The Diary

17 September 2007: They're Baggies, Jim, But Not As We Know Them!

Be it news of an extramarital affair, an unwelcome diagnosis of terminal toe-rot, or subsequent discovery that the third member of the aforementioned ?eternal triangle? just happens to be your best mate, there?s nothing worse than finding out any or all of that little lot via the dubiously-good offices of a second-hand source. Agreed? Unfortunately, that?s how these things generally work: when someone close to you is desperate enough to want to keep schtum about something, you can sure as hell bet you?ll find out anyway, and usually courtesy those twinly-bitter-and-twisted communications gods, Rumour and Mischief.

That?s why I was so astonished when trolling through the sports section of the Sunday Times, earlier this evening: the first thing that caught my eye was a review of Adrian Chiles?s book by a Baggies supporter, an editor of the New York Daily Post, no less. Although a distance of some 3,200 miles now sunders the lad from the Hawthorns, the Baggies are in his blood as ineradicably as a genetic predisposition towards haemophilia, and, like that disease, always will be. Not surprising, given his dad was a follower for nigh on 70 years, and, back in Blighty, most other members of the family can be seen rallying to the cause most Saturday afternoons, TV obligations causing late kick-offs etc. permitting, of course.

My opening reference to the second-hand stuff? It?s all about two or three dedicated Baggie believers, all of whom we know personally, and all of them seen in a totally-different light once Ade chose to train the literary spotlight in their direction. As I said, you always learn of the really interesting stuff about someone second-hand. But unlike the situations referred to, in this case, Ade?s journalistic skills make the positives of such characters stand out like a shining beacon.

Take 80-plus ?youngster? Vic Stirrup, for example. Now come on, all you Halfords Lane Stand regulars reading this (and those who aren?t, but also know Vic via his remarkable away-travelling exploits), how many of you knew he was an anti-aircraft gunner on some of the worst of the so-called ?Malta run convoys? during the dark days of 1941-43? I certainly didn?t, and would never have sussed in a million years, largely because of the fact that I am but five feet two and a bit inches in height, while Vic, bless his little bald pate, only comes up to my shoulders.

Even allowing for age-related shrinkage of the spinal column (quite normal in the elderly), this still only puts him at around five foot maximum back in the days when Churchill defiantly growled the political equivalent of ?No one likes us, we don?t care?..? to a packed Commons debate when speechifying in The Mother Of All Parliaments shortly after the fall of France. Didn?t they have a lower height limit in the Navy back then? Mind you, should you then go to the trouble of boning up on what a hellish affair Malta convoys were like in those days ? well worth the effort, I promise ? just like me, you?ll certainly look upon little Vic with bucket-loads more respect afterwards.

And then there?s the tale of the chap I?ll only identify as ?Kev?, purely and simply because I know he is a very private sort of person. But there is one feature of his body that sets him apart from most of his Baggie-oriented peers, and that?s his prosthetic limb. I do happen to know he had a bit of a run-in with the West Midlands Constabulary?s finest at Molineux, about ten seasons ago ? fancy threatening someone like that with arrest merely because, using his wheelchair for support, he partly stood out of it while trying to extract his fags from his trousers? ? but I genuinely didn?t know that during goal celebrations at another Dingles game (last season?), the bloody thing flew right off!

Two wonderful tales culled from that surprising review, then, both concerning people we thought we knew fairly well, but evidently don?t, and it?s done the job: given me even more of a yen to read the whole chuffing lot than ever before. HINT TO MISTER CHILES?..If you?d kindly send me the flaming review copy you?d promised me weeks ago, I could then ensure a richly-deserved airing for even more thought-provoking stuff, couldn?t I?

But back to the present. Yet more house-hunting fal-di-rol around the Black Country today ? well, Halesowen and Kingswinford, just in case you want to learn whether or not your particular neighbourhood is considered under threat ? but one that was considerably more fruitful than those we?ve done more recently. Of the four or five we?ve looked at today, one we definitely consider a ?goer?, ticks any box you care to name, and two others we?d regard as ?fall-back positions?. Incidentally, I had thought my ?dream choice?, the property with the preservation order slapped on the oak tree in the garden, had sold, but we?ve since learned it hasn?t after all, so we?re still in there pitchin? with that one, after all.

