The Diary

11 August 2007: Here We Go Again, Folks!

Ready to rumble? Or, as The Noise, making what seemed to be the Freudian slip of all times just prior to the start of one particularly-vexing home game last season, remarked, ?Ready to grumble?? Said completely in jest at the time, of course, but, as these things usually are, unintentionally spot on ? painfully so, in some respects. Off we go once more, launched straight into whatever miscellaneous perils and/or joys the new season proper might bring for our favourite football team. Do you feel lucky, punk?

And the newly-minted season has already seen changes in the Wright household. No more do I type these words from the dingy interior of our ?office?: the liberal application of far more magnolia paint than I would have liked, given the choice, plus a ?de-cluttering exercise? of monumental proportions ? it?s amazing what detritus some eighteen years of producing fanzines/writing books/turf wars involving various feline members of our household can produce, not least a patrol?s-worth of Japanese soldiers who didn?t know the war had finished until we told ?em ? now means my PC sits resplendent in oodles of space. Baby-puke coloured, ?tis true, but wonderful space nevertheless.

It may be highly indicative of the markedly increased rate of my descent into Terry Wills-style longevity territory, but these days, I?m more likely to approach the opening of the new season with an attitude heavily tinged with deep feelings of trepidation of what?s about to pass, and accompanied by an unusually-hefty dose of cynicism.

Let?s face it, wherever you find money sloshing around in six or seven-figure amounts, there?s generally to be found a top-level degree of avarice far in excess of that seen in most other industries. To mangle Acton?s famous quotation somewhat, all money corrupts, and absolute control of such gasp-making quantities can easily breed absolute corruption. That?s why the game?s had such a bad press over the past few months: you come to me and persuade me that the various recent shenanigans blighting the affairs of both West Ham and Leeds United came whiter than white? Yeah, right - and I?m having my next birthday party at Molineux.

To directors and chairmen already well-versed in the mucky, murky world of finance and business, it?s par for the course, just figures on a balance-sheet to those guys, but to your average chap or gal warming their posteriors in main stands everywhere, every single example of ?creative accountancy? and ?marketing opportunities? demonstrated by their board of directors comes as yet another hammer-blow to an already-waning sense of absolute loyalty and devotion to the cause.

Chairmen innumerable know only too well that we supporters represent a cash-cow that?s well-worth milking to the max, so once more, spurred on by flattering words and seductive talk coming from the mouths of such people, we cannon-fodder followers fall into line without so much as a murmur of protest.

A bit like the millions of people who volunteered to be squaddies at the start of the First World War, in fact, all espousing similarly noble yet naive principles, all heightened greatly by a stonking amount of anti-German propaganda coming ? shamefully so, in some instances - from the fat lips of government, military and the Church and eagerly disseminated by a (sometimes complicit) Press. Those recently accused of trumping up the case for weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, knowing their match when they saw it, would have headed straight for the hills, gibbering madly all the way, had they been around at that time. As for the squaddies themselves, had they known what they were letting themselves in for prior to signing on the dotted line?..

Supporting any professional football club at this level has many similarities with suffering soldiery and military misery circa 1914, so it?s hardly surprising to find that over the course of the ninety years that have elapsed since those four years of mass slaughter, you?ll still find sharp reminders, as per the journalistic-inspired argot now used by pretty much everyone with an interest in the beautiful game.

Examples? ?Going over the top? (WW1 parlance for leaving one?s trench to charge the other side?s trench, while exposed to enemy machine gun fire all the way: a highly unusual way of committing suicide, in other words) will do nicely for starters. That?s a three-way thing: one can ?go over the top?, literally, in an awful tackle, more often than not, landing the unfortunate recipient in hospital; players can ?go over the top? when in dispute with referees (as per the likes of Willie Johnston), and managers can do similar when engaged in post-match Press conferences, usually when criticising the disciplinary shortcomings/ parentage/sexuality/probable freedom (or otherwise) from performance-enhancing substances in the bloodstream etc. of the opposition.

As for the likes of Tony Mowbray et. al. they become ?leaders? of a ?squad? of players, or ?troops?, and issue commands from a ?dug-out?. The Mark Venuses of the football get the Queen?s Commission, thereby becoming ?Lieutenants?. New players and/or kids making their first-team debuts are termed ?rookies?. The middle of the pitch becomes ?No-man?s land?. Defenders transmute into ?the rearguard?, attacking moves become ?incursions? or ?raids?, the latter originating, more often than not, from ?the flanks?. As for the poor sods left with the daunting task of preventing a goal, they can end up either ?outmanoeuvred? or ?outflanked? completely: sometimes, it?s a label truly career-stopping for the player concerned!

