The Diary

13 November 2007: Four Goal Baggies Teach Coventry Not To Fart In Church.

Well, if nothing else, that?ll stop upstart Coventry getting ideas way above their station, won?t it? Right now, The Fart, the Cinderella who DID go to the ball, after much protestation that he wasn?t, must be standing on a Coventry railway platform, and looking a very, very smug Baggie indeed. It was all down to the Power Of The Pensioners? Pass, of course, travelling for zilch making for a much less expensive time of it than going by more orthodox away-travel methods. Well, he certainly picked the right game to do it.

More problematic, though, were what I would regard as worrying deficiencies in our overall performance, despite the stonkingly-great magnitude of tonight?s victory. Truly, this was a classic ?game of two halves?, our performance in the first being, quite frankly, awful, but this failing offset considerably by what happened in the second. In his after-match interview, Mogga, ever the diplomat, clearly intimated that ?words? had been said during half-time, and not all of them emanating from the savagely-pursed lips of management, either.

The impression I got was one of some players, acutely aware of not only their own shortcomings, but those in the team as a whole, engaging in what one might charitably call ?serious discussions?, during the break. Well, at least it proves they care, and, as we were to see during the second 45, those words must have done something. We managed to get our act in gear, finally, and see the Sky Blues off in fine style, as we should have much earlier, considering they were a man down, after losing trainee-anophele Mifsud, courtesy his ill-judged attempt to introduce his elbow to Hoefkens? facial features, early on. More on that later.

Mind you, sending-off or none, my hate glands had been stimulated much, much earlier in the day, leaving plenty of secretions spare for the events at the Ricoh, later that very same evening. Well, I mean, it?s guaranteed to push my buttons every time, the doorbell going, me opening the door ? and finding, on the step, not our genial postie, but a clutch of bloody Jehovah?s Witnesses, smiling in that sickly sort of way they reserve for potential converts ? and boy, with me, they?d definitely picked on the wrong one!

Oh, well ? at least, they?d had the decency not to bring a small child or three with them on their mission, this time round. That?s been their normal tactics, of late, so as to dampen all the manifold insults hurled at them, so my response was a tadge more restrained than is normal for me, telling them sweetly but firmly, ?No, I?m NOT interested, thank you very much,? then closed the door in a pointed sort of way, just in case they wanted to try a ?follow-up? visit in the near future. You have to wonder, though: given the size of their church, you would have thought they?d keep records of their doorstep visits and note down those likely to prove a complete and utter waste of time, wouldn?t you? Or is that an aspect of their policy they prefer to leave with the Man Up There, I wonder?

Meanwhile, back on terra firma, and scooting forwards in time by a factor of several hours, it was soon the appointed moment to switch on the old TV set, and do our Albion watching from a distance, for once. Sky, in their pre-match preamble, made much of potential Coventry City buyer Roy Ranson, tipped to take on both the club, and the ?30 million in debts that hung like a millstone around their horrid little necks. Oh, and the fact the Sky Blues didn?t even own their own muck heap any more anyway.

The Ricoh is very much a council-owned venture, so, on the balance of things, taking on that little lot seemed more like a painful exercise in masochism to me. Still, each to their own, I say. I wonder what he thought of all those empty seats out there tonight? Not exactly an incentive to proceed further with any purchase plans, I would have thought. Maybe he smokes hash in his spare time? Hell, he?d need an awful lot to console him for having to watch that lot every week.

Looking at their situation another way, another miracle was their current (i.e. before kick-off) top-six League position. Potential buyer or otherwise, surely they?d never manage to maintain that sort of momentum over the necessary period of time it takes to see you promoted? Well as things finally turned out, I reckon we got at least a partial answer to that one ? but boy, didn?t we make heavy going of it!

Regarding the team news prior to kick-off, our main problem lay in finding an effective replacement for the badly-injured and (probably) sorely-missed Kev Phillips. Finding a surrogate from within the ranks of our own players would undoubtedly prove one of our most onerous tasks this season ? and, to be perfectly frank with you lot, I was finding great difficulty identifying who the knight in shining navy blue-and-white armour was likely to be. And, let us not forget Alby, who would also be difficult to replace. In the end, Mogga elected to go with giving Barnett the Royal Assent, a game in the middle for Morrison, which then saw Tex filling the ?hole? behind Ish Miller. Oh, and for the first time in absolute yonks, we even had a substitute keeper on the bench, for once. Hmmmm.

