripatetic, or otherwise, are happy; judging by their gleeful demeanour come yesterday?s final whistle, our players are happy. Even our gaffer must surely have allowed his facial features to crease and fold with sufficient flexibility to admit a reasonable-sized grin to his own phizzog at that point, yeah? So why is it, then, despite all that, loads of nagging reservations still rumble away like mad, somewhere deep inside my head, still? And that, my friends, leaves me asking the inevitable $64,000 question: do I still retain a lingering depressive malaise born of watching us surrender points so cheaply, earlier in the season, or is it just part of natural cautionary instinct that comes with the overall territory of being a Baggie?

On reflection, I would say that the second of my two theories is the correct one. Sure, it was great to see us get back to winning ways yesterday, but only the most wall-eyed optimist, wearing the thickest rose-tinted spectacles imaginable, born and raised in the Brummie, would have described yesterday?s performance as one which had the word ?promotion? plastered all over it. Far too much that was really disturbing, in a pernicious sort of way, for my liking. In yesterday?s offering, while still experiencing the raw emotions generated by yesterday?s game, I slapped down for posterity some of those thoughts, just as they were. Some might agree, others not, of course ? that?s what makes Baggie people such a lively bunch ? but now a protective cushion well over 24 hours old has swathed my emotions, it?s high time I explored these issues further.

So here?s a distillation of my thoughts, right or wrong, concerning yesterday?s Loftus Road caper. First off? Yet again, we made bloody hard work of overcoming a side that had clearly made it their business to stop us playing. Their constant reliance on long-ball tactics also left our finest with a footballing variant on the overall theme of ?indigestion?.

It?s at times like these I really do wonder what kind of malevolent spirit persuaded our club it was high time Big Dave moved on to pastures new. Had he been at the back in any number of games this season, his imposing goalmouth presence would have certainly ensured we?d not have shipped half as many goals as we have done, of late. You only have to look at Derby?s current form to see what a valuable contribution he?s making to their rearguard, these days.

And another thing. How many times have we taken the lead, this term, only to see it snatched back just as quickly, courtesy errors that owed far more to the circus tent than Championship-standard football? Yesterday provided us with an example par excellence, of course. Two, if you count the penalty. Wash my mouth out with double-strength carbolic soap for giving voice to such heresies, but there have been times, of late, when even the sight of Gary Megson reincarnated in the Albion dug-out would have been a welcome one indeed, as far as this column?s concerned.

Sure, his sort of action was boring as hell, at times, and his man-management skills positively prehistoric, but as sure as eggs is eggs, our defence would have undoubtedly ended up considerably more leak-proof than it is at present. What we really lack at the back is a ?hard man?, in the accepted Dougie Fraser/Graham Williams/Maurice Setters/Nobby Stiles sense of the word. More than one, really ? after all, if you?re going to do a job, do it well, I say.

To be brutally honest, the vast majority of our players are way, way too nice for this sort of cut-throat football. Half the battle?s not so much about taking the hits, as dishing them out in retaliation. If your side comes complete with the equivalent of a government health warning every time they do Championship battle, unless the opposition have on their books a fully-certified psychopath or two themselves, they?re going to back off the very first moment the really crunching tackles start to go in.

That?s the main reason why I fear greatly for our play-off chances. Not so much the getting there ? that?s why yesterday?s win was so important to us; thanks to that, we probably will ? it?s more about not having our dressing-room look like a location shoot for ?Casualty?, in the depressing event of us getting (literally?) knocked out at the first hurdle. With such huge amounts of media wonga up for grabs the instant a Championship side achieves escape velocity, the stakes come really high, so some might well see a bit of robbery with violence on the pitch as being perfectly justifiable means to an end. The long and winding trail to promotion is littered with writhing prostrate bodies, clutching fractured tibias and metatarsals innumerable.

