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The Diary14 August 2007: Albion Latest: Will Our Transfer Prodigals Return To The Fold Tomorrow?Talk about ?the power of the media??. Having only just started on this piece after watching Sky?s round-up of Saturday?s Football League games, including our own, I?d now like to modify considerably at least one adverse opinion I expressed concerning our weekend Turf Moor defeat, and that concerns Our Lad Clem and That Penalty. As we were resident in the stand at the opposite end of the ground from where the incident took place, I didn?t have anything like a clear view when it happened, but going by the paucity of player protests at the time, I simply assumed that Clem, panicking badly, had paid the price in the form of a Burnley spot-kick, their conversion of which effectively buried our chances of getting anything whatsoever from the game. As you?ll recall, after my subsequent piece, in which I placed culpability for the loss firmly at his feet (hand?), Clem?s lugholes must have burned something chronic, and Sunday?s sports pages, both broadsheet and tabloid, didn?t exactly shed a more helpful light on what happened either, which is why my jawbone dropped with such a resounding ?clang? when I saw the TV rerun for the first time tonight. As Clem fell to the ground in a desperate effort to prevent the approaching Burnley player from making more of his penalty-area incursion, and turning his body away from the camera slightly as he did so, the ball bobbled away sharply, causing both my other half and myself to loudly exclaim: ?Was that it?? Not exactly the ?bang to rights? thing I?d been led to expect; the camera evidence was certainly shrouded in ambiguity, to say the least. Hand and ball might well have made contact, and might have been witnessed by the ref, even, but how much of that had been due to deliberate intent? Compare and contrast our unfortunate penalty experience with that of our noisome neighbours, who also conceded one on the opening day, but at home to Watford, this time. Not even the faintest scintilla of ?Was it or wasn?t it?? with this one: out came the Dingle defender?s leg, almost at a right angle to the ground (not to mention the victim?s limb; had it been someone less charitable officiating, our Dingle chum might well have beaten his colleagues to the use of the showers by several minutes!) miles after the ball had gone, with the predictable result that the chasing Watford lad did a pretty convincing imitation of goodly-sized Norwegian pine trees crashing to the ground amidst a thunderous welter of needles, branches, and powdery snow. All it wanted was for someone in the crowd to shout ?TIM-BERRRR!?, and complete accuracy would have been Sky?s for the taking. Over the past 24 hours, when not quietly fuming over Saturday?s result, and debating what effect the defeat will have upon tomorrow night?s League Cup fun, we?ve been engaged upon that de-cluttering exercise known well to those desirous of tarting up a property prior to putting it on the market, and that?s the ceremonial act of Cleaning Out The Storage Cupboards. The kitchen ones having been effectively dynamited over the course of previous days, last night and tonight we then turned our attention towards the one in our living room, a conversion from what was formerly a front hallway into a light-tight photographic darkroom, back in the distant days when celluloid film reigned supreme, but subsequently rendered obsolete with the advent of digital camera technology. My goodness ? if we?d thought our previous clearances had reluctantly dragged into the light of day things not surfaced in years, then this one had to take the biscuit. Much to my astonishment, hidden among all the detritus were documents I?d had no need to consult for the last 13 years or so, stuff originating from my time as a prison officer. So what was I to do with it all? A quick glance revealed that although much was out of date by now, some material could have given rise to security problems had it fallen into the wrong hands, so not possessing a shredder, there was only one thing to do, and that was chop or tear the whole lot into the tiniest of pieces! Talk about a labour of love: after a marathon session with a huge pair of scissors, I finally succeeded, but the end result was that the constant rubbing motion of the handles around my fingers (left-handed people and right-handed scissors don?t mix) caused painful blisters to form, which, in their turn, necessitated chucking a couple of good-sized strips of sticking plaster onto the offending digits. Ouch. Mind you, there was a silver lining to be found, and that was in the form of one of my old handbags from that period (see, it just goes to show how often we rootle about our storage space! Or not.) which contained two Albion fixture