From the kick-off, though, watching via our TV screen or not, one thing was clear. After some good work early on by Greening, whose hirsute appearance is making him resemble Billy Connolly more and more, these days, almost set Ish Miller, sporting an enormous surgical dressing on his face, a keepsake from the Sheffield Wednesday game, no doubt, up for an early chance at the target. But that sort of decisiveness was the exception that proved the rule. Where the hell was the pure confidence, arrogance almost, we had exuded in heaps when playing Watford just a couple of games before tonight?s episode? Losing a key member of the squad shouldn?t have affected our performance that greatly, surely? After all, we did have loads of others in that side who were, theoretically at least, well-capable of becoming temporary forwards.

And that is why I just couldn?t make any sense out of that first half performance. It was almost as though we were frightened of mixing it with them. Passes going astray, the complete lack of our normal rhythm and fluidity with the ball, the inexplicable yawning gap that seemed to have opened up ?twixt Miller and most of the midfield ? the supply-line most would have expected simply wasn?t there.

All this, and after what, for me, should have been the signal for our lot to pile on the agony for our Sky Blue chums, the dismissal of the man they call The Mosquito, Mifsud. Iain Dowie can protest all he likes, the dismissal was bang-to-rights, even if the ref did have to consult with the fourth official to make perfectly sure he hadn?t got it wrong. It?s easy to say these things in hindsight, sure, but the TV footage of the incident proved beyond all reasonable doubt that the man with the whistle had got it right.

Hoefkens was the victim of a particularly nasty species of elbow in the face that might have badly injured the guy. What on earth Mifsud was thinking of when he lunged in like that, only his Maker knows, but it sure was the last thing he did on the field of play that night. Sadly, the home crowd, who weren?t privy to what we?d seen, were furious, most of their bile aimed in the direction of Phil Dowd, the referee, and the remainder for the sinned-against Hoefkens.

The way the referee eventually came to wave the red card in the first place also displeased the groundlings, insofar as he?d first of all checked with his fourth official, using his earpiece radio to have a word to the guy, then communing in person, presumably to double-check that he had called it right. Well, whatever, a very cross Maltese, Mifsud, walked, and deservedly so, although it wasn?t until after half-time that the crowd finally laid off the ref. Presumably, some had rung people watching the game on the box during the break, and asked their opinion of the incident. From the relative silence, I can only assume that they had concurred with Mister Dowd.

One very valid point that the commentators made, and something I?d very much like to see introduced to football, was the possible introduction of US and rugby union-style explanation of decision-making via the big screen carried in most Championship football grounds, these days. In other sports, not only does the ref have a replay of the incident in question shown there, he also gets to explain to the crowd why he?s gone down that particular route. Tonight, the animosity caused among the home crowd would have been instantly diffused, had he been able to do so. And, harking back to that awful Sheffield Wednesday game, had that replay facility been available, the lovely Mister Matthews would have been instantaneously (and deservedly) shown up for what he was ? a complete and utter pillock.

That little bit of controversy now left us with a clear numerical advantage ? but could we capitalise? Could we hell. As ?Im Indoors remarked not long afterwards, this was shaping up to be a long and stressful evening for us. Personally, I reckon the sending-off distracted us badly, knocked us out of kilter, stopped us from settling down to play our normal sort of game. And things weren?t helped by a Coventry side seemingly intent on stopping us from relaxing on the ball, forcing errors courtesy some pretty ?in-yer-face? stuff, just like Sheffield Wednesday, some six days before.

In fact, after the dismissal, it was Coventry looking the more likely to score first, and that?s precisely what they nearly did during the 19th minute, when Adebola almost made his mark on the proceedings courtesy an effort that positively scorched across the six-yard box, and only just failed to go in via the near post. Wakey, wakey, smell the coffee, Albion!

After that, though, the game seemed to settle down to some degree of torpidity, with Coventry showing much more initiative, by far. You could genuinely see them sneaking one in, you really could, and we?d have nobody to blame but ourselves, either. Cut camera to the touchline, and there was Mogga, going absolutely crackers at the worst shortcomings of his charges. Which wasn?t typical of him, by any means. Mind you, Mogga?s imprecations might, by extension, have had some influence on Coventry?s Hughes to abandon that ?Phantom Of The Opera? style mask of his, and allow every kid in the country to get a glimpse of his ravaged visage. Child guidance officers innumerable will probably get swamped with traumatised clients, come tomorrow morning.