It?s not just about chairmen, clubs and individual players having a vested interest in a favourable outcome, either: for obvious reasons, managers also like to have a promotion or two adorning their CV?s. Get any side up to the Prem (the unlikelier the club, the better, as far as this sort of thing is concerned), adapt well to the drastically different managerial mindset needed, and you?re handed a future stepping-stone to better things on a plate, near enough. Colin Moyes, Sam Allardyce, relative newbie Steve Coppell, even: they?re not complaining much, are they? No, dip at the play-off stage, and so many people lose out, in so many different ways. Financially, emotionally, the whole bloody lot.

It?s for all the above reasons you?d need naivety of breathtaking proportions to genuinely believe managers aspire to fully abide by the Queensbury Rules when making play-off plans. A lovely thought, along with those of fluffy kittens and doe-eyed seal cubs, but as most fur traders will tell you, the stark reality is at considerable variance with such cuddly, soppy mental images. Horrid men with clubs? ?Mean and nasty?? We don?t do that sort of thing at all well, and that could very easily prove to be our undoing.

And so I now turn to thoughts, mostly constructive, I hope, concerning individual players, and their own contributions to yesterday?s win. Kiely? My hero ? I swoon at the mere mention of his name! No, seriously ? never mind that brilliantly saved penalty for a moment, had it not been for one hell of an immaculate performance between the sticks yesterday, we wouldn?t have been emerging from the ground with cheesy grins innumerable plastered upon joyful faces. One of the best bits of transfer business the club?s done for a long while, that.

Robbo? He really worries me. Not so much because he lacks the necessary ?bottle?, far from it, in fact. When performing out there, he really does wear his heart on his sleeve: every single muscle and sinew of his body is a living testimonial to his evident belief that one should give their all, and for the whole of the allotted 90-minute span, too, not just those occasions when scouts for clubs far richer than our own are in attendance. The downside? Yesterday?s penalty was a classic, he got completely tatered by Nemesis, in the form of a hooped shirt, and lacking sufficient skills to deal with the problem legally, down the lad had to come. I can only hope that someone with a little more experience has a few soothing words in his shell-like ears, come the time when we have to really battle, in order to reach Wembley.

Macca? Still somewhat inclined towards hot-headed, impulsive behaviour, but gradually getting there. Yes, he was beaten a few times, horrendously so, on one particular occasion, but another who gives his all when it matters most. He?ll learn also, given time ? trouble is, at this late stage in the season, have we enough of it at our disposal?

Despite having only played a few first-team games, as yet, Sodje is a player I?m really warming to. His playing style is very much of the ?John Wile school of defending?: no nonsense, frills, frippery ? if in doubt, boot it out, end of. Leave the classy stuff for those better suited. Hopefully, we?ll retain his services on a permanent basis come the end of the current term.

Clem? Yesterday was one of those horrible coincidences for him, wasn?t it? It couldn?t have been at all easy for him at Loftus Road, knowing that the 25th anniversary of his dad?s death fell on precisely the same day: the fact his father also played for QPR couldn?t have helped much, either. Fair play to the bloke, though: no detectable signs at all regarding his playing ability being impaired through sheer emotion. Nothing to write home about, really, a job done competently, which is the standard Clem generally aspires to.

Koren? Although he didn?t really stand out for me at Loftus Road, I still reckon we?ve yet to see the best of him. A competent performance, right enough, but when the blood and snot starts flying around in earnest, as it undoubtedly will, should we enter into our much-desired extension to the current season, will he be robust enough to stay the course?

And so we now turn to our resident ?resting? ?Shameless? actor look-alike, Frank Galla- Whoops! Sorry, meant to say Jonathan Greening, there, don?t know what came over me, all of a sudden!... Another one not at all happy the first moment opposing sides start cutting up rough. Ran around like a terrier on stimulant drugs of crippling dosage, yesterday, but not to much real purpose, I fear. Is more than capable of turning it on in fine style, when he?s in the right sort of mood. Let?s hope that he finds the play-offs congenial, then, eh?

The next time I see Darren Carter, I really must congratulate him on his flawless impersonation of the leading role in that iconic Fifties and early Sixties TV show, ?The Invisible Man?. Or is he really Lord Lucan in disguise, knowing damn well that current form would see him about as safe from the unwelcome attentions of prying plods as he?s ever likely to be? Heart in the right place, indisputably so, in fact, but is the flesh and bones of similar combative persuasion? Has the necessary ability, sure, but inconsistent, far too prone towards mentally chucking in the towel, for my liking. Not my automatic first choice for ?must-wins?, right now.

