The Diary

06 May 2007: The FInal Countdown - Coo, What A Big 'Un I've Got Tonight!

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I'll begin.....

MONDAY 30TH APRIL. (CRUNCH-DAY MINUS SIX AND COUNTING?.)

Spent a fair bit of time on my travels today ?having a bit of a natter to the Bluenose Butcher, open this morning for deliveries ? and a very, very happy man, for obvious reasons! When I walked into his shop, he was waving his chopper around very enthusiastically indeed, not surprising at all for someone who, just 24 hours before, had watched (and not even that, when you sit and think about it), Steve Bruce?s grot-bags gain promotion without kicking a single sodding ball in anger, even. Enough to give the average self-respecting Baggie a fit of the vapours, that.

And yet, it could all have gone rather pear-shaped for Blues in their own game versus Sheffield Wednesday the preceding day. Apparently, Wednesday missed opportunity after opportunity themselves before eventually conceding to the home side. It?s the same sort of three-cornered luck that ordains this will be YOUR year, no matter what. It?s the same sort of luck that, back in 2001-02?s successful promotion push, saw us grab a goal versus Coventry at our place ? but courtesy a most unusual part of the human anatomy, a Sky Blues defender?s bum! When that sort of improbability starts happening to you, you know you can only go one way! But I do wish that whoever doled out what amounted to a free passage to the Prem for our Bluenose chums, could have disseminated their blessings in the direction of a much more deserving cause.

TUESDAY 1ST OF MAY. (C-DAY MINUS FIVE AND COUNTING?)

I kick off on a slightly sad note, today. Around nine this morning I had a call from ?Im Indoors?s mother to say that his gran, the one who?d just racked up her 100th birthday and card from the Queen, had died earlier that morning. She?d had a fall, apparently, broken her hip, was taken to a local hospital, but died there, sadly.

No-one?s getting too sad and maudlin about it, as she?d been deteriorating for quite some time, but there is to be a coroner?s inquest, as some concern was also expressed about how she came to fall in the first place. One thing I?m certain about, though. She?d intended to hang on no matter what, in order to be around long enough to get that much-anticipated royal message ? it got to the stage, at one point, where I was certain she?d gone and signed a pact with the Devil.

Apart from the sort of vision and mobility problems you?d reasonably expect to see in someone that age, she was physically OK, and as bright as a button, mentally ? and that?s precisely what she went and did. Hung on, I mean, not ended up as a bit-player in one of the various Circles Of Hades, poking roasting sinners with a pitchfork for a living. Mind you, from what Si?s mob have told me about the old lady and her amazing strength of character, I strongly suspect that she?d no doubt regard such infernal activities as being very much in the way of a later-non-life career move for her.

That very same evening, we both settled down to watch the Liverpool Chelski European Cup game on the box. A smashing encounter, a credit to both sides, really, as exciting as hell, and what was, for me, at any rate, a very satisfactory outcome. I hate Chelski with every particle of my being, I really do (not a recent thing, that, even back in the sixties I regarded them as somewhat worse than your average London side, very strong on the old showbiz glitz, but with about as much substance and character as the Russian Steppes) but what first made me realise that they?d have very little chance of walking away the winners of this one, was the Kop.

Even normally-verbose ITV shut their pundit-sized mouths for once, as the Merseyside club?s home end got into top gear, immediately prior to both sides emerging from the players? tunnel. Stunning, weren?t they, those wonderful TV images of all those flags, scarves and people, all belting out with feeling the most well-known (and poignant, too, given its close association with the 1989 Hillsborough disaster) supporters? song in the game?s history? That for me, is very much a part of what football?s all about, born of the people and performed by the people. Yes, and for that very same reason, downright moving, too: anyone watching the spectacle, and not appreciating that very same fact must have surely been dead from the neck up, and right from birth, I reckon.

A seething mass of humanity thousands and thousands strong, they were, and all more than possessed with sufficient lung-power to blow the ball straight into the back of the Chelski net, metaphorically speaking. And that was precisely what they did. We at Albion often speak of our supporters being a virtual ?twelfth man?, but as far as the Kop?s concerned, especially on tonight?s showing, it?s no contest. A bit like the auditory difference between a genteel violin recital, and an eardrum-busting live Who concert, if you like!

Oh, and another thought, this time one apropos what fun and joy the passing of April showers can bring us, so here goes!: Hooray, hooray, the First Of May/So outdoor sex begins today!

WEDNESDAY 2ND OF MAY (C-DAY MINUS FOUR AND COUNTING?.)

