The Diary

12 October 2007: 'Follow My Leader' , Albion Style?

Oh, dear: I can feel the symptoms of ?first-degree Burns? coming on ? ?the best laid plans of mice and men aft gang agley?, and all that jazz. I had intended to post much earlier, honest, but when a tummy bug ripped through my entire digestive system with the speed of the Flying Scotsman (?London Euston? to ?Glasgow? in 6 hours direct, with NO intestinal station stops en-route whatsoever!), there wasn?t much I could do about it, really. Believe you me, when you?re pebble-dashing the porcelain ?at your convenience?, the last thing you want to do is sit in front of a PC and type. Trust me, I?ve tried it.

But enough of my internal travails, which are now completely behind me, rather than rushing right through me, thank goodness. As promised, I?d now like to give you a small flavour of our manager, and what makes him tick, as per the event held in the East Stand the other evening. Apologies for my words not being as specific, or as detailed as I would normally wish: owing to our gaffer?s complete and utter frankness and openness with we (sometimes genuinely astonished) supporters during the course of the event, I feel it would be a gross betrayal of trust were I to report verbatim upon what transpired that evening. So here goes?..

The first thing of all that struck me about our gaffer was the astoundingly low-key manner of his entrance into the room, in stark contrast to previous events of this nature, when Albion gaffers long since gone have also desired to justify themselves to their paying public. No decibel-laden build-up from some local radio ?celebrity import? wanting to warm up the assembled gathering, in much the same manner as they ?fire up? TV audiences for quiz shows, etc. No, keep that sort of thing for The Circus Maximus, where it truly belongs.

None of that malarkey; just Mogga quietly walking towards the top table, then taking his seat, in the wake of a very restrained introduction from Baggies media man John Simpson. It says much for the seemingly-understated yet powerful aura of command given out by our man that the audience needed no bidding whatsoever to instantaneously cease all conversation, and just listen to what he had to say.

Were you a total stranger to the wild and wacky world of Championship football and casually introduced to Mogga at, say, a quiet evening get-together, I?m not altogether sure it would be possible to work out precisely what he did for a living, not unless you subjected him to a more detailed grilling, that is.

Unlike, say, Alex Ferguson, or someone as overtly extrovert (and brash to the point of complete and utter ghastliness) as Neil Warnock, almost everything about our leader ? sparse, cadaverous almost, features; muted tones; measured, intelligent, yet carefully chosen words ? suggests a very close encounter indeed with a head of department at some exclusive fee-paying school, or even a family solicitor imparting in restrained and precisely-measured terms some arcane legal business of very grave import for one?s nearest and dearest: the finer details of a recently-deceased close relative?s will, perhaps? Or what about a consultant physician sensitively coming clean about the precise implications, in terms of prognosis, say, for a recent diagnosis of some incurable, degenerative disease or other? All of those images, and more, could so easily apply to Mogga. And did.

Once he?d finally got into his stride with his spellbound audience, what struck me above all was his total lack of what a different generation might term ?bulls**t?. Yes, he wanted to convey his point of view and overall managerial ethos to supporters, but with Mogga, you never got the same sort of ?Look at me ? aren?t I good, and what?s more, I can promise you the Earth?.? spiel adopted by far too many in years gone by. Don?t wait for me to come up with the names; most of you know ?em already.

The fundamental difference was a clear desire to take us all on what would prove to be a magical journey, involving us all the way, but his words also tempered with clear caveats about what the ultimate cost of that journey might be. There?s no suggestion that Mogga is in quite the same league, of course, but Winston Churchill was another really good exponent of that very same art.

Our gaffer?s core values (to use that dreadful phrase much heard in politics these days)? Honesty. Passion. In great gurgling spades, and liberally sprinkled with one overriding guiding principle ? respect. Respect for his players, good bad, indifferent, whatever, an attribute distinctly lacking in modern politics. As I said, Mogga was astonishingly frank at times: too frank, some would certainly have opined, but even when questions from the floor awkwardly centred around people perceived by some to be falling somewhat short of the high standards demanded of them by the coaching staff, once more, our leader?s abiding watchword was ?respect?. Never once did I hear him use words to describe any player that he would not have used in that person?s presence. I could almost hear his words, quietly delivered and more in sorrow than in anger, as he pulled that player - or players - aside, then proceeded to discuss areas of particular concern with them, in the comparative quiet and privacy of his office.