Many diary postings ago, I once described Jason Koumas as per the famous Churchill quote apropos Soviet Russia: ?an enigma wrapped within a mystery?. Sure, since then, he?s finally come to his senses, got his head together, finally grown up, and no longer behaves like a fractious toddler throwing a strop in the queue for the supermarket checkout till, but is that enough?

On the plus side, he?s vastly experienced when it comes to the big occasions, international knock-out tournaments, and the like: on his day, wearing the Welsh shirt, he can mix it with the best. To see the lad beat opponent after opponent, leave a trail of the buggers lying prostrate in his wake, even, is a joy to behold. The converse side?s somewhat different, though: man-mark him to the point where any reasonably-trained medic would want to recommend immediate surgical extraction, come the end of the full ninety minutes, not to mention the liberal application of unguents to his many bruises, and he seems to embark upon a gradual, slippery descent into the realms of anonymity. It used to be said of Bobby Hope: ?Stop him, and you stop Albion?. Sure, I?m well aware of the fact that history rarely repeats itself, but as far as Our Jase is concerned, it doesn?t half get me wondering whether or not History might tell Albion to take a running jump come the end of the season.

Joe Kamara, I could quite cheerfully strangle, right now, and that?s the truth. If there has ever been a clearer case of a footballer actually believing all the hype generated by the media about him, I?ve yet to find it. Yes, he?s good, very, very good, in fact, just like the little girl with the curl featured in the well-known nursery rhyme. And, when bad, really really horrid. Just like her. Sure, every striker worthy of the name needs to cultivate a certain amount of arrogance about their person ? in their specialised line of work, confidence is everything, and quite right, too ? but not to the point where there?s a prime focus on image, and largely at the expense of team-mates better placed to score.

How many times have I seen a repetition of those precise circumstances, of late? Of our lad trying to look good for the TV cameras by beating one, two, maybe three, even, opponents in their own box, and criminally neglectful of screams emanating from the lips of colleagues placed in a far better scoring position? Result? Wonderful to watch, but, more likely, ending in a nailed-on certain scoring opportunity spurned in maddening circumstances, for which we?d utter expressions of profound managerial regret at the subsequent press conference. The one held by the manager of the losing side, I mean.

Perhaps now is the time for someone taking ?yer man? quietly to one side, then pointing out that football is a team game, really, and some cooperation from him in that direction would be really appreciated, in future? And that brings me to the moral of my little tale, finally. Just stick to the simple stuff when banging ?em in, Joe, involve others lurking in the box, and we?ll love you lots more. OK?

Kev Phillips is a chap with vast experience with our good friends The Blubbery Ones From Aston, of late, also Southampton and Sunderland, both at this level and the Prem, of course. When with the Wearside mob, not only did he bang in 30 goals and help them secure their highest ever Prem finish, seventh, he also earned himself a European Golden Boot Award for his trouble. As things turned out, securing his services when our local rivals wanted to get rid, come the end of last season, was a smart bit of business, all right. As quietly efficient as Joe Kamara is brash, when on the field of play, he just gets on with it and leaves all the fancy-dan stuff to those wanting that sort of thing in heaps. Just the sort of bloke we?ll need when the chips are down, in fact. Let?s face it: anyone who can survive Doug Ellis, can cope with just about anything, short of nuclear conflict!

Carrying on with thoughts apropos those likely to feature in any play-off games, given starts, or on the subs bench, we now look at the likelihood of first-team status for Duke Ellington. For the umpteenth time, as I pen this piece, yet another player where the phrase ?nice, polite sort of lad? immediately springs to mind. The puzzling thing about him is the indisputable fact that when with Wigan, he was knocking in goals for fun, especially during their promotion season. We know he can do it at our level, and in fine style, too, so why the hell can?t he do it for us? When they do go in, more often than not, they?re absolute crackers, an explosion of both mind and limbs, culminating with the ball plopping into the back of the net, with an accompanying lusty roar emanating from the Brummie, more often than not. The assist for the Gera goal, yesterday, was a bit of all right, too. The fundamental problem with Our Nathan is that he?s very much a ?confidence? player. Just call me ?Mister Inconsistent?, OK? When he does get to bang one in at first-team level, he?s on fire for the remainder of the game, and well-dangerous in the box, too. Mark him completely out of it, though, and you?ve effectively lost a man.