Oh, joy, at last yet another recalcitrant domestic appliance has finally seen sense and decided to behave itself in future! This time, it was my poorly vacuum cleaner, now very much better, thank you! As ?Im Indoors is quite busy at the moment, I didn?t want to have to wait until the weekend in order to collect the item in question, so what I did in the end was to collect the bugger myself. Only a few doors up from Chez Wright, is that firm, but as my suction apparatus of preference has wheels, no great deal for me or my back regarding getting it back home again. In fact, once I?d wheeled it along the street for several yards (well, trailed it, actually!), then paused by the nearby zebra crossing, waiting for the traffic to shift so that I could also, a wicked thought suddenly hit me.

It was at that moment, I was sorely tempted to stand there in front of the passing traffic doing Freddy Mercury impersonations, as per the notorious Queen ?I Want To Break Free? video. (You?ve really got to see the late Freddie a-doing what he?s a-doing there, to fully appreciate the lashings of good, clean ? and, after a few hasty re-takes, no doubt, most certainly dust-free! - fun involved!). But would it have irreparably damaged my precious street-cred, dressed as I was in an Albion top at that particular time? In the end, both person and vacuum cleaner wimped out, although I might well have done had anyone made a disparaging comment about what I was having to trail around the high street, just like Fido on a lead.

Oh, yeah ? lest I forget, Man U disappeared right up their own hype, that very same night, and ended up dumped from the Champions League semis like so many unwanted puppies at Christmas. Tee-hee. Oh dear, how sad, what a pity. I guess we can now all look forward to warming our frostbitten hands by the cherry-red glow on Fergie?s face, once he?s finished wiping the floor with his underperforming troops!

NB Tickets for our usual ?last Saturday of the season? jaunt came, today. This year, we?re going to inflict ourselves upon poor Wrexham, sweating it out at the bottom of League Two, accompanied by severely cash-strapped Boston United. Fate has ordained, in its own unique-piss-taking manner, that both clubs meet each other on the very last day. Forget all the nice, lovey-dovey stuff, for once; the bottom line for this one is dead simple. Whoever wins this one stays up, end of.

THURSDAY 3RD OF MAY. (C-DAY MINUS THREE, AND COUNTING?.)

Still loads of time left before our Sabbath High Noon re-enactment versus Barnsley, and now I reckon the build-up?s starting to get to the pair of us in one way or another. Both of us have become seriously engaged in what are, quite frankly ?displacement activities?, a psychological term used to describe behaviour, either human or animal, designed to take the mind off what the hell it is they?re getting so agitated about in the first place.

As far as my other half goes, with him, it?s gardening. Right now, Chez Wright, upper and lower berths both, is beginning to take on more than a casual resemblance to Kew Gardens. No matter where you go, there?s plants: the mere act of plonking one?s self on the bog to contemplate one?s navel for but a few minutes reveals a plethora of newly-germinated and juvenile plants, everywhere you care to look. Mostly cucumbers, pepper plants and their like at the moment, with something called ?pink bananas? on the go within the darkest recesses of our boiler cupboard, and Goji Berries ? the very latest ?big thing? to hit the ?naturally good for you? market, so I?m told ? poking their little tender shoots above ground for the very first time, in our living room. Oh well ? at least it keeps ?Im Indoors off the streets.

Me? I?ve got my head in a textbook. How come? Simple, but a couple of weeks ago, I decided to sign up for an Open University short science course to run over the close season, and the textbooks etc. all arrived last Saturday morning. So, what am I doing, then? Best way to describe it is ?organic chemistry, with lots of pharmacology chucked in as well, plus a smattering of history of medicine for maximum flavour?.

The course isn?t supposed to start officially for another week or two, but what with the possibility of us being in the play-offs over the course of the next 28 days (assuming we qualify, when, I assure you, the very last thing on my mind will be any sort of chemistry, let alone the organic variety, unless you want to talk in a meaningful way about the chemistry of creating a successful play-off side!) and us most certainly retreating to our Herefordshire haunts afterwards, I?ve decided to make an early start off my own bat.

Quite a culture-shock, as well, being dropped straight into A Level-standard stuff. Something in my water tells me that young Carly, also slotted in to do A Level science of one sort or another come the start of her next school year ? heartfelt congratulations to that young lady on getting an A* in her GCSE French oral examination, by the way (filthy minds should stop leering right now, unless you want to get on the wrong end of a serious hairdryer-job from Great Auntie Glynis!) - will be getting her lugholes seriously bled by me next season, but they do try and make it a comparatively painless experience, thank goodness. Just as well, really. The last time I wielded an organic chemistry textbook in anger was around the time Jesse Pennington last wore the stripes in our defence, so the results should certainly prove a tad ? erm ? interesting, shall we say!

