The Diary

07 April 2007: Stoke City, Tomorrow - And Me!

Right, then. It?s the evening before we do battle with those lovely Pottie people, The Stokies, so before I proceed any further with tonight?s offering, I?d better set out my stall in no uncertain terms, then, hadn?t I? Between me, you and the goal-post ? aw, sod it: in for a penny, in for a pound, why the hell shouldn?t I proclaim what I am about to relate to the whole bloody world, while I?ve got the chance to do it? ? I HATE SODDING STOKE CITY! Period. End of.

I believe it was Shakespeare (Will, not Craig) that once penned the immortal line: ?Shall I compare thee to a summer?s day?? In the case of our Pottery chums, just substitute for the last bit the phrase ?high-toxicity radioactive waste?, yeah? Now you?re getting the idea. The fundamental problem I have with that lot is dead simple; even a child still in its nappies could get round the all mental convolutions necessary to augment proper understanding of the situation.

Our away record versus ?Them? is sodding appalling, and as for the ?home? version, that?s not all that much better, either. Whenever we mix it with them, no matter what sort of side we put out, I invariably find the whole 90-minute ordeal about as frustrating as that of winning a competition, the prize for which is a whole night spent in the sole company of an entire harem?s worth of eunuchs. They are big, ugly and not at all averse to the rough stuff, when it suits them. Stoke City, I mean, not the eunuchs: unless you happen to have eunuchs who are also Stoke City supporters, of course, in which case, all bets are off. They chew up sides like ours, and spit out the soggy bits for fun. Not nice at all. I still have nightmares about bloody Lou Macari, erstwhile gaffer to the Britannia Stadium mob, ditto bloody Mark Stein. In some ways, tomorrow is a re-run of 1992-93, the only difference being Stoke were the side riding high at that time, and not us.

But the results? Oh, dear: an early 3-4 reverse at their place (pre-Britannia, of course), during the course of which most of our players ended up either studying the sky intently (what else can you do to take your mind off the pain, while waiting for the physio to minister unto your various abrasions and contusions?), or screaming variations upon a general theme of ?Aaarrrgh!?. And the home fixture that season didn?t go any better, either. Surprise, surprise, we lost 2-1. Same deal in the Mickey Mouse Cup, too, at their place. Oh ? and Chris Kamara might exude sweetness and innocence from every pore when doing his thing for Sky these days ? and even have the unmitigated cheek to condemn unreservedly rough-house tactics employed by one or another of the sides he?s been assigned to report upon ? but, as the old James Bond film song once said: ?Nobody Does It Better?. Just ask Gary Robson.

So there you have it. My antipathy towards the North Staffordshire side goes about as deep as the San Marianas Trench, you won?t be too surprised to hear, and for the precise reasons I detail above. And yep - bacteria of all sorts infest the volcanic vents of that deep-sea Pacific phenomenon, also. It?s as if the gods saw us thrash the living daylights out of them when Talbot was manager ? the 6-0, at the end of the eighties, when Tony Ford, later a Baggie himself, saw red ? then promptly cast forth an edict from on high that we?d be made to bloody suffer for all eternity thereafter for our presumptuous cheek. We have beaten them once in the Cup, at our place, since then ? 3-1 was it? - and also in the League, too, I believe ? but that?s yer lot, I?m afraid.

This season represented the first time we?ve had the displeasure of their company in a long, long time, what with our two-seasons-long dalliance with the Prem, and their startling upwards mobility, of late. After seeing our lot actually start to string some results together, following the arrival of our current manager upon the scene, I?d genuinely thought we might get one across them come the away fixture, earlier this season ? but nope. Once more, the status quo asserted itself (no, Rick Parfitt and his equally wrinkly chums didn?t provide the half-time entertainment at their place, sorry!), and, to no-one?s particular surprise, we went and dipped by the one miserable bloody goal. It?s my ball, and I?m playing with it, so here I go again: I HATE STOKE CITY?? Grrrr.