Personal qualities found in players approximating closely those espoused by the military are valued highly. In that way, you get players stating: ?Player A is the sort of bloke I?d want next to me in a slit trench when the bullets are flying?. Those collecting highly-visible injuries as per John Wile, Highbury, 1978, are said to be battle-scarred, ?brave? for staying on the field of play, no matter what.

The possession of strong leadership qualities is an attribute highly prized by all, be they militarily-minded or otherwise, and cowardice, whether perceived or actual, greeted with universal contempt by both players and supporters alike. A good striker becomes a ?hero?, while those making much of trivial injuries are said to be ?dodging the column? (of marching chunks of meat destined for the Western Front grinder: in a footballing context, that can mean fixtures where there?s a lot riding on the result, or those very likely to become somewhat physical in nature).

There?s lots more in the way of analogy to be found, of course, but I?ll leave that bit of it for you to discover for yourelves: suffice it to say that a world that generates such easy comparison with that of soldiers engaged in conflict tends to become almost as intolerant of physical and mental shortcomings among its soldiery as the 1914-18 caper was. No wonder the active yob tendency also adopted such terms as part of their everyday lingua franca.

Thoughts for tomorrow? Leaving out the aforementioned bellicosity for the moment, the signs do point to a happy opening day for us, in my opinion. The home side are probably destined to finish around mid-table come the end of the season, our lot will be looking to prove a multiplicity of points to their gaffer ? presumably, what started last Saturday will be starting tomorrow, our more recent signings, not quite assimilated into the Baggie maw, as yet, collecting bum-splinters innumerable on the bench ? entertainment and goals still seem to be Number One Priority, so all I can add by way of further comment is: ?Enjoy?!

According to the local Press, Mogga is going to give full debuts to eight first-teamers tomorrow, but Robert ?Call Me King Harold? Koren won?t be involved: after a recent training ground accident, he?s still not ?seeing eye-to-eye? with management. But ? Hail Cesar! The lad?s international clearance has finally gone through, so he will be available for weddings, bar mitzvahs and christenings after all ? not to mention the possibility of having a multiplicity of pointy metal objects shoved in his back, as occasion (the fifteenth of any month is clear favourite!) demands.

Incidentally, we in what was once GD Towers today received quite a ringing endorsement for one of our recent captures, the lad Morrison. This comes from a Boro supporter of long acquaintance, whose opinion I completely respect, rating him very highly when he was a young Smog Monster, and I quote: ??. I hear rumours you are going to sign James Morrison (this crossed in the post). If you do, you?ll get a real star. He?s my favourite of all the young Boro players, pacy, and with an eye for goal. I rate him higher than Stuart Downing.? Coo ? let?s hope that the gen?s on the level, then.

As for Burnley itself, it?s very much a microcosm of the Black Country, but with one fundamental difference. Born of an age when cotton, not coal, was the king in those-there parts (with a huge Asian influx drafted into the mills circa 1960, when British-born people no longer felt inclined to work there), when that trade finally disappeared ? ironically, enough, because other countries providing dirt-cheap labour finally ?gazumped downwards? our domestic cotton industry?s running costs - so did the work. Couple sky-high unemployment with the (sometimes accurate) perception on both sides that the local council wasn?t exactly being impartial when allocating houses and local resources, and you have a recipe for big trouble. Cue the BNP, who gleefully made the ?ammunition? for others more gullible and easily-led to fire the ?bullets? ? the rest you all know.

I wonder if Alistair Campbell, former Blairite PA-meister, lately controversial author (it?s the stuff he felt constrained to leave OUT of his published diaries I?d be more interested in, not the stuff he eventually put IN!), and complete and utter (genuine, I?m reliably informed) Burnley nut, will be attending tomorrow?s game? He?s not exactly at the beck and call of Number 10, Downing Street these days, now, is he?

Or has he simply taken himself to some delightful rose-encrusted retirement cottage in the area, there to go pleasantly to pot amid stirring memories of TB and sexed-up documents, not to mention a now-deceased government ?weapons of mass destruction? expert called David Kelly, and respected BBC governors and broadcasters falling on their swords after an enquiry report seemingly replete with somewhat dubious conclusions? The name for such an idyllic retreat? Why, ?Dun Spinning?, of course.

YET ANOTHER DESPERATE PLEA?. I?m still waiting for someone out there to help assuage ?Im Indoors?s anxiety levels by coming up with memories of Martin Jol, once Baggie defender of formidable repute, now Spurs manager, of course. In the interests of domestic harmony and bliss, then?.. HEEEEEEEELLLP!!!!!