lists, one from season 1992-93, and the other for the campaign following that one. De-cluttering totally freeze-framed for a moment, a quick peek inside both saw nostalgia flow in liberal quantities from us both. Ah, that amazing Ardiles promotion season, what wonderful memories that folded rectangular piece of card brought back; of SuperBob?s wonderful goal-fest, of travelling to away grounds innumerable, then totally taking over such places, to the extent that the host clubs, some of ?em cash-strapped, and badly needing the revenue our huge travelling army would provide, were having to move their own supporters to accommodate ours, poor lambs. Then there was Popeye Martin?s funeral at West Brom Crem: I was particularly touched to find that just about every player on Albion?s books, kids included, turned up to give a remarkable old man and super-fit Albion general factotum a wonderful send-off he thoroughly deserved. The Noise, voluble scourge of conversationalists everywhere (after one particularly fraught marathon pre-match session involving a Reading supporter, we were somewhat alarmed to hear, weeks later, that the bloke concerned had to be rushed to the local hospital for extensive cardiac surgery the following day!). Let us not overlook either that wonderful sexual dinosaur, then-chairman Trevor Summers, guest of Wednesbury Branch one evening, observing me order a round of drinks from the bar, then remarking: ?I see you?re spending your husband?s money, then?? (This, mind, at a time when I was in full-time employment, and more than capable of paying for an expensive round!) How could we ever forget Swansea, and the night The Brummie literally rippled with ?boinging? pleasure, then Wembley, and our play-off win there, the one that put us right back into ?lose? mode for the Derby play-off bash last May? The late Chris Hartle, whose passing I remarked upon in this same piece not too long ago, and his amazing ability to only turn up just as games were about to begin. Even at Wembley he didn?t disappoint: our first appearance there since 1970, but instead of arriving early and taking in the atmosphere inside the ground (and jeering at the paucity of the Vale support!) like most of our travelling contingent, he simply stuck to form, and only appeared in his seat as both sets of players were emerging from the famous tunnel! Followed, of course, by the abrupt end of it all, and in such controversial and acrimonious circumstances, too: the close-season Ardiles defection to his beloved Tottingham, and Alan Sugar, who, much later, was to pronounce upon his Premier League managerial career in terms of what would eventually become a national catchphrase, viz: ?YOU?RE FIRED!? Keith Burkinshaw, misery personified, taking over the Baggie reins in time for our return to the (post-Premier League) First Division, and the mother of all relegation battles, the outcome of which remained in the balance until the very last Sunday of the season, where a highly-relieved Albion travelling contingent some 10,000 strong saw us pulled from the Fratton Park flames by Lee Ashcroft?s solitary strike. Memories, precious ones at that, all of ?em, some sweet, some bitter: no wonder a temporary halt was called to operations as we both reminisced heavily, and tried to remember scores from specific games! Memories?if only they could bottle ?em! But life has to go on, in this case, tomorrow?s annual dipping of toes into the turbid water of the League Cup: a shame, then, that it looks as though resident slick-dome Chappy won?t be gracing the ranks of our first-string when we play hosts to lovely Bournemouth tomorrow evening. According to the Albion website, the problem concerns what?s been termed ?a blow to his foot?, poor lad. Oh dear, I?d never realised that blowing upon the feet of players could bring about such a medically damaging outcome! (Unless one?s name happens to be David Mellor, or Her Red-Headedness Fergie, one time Royal, both of whom were known to partake as the mood suited them, not so many moons ago.) Did the ?blower? that inflicted the damage cause it by breathing hot air all over the injured party?s toesicles and footsicles when he least expected it, I wonder? After all, there?s no shortage of such a commodity among certain well-known people in the football business, is there? According to the Bournemouth blurb, they?ll be making three changes to their starting line-up. Keeper Asmir Begovic won?t be playing, so as to avoid being cup-tied, Paul Telfer is hors de combat, while Ryan Garry will be rested. Neil Young (does he deliver a spiffing rendition of ?After The Gold Rush? as he knocks the ball about the park, I wonder?) returns from completing a three match ban and takes his place in the squad. Cherries Manager Kevin Bond made a curious statement about the availability or otherwise of one of the