The Diary

23 April 2007: Turf Moor - Albion's Last Chance Saloon For The Play-Offs?

Funny how it is, that despite clear evidence to the contrary hitting me as full in the face as any Dingle in full ?hate? mode would, over the course of recent days and weeks, it?s still all too easy to get taken in by one particular set of assumptions about our lot, and their chances of being included in The Great Play-Off Hoedown, come the end of hostilities proper, some three games further down the line.

Basically, it?s all down to mistaken perceptions about when we?ve been doing well, and when we haven?t ? and, I?ll warrant, I?m not the first Baggie to fall into that very same statistical trap. So here?s the scoop, then: ask supporters which of our League records, home or away, has been the more blameworthy of costing the side automatic promotion (and the play-offs as well? Watch this space?), and I?m willing to bet, nine times out of ten, said supporters would immediately say: ?Our home record, as sure as my bum has great big yellow pustular pimples all over it,? or words to that effect.

And so would I, had it not been for ?Im Indoors, and the conversation I had with him on our way back from Darkest Herefordshire, earlier today. Asked the same question right now, you?d be dead wrong: just look at our home and away results, then compare ?em with that of other upwardly-mobile chancers, and you?ll see what I mean. It?s normally accepted that away wins going into double figures over the course of the season will get you out of this league automatically ? and, guess what, folks. Albion?s current away record? Oh dear, just seven won on the road ? and, erm ? that?s it. So our record there isn?t the great big hootenanny it?s cracked up to be, then. Sorry.

Cast your beady eyes above, to Blues and Sunderland, and you?ll find, as normally expected for sides well on track to reach escape velocity by the express route, they?ve both reached an impressive eleven-win tally. Third placed Derby? They have one more to their name. As for co-underachievers Preston, they too have but seven to brag about, as do Saints and Potties, with the Dingles having but two more than we under their belt.

Now look at our home record, and things really start to get interesting. Currently on Unlucky Thirteen Wins, we are: exactly the same total amassed as Blues and Sunderland, who occupy Spots One and Two respectively, of course. Third are Derby, with but one less home success than our lot: as for Preston, currently perched on fourth place slot, they too have just one more to their credit. Below us live The Dingles, Southampton and Stoke, their home win tallies being eleven, twelve and eleven respectively.

Oh, dear ? yet another potential Albion myth blown well and truly out of the water, then. Our strong away record proving our salvation this term? Er ? not really, and most certainly not the sort of news I?d have wanted to disseminate freely, just 24 hours before our televised Turf Moor Showdown. Funny, isn?t it, how you can all too easily psyche yourself into near-total reliance upon our two remaining awayadays getting us out of jail, late doors, only to find that application of infant-elementary statistical methods instantaneously reveals all those lovely assumptions we?d made to be a complete and utter crock of You-Know-What. Oh dear ? just two days or so ago, I?d have been as confident as you like of picking up all three points from Lancashire. Now I?m not so sure.

Still, most of the weekend?s results went in our favour, the potential fly in the ointment ? Blues-Dingles ? ending with the Small Heath persuasion nicking all three points late doors, and that after their unspeakable gold-and-cack counterparts had stuffed up what would have proved a face-saving penalty, had it reached the target. One of those revelatory moments when, had they NOT proven totally incapable of hitting a barn door at twelve paces??.. Well, you get my drift.

It?s still as tight as the lid on Steve The Miser?s money-box, though, this play-off qualification lark, mind, so just about anything could happen between now and our final game of the current campaign, versus Barnsley. Win tomorrow, and we can put some clear blue water between ourselves and those lovely folkies from up the road. And the numerous other hopefuls trotting in their wake.

Finish honours even? Not ideal, but not a complete and utter disaster, either. Lose, though, and things could wind up terribly marginal at The Ricoh, next weekend. One consolatory thought about that Barnsley home caper I mentioned, mind: remember the nightmare scenario I postulated recently, of us needing a point to qualify, them a point to stay up, and my send-up of what sort of a game we could expect, were those the ground rules in place come the last day?