Zoltan Gera excited me greatly when he first arrived on the Premiership scene with our club. A lad more than capable of doing what footballers are traditionally supposed to do: i.e. entertain matchday crowds, bang in some spectacular goals, get them wanting more, more, more. To look at him, you?d have him blown away come the first gust of strong wind, over Black Country rooftops innumerable, a la Mary Poppins ? but don?t let those elfin features fool you.

Inside that bijou body lurks steely resolve aplenty, and mental toughness of astonishing proportions. Not forgetting an amazingly spring-heeled talent for getting to high balls in a way that most defenders, invariably miles bigger and stronger than he, would be hard put to emulate. A bit of a frustrated gymnast, too, as pitch-side photographers innumerable will testify. Gera?s story is also all the more remarkable because of the multiplicity of inner demons he?s had to conquer, drink, drugs, the works, in order to get where he currently is.

His main drawback? Again, he?s something of a ?confidence? player, what some dinosaur managers steeped to the gills in rough-house, long-ball tactics, would call a ?tippy-tappy ball-juggler?, something that?s in all probability keeping him out of the side proper, right now. Not that it?s stopped Harry Redknapp sniffing around, mind: whether he does up and leave us, come the end of the season, isn?t necessarily the nailed-on cert everyone thinks. When he?s on form, though, he?s greased lightning, a static electrical charge of five-figure voltage, a diminutive exponent of fine ball-control skills, crackling and sparking his merry way down those flanks. Someone more than capable of hitting opposing keepers and defenders with an industrial-sized headache, when in or around the goalmouth: yesterday?s winning strike was a perfect illustration of that very same fact. At the moment, he?s very much our ?get out of jail? card. Would we risk giving him a start, though?

Chappy has come on a treat, of late. A real live wire in the middle, he is: perhaps the best thing ever to come out of Burnley, bar all those bloody witches, of course. Still very much one for the future, and maturing rapidly, like all good things. When at his best, which is where he was at the very start of the year, there weren?t all that many in our division better than he. The problem is, though, that for whatever reason, he seems to have had an awful crisis of confidence, of late, which would make for an awful risk come play-off time. A player who constantly gives the ball away very cheaply is very bad news indeed. Will probably stick to splinter-in-bum-mode, come crunch-time.

So there you have it. My thoughts regarding our current strengths and weaknesses. Our main priority, as I see it? Somehow inculcating a steelier spirit within the ranks, but without losing sight of the need to encourage players to perform in an entertaining manner at all times. It?s not an impossibility, getting out of this division with an emphasis upon free expression of ball skills. Ipswich, Man City, they?ve all done it in recent years, and so have Reading. Entertainment and promotion are by no means mutually exclusive aims. Given a bit of luck, and a decent following wind, we too can follow that same well-worn path.

Oh ? lest I forget, it doesn?t half help to get a decent referee assigned to your play-off game, too. Many?s the time I?ve seen some deserving side or another have their promotion hopes instantaneously snuffed out, thanks to some truly awful judgment-calls on offsides, penalties, and the like. Not your real ?sudden death? stuff, by any means, but Alan Wiley?s Spurs penalty clanger versus Reading, at White Hart Lane this afternoon, was just the sort of thing I had in mind. Power to the people! Make The Hawthorns a Uriah Rennie-free zone at once, I say!

And Finally?. Yet another natter with Laraine Astle, today, but on the old ?dog and bone? this time. The nature of that call? She still can?t help but break into an unstoppable fit of the giggles every single time the mental image of her, plus all the other 1970-vintage Albion ?WAGS?, each and every one of them attired in leopard-skin cat-suits, comes to mind. Oh, dear ? what have I started?

 - Glynis Wright

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