The Diary

27 December 2007: Ref's Lack Of Bottle Banjaxes Baggies - But It All Comes Right In The End!

Getting pretty interesting, isn?t it? Watford almost screw up completely, but jammy as ever, they manage a draw with virtually the last kick of their own game - The Fart put us in the picture when we were in the Hawthorns pub, before it was time for our finest to strut their own stuff - and we then go on to reduce the third-placed club to smoking rubble, after having done everything but score in the first half.

Today?s little quartet brings our ?goals for? tally to an amazing 51, and our goal difference to a stonking +22, which has got to be worth at least a point on its own, should things get a little sweaty towards the end. (Watch out for Crystal Palace, by the way: they?re going to be this season?s ?dark horses? just you wait and see?) And Kev?s little brace today must surely put him at the top of the division?s scoring pops, or if not, as close as makes no difference. With just over halfway gone, we are very much on course for a top two finish. But PLEASE, you lot in the Smethwick, no more songs about winning the blasted thing, for Chrissakes ? Albion being what they are, it?s a sure-fire recipe for disappointment, if ever I saw one!

You might say that it?s been very much a perfect day in the Wright household, this table-topping 26th of December. All thoughts of Stoke and their violent works completely banished from view, a second-half goal-fest where City were lucky not to end up conceding twice as many as they actually did ? then after that, over to my sister?s place for a Slap-Up Feed.

Very much a last-minute thing, that last one: my nephew and his missus should have been tucking into the ?cock and all the trimmings? by rights, not us, but as they were both banned from driving recently (don?t ask), and currently live near Preston, over a hundred miles up the M6, it couldn?t happen, so rather than see her culinary efforts go to waste, my sis invited us both over to her place for a most unexpected, but most welcome, post-match meal!

But, as Julie Andrews once sang in ?The Sound Of Music?, ?Let?s start at the very beginning, it?s a very good place to start?..? And a beautifully sunny day was our just reward for heading on out to the Shrine, on this day of the Feast Of Stephen: quite a contrast to the frozen wastes of Stoke just four days previously, that. And it?s just as well: while we were at Simon?s mum?s house on Christmas Day, and enjoying a nice bit of roast duck (much more flavoursome than turkey), my beloved rapidly developed symptoms similar to the ones I?d had just a week or so previously. Yep ? by George I think he?s got it! That same chest infection I had, I mean, so a dose of rain would have really gone down a treat. Or not.

Mind you, I shouldn?t moan. He did buy me four new First World War titles for Chrimbo, plus some lavender smellies, and a Mogga-style bench coat. Now we can both do a ?his and hers? thing when we go to games: mine is the one with the dead moggy encircling the hood, Parka-style, so you can?t miss it. Having only wore it the once, for today?s game, I have to report that thus far, I haven?t felt in the slightest way inclined to run onto the pitch, as per all those little kids at Hereford ? my other half always denies doing it himself, but the quiet ones are always the worst, aren?t they? - when Ronnie Radford scored against Newcastle back in 1972!

By one of those coincidences, we managed to make it to the pub by just a short head in front of the Lewis clan: in fact, we spotted them crossing the road, presumably on their way back from McDonalds, just as we were about to enter the place. Amazingly, the room the Supporters Club use was just about empty of punters, with only a score or so pre-match tipplers occupying the many tables there. Loads of sofa space free, so without further ado, we grabbed a couple for ourselves, in anticipation of the Lewis clan, then The Fart, turning up as and when.

And it wasn?t very long before our peace was shattered; in burst Bethany, all full of turkey, pud and E-numbers, and flying at approximately 35,000 feet as a result. As for Carly, she was dead keen to tell us what she?d had for Christmas: let me put it this way, I stopped counting after around the tenth item of make-up, not to mention the umpteenth item of clothing! As for Bethany, she was carrying a gift with a difference: a diary, outwardly a bog-standard effort, but one made really impregnable to prying eyes with the addition of a padlock! Now hang on a mo, just what sort of secrets do eleven year old girls have that need a padlock on a diary?