Think back to your own schooldays, and the times you ended up in front of the teacher for some daft juvenile peccadillo or other. Don?t tell me you were all angels at that tender age, because I simply don?t believe it! No, seriously ? who did you respect the most? Whose carefully-chosen words made you solemnly vow to give up your evildoing and backsliding ways for all eternity, right there and then? Was it your PE master, ?all mouth and trousers?, loads of heft and bluster, and generally eager to reinforce his point courtesy a hefted plimsoll? Or was it mild-mannered Mr. Milquetoast, expressing quiet sorrow you?d let everyone down, himself included, but most of all, yourself? Unless you?re all into masochism as a hobby, I know where my money would go every time.

Yes, there was tacit acknowledgment that some squad members had various problems and issues that needed to be addressed, but there?s a deal of difference between constructive criticism, and the sort of scathing, generally obscene, remarks more often employed on the parade ground, than in normal civilian life. And desperately needing to stay there, too. No player, especially the more intelligent of the species, actively desires to see their shortcomings given a very public airing in front of the very same people that pay to watch, week in, week out ? and ours can?t be all that much different, can they?

Another area in which Mogga was disarmingly honest with his audience was with tactics. He is the very first gaffer I?ve ever heard openly admit he gets his ideas for, say, deployment of players for free-kicks, corners, etc. from many, varied, sources, including watching football from other countries on TV. In other words, it would appear that he?s not at all chary of nicking ideas, then putting them into practice, with suitable Baggie adaptations, if necessary. Again, not the usual sort of thing you hear from most managers, largely content with letting the general public believe that successful set-pieces etc. are their exclusive brainchild, and no-one else?s.

He also espouses one value in particular, that of constantly aiming to provide top-notch entertainment for those who pay to watch. Mowbray sides don?t just win games, they do it with considerable panache, if their creator has anything to do with it. I get the distinct impression that this is a facet of our man?s character that couldn?t be changed, even if he?d wanted to. He wants to see us go away raving about that day?s performance, the build-up to the goals, the almost balletic performances of the flank men, the incisive thrusts of the midfield. Complete anathema is represented by the sort of sordid spectacle we witnessed versus Stoke the other night. One happy result of this passion for entertainment: we no longer ?enjoy? the ?bad boy? disciplinary reputation that dogged us so much last term. Am I right in thinking that far from hovering in the ?relegation zone? of the ?bad boys? league?, we?re not all that far from the top, this time round?

So let?s wrap up everything we learned about Mogga?s character that night within some all-encompassing envelope or other, then. Years ago, I was taught that good leadership always took into account three principal needs: those of the task, those of the team, and those of the individual. The concept isn?t new: my understanding is that the Army used (still use?) those very same principles when teaching NCO?s and junior officers their trade, but the same philosophy still holds, no matter what the application. What?s good for the guy storming a slit trench under fire is equally good for managers of football clubs. Both want to take their minions with them, heart and soul: done cannily, both can succeed admirably in their ultimate aim.

The task? That?s easy: getting us back into the higher sphere. Some supporters want it more badly than others, and for reasons I have detailed before, but for the majority of players, promotion can represent a quantum leap, in terms of both future employability and salary. To succeed in that stated aim, a good leader has to get everyone pulling together: to use another dreadful phrase culled from the world of business and politics, ?singing from the same hymn sheet?. This Mogga has done, and to great effect, I would say. Compare the present side with the one we had last season: I would assert that there were times, back then, when this was most certainly not the case.

The individual? Forget football for the moment. When dealing with any group of people, it?s almost inevitable that you are going to encounter a multiplicity of different likes, dislikes, personal foibles, varying levels of intelligence, and yes, various aspects of their private lives that threaten to impinge upon their working relationships, sometimes badly. The good leader uses positive characteristics (and, sometimes, what some might perceive to be the more negative ones) as an aid to getting the most out of that particular group.

To use an Army analogy once more, if your orders are to turn up in an enemy trench and grab one of theirs as a prisoner for intelligence purposes, you?ll take along people who are good in a fight. If, however, your aim is to suss out what their plans are, then you?ll use someone with an extensive knowledge of their language. Horses for courses, some will suit better than others, and it?s just the same in football. Some things need a ?Greening?, others a ?Chaplow?.

