The Diary

12 November 2007: Edgar Street Tames Leeds, While Forest Green Almost Grab Rotherham By The Goolies!

That was my other half, having picked up the latest Sunday freebie from the small bit of the sofa to which I?d temporarily consigned it, like so many other publications, until I?d had a few minutes spare to catch up with them: but what the hell was he drivelling on about this time? A book full of words? Er ? wasn?t that the object of the whole blasted exercise? If it wasn?t, then perhaps William Caxton should have given up on the idea that very same moment he?d first thought a printing-press to be a Damn Good Idea. But instead, my eyes just happened to be feasting upon the tome, an up-market giveaway with, I think, The Observer. Well, it had to be really; the last time I saw similar from the tabloids, it was about Jemima Puddleduck, or similar. Whichever way you look at it, hardly reading of a scientific nature, is it?

?What are you on about?? I finally enquired, in that puzzled tone I regularly adopt when ?Im Indoors starts to prattle on about something completely unfathomable, which is around 75% of the time, sadly.

?That book,? he replied, tapping the cover for good measure. ?It says on the cover that it?s about ?space?. How can that be when it?s full of writing??

Grr?. When ?Im Indoors gets one of those moods on him, it?s within milliseconds that the old familiar feeling washes over me: a longing to go back 500 years, or thereabouts, to the time of the Borgias, me playing Lucrezia, and a whole room full of poisoned rings ? plus an eclectic range of suitably lethal compounds to stick in ?em, of course ? to choose from. Depending upon taste, you could arrange the coup de grace to happen ?twixt soup and main course, with the undertaker for afters. And not too difficult to guess who my first target would be, either. Bring on the aconite, atropine, or belladonna, that?s what I say!

But, book or no book, idiot hubbies or not, it hasn?t been too bad a weekend, overall, considering we didn?t have a ?proper? game to go to. Instead of suffering at either The Shrine or the Ricoh ? if you?re of a similarly pedantic bent as my other half, you?d go for the second of the two alternatives ? we spent our time taking in FA Cup games at Edgar Street (Friday) and Forest Green Rovers (Sunday), with a little bitty TV stuff chucked in for good measure on the Saturday. A strange experience, that, stuck at home watching the Sky latest scores service, and alternately cheering or groaning, depending upon who in our division had netted and who hadn?t.

Still, the results did run reasonably kindly for us, so it?s all down to us to get ?em hoppin? mad at The Ricoh tomorrow night. But first, a teensy run down on the games we DID see over the course of the past 48 hours. Our little footie-fest began on Friday afternoon, when we took our carcasses to Edgar Street, home of Hereford United, and their much-anticipated First Round tryst versus First Division high-flyers Leeds United. As we?d anticipated this one to be a sell-out, we?d enlisted the aid of Bulls-lovin? chums Nick Brade and his mum to sort out things from their end (ooer!). And being the lovely folkies they are, they did just that for us.

One surprising feature of that night?s events: Leeds couldn?t sell all their tickets (around 500 were returned to the cider-slurpers), and they couldn?t pack the ground to capacity, either. Sure, I know it was on a Friday night, I know it was live on Sky, but you would have thought that given the rightfully-proud memories they have of Cup giant-killings in that town (1972, versus Newcastle United, Ronnie Radford, etc. still gets ?em going a bit, even though the main event?s some 35 years in the past), the chance of seeing yet another once-proud name ?bite the dust? would have had them stampeding in the direction of their ticket office within milliseconds of the pair being drawn together. But ? ermmm ? nope. On the night, not only was there loads of room in the away end, there were also significant gaps to be seen on home territory, too.

A word to the wise. If you?re ever taking in a game at Edgar Street, I really do recommend the chippy that sits hard by a pub quite near the ?back entrance? to their huge car park. ?The Jolly Fryer?, it?s called ? or something like that. If I?ve got it wrong, go on. Sue me. See if I care. Seriously, though, obnoxious though he may be, Michael Winner, one time film director, now turned a restaurant critic of sorts, would have most certainly categorised their fish and chips (all cooked in ?proper? oil and batter, may I add) as ?historic?. Or, if you just happen to be the battered ex-fish in question, ?hysteric?.

I can?t remember the last time I enjoyed a chippy meal so hugely. Oh ? and the whole thing is organised so well, each one behind the counter sticking to their pre-assigned duties, and only one person handling money, they can take football crowds in their scaly stride. See ? good food, produced in quantity, fairly cheap, obtainable at games - it CAN be done!