It was while we were nattering to Carly that we let slip the fact we?d ordered an iPod from eBay, recently. Naturally, once we?d told her, she was all ears, and wanting to know what we were getting. Nothing to do with minor details, such as how many tracks it could carry etc. ? just the small (but clearly crucial) question, to Carly?s generation, viz: what colour was it?

Slightly puzzled by that, we both asked her why. ?It?s got to be PINK!? was the emphatic reply. At that, two pairs of eyebrows ? ours ? hit the ceiling simultaneously.

?PINK?? we both chorused, profound disbelief registering upon our faces. ?We can?t walk around with a PINK iPod - it would completely blow our street-cred in a walk!....? But young Carly was adamant. Top of her teenage pops was pink ? and no expressions of complete horror from us would persuade her otherwise!

Dead on two o?clock, who should shuffle in, but The Fart, with hot news about the Watford game, which they were losing at the time. (The jammy sods were to equalise with just about the last kick of the game, but thanks to our performance later, it didn?t get them anywhere in the end, tee-hee!?) And The Fart also told us that Curtis Davies had actually come on as sub for Villa at Chelsea! Well, bless my money-making backside, how many first-team appearances for Villa was that for the lad, to date? Not many, I?ll bet. Certainly was a good ?career move? for young Curtis, that one!

And so it was time to hit the road. Why, I don?t know: it certainly hadn?t done anything to us. (Oh, the old ones are the best?.) And a snigger-making time was in store for us at Anorak?s Corner, where the statistically-inclined souls huddled there were first mistaken for programme sellers, then, in Steve?s case, a steward.

The lady in question was the partner of one of our finest ? which one, we?ve no idea - and looking to find the entrance she needed. My goodness, you should have seen Steve?s face light up, as he frantically fought and clawed his way towards assisting this particular ?damsel in distress?! The fact no-one else was going to get a look-in was written all over his face ? and didn?t he get some abuse (and coarse laughter, from me!) when he returned from his ?errand of mercy?, just a few seconds later!

Once inside, and looking around, it seemed very much as though we?d managed a ?full house?, for once. Not only was the away end jam-packed with itinerant Bristolians wanting to follow their favourites, all the home seats seemed to be occupied as well. It?s been an awfully long time since I saw so many bodies shoehorned inside our ground, so well done, all those ?part-timers? who went and made the effort.

Mind you, the weather really was tailor-made for football: bright sunshine that took the chill off the air, very little wind (except for that expelled from the stomachs of those who?d seriously over-indulged yesterday, of course), and lots and lots of good old-fashioned NOISE. Team news? Two changes from the usual format, Chris Brunt and Tex out, with Kev Phillips and James Morrison must certainly in. On the bench, in case we needed a Plan B, were Beattie and Ish Miller, plus Alby, Barnett and keeper Steele.

Now, where do I start? Perhaps by saying that how the hell City managed to get through the entire first half without conceding, only the Good Lord, in his infinite wisdom, knows why. One moment of complete madness in the third minute apart, when Kiely spilled what looked like an easy catch, and a colleague had to rush in as quick as Larry to save the day by belting the ball right out of play, a la John Wile, we looked pretty good. Certainly, during those opening ten minutes, it quickly became apparent which side had the upper hand. First Bednar, then the mighty Zoltan Gera, gave the City keeper something to think about, the Gera effort coming from around 30 yards, and after charging up the field (and round several opposing players, too) for a distance of around 50 yards, I reckon. Had it gone in, I genuinely don?t think the integrity of the goal-net behind would have remained totally pristine, such was the awesome power of that shot.

At this point, a short word about the referee, a Mister Atkinson, from Yorkshire. Whatever had been his mission-statement prior to this one, it certainly didn?t seem to include giving the home side a bit of a break, occasionally. During the course of those opening few minutes, I don?t think he gave one decision our way, despite convincing evidence that we?d been the wronged party, not the visitors. So ridiculous did things get, when he finally did give a free-kick to the Baggies, the entire ground erupted in a welter of ironic cheering! But that wasn?t this gentleman?s finest hour: in true refereeing style, he saved up his best efforts for the closing minutes of the first half ? more on that later.