They?ve now reached the magical fifty points, thank goodness, about the minimum necessary for survival, I would say. Sure, there remains an outside chance of them getting caught and overtaken (it?s not entirely unknown for sides to take the drop with that many points on the board), but that must surely come into the ?hell freezing over? category, by this stage of the game. With any luck, our final game will be a meaningless affair for both sides. Eeee, by ?eck ? trouble at t?mill or not, I might even dust off me old cloth cap and whippet by way of celebration! And, if you?re really unlucky, there?s always the old ?tin bath in front of the fire? bathing ritual to be followed, too. Black pudding by the lorry-load, anyone? But then again, having been ?treated? to the sight of me shucking off all my clothing, then doing things to a loofah that nature never intended, perhaps I should leave that sort of celebratory ritual well alone, if only to preserve the mental health of my fellow Baggies!

So what else has floated our collective boat over the course of the previous seven days, then? First off is what I shall call ?Mystery Corner?. Just who was it we saw wearing an Albion T-shirt in the middle of nowhere (well, that?s how it seemed to us at the time!), approximately a mile from the village of Tan?Y?Bont, on the main drag to Aberystwyth? Own up immediately, or The Wrath Of Great Auntie Glynis will surely descend upon you with an almighty bang!

Having had more than our fill of League action for a while, yesterday, we made an executive decision to find our footy fix in parts far removed from the professional ranks. In a place called Wellington, actually. No, not the Shropshire flavour, or the Devonian version, either, just the one you?ll find nestling slightly off the main drag between Leominster and Hereford, and not all that far from the infamous Cadbury factory that churned out chocolate with an unsavoury ?free gift? ? salmonella bacteria, in heaps ? just a few months back, in case you should want to take in a game there yourselves.

We have been there before, but not within the last twelve months or so, which made our choice of game additionally tasty. The West Midlands League is their current stamping-ground, which in itself is something of an eclectic mix for those involved. One can only interpret that competition name very loosely indeed, given that half the sides in it are very much rural, and the rest having more than a whiff of the industrial Black Country about them.

That day?s opponents were Shawbury, a Shropshire village side, if my geography is correct, and the home side very much the superior one, on paper, if the league table in the programme was correct. Not too many people turning up to watch, sadly, despite Wellington having amenities for spectators well superior to a good many at that level ? two covered stands, a tannoy system, and a decent little snack bar, too, with a social club at the back for those who liked their bibulous pleasures stronger.

And so, there we were, in what might be termed the ?main stand? angled just behind one corner flag, with the woodwork and rigging to our right. And from the start, events proceeded in a way far removed from that of the more glamorous end of the game. You never hear a lino telling a gobby player to ?just shut up and get on with it? at our level, do you? And, for the most part, offenders doing precisely that. Mind you, it does help when even the crowd, small though it was, invariably sided with the lino ? but not necessarily interceding on behalf of their favourites, either. They were just as likely to admonish their own for particularly nasty infringements, much to our astonishment. See, I told you it was different.

Wellington?s superiority soon became apparent, creating numerous chances down the flanks, with one lad in particular looking more than a cut above the rest. Maybe he?d once been on the books of some more elevated outfit or other ? as a YTS lad, maybe? ? then been ditched after the usual two year period in the youth ranks.

One other hallmark of games at this level: the ref seemed far more inclined to let infringements go than would be acceptable further up the ladder. Bookings, it would seem, were regarded as very much a last resort rather than an attempt on the part of the ref to exert his authority. More than once we witnessed what amounted to a personal vendetta brewing out there, then once it was blown over and both combatants haring off up the pitch again, turning to each other in complete wonderment, simultaneously muttering something along the lines of: ?Well, there had to be a foul in that lot SOMEWHERE, surely?...?. Not that either side thought all that much of it, it would appear: they sure as hell make ?em tough, competing at that level!

One nice touch, at half-time: out came a club official bearing gifts, in this case, leftover food from the buffet laid on for both sets of players. Sausage rolls, normal footie-ground fare at our level, were one item on offer for nowt ? and they came with a pleasant surprise, too. Not the miserable shrivelled-up grease-traps we?re familiar with, mind: no sirree, these babes were definitely home-made, up to and including the actual puff pastry surrounding the ?banger? bit. Melt-in-the-mouth fare indeed, and totally unexpected, too, which made the sampling of them an additionally pleasant experience for both of us.