By now, we were almost at the two-thirds stage of the game ? and just look at the daft way Cesar decided to commemorate that fact, getting a yellow card, and totally unnecessarily, too. This is something he?s been doing rather a lot, of late, and such rank stupidity on his part is worrying. Mind you, just a minute later, Gera was upended by the opposition, clearly still riled by recent events. Once more, the whole affair was becoming an exercise in the control of short-leashed tempers. A strange development, that, as these fixtures normally exhibit all the adrenalin-fueled rancour of a party of nuns out for a crafty knees-up, well out of sight of their Mother Superior.

Another heart-in-mouth moment as Kiely also lost the plot somewhat, his kicking having somewhat less than the intended effect, going right out of touch instead of straight to an Albion man. Oh, dear ? had he caught it too? This was clearly a further ramification of how defensive minded our play had become. To recapitulate, we had one man more than the opposition, and oodles of players well-used to attacking football, so why were we still persisting with packing the defence, and not going at them the Albion way? As things stood, we had the one striker, Miller, where he should be, and loads of other players, the midfielders, way, way back, which meant that Miller was suffering from a bad case of ball-deprivation. Clearly, Mogga would have to Change Things, come the break.

Talking of breaks, in the 34th minute complete disaster struck. In itself, it didn?t seem to be such a big thing, but when looked at later, Morrison seemed to land very awkwardly after climbing high aloft with an opponent for the same ball. Whatever the cause, the end result was that Morrison?s further participation in the night?s events was well and truly over.

From the agonised look on his face when he did it, the poor sod was hurting something awful. A stretcher was summoned, which arrived promptly, and the wounded hero taken from the field of battle with little ceremony. According to Sky, the injury was suspected to be a medial ligament problem. Wonderful: I may not have much in the way of formal medical qualifications, but what I do know is you don?t get over that sort of thing in a week or two.

After that, during the last four minutes or so, Tex had a go at goal, and actually managed to force their keeper into palming the ball right above the crossbar, too. One very sparse Albion attack in a half that was seemingly full of incursions courtesy the home side. Very much a half in which Coventry were calling most of the shots: whatever we were trying to do out there, it sure wasn?t working. Maybe Mogga?s words of wisdom during the break would prove far more productive?

Come the second half, come the Coventry subbing, with Kyle on for Best, a move that clearly signalled the Sky Blues? attacking intentions. But what had Mogga said to his badly underperforming troops at the break, we wondered? We didn?t have too long to wait to find out; after some excellent approach work by Miller on the edge of the box, he managed to force a corner, but taken short. Arrgh! We simply don?t do short corners ? well, not without an outbreak of complete mirth from the opposition supporters, that is!

But that proved to be just the sole aberration in what was clearly becoming a slow turning of the tide. Now, we were taking the game to them, running at them like stink ? and they didn?t like it at all. Not in their enfeebled state, they didn?t. The first visible crack came in the 55th minute, when Miller narrowly lost out on a possible one-on-one with the keeper. But fret ye not ? just like buses there?s always another Albion attack along in a minute. And that proved to be the case, for just sixty seconds later, salvation, in the unlikely form of Robbo, came with halo aglow and wings unfolded. And what a finish it was, assist courtesy Gera, a lovely looped ball, right over the heads of keeper and defenders alike. Wow.

But even better was to come a scant minute after the ref had restarted things once more. Once more, we saw Ish Miller pressing forward, quite near the touchline but not quite up with the goalmouth ? ?It?s going nowhere?? groaned hubby ? but somehow, the lad got the cross in. Enter now two of their defenders, who then laid on a comedy performance worthy of Messrs. Laurel and Hardy at their incompetent best. Both of them missed the flight of the ball, each leaving the clearance to the other, then ending up savagely punished for the basic error. ?Make hay while the sun shines? is the well-known motto ? and that?s precisely what Tex did, nipping in between the prevaricating two, and bunging the bladder where Robbo had put it just moments earlier. Coventry 0, Albion 2. Oh, dear.

From then on in, it was ?open season? almost, on their goalmouth. Robbo had another attempt frustrated, the deflection proving Coventry?s saviour, that time, and with 60 gone, it took their diving keeper to foil a Brunt attempt to slot the ball home. Even better, our supporters, very much inaudible for much of the game, now came over loud and clear. ?Bring On The Dingles? was the message for the rest of the country. Yep, and our swift brace must have provided them with ample food for thought. And talking of which, according to Sky, possession that half panned out as Albion 71%, Coventry 29%. Making up for that godawful first half? Not ?arf.