Ooooh, I don?t half feel better, now I?ve got it off my chest. Not my bra, silly, Stoke. Time to get all that steam cleared away from my ears, now, by including in tonight?s piece something that?s about as far away from the Potteries as anyone can get, namely a forthcoming charity fundraiser. Some of you may recall my past posts about a lad called Steve Hayden, who sadly lost his fight against leukaemia at the start of this season, and at the untimely age of 26, too. News of his death came as a complete bombshell to me, as he?d had a bone marrow transplant, and seemed to be recovering from that very well indeed when I eventually clapped eyes on him, not all that long after he was discharged from hospital, finally. He?d even regained some of his strength, and was very much in the business of taking in some Albion games, at long last. Hence my complete and utter shock when I heard of his death.

Anyway, what?s happening very soon is this: over the course of a two-week period next month, a 13-strong group of people, the Hayden family included, also a Dudley News journo who was a big mate of Steve?s, Mark Stanford, will be visiting each of the 92 Football League and Premiership clubs ? and will be looking for sponsors, of course. ?Stadiums For Steve? is the title of this ambitious venture, their journey taking them from mighty Man United in the North to lowly Torquay in the south-west, with many, many station stops in between. To ?do? the entire lot in the time available, the forward planning must have been horrendous. The group start the ball rolling by turning up at Northampton Town on Sunday April the 15th, and hope to finish by Friday April the 27th, at The Hawthorns, of course. Where else?

All proceeds from the group?s trip will go to the Birmingham-based charity ?Cure Leukaemia?, the money coming from either what cash they get given at each ground in turn, or by subsequently auctioning off any items of club memorabilia they get presented with along the way. And, as previously mentioned, they?re looking for sponsors in quantity, of course, - which is where you lot come in. To make a donation, just tune in to (hope I?ve got this right: feel free to curse me richly, if I haven?t!) www.justgiving.com/stadiumsforsteve. As I?ve said before, I don?t have the necessary savvy to create the link, you?ll just have to copy the above and hope for the best, I?m afraid.

Oh ? and you can also keep up with progress by reading the journo?s blog on www.dudleynews.co.uk/blog. Leukaemia is very much a case of ?there but for the grace of God go I?. A good many people think it?s something exclusively confined to children. But it ain?t. There are many varieties of this loathsome disease, some affecting kids, sure, but others claiming people in middle or old age, even: it all depends upon what group of white blood cells are affected, some forms more treatable than others, and with varying virulence, too.

Some forms can lumber on for years, with minimal symptoms, and the sufferer die with the disease, not from it, while other versions can go through people like a red-hot rivet. Just to demonstrate how insidious the thing can really be, Steve genuinely thought he simply had the flu, thought he was wasting his GP?s time by going to the surgery in the first place. Two hours later, he was in his local hospital receiving a blood transfusion. Just like some negative version of the National Lottery, it could indeed be ?YOU? get those ghastly six balls up, and at considerably shorter odds, I?ll wager.

And, on that depressing note, I?ll now turn to much more cheerful matters. Very much connected to the Hayden family, though, because the other day, we were at Kiddy Branch for their latest thrash, and with Albion?s Two Doctors, John Evans, and (now retired, of course) Roger Rimmer. The one with the Ph.D., our Chief Exec, came to football from the wild and woolly world of managing a university side, secondary school teaching, with part-time work for Northampton Town FC chucked in as well, and admixed with some pretty strong Black Country roots, too ? does Tipton do it for you?

As for Doc Rimmer, he?s also a local lad, his dad being the owner of a Wednesbury pharmacy. A five-year spell at Birmingham Medical School during the late fifties, followed by a pre-registration year (they?re called Junior House Officers, aka ?interns? in the US, in case you didn?t know) doing six month stints apiece in medicine and surgery at Hallam Hospital, the site of which is now Sandwell NHS Trust Hospital. A spell doing midwifery training followed, then secondment to a local GP ? who just happened to be Albion?s club doctor! And, one course in sports medicine at Lilleshall, later, that?s where it all started for the lad.