The team? That?s the optimum blend of people that you consider will achieve what you?ve set out to do. It goes without saying that they?ve got to get on together, of course, but that doesn?t totally preclude the use of those with wildly divergent characteristics. Sometimes, including opposing personalities in a side makes for greater efficiency. Time to bring in yet another expression with which some may be familiar: ?the whole is greater than the sum of all its parts?. In other words, the leader of the team bringing the diverse inputs of all those individuals together to facilitate the successful completion of the task in hand.

And yes ? what I say is relevant to the current fortunes of our favourite football team. Consider our existing first team squad, and what we know about them as people, positive, negative and neutral ? then take time to consider just how well they blend together on the park. Good leaders have the ability to draw the best out of their minions ? and I would contend that?s precisely what Mogga?s managed to do, this term. No so-called ?prima-donnas?, just good honest professionals that want it, both for their mates, and the club as a whole. I don?t need our manager to tell me that: I can see it every single time we hit the back of the net. EVERYONE gets into the congratulatory act, not just the scorer?s mates. They even have post-match discussions: animated, heated, sometimes, but always totally positive, and without any subsequent rancour or recrimination whatsoever. And that, my friends, is the hallmark of good leadership. They bloody care: sometimes, enough to argue passionately about it.

In many ways it?s a shame I was not able to report upon this meeting in far more detail, because I don?t for one moment believe that anything our manager said would have reflected adversely upon either West Bromwich Albion Football Club or those who work there in varying capacities. Everything Mogga did and said impressed me greatly: trust me on this one, because in well over 40 years of Baggie-watching, I?ve never encountered his equal.

The nearest I can get to Mogga in a past manager is the late Alan Ashman, who also employed mild methods to control his flock. Even then, especially very early in his reign, beneath that outwardly-amiable exterior there were undoubtedly times when that fa?ade was completely ripped apart, laid totally bare to reveal the angry individual before the prurient gaze of an assembled press corps. The bad start we had to season 1967-68 is a good case in point. ?Tis true I have heard past members of that side say they never once took advantage of Alan?s good nature, but on the other hand, there are suggestions from elsewhere that this was not necessarily the case. Again, the available evidence for one?s formation of such opinions is mostly subjective: what might seem rank insubordination from one person might well be perceived as constructive, welcome criticism by another.

Anyway, I hope that this ?pen picture? of our leader, as I see him, will assist in forming your own mental picture of Mogga, and what he believes in. Having carefully listened to what he had to say the other night (our first time, as we?d always been away on those previous occasions he?d decided to hold forth in front of the general public), I came away mostly thinking what an almighty steal we had for a gaffer. His philosophy, mental outlook, demeanour, views on the game, and related subjects ? as refreshing as a plunge into an ice-cold pool, all of it. Scotland?s loss is most assuredly our gain.

This will be my last offering for quite some time. Tomorrow, there being no weekend Baggies fix, we?re off to the wilds of Herefordshire, yet again ? but via Chester City?s ground, would you believe? Yep, we?ve decided to have a look at precisely what it is that makes Tucka Trewick?s Hereford United one of this season?s front runners for promotion from what was once the Fourth Division. The game is tomorrow night, but I will be commenting briefly when I get back ? which won?t be until after the Colchester game, making some nine days away in all.

The Fart will most certainly be hot-footing it in the footsteps of those ancient Roman centurions ? come to think about it, he probably WAS a Roman centurion in his younger days (but see below!) - but we won?t. Mind you, should we win by some incredible score, or have someone lash in the goal that they?ll be showing on local TV for evermore, please feel free to administer the obligatory chastening kick up the backside ad lib!

And Finally?.. Yet more proof that our well-ripened chum has a much more chequered military history than even I had imagined? Thanks to His Nibs so generously buying it for me on Amazon, the other night, I commenced reading a book about a certain Territorial regiment in the First World War, only to find, in one particular photograph, a chap called Wills there in what appeared to be his capacity as member of the Pay Corps ? and yes, there he was, conducting a pay parade! You don?t suppose?? Over to you, Mister Fart!

 - Glynis Wright

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