From then on in, it was one-way Baggies. Coventry did try to get back into the proceedings, in a sort of baleful way, but it just wasn?t going to happen. We?d finally made our superiority in numbers count, and with all the shackles now off, were playing the beautiful game as God intended it to be played, in one almighty Custer-style cavalry charge on the opposition goalmouth. Only one question remained to be answered, though; would Mogga, now sensing we?d broken the back of this game, bring on Bednar, and by doing so, give poor Ish Miller a bit of a break?

Much to my surprise, he delayed making the change until the last 15 minutes or so, but in the meantime, we?d seen first Greening, then Miller, almost make it three for the visitors. But Coventry, in their sterling efforts to avoid that happening, only managed to put off the inevitable. Just inside the 70-minute mark, Tex was next to get onto the scoresheet ? and what a cracker of an individual effort it was, too, beating at least two opponents in the vicinity of the box, powering through, then letting fly from medium-range. 3-0 read the scoresheet, and from the away end, cries of ?Cheerio, cheerio, cheerio!? could be discerned coming from the ranks of Baggies massed there.

As expected, Bednar did come on in place of Miller, thereby providing us with yet another option up front, and giving him some much-needed practical first-string experience, too. Cut camera to Roy Ranson, potential Coventry saviour, in the seats, looking somewhat nauseous, as well he might. I would, if I were seriously proposing to bail out that lot! Cut camera once more, but this time to sundry Coventry supporters engaging in gallows-type humour by doing a conga around their half-deserted stand, and warbling simultaneously, ?Always Look on The Bright Side Of Life!....? Didn?t think that was their style, really, but there you are ? it?s nice to be surprised, sometimes.

It seemed to be the producer?s moment for grabbing the weird and wacky, right then: cut once more to three more Coventry supporters, all of very ancient extraction ? and each one of them, sporting what appeared for all the world to be voluminous ice-bags on top of their venerable heads. The sort of thing you use after you?ve had a nasty blow on the head. Or knitted tea-cosies, perhaps? Whatever, but they were sure looking far from happy with what they were seeing out there! Or had it been a blow on the head that made them come in the first place, I wonder?

With very little time to go before the final whistle, Bednar nearly covered himself in glory, it needing the bravery of their keeper to take the ball from off his foot just as he was about to pull the trigger. Cue for our lot to strike up with that old Molineux Cup tie standby: ?We?re Just Too Good For You?.? A shame, also, that the ref missed a handball from a Coventry defender in the box, as Bednar threatened to make free with it, but that didn?t matter diddly-squat, because in injury time, it fell to Koren to apply the coup de grace to poor, suffering Sky Blues. In fact, the goal should have been Tex?s, but he graciously laid it off for his colleague to net instead. I wonder whether a certain Mister Kamara, lately of the Premier League, with Fulham, was watching? Perhaps he should have, given he?s only managed to net one for the London club, thus far this term!

So that was that. Despite my many reservations and uncertainties, we?d finally put Coventry to the sword, and in fine style, too. The win takes us to clear second, and six behind Watford, two in front of Charlton, rapidly becoming a thorough nuisance, and three in front of Bristol City, still flying well above their natural ceiling. Four points now separate us from those pesky Dingles, and Ipswich five. Mind you, the Suffolk club are where they are purely because of their blistering home form, which culminated in them hitting six over the weekend. They are about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike away from home, fortunately for us!

After the next enforced blank weekend, our test will truly be a formidable one, but I?m pretty confident we?ll carry the day against our lovely chums for Wolverhampton, come the 25th of November. They think they?re good, but we know better, don?t we, children?

And Finally?. I had to giggle mightily after tonight?s game, when Robbo was corralled into handing over the broadcasters? Man Of The Match Award to a clearly-bemused Tex. Hang on a minute, belay that ? poor Tex?s command of spoken English is at about the same stage as mine of spoken French was alleged to be, around the time I took (and failed) my O Level in the subject! Let?s just say there was a bit of a ?language problem? there, and leave it at that, eh? Mind you, when Robbo did the honours, finally, I loved the sloppy wet kiss he blew poor Tex afterwards! You could almost see the speech-bubble forming in the lad?s mind ? something along the lines of, ?huh - that?s the last time I get into the same bloody shower as HIM!...?

 - Glynis Wright

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