As for the game itself, the away side took the lead first ? not in the script, that, with Wellington equalising. But that wasn?t the half of it: pretty soon, the home side found themselves 4-2 down to the Shropshire upstarts, prompting me, being more used to similar events at our level, to quietly comment ?game over, then?.?. But the fun was only just starting, it would seem. Come the last ten minutes, and the ref?s patience with a Shawbury lad who just couldn?t leave the old verbals alone, finally ran out (He?d already been booked for similar. God knows what he said to the ref to warrant it: probably called his maiden aunt a whore, and threatened his dad with a nuclear strike on his prize leeks, or similar, if the laissez-faire stuff that had gone on previously was anything to go by) resulting in the guy taking a bath slightly earlier than he?d originally planned. Just the thing the home side wanted: by the time the final whistle went, they?d made up the deficit, but ran out of road before they could go one better, sadly.

And that wasn?t the whole of the Wellington story, either. Thanks to a few government grants, and not a little handy fund-raising, their outfit is a thriving one indeed. Not only do the village have an adult side operating at that level, they also boast umpteen reserve and youth sides, right down to under-eight level if my memory serves me correctly, and with a female outfit chucked in for good measure, too. Leafing through their programme during a break in play, it became immediately apparent that they had at their disposal numerous coaches qualified to perform at the various levels involved, and with all the various benefits a thriving social side can offer, too. Even a lady acting as ?child welfare officer?, too. Sorted out all the bases, by the look of things. Good stuff? Not ?arf, and we?ll be most certainly down there again before too long, I shouldn?t wonder.

And that, mes amis, brings me back neatly to tomorrow night. Burnley it is, then, at Turf Moor. Hold on to your hollyhocks, mind, because we could well be in for a bit of a bumpy ride before the game?s through. The Clarets are nobody?s mugs, and their supporters can get a tad ?overenthusiastic? too. It?s as well to remember they too were sitting pretty near the top of the table when the current season was but young. Since then, however, their form has been abysmal, the net result being they?ve looked in far more danger of leaving the division by the rear exit, of late. Having said that, they did turn the corner, eventually, twelve from their last fifteen being their reward. That little run of theirs has included taking out Plymouth (4-0) and Norwich (3-0), currently leaving them some nine points clear of the abyss below. And, hopefully, with very few pressing issues remaining for this one.

Mowbray watched them recently, and by the look of his comments was most impressed with their action. ?Work very hard for each other? was his summary of their abilities, according to the Albion website. I reckon that?s football code for ? somewhat robust in style?, which is about par for the course for similar divisional workhorses, these days.

Burnley? They could have the lad McVeigh back and running, his recent absence being one as per his loan agreement not to turn out against his ?proper? club, Norwich. No such constraints on us, though, so he?ll be raring to go tomorrow night, I expect. Not so good is the news about Clarets playmate Steve Foster: an errant Achilles tendon will mean the lad playing ?wallflower? for this particular ?excuse me?.

Turning to our own sick and lame, Curtis Davies, broken metatarsal and everything, is a no-no, long-term, Sam Sodje has an unspecified illness, and might not be well enough to do his thing. Who do ya call? No, not ?Ghostbusters?, you silly Baggie, Chris Perry, The Forgotten Man Of West Bromwich, it would seem ? and yes, he does indeed exist, and is NOT a hologram, either! Definitely out of it are ?bad boys? Neil Clement and Darren Carter, both suspended as a result of their recent bout of madness. Another related thought ? just how many more painkilling injections can Paul Robinson?s body tolerate, I wonder?

There are lots of stories ?bubbling under? right now regarding just who will be making the pierhead jump from the club come the end of the current season ? assuming we don?t go up, of course. Mowbray has said something to the effect that if all those allegedly making waves genuinely don?t want to stay, that?s fine by him. He?d much rather get in people who want to play for him, next season. Time to worry about all that once all the play-off blood and snot?s died down, and we can contemplate next season in a much more tranquil frame of mind. Mind you, most of the noise seems to be coming from agents, so what will happen in reality is anyone?s guess. Might well turn out that some of those so-called ?tempting? offers simply don?t materialise, come the summer.

I will be saying more nearer to the end of term, also a few words about the arrangements Albion are putting in place should we qualify for the sudden death bit after all. For now I?ll just content myself with a shrieked ?You rotten sods: isn?t the normally-massive revenue stream from this sort of thing good enough for you, any more?? And, as you might have gathered from my last, no, I?m not at all amused by what I?ve seen?.

