The Diary

20 August 2007: They Always Let You Down - Richard Branson's Virgin Media, Not The Baggies!

Just a mere 24 hours have elapsed since the lad Miller sealed the three points in such spectacular fashion for us, versus Preston. Just one full rotation of the Earth about its axis as it plods its ancient course around the Sun, in fact, and just like the ripples in a pond, expanding in concentric circles long after the person chucking the brick into the water departed, so it is that many Albion supporters ? all of them with memories as long as mine, and some way beyond that ? now avidly endorse what I had to say about the sheer quality of that inaugural strike.

When I actually penned those words, very early yesterday morning, I did fleetingly wonder whether the spectacular manner of its execution had made me put on rose-coloured specs for the duration, but, nope ? since the very first moment my thoughts got translated into electronic bits, more and more Baggies have been expressing similar views, and via just about every Baggies info medium you can think of, too.

Now everyone else, amateur, professional, whatever, has put in their literary two-pennyworth about that Miller spectacular (yes, and reduced more than a few thesauruses to scrappy shreds of paper in trying to do it literary justice!), I wonder whether The Great Man Of 1977, Mr. Regis himself, has any pertinent thoughts on the subject?

Wow, what a beauty, and one very much in keeping with our rich Albion goalscoring heritage, too. I?m sure there were many former Baggie greats Up There, nodding in benign approbation, the very second ball crossed goal-line, and the ref pointed to the centre circle. You are in exalted company, Mister Miller.

But there has to be much more to a three-pointer than one humdinger of a second strike; it goes without saying that every single member of a winning side has to be pulling for each other, and from what I?ve learned from Mogga?s more recent musings to the media, this seems to be his prime aim. To get everyone pulling together in the same direction, to nip in the bud potentially divisive dressing-room cliques, and above all, to make newcomers to the place properly aware of the high standards set, not only by their fellow-pros at Planet Albion, but also demanded by those watching every single week.

This hasn?t always been the case at the club, so it?s particularly gratifying to hear that the players themselves look askance at newcomers coming complete with a full-blown ?prima donna? mentality. We aren?t that sort of club: if you want showbiz, then go to Chelsea or Man United. I?m sure they can more than adequately cater for those possessing far more than their fair share of Drama Queen-like characteristics.

Returning to thoughts of yesterday?s win once more, I bet Kev Phillips was more than a bit bemused by the gaffer subbing him straight after the goal celebrations had died down. To be fair to our leader, he?d been planning to change it around for several minutes, and the replacements all set, ready to go, jiggling around on the touchline so as to retain body heat and maintain muscular suppleness. Indeed, one account tells of Kev already making his way to the halfway line preparatory to the subbing he knew was coming: what changed everything was the sight of his colleagues winning the ball back from the Deepdale lot. Can?t say I noticed, myself, but then again, I was concentrating more on what was happening upon the pitch.

Kev?s immediate thought, on seeing the match ball?s sudden change of ownership, must have run something on the lines of: ?hang on a mo, if I get back into the box again, I might be able to do some damage here?.? Not that he appears to resent being subbed, mind; as someone said today, he stayed on for 70 minutes (which would give his body a bit of a break: he?s not getting any younger, is he?) and scored the opening goal. Mogga?s still singing his praises to any one who?ll listen, so it wasn?t a ?buck your ideas up or else? type subbing, either. What more could anyone want?

Of one thing I?m grateful, and especially in view of the radical change in this season?s line-up, is the current tendency of players to NOT take to the field of play looking like escapees from some hellish penal colony, or US Marine boot camp. Greening?s El Greco-style appearance (I couldn?t believe that he?d been convicted by magistrates of assaulting a rozzer, the other day: you?d find more latent menace contained within a badly-thrown bath bun, as I see it!) seems to have set the mark, with a couple of the foreign contingent not too far behind. Even Paul Robinson now sports a coiffure far less bellicose in nature than the previous one. The only Baggie taking this somewhat dated manifestation of appalling fashion sense to extremes these days seems to be Alby. Or is it just that he can?t afford a ?proper? hairstyle any more?

Our first League win of 2007-08 has also boosted our position in the Championship table from ?lowly? to ?middlin? diddlin??. Not that you can read anything into a table that only covers just two games, mind. The really big giggle has to be seeing Stoke riding proud, on top of the heap. Cor, I bet that?s got the old tongues a-wagging in and around Arnold Bennett?s (semi-fictional) Five Towns. Make the most of it, you lucky Potty people: it won?t last for long.

Next up will be our old chums Sheffield United, and at the awkward time of five in the afternoon, too. All to keep the TV people happy, of course, and all guaranteed to drive non-footie-lovin? partners completely barmy. Not a problem in our household, of course, but a real biggie for some. In the past, I have heard of divorce petitions making much mention of the club?s name as grounds for making the split legal.

Personally, I have great difficulty in accepting a document defining someone?s love for the club as ?unreasonable behaviour?. What?s more ?reasonable? than coming home directly after a satisfying Albion away win, and all wreathed in smiles, I ask myself? Oh, well ? suit yourselves. Cor, I bet there won?t half be a few sets of eardrums burning ? ?Yow promised me faithfully yowd paint the front ?all today, and now yo?m soddin? off to watch that cowin? football club of yown instead! (Voice heightens to scream of almost castrati proportions): Yow married ME, not the cowin? Baggies?? when supporters set off to join their coach!