But back to the game. As is normal for Hereford on these occasions, they hired a ?mascot? ? but not your bog-standard tearful, snot-ridden, weak-bladdered child. Oh dearie me, no! Being The Bulls, they only had to go and procure a live specimen from a friendly local farmer, didn?t they? Tell you what, though: as the poor beast was trundled right around the ground, via the running-track, you should have seen the bemused looks upon the faces of some of those Leeds supporters. I think I can safely take that to mean similar simply doesn?t happen up there in Yorkshire!

This being a game of some repute, even Talking Bill, who doesn?t drive or live local, had dragged his carcass to the city for this one. Bloody good going, that, as public transport in that city just doesn?t happen after six in the evening. What with him, the lady I tend to call ?Madame DeFarge? sitting expectantly in the front row, and the loud-voiced ?back seat driver? a few seats behind, it all promised to be a deafening kind of evening. Oh, all that, plus a mini-fireworks display going on in a couple of back gardens close to the ground!

Once the game started, though, a few preconceptions quietly dissolved into nothingness. I suppose it was the constant flow of publicity that did it, but I had come to that game expecting to see something special from Dennis Wise?s outfit: after all, a side that can turn a fifteen-point deduction into seventh place in the First Division, has to have something about it, doesn?t it?

Er ? no, actually. The longer the game went on, the more it struck me that United were, in reality, quite an ordinary side. In fact, I ended the game strongly suspecting that given a following wind, and both Kev Phillips and Ish Miller bang on form, we?d have seen them off pretty quickly. Certainly Hereford had their chances, weathering the predictable opening Leeds storm, then, once things finally settled down, putting together some decent little passing moves of their own. But Hereford were to keep their best until the second half: another time, another game, and they would have absolutely slaughtered Dennis Wise?s troops. Their first chance, around ten minutes after the restart, a wonderfully crafted effort involving three or four of their players, went close ? very, very close. Hereford were motoring ? and then, midway through the half, rank bad luck struck, in their captain, Carl Broadhurst, being stretchered off after landing awkwardly after going for a high ball. Ouch. That mean some rapid shuffling around in the ranks, but it didn?t stem the tide one little bit.

Closer and closer to the target came the hosts ? mind you, had one lino in particular put up his flag for offside many more times, I strongly suspect he would have found said object firmly lodged in quite an unusual place, come the end of the game - until, with just 15 to go to the end, they had the Leeds defence really rocking. The first shock to their systems came courtesy Hereford?s Ainsworth, who got onto the right end of a superb cross from the left (Guinan, I think) and headed it for all it was worth in the direction of the old rigging.

How the hell their keeper managed to fist it away I do not know. Pure instinct, native cunning, call it what you will? The Ainsworth effort could not have come from a closer range ? from the six-yard line, or slightly nearer, I reckon ? but keep the score pristine he did. Had the Bulls opened up Leeds then and there, I don?t think they would have come back from it.

But if that wasn?t enough, not long after that, The Bulls were handed yet another gilt-edged chance to get the Leeds contingent clogging up the Samaritans hot-line, this time from a late corner. Over the ball came, one of the sort that bobble about the box like it?s a fragmentation grenade, and not a harmless spheroid: predictably, no-one could quite gain ownership. Until Hereford?s McCombe, a defender by trade, added his weight to the numbers.

One well-executed overhead kick, just shaving the post, later, and it seemed as though the entire stadium was about to suffer a massed bout of torn scalp. Again, had that one gone in?. But it didn?t, so now they?ve got to go to Elland Road, and do the whole thing all over again. Not that The Bulls will be weeping salt tears, mind: what with this one, and the replay, they stand to make well over 200 grand, I?d say. Peanuts at our level, but when you?re stuck in football?s bargain basement, such largesse can, in other ways, transmute into riches beyond compare. Don?t forget, The Bulls currently occupy the second of three automatic promotion spots, and the money will come in very handy.

On to Saturday, then, and the realisation that we?d goofed up! We had thought the Forest Green Rovers game was taking place that day, but when we checked our paper, that morning ? ooops! The following day, it was ? but never mind. What we did instead was watch Championship and other Cup developments, courtesy Sky. When I wasn?t dozing off, that is!

And that, my leetle chums, brings me to the present. The aforementioned outing to Forest Green Rovers, who were battling Rotherham for a place in the Second Round of the competition. But first things first, a wee bit of Sunday lunch beckoned, courtesy of a pub about ten miles from Nailsworth, home of Forest Green Rovers, currently punching well above their weight, in what used to be called the Conference. A splendid bit of lamb and all the trimmings for moi, and ?burnt cow? for ?Im Indoors. All served with loads of ?Wolves supporters? aka ?vegetables?, of course, and the speediness of service giving us both plenty of time to read our Sunday papers once we?d arrived at the other end and secured a decent parking spot.