After retirement, he became a Life Member of our football club, and quite right, too! You won?t be too surprised to hear he?s still a regular at games, both home and away. Even better, many years later, Doc?s daughter Julie, who?d spent many hours as a baby in the Hawthorns, sitting on her dad?s lap, duly qualified as a medic herself ? and guess what? She became the first ever female club doc to a Football League side, only giving that up when the siren call of maternity finally beckoned.

Two people, then, coming into football from entirely different angles, but what good entertainment value they proved to be that night. As usual, John was his forthcoming, honest self with many pertinent comments on the current state of the game, and as for the other ?doc?, he too had his contributions to make to the proceedings. I guess he was limited somewhat by issues of medical confidentiality in what he could say, or not say, so it?s fair comment that John The Ph.D ? ?Some would call it heritage, some would call it child abuse?.?: the habit a lot of Baggie people had, back then, of visiting The Hawthorns one week, then Molineux when we were away the next! - was the more effusive of the two. One comment Doc Rimmer did make struck me, though: the revelation that the worst ever injury he?d seen as Albion?s doc was that to Bryan Robson very early on in his career, when he broke not one bone in the same incident, but two, tibia (shinbone) and fibula (the thinner one at the back!). Also, confirmation of what I?d long suspected: metatarsal injuries were very much ?a new kid on the block? and relatively unknown in days of yore.

Suffice to say this meeting was an engaging one, going on long past the ?witching hour? of ten pm. and the buffet spread excellent, as per usual ? but there was yet another reason why this particular meeting had more about it than usual. Puzzled? Let me explain.

Hands up, all those readers of this column who remember Fab Traccana, then. Name ring a bell? No? OK ? let me explain. Back in the time before we made our very first ascent to the giddy heights of the Prem, you wouldn?t have found a more loyal follower than Fab. Come hail wind or shine, home or away, he?d be there, cheering his favourites on, with more than a modicum of vitriol held in stock for reserve fixtures, during the course of which he poured it in liberal quantities, destined for the shell-like ears of all those players he deemed not to be making sufficient effort out there.

And not necessarily confined to blue-pencil-type stuff, either. Any idiot can swear a blue streak. Just like countless Regimental Sergeant-Majors, both past and present, he didn?t have need to resort to gratuitous obscenity at all: a few pertinent words from the lad ? the acoustics can be truly wonderful in the Halfords when there?s but a few people there! ? and just about everyone, players, home dug-out, and directors inclusive, knew precisely where Fab stood concerning the likes of Fabian De Freitas, and those of similarly dead-beat ilk.

So what happened afterwards, then? I?ll tell you: promotion happened to Fab. To put it bluntly, he was exceeding racked-off about the way the club was going, about the sheer expense of Premiership football, and all for a ?product? ? Oh, Gawd, Jeremy Peace would have multiple orgasms over that last word, he really would, were he to see it ? that was about as functional in that league as an ashtray on a motorbike. And, we being locked into an income stream that could never, ever catch up with the real big boys, even in a month of Sky Super Sundays (hah!), all he could see was an eternity of running to the point of metaphorical collapse, just to keep in touch with the considerably more opulent rest. In actual fact, that?s precisely what Fab said to Doctor John apropos the subject: I can only comment that the good doc sups very much from a half-full cup these days!

As our newly-rediscovered chum said to us before the start of Wednesday?s Kiddy meeting (you could see both our jaws drop about six feet the very minute he strolled into the room, ?twas the first time we?d clapped eyes on him in about two seasons, I reckon): of the group he used to attend games with, he?s the only one now left standing, so to speak. What brought him back to the fold? Mowbray?s much more positive brand of football, I guess. The others? Apathy, interference from Sky, and horrendous ticket price inflation claimed ?em all, in the end. Mind you, moving to Wolverhampton - ?But they?re pretty quiet, actually?.? - couldn?t have done too much for Fab?s peace of mind. Mind you, they?re STILL swearing blind (What else did you expect from that little lot? Non-stop nursery rhymes?) they were unlucky versus Southampton, you?ll be surprised to hear.