THOUGHT FOR THE DAY?. So you thought we had it bad, missing out on promotion via the ?back door?, did you? Spare one for poor Leeds United, who had that stonking 15-point deduction of theirs upheld by a meeting of League chairmen yesterday. More likely than not, that will consign them to the Outer Darkness of League Two, the competition?s basement division, come next May. It might even prove their death-knell, given the horrendous state of their currently-ropey finances. I guess other chairmen might have shown a smidgen of mercy, were it any other club tenanting the ?dock?, but such is the opprobrium generated by Ken Bates and all who sail in him, these days, the Elland Road outfit ended up instead with the financial equivalent of ?nuclear fall-out? smack in their faces. With ?friends? like that guy, who needs enemies?

Not so very long ago, I would have rubbed my hands with glee at the delicious prospect of their demise ? as regulars will already know, I?m not exactly an avid fan of the beleaguered Yorkshire club, never have been ? but after discovering recently that there were some decent people associated with the place, still, genuine supporters, all of them, it?s these people that get my profound sympathy, every single time. They weren?t the ones who mucked about with both the receivers and the Inland Revenue, but these footballing innocents will surely be the first to suffer if United get relegated again.

OH, WHOOPS?? Spare a thought, vagrant or otherwise, for poor ?Boing? mailing-list subscriber Russell Gray, when you get a chance. Why? Well, it?s all because he had his lovely new away shirt printed with a certain player?s name and number on Tuesday.

Bad move, that. Today, our hero discovered that the object of his worship from afar, a gentleman by the name of Darren Carter, was headed out for pastures new. You can see what the nub of the problem was ? would Albion let him exchange the now-defunct shirt, or not? - but he tried his luck anyway, dropped the club shop an email asking if there was any chance of a swap - and received the very blunt reply, "Sorry Russ, we cannot exchange printed shirts?."

A tad miffed is poor Russell, and understandably so, considering he paid in excess of fifty squid to purchase both shirt and the printed name/number currently adorning it. A leper?s cloak, if ever there was one, and before we have to fire a shot in anger, even. A shame that Albion couldn?t have bent a little on that one, given the circumstances, but I guess there?s not going to be any way of either party seeing eye to eye on this in the near future. As Russell said himself, he should have known better buying a printed shirt during the middle of the transfer window, and now he?s left with a shirt back that looks a trifle silly.

One possible solution could be to hand, though. Why not alter the lettering to read like something with true Albion relevance, just like the way some egomaniac captains of industry, showbiz poseurs ? yes, and pro footballers! ? alter car number plates to make them not only instantly recognisable, but memorable, also. Someone on the mailing-list suggested ?CARPE DIEM? (Latin for ?Seize The Day?.) Not quite sure how you?d alter the letters to get them to read like that without ruining said shirt completely, though. Any anagram experts out there got any other brilliant ideas?

And Finally?? One. ??..Show me a healthcare professional willing to have one (mobile phone mast) in their own garden, and I'll show you a Dingle with the letters Ph.D after their name." That?s what I said last week, and not expecting further feedback on that one, duly consigned that bit of my piece to the mental file marked ?FORGET?.

And that?s precisely where it would have ended up ? except that the other night, I received an email from a chap called Keith Graham, who has a teensy confession to make. No, he?s not a Dingle himself, just a world-weary Baggies aficionado, like myself, but he does have a terrible secret: yep, remarkably, he DOES know a Dingle with the letters Ph.D after their name!

Until recently, my correspondent was professor of philosophy at Bristol University (a long way from Bearwood Road Junior Mixed, where he started, certainly ? and just a stone?s throw from where we currently live, actually) and while there, he had a young colleague from Kingswinford who matched the above description perfectly.

But, as Keith says, the much more terrible revelation is that the guy?s dad is a lifelong Baggies supporter! AARGH! Just what was going on in Pater?s DNA to inflict that particular brand of gold-and-cack misery upon his son, presumably the apple of his eye from the moment he first emerged from the safety of his mother?s womb?

Perhaps there?s something to be said for eugenics (the dodgy branch of biology concerned with the eradication of ?defects? from the human race, and the breeding of so-called ?purer races? as a result, much advocated between the wars by otherwise-respected British and American scientists who should have known better, subsequently discredited completely by Hitler?s practical application of its theories) after all?

Two?. Last night I saw the new Wulves owner ? a Scouser, so keep a sharp eye on those shiny hubcaps of yours when you next travel to The Custard Bowl, folks! - take centre stage on TV. Purchased the whole shooting-match from Sir Jack Hayward for ten squid, apparently ? and has now had the actual tenner involved framed to prove it. Bet it was forged??

Three?. So, we?ve actually gone and signed him, have we? I wonder how long will it be before we all hear a rousing chorus of: ?Ay, ay, ay, ay, Pele is better than Pele?..??

 - Glynis Wright

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