Incidentally, if you?ve got either a dicky heart or chest, NEVER try to walk to their ground from Nailsworth town itself. The reason? Easy, that. The ground is actually situated about a mile up one of the steepest inclines known to Man or Dingle. It must certainly give unsuspecting visiting supporters a bit of a shock, but to be fair, most of the Conference are well-used to their set-up by now. Not so the likes of Rotherham, I?ll wager!

And neither were they quite prepared for the onslaught their defence was subjected to once the game got underway. Incidentally, remember how it used to be Walsall where old Albion players went to die? Well, the same applies to Forest Green, but in their case, it?s an elephants? graveyard for ex-Bulls, if you get my drift! Four of their Old Boys currently grace the Conference club?s ranks, three of them - Stuart Fleetwood, Jamie Pitman and Mark Beesley - started the game, with ex-Baggie Daniel Carey-Bertram on the bench, until the last 20 minutes or so.

Today was the first time we?d gone to Forest Green Rovers since they?d moved grounds. Well, I say ?moved?: they simply shifted the whole shebang two or three hundred yards further up the hill, but in newer premises, in parts. Two of their stands, though, went ?walkies? up the hill with the rest of ?em. My first disappointment, on entering within? The loss of a truly magnificent view of the Gloucester countryside that could be obtained by the simple expedient of investing in a seat ticket for their main stand in the ?old place?. With this one, all you could see was the brow of a couple of nearby hillocks, plus a small copse or three dotted hither and thither, and groups of people exercising their mutts on its green and pleasant swathe.

But inside the new stand itself ? now there was a right turn-up for the books! Once inside, should your bladder be dragging you in that sort of direction, you can avail yourselves of the ? erm ? ?facilities?, which are truly out of this world for a football club of any size, let alone this one. Ample, clean female toilet accommodation, with that environmental Holy Of Holies, double-flush bogs, as per the sort commonly found in drought-stricken Oz. Your flush depends very much upon what you?ve ?produced? more substantial jobbies needing the longer version, of course.

Emerging once more, and this time, in search of the refreshment place, we encountered yet another football ground novelty: a series of halogen radiant heaters, all suspended from the ceiling, which meant that unlike at most grounds, one could sup one?s beverage of choice in the bowels of the stand, pre-match, and still remain as warm as toast while doing it. Oh ? and ?Im Indoors reckons the coffee I purchased for him was the biz, and reasonably priced, too.

After we?d wet our whistles, time to go to our seat, where we encountered yet another anomaly visible on this ground only, to the best of my knowledge and belief ? an absence of physical barriers, on our side of the pitch. This meant that nothing whatsoever prevented anyone from running onto the pitch, had they taken it into their heads to do so. I can only assume that this had never been abused, otherwise the plods would have stuck their ruddy great size nines in, long before now. p Oh ? and another thing. The PA system, although loud enough to fry normal human tympanic membranes within a matter of seconds, was most helpful and informative. For the benefit of those who don?t quite get this one, in other words, they treated football supporters like rational and intelligent human beings, not sheep, or cattle.

As for the game, as I mentioned, the home side could boast a fair number of ex-Bulls in their line-up, with Carey Bertram on the bench. But they didn?t half give poor Rotherham a scare: 20-goal Fleetwood was the principal perpetrator of the damage, with two in the first half, and Rotherham looking distinctly woozy with shock, come the break.

And I reckon that Rovers would have held out for a passage to the second round, were it not for a penalty award to the visitors ? which I?m still somewhat dubious about - during the second. This they netted, and gave them sufficient renewed impetus to try and blow the Rovers house down for them. Up until then, the Forest Green defence had hardly had their hairdos mussed up, so poor had been the Millers? response, but now they?d tasted blood, it was a different matter altogether.

With about ten minutes left, they managed to grab the equaliser, and by so doing, earned what I regard as a second chance they didn?t really deserve. And all that, in view of a sunset of absolutely lurid proportions. Well, either that, or someone had nuked Bristol while I wasn?t looking. As for Rovers, not nuked, just knackered, I strongly suspect that their FA Cup trail will end at Millmoor, but by God, they didn?t half give the opposition a scare along the way.