Now we had planned to watch the game on the box, thereby sparing us the considerable bother and expense of travelling to the Steel City ? but there?s now one small snag. Our TV, which started playing up earlier today, in fact. Shut us out of receiving programmes, and completely without warning, too, so what we did was ring Virgin Media (they took over from Telewest not so long ago), explain the problem, and fervently hope they could suggest any quick-fix strategies we could adopt via mucking around with the old set-top box.

Trouble was, though ? erm ? they couldn?t! It needs the full attention of one of their nice technical chappies, and in person, too. The snag? You?ve probably guessed by now, but here goes ? Virgin can?t get us a maintenance bloke for at least TEN days! Aaargh! You don?t need to be Einstein to realise that this will clash with the forthcoming Bramall Lane love-in, so it?s going to be a case of either finding a local pub showing the game that same evening, or flashing the cash and travelling, either by jam-jar, or via Albion?s own ?transports of delight?, as promoted by the elegant, lovely and talented Dave Holloway, bless his capacious beverage dispenser.

We do happen to have a small portable TV that dates from the early eighties ? it belonged to me when I lived in Bristol ? but it?s not possible to pick up Sky with it, not to mention a whole lot of documentaries shown on digital channels, that I won?t now be able to watch. Just goes to show how our expectations have changed so radically over the years, doesn?t it? Back when I first bought the set, the proposed increase of British TV viewing options from three channels to four was the big talking point in the media. Now, people insist upon having immediate access to a multiplicity of satellite and digital signals, as of right. The end result has been, in some ways, very similar to what happened in the USA, once their major providers started pumping out fourteen or so channels? worth of stuff. Unmitigated dross, in short - but not all the time. One can generally find something worth watching on either specialist satellite channels, or on BBC 3 and/or 4.

Oh, well. Watching the box only serves to distract me from doing other things anyway ? like writing this column, for example! - so what has happened may have come just in the nick of time to save me from myself! But TV or not, I will be back next Friday evening, unless Mogga suddenly puts on his ?Paul Daniels head? and produces, with a flourish, not a fluffy white rabbit from a top hat, but yet another new player, from a very expensive-looking, high-performance sports car! (I leave the twin attributes of ?fluffiness? and ?whiteness? down to the gaffer?s personal choice of player!)

PERMANENT PEACE AND QUIET IN THE BRUMMIE? After penning my heartfelt paean of praise for the Brummie Road End last week, I had some feedback the other day from a chap called Michael McGovern. He too found it highly regrettable that the Brummie was now a mere shadow of what it used to be, with the Smethwick?s vocal star very much in the ascendancy, these days, so it was hardly surprising his own nostalgia glands immediately started producing full-blast, for my benefit.

One small problem, though: even though I?ve been attending ever since Adam was a lad ? and probably Eve a young, comely wench, too, although I do have my suspicions it was Abion?s catering that finally did for her Garden Of Eden season-ticket holder status, and not some crummy apple proffered by a devious Satan - I can?t for the life of me remember hearing the Joe Mayo thing he describes below!

?The thing I loved about the Brummie was its ability to split in two: i.e. when the boinging started at the Swansea game, one half of the Brummie would shout "Boing! Boing!" while the other half replied with "Baggies, Baggies?" My friend, sitting in the Rainbow that evening (of the Swansea game), said it looked like the sea, with waves of people bouncing up and down. Another favourite of mine (if a bit cruel) was when Joe Mayo was our star striker. Half the Brummie would shout "Give it to Joe!" - to which the other half shouted "No!"?.? Oh, happy days. Anyone else bursting to give their own favourite BRE memories a public airing via this column, please feel free! Usual contact details will find me.

And here?s another, just in tonight! Coo, I?ve fanned the coals of fond memory back to a healthy warming glow, here, haven?t I? This one comes from a nice chap I?ve known for ages, Carl Lillywhite, and these are his own thoughts on the subject:

?As a fairly gobby fan myself, there seems to be a general apathy which has crept in over the last 2 to 3 seasons. Speaking personally, overzealous stewarding doesn't help the situation. We sit on the back row of the Brummie, and are constantly being told to sit down. Being glared at for the majority of the match by some over officious little t**t doesn't add to my matchday enjoyment.

I well recall being asked to sit down during a match versus Man United, whilst looking at 3000 Mancs, all standing for the duration of the game, even to the point of blocking all the gangways. Little t**?s response to that, once the sheer unfairness of the situation was pointed out, was: "Sit down, or I'll get a senior steward, and report your seat number, etc. etc?.? It's no wonder we can?t be arsed most of the time. Do the club really want lively vocal support, or a group of fans similar to Stepford Wives??

MORE TALES FROM THE CRYPT?.. A little bird tells me that not so very long ago, he?d nattered to a Baggie who?d recently won the chance to train with our finest for a day. It was while his informant was lurking around the dressing-room area, in our training-ground, alone, that his eyes feasted upon a list of our players, and against each name, the weight recorded for that particular person when they?d reported back for training after the summer break. No problems with most, of course: small fluctuations only, and easily remediable once heightened levels of fitness finally kicked in, of course ? all save one, sadly?. 17-ODD STONE? Dearie, dearie me!

CHUCKLE OF THE DAY? Man United 0, Man City 1. Further comment superfluous!

 - Glynis Wright

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