One thing was becoming apparent, though: in his frantic efforts to keep us out, their keeper, Basso, was playing an absolute blinder, yet another classy stop denying Our Kev his personal moment of glory. But we were a tadge vulnerable on the break ? and not just that. Example? Screams of pure horror from the Halfords as Greening had an uncharacteristic ?Condor Moment? at the back, and was nearly caught with his pants down by the ever-alert City.

With just 22 gone, once more John Homer, seated in front, was rapidly approaching ?critical mass?. The time was fast approaching when a mushroom-shaped cloud would emerge from both ears. Why? Referee-itis, that?s why, today?s whistler not blowing up for a clear foul on Kev Phillips shortly before he pulled the trigger, the effort only just sailing wide of the post. As for the lino, he was seemingly trying to emulate the best efforts of the famous ?Three Wise Monkeys?, despite the fact said transgression took place just feet away from the flag-waver concerned. If we could see what happened as clear as daylight, just what the bloody hell was he looking at? The nice shapes formed by the clouds sailing majestically by, right above our heads? Why is it we never seem to get the best, always the sodding duds?

Then it was Basso?s moment of glory as he denied Kev Phillips yet again, closely followed by a Bednar effort that seemed to hit the bar. Zoltan Gera?s effort was also stopped by this feisty gentleman?s best efforts. Just what did we have to do to get past the sod? Round up every black cat in sight, then chuck ?em onto the pitch, en masse? With all that pressure on their goal, something surely had to give? And, five minutes before the break, it sure did ? although not quite in the way we?d bargained for!

Remember what I?d said about the referee, earlier, regarding saving his true officiating genius until the very last? Well, with just five minutes left to play, that half, he was faced with what should have been a complete and utter ?no-brainer? of a decision ? and completely ?bottled? it. What happened? It all started when City?s Liam Fontaine sent Bednar into almost geosynchronous orbit, just as the lad was about to burst into their box. In fact, you might like to argue that when it happened, Roman WAS inside the box. Le me put it this way: the TV replay should prove interesting.

But never mind that: Fontaine was the ?last man?, so had to walk, surely? Had our lad not been sent crashing to the floor like a felled oak, he would have had a clear goalscoring opportunity, no question about it. Many cries of: ?OFF! OFF! OFF!....? from the Smethwick ? but much to our amazement, instead of pulling out the expected red card, he chose to flash yellow instead. And as he?d deemed the offence to have taken place right on the eighteen yard line, and not inside the box, it was a free-kick, and not a penalty. I reckon John Homer summed up the situation perfectly, the very instant it happened: ?REFEREE! YOW BOTTLED IT, YOW DID?.YOW SHOULD BE WERKIN? AT A BREWERY, MATE?.? What the Smethwick thought about the entire incident ? they had about the best view in the entire ground, don?t forget ? is best not repeated in a piece sometimes read by children.

And Mister Homer was still muttering darkly when play ceased for the half-time break. Still, bad refereeing or not, we should have been at least two or three up by then. I could only hope we wouldn?t be made to pay for all those serial sins of omission. But the break was also a time to catch up on the various doings of a certain Zoltan, Burmese cat to the Homer family. The little tinker had been given several clever electronic cat-toys for Christmas, as Jean demonstrated via the various images stored on her little camera. But he?s still pulling the bloody sealant off those double-glazed windows! Expect to see an ex-cat before too long!

Time also for ?Daft Albion Announcement Of The Week?, this one coming courtesy our PA chappie. ?Will the person who owns car registration number WBA Blah-Di-Dah (can?t remember number), please stand up and take a bow?? This, mind, at half-time, in a stadium where around half the people present are already standing up! Oops!