And now for a quick look at our own game tomorrow, and what the Fates might have in store for we mugginses ?who only stand and wait? ? or something like that. Blimey, was that a bloke called Milton I just heard making ghostly teeth-gnashing noises? Naw, just the mint sauce I had with my lamb repeating on me ? I hope.

First of all, let?s get the easy bit over and done with. Coventry will be without striker Robbie Simpson, who has a ruptured hamstring, and right-back David McNamee ? just plain ?hamstring? for him. (Does he want fries with that? No, hold the fries, mate, but heavy on the ketchup?) is also doubtful. They may have restored striker Leon McKenzie back to health after his knee problems, but the game is likely to come too soon for groin-injury victim Michael Hughes. I wonder if anyone offered to ?kiss it better??

That?s ?them?, then, so what about us? Our big problem lies with poor Kev Phillips, now injured, of course, and no-one at the club wanting to pin his recovery down to any sort of definitive time-scale, so it would seem to me. We can?t stick Craig Beattie in his socket, he?s also out, but through illness, not injury, so what the hell do we do now? It?s a tad too late for answers on a postcard, so we?ll just have to look to our football club for the right and proper solution to this tricky little personnel poser. Slusarski whacked in three for the reserves the other night, while Bednar has netted three over the course of six games. Mowbray also reminded everyone that Teixiera could play in the ?hole? behind the striker, whoever that may turn out to be, and Zoltan also plays in a similar role when turning out for his national side. According to our gaffer, James Morrison, so good they named a World War 2 domestic air-raid shelter after him, can also do similar, if necessary. The options are there, but between you, me and the goal-post, I?d be much happier seeing Kev back in his old slot.

That?s not possible, of course, so I guess we?ll just have to keep our fingers crossed, and hope the damage won?t spread to the remainder of the side. Of the possible options, my own preference would be for an Ish Miller starring role up front, with Zoltan Gera backing things up behind. He?s buzzy, he?s got real nuisance value, and as for those spring-heeled Jack-type flick-ons of his, that would probably be just the ticket for Ish to do his thing.

Alby?s knee injury also lobs an unexpected second chance in the direction of Leon Barnett, who impressed me very little during the opening part of the current season ? too many daft mistakes at the back for my liking, and costing us, too - but he has improved of late, to be scrupulously fair to the guy. As for the GD Away Team, none of us will be attending this one. It being my other half?s first day in a new post (same employers, based one floor higher than before, but now in a completely different role), and him likely to be cream-crackered tomorrow through excessive sensory input, plus the fact the game?s live on Sky anyway, means we?ll be sitting this one out, as will The Fart. We may not be at the Ricoh in person, any of us, The Fart included, but our hearts and minds most certainly will. Apparently, Cov?s main striking threat will lie in the direction of the lad Mifsud. The more I look at that name, the more I wonder whether his mum got the original idea from some advert for washing powder she happened to be watching when the little shaver was born. Seriously, though, he is the one threat that both Mogga and Albion are taking really seriously.

Our manager rates him pretty highly, it would seem, so, by definition, he?s got to have something about him. Mind you, his nickname does happen to be ?The Mosquito? ? and we all know how to consign buzzy little pests like that to Eternity, don?t we? Awful effects upon the environment, food chain, or whatever notwithstanding, what a crying shame DDT was banned, back in the late sixties! But containing this particular variety of anophele would do everyone a huge favour, wouldn?t it: don?t mossies carry in their bloodstream the parasite that?s really responsible for malaria, or something? And Finally?.. Quick, pass me the smelling salts before I laugh myself into a state of complete and utter apoplexy, or worse! The problem? The headline I?ve just seen in what will be tomorrow?s Daily Mail, viz: ?HARTSON RETURNS TO BAGGIES READY TO MAKE A FIGHT OF IT?.?

And, I quote: ??.John Hartson will report back to West Bromwich Albion today after shelving plans to retire. The former Wales striker, 32, had threatened to quit if he failed to make a success of his loan move to Norwich City?.?

Tell you what, lads?. Just stick to what you?re good at, i.e.: putting the boot into single mothers, social workers, state benefit claimants, Labour voters ? any sort of Labour voter, despite the person with such affiliations quite possibly being the most sainted person ever known in this green and pleasant land ? The League Against Cruel Sports, anyone whose skin is microscopically darker than mine, the EEC in its entirety, and finally, anyone whatsoever suspected of having any sort of empathy with those worse off than themselves.

Oh ? and did I mention social workers? Yup, of course I did, first up against the wall if that lot ever got into power! Now, for God?s sake, someone, pass me the bag containing the ammonium chloride crystals before I collapse into a discordant heap!

 - Glynis Wright

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