Incidentally, regarding the one that we liked, it was hellishly difficult to locate the front of the blasted thing. Situated on one of those estates when the designer thought it would be a damned good laugh to have rear entrances, not frontages, facing the road, it sure confused the hell out of our poor Satnav, and it was only by dint of following some very confusing signs we finally got a clear look at the front of the property we were interested in.

When I lived near Bristol, there were whole estates constructed in similar fashion (one, in a place called Yate, proudly claimed (still does?) to be the biggest private estate in the whole of Europe): emergency services, posties new to the round, firms simply wanting to make deliveries, all were left scratching their head to the bone with the sheer embuggeration-factor of it all ? not to mention, ditto, a certain Labour Party activist called Glynis Harrison, around the time of the 1987 General Election!

That?s all the house-purchase stuff dealt with, then, so what about yesterday?s game? It seems that many more now share my assertion of yesterday that this was most certainly a ?game of two halves?, and that the final score did poor Ipswich a considerable disservice. Say what the hell you want, they didn?t deserve to finish that game with four against whacked onto their current League stats. We very much rode our luck yesterday, but, as our gaffer said post-match, last season we would have caved in completely under that sort of pressure, so maybe we are gradually evolving just a little more resilience at the back. After all, a record of not conceding any at home thus far this term, must speak volumes about further progress made, ever since that disastrous Wembley appearance of ours, last May.

It also made a deal of difference that the visitors also believed in playing the ball, above all else. None whatsoever of that ?everyone behind the ball and try to catch them on the break? negativity-nonsense so familiar to students of this division, to be seen anywhere. Whether or not we can further develop the sort of internal toughness that sees you triumphant against the sort of clog-dancing outfits this division seems to churn out en-masse, year after year, is another matter entirely. There?s been far too many times when we?ve just gone and fallen victim, sucker-punched to hell by ?bulls**t baffles brains? sides of varying persuasions, so perhaps it wouldn?t necessarily be a bad thing if the worm suddenly decided to turn, for a change.

One other clear indication of massive progress made since last season: so solid is our strength in depth these days, we could even afford to leave the experienced captain of a European national side, Zoltan Gera, of Hungary, completely out of yesterday?s line-up. Ditto the vastly-experienced Clem (has he actually gone to QPR, as rumoured by several yesterday?) Man United-style rotated squads, eat yer prawn-cocktailed, cholesterol-laden hearts out!

Other thoughts? Tex, who scored one and made one, is looking even more of a steal than ever before, having rightly been given the Man Of The Match accolade by those in the executive boxes, plus a not-inconsiderable number of Sunday newspapers, both tabloid and broadsheet. That I would go along with. But remember another thing: one incredible bit of pinpoint cross-field passing from that unlikeliest of sources, Robbo, that enabled Tex to grab our crucial second in the dying moments of the game.

Had things not panned out that way, I strongly suspect that Ipswich would have turned up the wick in sheer desperation, and possibly profited late-doors as a result. Again, in an age obsessed with such things as ?performance indicators?, one of the most meaningful of the lot: our favourite defender launching forth with a pass truly worthy of inclusion in the canon of any Premier League outfit you care to name, household ones included. Someone as uncompromising as Paul Robinson, deeply, madly in love with the kind of sublime passing skill that makes the game the truly beautiful spectacle it is. Who would have thought it, eh?

Nostalgic mention of Bristol earlier in this piece also makes me particularly mindful of our Ashton Gate gig there, due to take place in around 48 hours time. ?Im Indoors, myself and The Fart will be making the long haul down the M5 for that one: let?s hope we?re not disappointed, then, especially as there?s the possibility of us topping the bill in prospect. But more on that particular subject tomorrow night, once we?ve managed to work out who will be rotated in, and who will be rested for that one.

And Finally?.. Was his hairdresser having a laugh, or what? I refer to two-goals Kev Phillips, and those newly-acquired but savagely-cropped bleached-blonde locks of his. Or is Mogga merely trying to set his stall out for a new-version Black Country master-race? If that?s a portent of things to come, at least alopecia-victim Chappy can breathe a heartfelt sigh of (trichological) relief!

 - Glynis Wright

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