A stonking big raspberry to the Beeb, by the way, for not short-listing a single Albion player for their current Midlands Footballer Of All Time competition. Villa, Blues, The Dingles, Stoke City, yup, they?re all there. But not one single sodding wearer of the sacred navy blue and white stripes. Grrrr. Definitely a ?pins jabbed ferociously into wax models of Midlands Today Sports presenters? job, that one. Volunteers, anyone?

FRIDAY 4TH MAY. (C-DAY MINUS TWO AND COUNTING?.)

The calm before the Racecourse Ground storm, really, our game coming as something of an anti-climax after the real heartbreaking stuff up there in North Wales. A nice little pootle around some bookshops for me, then a swift journey home. Fell asleep on our settee, unfortunately. It?s Cyrille: when he jumps on my lap, he starts purring like there?s no tomorrow, and as a hypnotic, there?s no parallel. Within minutes, I?m snoring my bloody head off.

That same evening, before watching Exeter-Oxford on the box, shifted our backsides down to my stepmother?s place. No Big Sis ? it?s her birthday today, poor old tater ? and no middle one, either. The Noisy One has done a runner down to her caravan for the weekend, which will make for a quiet street in Greets Green, certainly, but I wouldn?t like to make a similar claim about the leisure park where she?s got her van!

Actually, I?ve got to be nice to her, because she might just be the key to getting the plastering in our kitchen finished. The chap we normally use is booked up solid, so on hearing the bad news, I then rang my sibling and said ?HEEELLLP!? Two possibilities: one?s a chap who had been booked in to do some work for The Greets Green Gob ages ago, but the poor sod then discovered he had prostate cancer, so couldn?t do the work right then. He?s now off the medication, so might well be a ?goer?. The other guy?s a chap who?s doing up the house next door for the landlady: he may be amenable towards doing a job for us, apparently. Oooh, the complications of DIY et. cetera. SATURDAY 5TH MAY (C-DAY MINUS ONE, AND COUNTING?.)

Just 24 hours to go before we know whether to book last-minute breaks somewhere well away from The Hawthorns, or concentrate our efforts instead on grabbing hold of play-off tickets. The dates are still very much in a state of flux: as ever, everything depends upon which games Sky want to show, plus our old chums, the West Midlands Police. You don?t need to be a tactical genius to work out which club we?re most likely to be squaring up against within but a few short days time, so I would imagine their input will be the very last word on the subject. Assuming we don?t stuff up, tomorrow, that is.

What a horrible little man is Ken Bates. I was never enamoured of him when he headed Chelsea, and after hearing about the awful way he treated some of Leeds United?s most loyal grass-roots supporters, I didn?t go a bundle on what he was doing at Elland Road, either, but his latest stunt really had me gasping with complete and utter disbelief. Apparently, he put Leeds into administration yesterday, automatically incurring a ten-point deduction, as per Football League rules, which meant they were automatically relegated. Then came the masterstroke. Just minutes after he?d done that, another of his subsidiary companies then bought up the club again, effectively keeping the club in his hands, but wiping off most of that enormous debt they?d racked up again.

As you might expect, there are one hell of a lot of League clubs now crying ?foul!? over that, and rightly so, in my opinion. Knowing something was in the wind, a lot of interested parties had put together their own rescue packages ? the Supporters Club had long been waiting in the wings for such a moment ? but Bates stymied the lot of ?em by pulling this nasty little stunt on them all. Their main hope is that the buy-out will be blocked, hopefully by the Inland Revenue, who are still owed some six million quid. Watch this space ? this one is going to run and run, I suspect.

But now to the main business of the day, our trip to Wrexham, where they were doing battle with poor Boston United. Never mind either hype or clich?s, this one really was a ?must-win?, both sides currently bumping and banging their way around the muddy sea-bed of the Football League. And Boston had troubles of their own, BIG ones, too. Their players hadn?t been paid for weeks and weeks, twelve, in fact ? even the PFA had stopped bankrolling them ? and their physio for four months, so they?re now left with but eight properly fit players, and another three doubtful ? and that?s their first-choice eleven!

The club as a whole owes something in the region of ?2 million. All this has been going on for something in the order of three months: the remarkable thing is that they?ve managed to keep in touch with the other relegation candidates right up until the last day. The stakes today were pretty high ? fail to win, and they were down, with genuine administration (see above!) and 10-point deduction to follow, no doubt. For their last home game, versus doomed Torquay, they could only muster 2,200: today?s game would bring forth 600 hardy souls. Even their manager was thought to be heading in the general direction of Chester City after today.

