The Diary

03 November 2007: Hornets v Baggies: A Sting In The Tail For The Home Side?

Well, at least I can begin this piece by announcing to the world at large one positive bit of news ? and that is concerning the fact that at long last, I?ve finally sent off my Open University assessment to be marked. Quite a bit of work went into that, a lot of it in parallel with regular nightly production of this tome, too, so to say I?m feeling very virtuous, right now, is understating the true state of affairs by several degrees. The proof of the pudding, so to speak, will be in the final feedback I get, so I await developments with great interest, shall we say. Assuming I get an OK, I do have another course in mind, which starts in a couple of months? time, so watch this space.

Other than wrestling with the miscellaneous vagaries of molecular chemistry, what else have I (and by extension, ?Im Indoors) been up to? Now, let me see?.. The Dingles reserve game I told you about in my last offering, so the next item on the agenda is a trip to what used to be called ?the flicks? by children of discretion, some thirty or forty years ago. Ladywood, and the multiplex they?ve got there, was our destination come Wednesday night - and the title of the film we?d come to see? A New Zealand-based comedy entitled ?Black Sheep?.

Imagine Cesar Romero?s ?Dawn Of The Dead? but played for laughs with loads of sheep instead of blood-streaked zombies, and you?ll get the general gist of what was going on, but just in case there?s the odd Dingle reading this, the plot revolves around two brothers, one the goodie, the other the mercenary, profit-motivated baddie, a sheep farm once owned by their now-deceased father, the baddie brother starting up a genetic engineering lab on the land, something nasty ?erm ? ?getting out?, a couple of environmental activists, a bit of romantic interest (honest), and, of course, more sheep, zombified or otherwise, than you?ll ever see this side of a tanker sloshing-full of mint sauce. Great fun, if you?ve got the same sort of warped sense of humour I have, but if you can?t stomach (sic) the thought of seeing lots of blood and guts flying literally everywhere, even in a comedic sense, then don?t bother.

We should have been going to the Main Branch thrash on Thursday evening, actually, but didn?t. A shame, that, as my other half had been eager to catch up on the post-Albion doings of Imre Varadi (I sometimes wonder whether Ron Saunders actually did carry out his two-Alsatian canine threat), but the poor lamb (strictly non-GM, I hasten to add, given the thrust of the previous item) was knackered, to put it bluntly. He?s due to start another job within a couple of weeks, and much of his time over the last 7 days or so has been spent training up his successor. Or not, which is the fundamental reason why he?s so cream-crackered at the moment.

Tomorrow sees The Big One, of course. High Noon, The Final Showdown, The Crunch, even. First versus Third. Not quite in the realms of the ?80?s picture ?Highlander?, perhaps ? ?There Can Only Be One? ? but not an unreasonable substitute for similar, by any yardstick you choose to employ. The late Saddam Hussein would probably have termed it ?The Mother Of All Battles? - which is where the local media, theirs and ours, have probably beaten him to it by a short head (with or without previously-severed spinal cord in the cervical region of the vertebrae: you choose!), by now. Whatever label you wish to attach to this encounter, our performance tomorrow should otherwise provide an excellent yardstick regarding how the remainder of our promotion push this term is likely to pan out. Get something from this one on their home turf, and we?ll know we?ve got one hell of a side batting for the cause.

I do have mixed memories of Vicarage Road: my worst one simply has to be of the time we went there by coach, ended up completely bogged down in traffic (I?ve also an idea that the police, doing a ?Newcastle United? style escort job ? i.e. only taking the Baggie convoy in at the very last moment - were partially responsible for what subsequently happened), with the entirely predictable result that by the time we eventually hit Ground Zero, only ten or so minutes remained before kick-off.

And that wouldn?t have mattered diddly-squat today, given our coaches, and very obligingly too, may I say, now drop their passengers right outside the away turnstile. Back then, though, it was a very different matter: our drop-off spot was situated at the very bottom of a very large council allotment, with the ground visible right at the top of the steepest of slopes. Once you?d peered closely from among all the brassicas and tubers, of course. Again, this wouldn?t normally have been a problem ? but what made the real difference was the fact there was no direct route from A (the bottom) to B (the very top).

Well, not without charging directly through the entire allotment, a course of action which, given the deplorable state of supporter-copper relations that existed back then, was tantamount to having the steel bracelets applied to your reluctant wrists ? ?Criminal damage: you?re nicked, my son!? - without any further ado. Not wishing to meet local magistrates in person, what you had to do instead was negotiate a convoluted course taking you right round the numerous back alleys and streets in those there parts.

This had the overall effect of turning a distance of some 2-300 yards, as the vulture flies, into one of well over a mile long ? and mostly uphill, too. But we still made it in time. How come? By dint of ?Im Indoors literally dragging me the entire distance: how the hell I didn?t expire on the spot courtesy acute coronary heart disease induced by unaccustomed exertion, I really don?t know. Suffice to say I arrived in that away end looking very much like I?d been on the wrong end of a raiding party consisting of Sioux warriors (hence my earlier reference to the vultures), and leave it at that, eh?