But he did have a tale or three to relate about the recent England games, the ones at Tel Aviv and Barcelona. Six flights in eight days, no less, the first one via a connecting flight going from Vienna, believe it or not. Not surprisingly, the security for the second leg being shit-hot, most were a little apprehensive about journeying there ? I reckon I would have had severe misgivings about going, and I was once mixed up in some pretty nasty fighting following Tamil guerilla activity in Sri Lanka, so I?m not a complete novice to that sort of thing ? but they were made most welcome by the locals, which helped, I suppose.

Apparently, provided you didn?t act too friendly towards the Palestinians, you were OK. Not the sort of deal I would have had sitting easily on my conscience, personally, but there you go. When in Rome, and all that jazz?. Any road up, they were taken by some locals to the Dead Sea, where Fab And Chums flaunted their marble-white flesh ad lib in what little damage the sun could do, its rays having to travel 600 or so feet below sea-level. And also floated around to their Baggie hearts? content (it?s one of the most saline environments on the entire planet, lethal to any sort of wildlife, big, small, indifferent, microscopically unicellular, whatever, Dingles included, but because of that, even wimpish non-swimmers like me could thrash away like billy-oh, and not be in any danger whatsoever of drowning.) As the lad himself said: ?Good job there were no Japanese tourists there, we could have been mistaken for whales very easily!? Er ? no comment, Fab. Said she, ever the diplomat.

Back to Heathrow after the game then, just a few days later still, out to Barca ? errrr - via Berlin, would you believe? No ? I didn?t understand, either, but as Fab reckoned the entire thing only cost around ?80, then I can only assume the ends justified the means, even though they didn?t do an awful lot for the environment while they were doing it. And while the lad was over there, who else should he spot, but yet another Albion supporter not seen around the Shrine for a long time, ?Strod? Crockett, bless his little freckly face and Burberry cap. And yes, he was in Tel Aviv, too. I know because Fab spotted him there, also!

Interesting to note, also, that while he was in Barcelona, Fab had chance to speak to some Watford supporters, now tasting the ? erm ? ?delights? of the Prem for themselves, of course, and currently making very heavy weather of it. One question only emanated from the ample lips of our chubby chum, as you might expect: now they were up, and had been so for nearly nine months, what did they think of England?s top flight? Lots, apparently: ?bitterly regret getting promotion? being one much-repeated phrase from the lips of those by-now-disillusioned gentlemen. And ladies.

And so, the wheel turns full circle, and once more to the start of my piece, tomorrow?s doings versus those awful Stokies. Ugh. Followed, on Easter Monday, by a brief East Anglian dalliance with Norwich, another side who can be an absolute pain in the butt, at times. There?s free transport laid on, so we should be going mob-handed to this one. And it?s my birthday, too. No, I?m not going to give away any secrets, but let me put it his way: when I finally get around to lighting the candles on the cake, preparatory to blowing them out, take it as read that the local fire brigade will be on standby!

Team news? City Still have fond hopes of reaching the play-offs, - yeah, right, and no, they?re not on wacky baccy: well, not to the best of my knowledge and belief, at any rate ? so they?ll be full of it when they come to our place tomorrow. So underwhelmed have the Potty populace been by this fixture, Albion will have tickets for the away end on sale right until the ref blows his whistle.

As for injuries, Salif Diao is still out and Andy Griffin suspended. Darel Russell has a hamstring problem and is doubtful, but they reckon Lee Hendrie, poisonous wizened dwarf that he is, will be emerging (slithering?) from that players tunnel come five to three. The really bad news? According to their website, all their strikers are fit to play ? Fuller (who so nearly became a Baggie, of course), Sidibe, and Parkin. And yes ? they all scored last week.