aforementioned lot, today: "Ryan Garry is feeling the effects of a really heavy important game where he's exerted himself. He's not done that for quite some time and to go again in such quick succession with another game this weekend could be asking for trouble. I'd rather be safe than sorry with him." All together now: ?Aaah, bless?.? The latest on our finest? Moves are afoot to entice young Man City striker Ishmael Miller aboard the good ship Albion, apparently, but that?s one for after tomorrow night?s lovers tryst with The Cherries, of course. All Mogga will say at the moment is that he?s looking at the possibility of a deal being done. As for the other stuff, could it be that having left out transient twosome Curtis Davies and Paul Robinson from the Turf Moor trip, our leader might want to play one or both tomorrow evening after all? Mogga, explaining the thoughts that originally prompted him to rule both out at the weekend, reckoned that neither would have had their minds fully on the job, given their current unsettled positions at the club. But after Saturday, it could well be that he might have a sea-change of heart with at least one of the two, Paul Robinson, who appears to have kissed and made up with our leader. Having said that, though, Mogga himself added that the form of Tinhino, a summer acquisition, was so good, he might not be able to justify keeping the Portuguese lad out of tomorrow night?s side. So, what has prompted our manager to change his mind about Paul Robinson? It would appear that Robinson is no longer the sexiest thing on the transfer beach: interest may have cooled considerably over the last few days, which would go a long way towards explaining Mogga?s next sentence: ?The goalposts have moved to such an extent where he is telling me he wants to play football now. As I?ve said before, I only want people who are 100 per cent focussed, and able to play.? As for Curtis Davies, with what?s effectively an auction erupting around everyone?s ears, I strongly suspect we?ve seen the last of him in an Albion incarnation. The above problems notwithstanding, I would assume our gaffer will want to give an extended lease of first team tenure to those who kicked off the new campaign at Turf Moor, if only for them to get talking to one another before supporters, finally losing patience, run onto the pitch themselves, and take matters into their own hands by banging some well-reinforced nuts together! We now know that as individuals, the guys Mogga brought in are well-capable of delighting and thrilling supporters by turns, but in the interests of the side as a whole, their more capricious instincts have to be tamed, then properly harnessed in the interests of the side as a whole ? and quick. Instead of spending time before tomorrow?s game warming up, perhaps our finest could practice that fine old song from The King And I, ?Getting To Know You?, instead? And Finally?.. One. Still no response to my second Martin Jol plea, and I?m a tad disappointed, to be honest, given that this sort of direct appeal to supporters normally bears fruit in bounteous quantities. What?s the matter with you lot out there? Secretly put into suspended animation by the Thatcher regime for the duration of the Dutchman?s time at The Hawthorns? Or is it just that you don?t want to admit to being part of a football club that, around that time, changed its managerial and coaching personnel more times than The Blessed Margaret changed her reinforced steel-plate knickers? Do I have to resort to really drastic measures, here? Like finding ?resting? members of the Spanish Inquisition ready and willing to supplement their normal daytime income by engaging in a little evening and night-time finger-and-toenail-ripping torture, using our unsuspecting followers (Aw, you know: according to Monty Python et. al. NO-ONE expects the Spanish Inquisition!) as ? ermmm ? ?clinical material?? DON?T MAKE MINE A PINT?? Can?t say I?ve ever cared for the stuff, myself, but it would appear that Carlsberg?s most famous product is about to become part of a three year deal with our favourite football club. The whole shebang includes ground signage, tickets and hospitality, plus something called ?pouring rights? apparently. Whether the last of these constitutes a highly informal way of conducting a baptism ceremony, I still have yet to establish, but suffice it to say that Carlsberg will soon become (quick pause while I genuflect, folks!) The Official Beer Of The Baggies, from now until 2010. As is usual with these things, the hospitality wallahs will be the first to benefit: come the Preston game, they?ll be able to sink a free pint, courtesy the above. As an appetiser, or orally-administered pre-match anaesthetic, I wonder? - Glynis Wright Contact the AuthorDiary Index |
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