Time for the second portion, then ? and was it something in the way of an omen when the first two City players to run out tried to head for the half of the pitch they?d occupied during the first half? Whoops! Mind you, before they started off again, there was just time to giggle at my other half?s response to news that the Homers? juvenile delinquent moggy had actually nicked a bulb from their flashing Christmas lights, and eaten it, viz: ?Ah, I see,? said my amused other half, ?Zoltan the Red-Nosed Feline!?

But all that levity was quickly forgotten just a couple of minutes later. At last ? the breakthrough we?d all been waiting for! It all started when Hoefkens went like an express train down the right, chasing the ball like the clappers ? and, much to our collective surprise, getting there, too. Round the defender he went, over went the ball to Bednar, who accepted it gratefully, not to mention gracefully. BANG! One-nil, no messing, bloody Basso finally beaten ? and the entire ground went absolutely barmy. Thank God for that!

The goal must have unleashed something pretty powerful within the collective souls of our favourites, for within around five minutes of the opener, first Gera, then Koren, troubled the beleaguered City rearguard greatly. Koren?s was the one that really brought forth collective groans of anguish aplenty from the Brummie: first of all, that man Basso did it again, but the ball then ran loose to Bednar. Just as he was about to pull the trigger, a City defender made a timely intervention.

Never mind: by now, City were really rocking. Just like Joshua?s efforts in the Battle of Jericho, those City walls looked dead set to come crashing down within a matter of minutes. Even Cesar managed to get in on the act, although without much in the way of success, sadly. But we were still vulnerable to that enduring Baggie bugbear ? a swift breakaway from out of defence, and getting caught at the back by a well-timed long ball ? which is how Trundle nearly got them an equaliser they wouldn?t have deserved.

But Albion were firing on all four cylinders, at long last ? and every single Baggies charge upfield with the ball was looking pretty ominous for City. Mind you, we did have our comedic moments, such as when the City defence got hopelessly mixed up, and let in Kev Phillips. Normally, he puts that sort away for fun, but with Basso committed, the net yawning invitingly, and the whole of the Brummie standing in anticipation of a bloody good ?Boing?, he still somehow managed to screw the shot just wide of the post!

Oh, well ? even geniuses are allowed have their ?flawed moments? sometimes! And there was the time, not too long after that, when the normally impeccable Basso made a cock-up, and presented Bednar with the Boxing Day gift he didn?t expect either: so startled was our lad, he too managed to screw the ball wide, when all logic dictated he should have bust the back of the flaming net!

But for all our pressure on them, City weren?t quite finished. They did have an excellent chance to level within a few minutes of their own let-off, when a swift City break resulted in one of their lot homing in on Kiely, unmarked, and only him to beat. Somehow ? God knows how ? Kiely managed to beat out the shot, and allow the entire Smethwick chance to breathe again. ?If I have a heart attack,? screeched poor John, exuding buckets of adrenaline and cortisol from every single pore, by that time, ?I?ll flamin? SUE!....?

But there was little need to worry: just a minute or so after that incident, it was 2-0 to the Baggies ? and deservedly so, on the run of play. Once again, it was the intelligent Gera?s approach work that set up Robert Koren: the sun was shining (just about), the Brummie roaring like crazy, and everything in sight inviting our man to really hit the thing ? and brother, didn?t he just!

From all of 25 yards, it had to be, and even the best efforts of our friend the City custodian couldn?t stop this one crossing the line. Not so much cheering, as the ref pointed to the centre circle, more like over 20,000 dumbstruck Baggie mouths simultaneously making the shape of the letter ?O?, then, just milliseconds after that, emitting an almighty chorus of ?BLUDDY ?ELL!....? Never mind bust the back of the net, that one looked set to demolish the bakery on the other side of the Brummie, as well! That was the moment our lot first started singing ?We?re gonna win the League?? ? and this column, equally fervently, was yelling ?NO ? STOPPIT!? at the all-too-rapidly-getting-carried-away Smethwick!