That was the background, then, the reality was heading towards North Wales with the sun?s warmth on our faces, as we threaded our motorised course through some of the most picturesque scenery I?ve seen in ages. Not a hint of cloud in the sky, either. Lovely stuff. And, no traffic problems, for once, which meant we parked up in a street about 200 yards from the ground at around one in the afternoon.

From there, it was a mere bagatelle to find The Turf pub, the local of choice for home supporters ever since Wrexham?s ground opened for business, but now in danger of being demolished to make way for flats by people who ought to have known better. According to those organizing the petition, despite the place playing a huge part in Wrexham?s history ? and that of Welsh international football, as it happened ? the Welsh answer to the Department of the Environment wouldn?t budge on having the building made a listed monument. This, mind, despite the presence there of an ancient balcony, a bit like the one at Craven Cottage, where people could quite legitimately sit and watch the game in peace. Fulham?s is listed, The Turf?s isn?t. Go figure.

And who should we bump into while slaking our (considerable) thirst? ?Of all the football grounds in all the world, it had to be this one?.? Not Humphrey Bogart circa 1942, regrettably, but none other than John Homer, he of the impenetrable Black Country accent, not to mention a command of the spoken English tongue that would have most Parliamentarians turning green with envy. (Even Winston Churchill: ?We wo? arf? lomp ?em on the cowin? beaches, aer kid?.?)You always get a better class of insult with John!

Heaven alone knows what those sitting around him today made of his more exotic curses: hell, some Welsh-speakers might even have thought it an exotic variation on their own native tongue! I?m not really sure as to whether there is a clear etymological link between words spoken in Lower Gornal, and what goes in the place commonly known as the ?Land Of My Fathers?, or not, but I?m sure there?s many an academic out there positively itching to put me on the right track.

And John wasn?t the only ?foreign? footie supporter taking time off to watch this game, either: already, we?d seen a Dingles garment, closely followed by a Mackem one, with that of Chelsea making it three. I could only assume the same applied everywhere else in that ground. Vultures, or simply turning up in the hope of watching a cracker? Difficult to say, really.

Inside, the clean lines of their new stand stood out a country mile from those on the other three sides. The weather was now perfect for football: warm, sunny, shirt-wearing stuff, but not so good for the players, who were destined to sweat buckets out there. At the opposite end to ours was The Kop, at 5,000 capacity, the biggest terrace left in Britain, standing room only, but rapidly becoming an anachronism.

On all three sides, an absolute riot of red and white made a startling contrast with a cloudless blue sky and green pitch of vivid hue. You had to feel sorry for Boston?s 600 followers, huddled in the corner of the stand adjacent to our left side, all wearing yellow and black. Everything about this game shrieked ?Cup-tie? ? but one where the stakes were much, much higher than for that battered old bit of silverware. Already feeling well outgunned by then, the Wrexham wheeze of bringing in a male voice choir to sing the Welsh National Anthem just prior to both teams taking to the field of play must have really twisted the knife in poor old Bsoton?s side. As a rabble-rouser, it had no equal: pretty soon, there wasn?t a single dry eye in the house. Except in that away end, of course.

Off they went, then ? and in some strange reversal of normal football custom and practice, it was the seats, not the seeming mute-of-malice terracing, making all the noise out there. ?Wrexham Lager, Feed Me Till I Want No More?.? sang the Taffs, to the familiar Cym Rhondda tune, more commonly known as ?Bread Of Heaven? in English circles. Oh, and there was a phantom bass-drum player, too. Sponsored by a large manufacturer of over the counter headache remedies, perchance? Bloody glad I wasn?t sitting next to him, mind.

The first half saw Wrexham, just about the better side (or was that just nerves making things appear worse than they should have been?) trying to penetrate a dogged Boston defence. Their runs on the left flank had upset the visitors no end, and were unlucky not to be in front. For their part, the visitors were playing a long-ball game (they had the people up front with sufficient height to make that a viable proposition), trying to catch the home side on the break. My money would undoubtedly have gone on Wrexham to draw blood first, but with around six to the break, it was Boston who first managed to violate the official record-keeper?s pristine page, and with a move that more or less ran with their planned script.

Fair play to Wrexham?s noisy followers, though. Despite falling one behind, they still kept the faith, even though their favourites had stuffed up, in typical Albion fashion, a brace of clear scoring opportunities, so falling behind must have acted as something of a wake-up call for them. ?We Are Staying Up?, they roared, still, in much the same way as Buddhist monks would a mantra.