One other parting thought: as you know, The Noise is currently hors de combat, and feeling distinctly down in the mouth as a result of all this medically-enforced inactivity. Our Cunning Plan to cheer the bugger up? We?re going to visit his place mob-handed tomorrow afternoon, on our way to the Burnley game! Half an hour in the good company of a Baggie or three, and the Loquacious One should be jumping around like a newborn spring lamb! Or something.

And Finally?? THINGS I HAVE LEARNED THIS WEEK.

1. Wombats, the male ones, that is, have their ?meat and two veg? arranged in the opposite way to human males: i.e. ?two veg? first, then the ?meat?! Mind you, being Aussie, what else would you expect?

2. They are also the only creatures in the entire animal kingdom to excrete cube-shaped turds. The moral of my little story? Never let dried specimens get anywhere near where your missus keeps her Oxo (or cannabis resin, come to think about it) stash!

3. Every eight years, you are twice as likely to die as you would have been over the course of the preceding eight.

4. There is, genuinely, such a thing as GREEN beer! Not to be served as an accompaniment to our night-time lunar companion?s alleged similarly-coloured dairy-based bedrock, mind, but found lurking in the taps and pulls of Abergavenny?s Wetherspoon pub franchise instead. Not being aware the stuff even existed, let alone offered for sale in pubs, the look on my face, as my other half proudly bore a pint of the stuff to our resting-place, must have been wondrous to behold. $p And, yes ? the stuff really does look like the sort of thing they?d sell in the British Nuclear Fuels Social Club, Sellafield, and on appearance alone, looking more than ready to send the needle of any self-respecting Geiger counter whizzing right off the clock. Beer it genuinely is, though ? and very potent too, so my other half tells me!

5. Female cuckoos lay their solitary egg in the nest of some poor unsuspecting avian mother-to-be, then bugger off straight away, to whatever foreign land they came here from in the first place. Being parasitic by nature, once hatched, the unwanted sprog busily engages itself in turfing out all the ?genuine? young, leaving a very puzzled ?foster mum? suddenly wondering why it is she?s still feeding a ?baby? that?s ballooned to two or three times her own size. Once grown, it?s then down to instinct for the young cuckoo to find its own way abroad, its natural parents having left it in the lurch months before.

6. (Possibly the most disturbing of the whole lot, really.) You can literally buy a gun over the counter in Virginia, very few background checks involved, and provided it?s just one per month, no limit on subsequent purchases either. So that?s all right, then. And, should you not want to give too much away about yourself and your current mental state to the authorities ? oh, I dunno, howzabout latent paranoia, schizophrenic tendencies, bipolar disorder, severe and/or chronic depression, giving rise to suicidal thoughts, and resulting in past compulsory hospitalisation, perhaps? - provided your fowling-piece(s) of choice is/are purchased at a gun fair, you don?t even have to bother with the tiresome wait for the checking out bit, either.

7. In Slimbridge Wildfowl Trust, halfway between Bristol and Gloucester, and situated on the banks of the Severn, there lives a species of swan that carries its cygnets on its back.

8. Somebody Up There Loves Us! Dingles 2, Blues 3, and our chums from up the road missing a last minute penalty ? what more can one say?

9. Well done, Albion, with that open day held for the Disabled Branch last week, where the players did their training at the ground, and not their usual haunt, with lunch laid on for those watching afterwards.

10. Er ? that?s it!

Now here?s a conversational gem for you lot out there! The place? Our holiday home, around brekkie time one morning last week. It was ?Im Indoors that started things off, mind. ?You know it?s getting close to our wedding anniversary, don?t you?? sayeth he. (it?s a running joke between both of us that we invariably miss celebrating the event, purely and simply because we?ve both plumb forgotten about it every single time!)

Me: ?Some time, now, isn?t it? Blimey, was it really as long ago as 1991??

Him: ?Yep, sixteen years of marriage?..?

Me (thinking vaguely along the lines of ?different designations for different wedding anniversaries?: eg. paper, tin, lace etc): ?What do you get for sixteen years, I wonder?.....?

Him (sighing): ?Life?....?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index