And so, we turn our attention once more to our lot. (Remarkable, though, that City?s website asserts that the Albion player to watch is Joe Kamara! Their homework couldn?t have been as well researched as I?d thought, then!) One difficulty we do have is with the fact that no less than three of our finest currently hover on a disciplinary knife-edge, owing to the fact they?ve all incurred nine yellow cards apiece. The ?criminals?? Joe Kamara; Darren Carter ? and, last but not least, Robbo. Get them through tomorrow, and they?re OK until the end, pretty much, as the whole thing gets wiped come the final whistle, and they then start from scratch, once more, fleas or no fleas. Are you confident either/all of the three will keep out of bother for the entire 90 minutes? I?m flaming well not!

Darren Carter should be OK to play after his leetle bit of groin trouble at QPR. Clem and Robbo? In the wars again, and getting yet more painkilling injections for their sins. Can?t say I?m altogether happy to see them get made a pin-cushion of so many times, just to mask some problem or other that clearly needs seeing to, but with a squad like ours, it?s very much a case of ?needs must?, I suppose. And don?t ask me for a prediction. One thing that years of watching Albion do battle with Stoke has taught me: never, EVER bet on the Baggies under those circumstances! OK?

And Finally?.. How many of you have been following ?Life On Mars?, the Beeb?s excellent cop fantasy, where the hero gets hit by a car, winds up in a coma, to all intents and purposes, but somehow gets transported back in time to 1973? A wonderful concept, and a damned good excuse for the writer to bring into the storyline all the various kinds of macho and non-PC constabulary naughtiness prevalent at that time, despite the thing looking like a long-forgotten episode of The Sweeny, by any other name, occasionally.

It all now remains for poor Sam Tyler to somehow get back to policing, 2007 style, terrorist threats by Islamic fundamentalists, out-of-control drug problems, the supreme importance, these days, of maintaining one?s image when confronted by the media notwithstanding. (Back again, and confronted with that lot once more, if I were in his shoes, I?d be sorely tempted to head straight for a handy bit of main road, chuck myself at the nearest speeding vehicle, and try to arrange a prompt, if somewhat messy, return?.)

But, if he plays his cards right, there?s an obvious killing to be made, and well done to my other half for thinking up this particular wheeze, just the other night. Supposing Sam went into a 1973 Ladbrokes, say, and put a bet on Second Division Sunderland to win the FA Cup, and Derby to win the First Division Championship? Marooned in time he might well be, and inextricably so, but it doesn?t half help if you?re stinking rich, with it!

Two?. Spent a fascinating afternoon today at RAF Cosford, near Dingle-land, where they?ve just opened a permanent Cold War Museum there. I commend it to anyone: it?s free admission, ditto car-parking, just off the M54 in the Shrewsbury direction, but not unreasonably, they do politely ask you if you would care to indulge in the book of words about the various exhibits, on entry.

Just about everything you wanted to know about those strange times, but were afraid to ask, really. Funny to think that there?s a whole generation growing up, right now, that?s not had the threat of global thermonuclear conflict constantly hanging over their heads. For the moment., at least, so-called ?rogue states? or their terrorist chums can only dish out damage in piffling quantities, by current standards, which leaves us all with just memories of the two biggest players in the game, USA and the USSR snarling at one another at various times in recent history. I can remember the Cuban Missile Crisis all-too clearly (and, believe you me, it came VERY close to the brink, far closer than most people actually realise): ditto all the other so-called ?hot wars? raging, by proxy of the two main players, through various continents around that time, so what?s happening these days is but chicken-feed, by comparison.

Whether you want to amaze your kids, or simply convince ?em that all threats of nuclear war are a no-no, get yourself down there. Lots to see - we didn?t even half scratch the surface of it, try though we did ? and, if you?re anything like me, you?ll emerge convinced that the world has been very lucky indeed to survive unscathed these past fifty years or so. Let?s just hope that in future, no-one else gets sufficiently unhinged to give it yet another dangerous dollop of pointless madness. And that the phrase ?going nuclear? refers to an Alan Buckley half-time team-talk only, and not what happens when you start pushing little red buttons ad lib, just because your nation?s leader?s had the political and strategic equivalent of a falling-out over who gets to trim the overhanging branches of the tree that straddles both sides of the garden fence.

 - Glynis Wright

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