Come the second half, then, and the gods finally spoke. With 56 minutes on the clock, Wrexham managed to land a spot-kick. A bit of a dubious affair, it seemed to my neutral eyes, but the home supporters weren?t complaining. That they duly potted: now, the real sweat was on. First of all Wrexham hit the bar from a free-kick, then, up the other end, Boston won a corner. Directly from that set-piece, they then had no less than THREE copper-bottomed chances on the bounce to take the lead, once more, but it just wouldn?t go in for them, despite the ball pinging around in the six-yard box for some time afterwards.

Had Boston netted again, I suspect Wrexham might well have had an uphill task on their hands, but with around three minutes of normal time left, the home side finally managed to take the lead themselves. Boston, having chucked everything into attack, three up front, no less, were caught stone-cold by Llwellyn, and paid the price. Then, right at the death, they made it three, courtesy Proctor. The rest became a formality.

Fair play to Wrexham, at the final whistle, their supporters ran over to the Boston end ? not to hurl abuse, as I?d initially thought, but to enthusiastically applaud their vocal efforts. Shame on us also, but we, too, ended up on that excellently kept swarth of bright green turf. And, much to my surprise, so had a couple of wheelchair-bound Taffs. Whether their helpers had done all the work, or they?d done it under their own steam, I know not. All I knew was the fact they too were getting equal access to an able-bodied pitch invasion! Very egalitarian, that!

Nothing left, then, but to head on out to our vehicle, and make ready to journey home. But not before we?d found a lovely pit-stop in the country, a hotel bar with an extensive menu, not to mention an ambience to die for, right on the canal bank, ducks, barges and all! And, in the warm rays of that evening sun, too lovely for words, it was. Tomorrow? Our chum Dave Watkin, being the mathematical obsessive he is, spent today setting up a spreadsheet to forecast the probability of which teams would finish where in the race for Championship play-off places. Sad, I know, and yet?.

The odds, as Dave sees ?em? There are 243 combinations of results for the five contenders, apparently, ranging from all winning to all losing. Dave said he used a realistic prediction for each match based on each side's home and away form. Our match on Sunday he rated as follows: Home 63.6%, Draw 11.4% and Away 25.0% and the chances of all five teams winning, just 2.3%.

Results? You'll be pleased to know that according to Dave?s calculations, ALBION have an 85% chance of qualifying for the play-offs, with a 66% chance of finishing 4th; 7.5% likelihood of being 5th and 11.5% of being 6th. That compares with the overall chances of Southampton 74%, Wolves 67%, Stoke City 40% and Preston NE 35%.

And our probable opponents, should we cut the mustard tomorrow? It's not as clear-cut as you might expect. In round figures, Dave reckons the chances of meeting Wolves are 31%; Southampton 27%; Derby County 12%; Stoke City 8% and Preston NE 7%.

When? We are much more likely to be involved in the 4th/5th matches on Sunday 13th and Wednesday 16th (73.5%), than the 3rd/6th games on Saturday 12th and Tuesday 15th May (11.5%).

And where? If you're planning to attend the home game, prepare for Wednesday 16th (7:45pm) (66%), ahead of Saturday 12th (12pm) (11.5%), and Sunday 13th (7.5%). We cannot be home on Tuesday 15th. Before you get too excited, don't forget the chances of no game at all (15%)!

What if it's a Black Country Derby? Interestingly, if we meet Wolves it's probable that we will have the second leg at home (29%), rather than travel to Molineux in the dark for the final showdown (2%). Any hope for the pessimist? There's around a 10% chance of Albion drawing and qualifying, and even a 10% chance that we lose and finish in the top 6!

Please note, these are Dave?s OWN calculations, and not mine! That sort of thing is way, way beyond my puny numerical abilities, so any queries, be they on the maths or otherwise, direct ?em all to him, OK? Seriously, though, Dave is a real whiz at this sort of thing, and I don?t doubt his logic for one moment. It?s just that I don?t understand a single blind word of it! HEEEELLLP!

And Finally?? One. ?Im Indoors, on our way to today?s game, talking about it being the end of the current season, and what a hard slog it had been for our football club and all who sailed in it:

Him: ?Nine months of all that effort, hard work, and sacrifice??.?

Me: ?Yeah ? and STILL we haven?t produced a child?..?

Two. Advert, on the roof of Wrexham?s stand: ?MINERA ROOF TRUSSES?. Does that mean roofs can get ruptures, just like us non-metallic humans?

 - Glynis Wright

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