Turning to tomorrow?s doings once more, we?ll be letting the coach take the strain (expensive, sure, but have you seen the price of fuel these days?). Barring something really catastrophic happening, the nonsense of all those years ago won?t be repeated; like as not, our vehicles will simply make their sedate way to Vicarage Road sans all, save the minimum of police performing escort duties, and with at least a couple of hours to spare, too. Just as well we know of the whereabouts of a couple of spiffing pubs nearby with outdoor facilities, so if the weather proves OK (and from the look of the various forecasts I?ve seen tonight, I don?t anticipate many problems on that front), that?s where we?ll be going, no doubt, once our ?chariot of delight? finally disgorges its precious cargo of well-up-for-it Black Country people.

Tomorrow?s Watford jaunt will be special for one other reason: for the first time since Scunny, the whole of what was once the GD Away Team will be participating, That means our normal travelling trio i.e. The Fart, ?Im Indoors, and this column, will be augmented (and enlivened considerably, no doubt) by the vociferous presence of The Noise. Those down to travel in Coach One, You Have Been Warned! Industrial-grade earplugs available from Baggies Travel on request, so rumour has it.

It?s now a pretty good time to turn our collective attention towards what sort of side both sets of combatants will be putting out, come the morrow. Will we be looking to taking the fight right to the very heart of their rearguard, and by so doing, receiving as well as inflicting damage, possibly fatally, or will we merely indulge in self-protective operations, and by so doing, hoping for an eventual lucky break in which to mete out a killing blow?

Ooooh, decisions, decisions?.. Glad it?s Mogga, not me, doing the deciding. As far as they?re concerned, the real danger for us lies in the somewhat elusive shape (for defenders, at least) of Marlon King. Seven goals up, he is, thus far, and what?s more, he?s netted in each of his last five, so to call him a complete and utter pest is the Understatement Of The Year, by anyone?s lights.

There is also Nathan Ellington, once a player for a certain Black Country club nesting close to the comforting embrace of the M5-M6 Triangle, but whether Ady Boothroyd (who has an unlikely assistant, in the form of former Tottingham and Albion bore-merchant Keith Burkinshaw) will go for the fruits of the ?embuggeration factor? that impelled our man to take up his bed and walk in the first place, we?ll just have to wait and see.

Tomorrow will also prove to be a bit of what Americans tend to call ?At Home Week? for several of our people. Paul Robinson, for one: he was at one time a Hornet, albeit a much less mature one (was it all the sprayed anti-stinger insecticide that made him what he is now, I wonder?). He made his first-team debut for the club at the tender age of 17, and in a local spat with Luton Town, too. The Vicarage Road persuasion think about as much of the Kenilworth Road mob as we do the Dingles, a somewhat bellicose state of affairs that must have imparted a certain ?je ne sais quoi? to the aforementioned fixture, if nothing else.

According to Robbo?s account of that debut game, as per today?s Express And Dingle, it ended in a 1-1 stalemate: the actual size of the body count following Mister Robinson?s involvement in same, albeit at a juvenile level, isn?t recorded, sadly. Mind you, I did raise my eyebrows a bit when the lad declared: ?Watford made me what I am now?. With Elton John their chairman at the time, what on earth could Robbo mean, I wonder? Ooer.

Yet another Vicarage Road Old Boy is our very own Kev Phillips, currently trying to negotiate a three-year deal with Albion, according to the media. In the course of what has been a fairly nomadic footballing existence for the lad, during the early part of his career, he fetched up at Vicarage Road, having been brought there from an outfit called Baldock Town, for a five-figure sum. The bargain of a lifetime. The rest we all know, of course.

And the multiplicity of Albion connections don?t just stop with the playing side. Watford also have on their board former Baggie Mark Ashton. I can ?declare an interest? here, as Ashton went to school with my nephew, and what?s more, his mum is still a good friend of my sister. Mind you, as those who have ever encountered my older sibling ? look out Tenerife: she?s a-comin? to get ya next week! - in the flesh will readily concur, I?m not so sure whether to regard that as an advantage or not!

As for Mogga, as far as he?s concerned, opposite-number Boothroyd could mug all the old ladies he wanted in the Watford area, then strangle their cats, and still end up smelling like roses. Talk about a ?mutual admiration society? at today?s Albion press conference! Said our leader, apropos his opposite number: "?..His star rose very quickly from being a coach at Leeds and Albion (I hadn?t known that), to going into Watford, where he`s done great things, and plays a brand of football that is effective??. His motivational powers are very good and he gives the impression of being a very efficient guy. We`re in a results business, and he got those pretty quickly". Something tells me that whatever the outcome of tomorrow?s game, there?ll be tea and biscuits aplenty for our gaffer in Boothroyd?s managerial bolt-hole following tomorrow?s final whistle.

As far as Watford are concerned, they have a not-so-secret weapon, a midfield wunderkind, not long minted at first-team level. Their problem? Whether to play young shaver Lee Williamson in this one, or not. It would seem that Boothroyd is dangling on the horns of a dilemma (painful? Not arf!) whether to give the lad the green light, or go with experience, in the form of John-Joe O?Toole. The rumour that the latter once played for a ?Waltons? Eleven? is totally unfounded, club sources tell me.

As for the rest, it looks as though keeper Mart Poom (now there?s a daft name for you: just what is a ?poom?? As in ?I?m just off to the hairdressers, to have a poom done?, perhaps?) will be back from injury and lurking with malice aforethought ?twixt the sticks tomorrow. On the other hand, his deputy, the much more sensibly named Richard Lee, has been doing an excellent job in his absence, so that might just give ?em a bit of a selection headache. Midfielder Lee Williamson might also miss out, despite completing his recent suspension.

Long-term sick and lame include Damien Francis, midfield, knee ligaments; Gareth Williams, also knee ligaments, out until the New Year; Al Bangura (isn?t that Asian pop music, or something?), broken arm (ouch); Jordan Park (metatarsal, talk to me nicely tomorrow, and I?ll show you precisely which one is the problem!); and Moses Ashkodi, broken leg (even bigger ?ouch?!).

As for our lot, it goes like this: Mowbray, in his press conference, said he?d be taking around 20 players to Watford, in all probability, so the various ?perms? and ?coms? inherent in that little lot could prove a tad tiresome to ponder. He?s also intimated that Roman Bednar, recently returned from injury, has been bleeding his ears something rotten regarding his inclusion in the side tomorrow. The player feels ready, Mogga said, but the acid test has to be whether or not the guy can score goals at that level. Scoring for the reserves isn?t quite enough, he reckons. The coaching staff have to feel confident he can do it at the higher level, too.

The actual side he?ll go with tomorrow? Hmmmm - our leader?s final decision will be largely shaped by the fact ? for good or ill ? that he has a pretty much full set of personnel to choose from for this one. As I said previously, a lot will ride upon whether he goes for playing safe, with just one up front, or decides to take the Hornet by the horns, and opts for a twin spearhead instead. Given the importance of this game to the eventual way it pans out for our season, it might be that Mogga will abandon the instincts of a lifetime and go for the first of the two options ? but on the other hand, he might well decide to adopt what homeopaths would undoubtedly regard as the correct course ? treating like with like. ?Rescue Remedy?, anyone?

As our leader also said today, this season, our downfall on the road has come about primarily via goals conceded very cheaply, so it doesn?t take much in the way of intelligence to see precisely where it is we should be shoring things up. Hopefully, our players, also being an intelligent bunch, on the whole, will realise this and act accordingly. Managers, no matter how good they are, can only do so much to prepare a side for a game such as this one. Tomorrow?s final outcome rests entirely in the hands of those who take to the field of play. Let?s hope they don?t disgrace the sacred stripes.

And finally?? One. This is the serious bit. Well done to two of our kids, James Hurst and Lateef Allyu, on making the squad for the England Under-18 game versus Wales, played at Telford?s new place, the other night. The England lads ended the game victors, by two goals without reply, the lad Hurst starting the game in his normal defensive mode, and his Albion chum coming on as sub in the 25th minute. Given what seems to be a welcome emphasis placed upon youth development at the club these days, let?s hope it won?t be too long before we start to see the fruits of the coaching staff?s labours at first-team level. And, while we?re handing out the plaudits, congrats also to Ishmael Miller, who has been nominated for Championship ?Player Of The Month?. And quite right too, say I!

Two?? Now for the ?non-serious bits? - whoopee! While typing this piece, I?ve left ?Im Indoors happily watching ?Spartacus? on the box (all that lovely blood and gore: blokes absolutely gag for it, don?t they?). But that got me thinking (ooer!) further, about the famous ending, where the nasty Romans, wanting to know which slave actually is the Truculent One (the Anelka of his day, n?est ce pas?), get stonewalled by each and every one in turn uttering the now-famous line: ?I am Spartacus?.?

Suppose we tried that during a game? Imagine the deliciously-wonderful amount of confusion it would cause following an incident of dubious provenance necessitating the use of a yellow card, or worse, if, say, Albrechtsen instantaneously upped and declared: ?I am Paul Robinson,? closely followed by Koren loudly affirming, ?No, I am Paul Robinson!?, then, many tedious enquiries and denials later, even Ishmael Miller joining in the fun by affirming, ?Nope ? not even warm, ref, ?cos I am Paul Robinson?.? A spiffing wheeze? Oh, suit yerselves.

Three?. So our manager is finally coming clean, is he? Well, that?s the situation according to The Express and Dingle, headlining one particular article: ?Boss Warns Of Ariel Threat?! I expect it?ll all come out in the (biological?) wash for Mogga, eventually! But don?t get into too much of a lather about it, OK?

 - Glynis Wright

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