Having played such a major part in the demolition of City, but without a single goal to show for it, it was only right and proper that Kev Phillips would finally get his just reward, in the form of a strike he could get to call his very own. Or two. Once again, it was some awful defending from City that proved to be their downfall; the actual intercept was from a botched pass near their box, which Kev seized upon like a predatory eagle spotting a poorly-camouflaged prey. Onto the errant ball he swooped, and before you could chorus ?Drink Up Thee Zoider? a la the late Adge Cutler and The Wurzels, City were three down, with just over a quarter of an hour left. Well, after those other two awful misses, we had to get it right eventually, what?

Three minutes after that, just about, Our Kev was presented with the easiest of chances to blast the ball from just inside the 18-yard line, and make it four. Well, at least ?Im Indoors had called it right: just before that moment, when City momentarily looked as though they were going to make one of their quick breakaway runs out of defence, my other half remarked: ?Don?t worry ? they?ve gone, they?ve had it?.? Ad they certainly had: before too many minutes had gone by, the Smethwick were ?advising? their dumbstruck West Country counterparts: ?You should have gone to the sales?.?

Mind you, there was still time for a little bit of embarrassment for our finest. Not because City pulled one back in the dying minutes, mind, but because of the ones we should have got, but didn?t. First of all substitute Beattie managed to fire over, when it seemed much easier to pot the blasted thing, but that wasn?t the most glaring miss of the game, by far.

That award has to go to Gera, who, in what can only be described as a ?Kanu-esque moment?, failed to net from about two yards out, the effort sailing high into the Brummie, instead of where it should have landed. The Rugby code would have hailed it as a great conversion; this being the round-ball code, we simply cussed cock-eyed. Mind you, at least Zoltan?s huge embarrassment factor was mitigated slightly by the lino flagging for offside! Just as well, really - the lad would never have lived it down, had the effort been deemed ?legal?!

And that just about wrapped it up. Just like a Broadway show proving somewhat fraught in rehearsal, everything somehow turned out right in the end, the ?cast? getting their well-earned three points, and the press critics hailing a pretty lively Albion performance. We?re top, now, and will stay that way until next Saturday, when we take on Scunthorpe, at our place again. A chance to consolidate further upon what we?ve gained, open up a gap between us and the next club down the ladder? I sincerely hope so.

And can we get a decent whistler, too, next time! Please. Pretty please? Once more, what happened today would have been risible, were it not so deadly serious. At least Mogga kept his cool regarding the incident when interviewed on the Beeb, just after the final whistle, indicating his displeasure by commenting apropos the fact he ?had to be careful saying things about referees, now?. There?s an awful lot of Baggies out there who sure as hell wouldn?t be. Isn?t that right, Mister Homer?

AND FINALLY?? ONE. Jean Homer, at half-time, talking about Zoltan The Cat: ??Whenever Zoltan sees John, he gets up and runs?.?

?Im Indoors, to Jean: ??Yeah, he has that effect upon me, as well!?

TWO?. CARLY LEWIS DINGLE MOMENT NUMBER ONE?. Strange though it may sound, dear girl, ?Moussaka?, is a dish you?ll find in most Greek restaurants, and is NOT a country in the Far East!

CARLY LEWIS DINGLE MOMENT NUMBER TWO?.. And Ipswich isn?t in Wales, either!

(Cue for Old Fart-type moans about we taxpayers forking out all that hard-earned money to educate the kids of today to A Level standard, only to find they invariably leave school possessing all the cultural awareness of a nematode worm? (Whinge, moan, grumble etc.?)

All together, now, Old Farts everywhere! ??..It was never like that in my day, when we had to learn the entire anatomy of the rat, bones, muscles, nerves, the lot, and all in the space of a couple of hours, dissect ?em while they were still alive, chuck concentrated sulphuric acid all over ourselves in practical chemistry, set our hair on fire making nitroglycerine - AND get a couple of dozen lashes of the cat o?nine tails, if we failed any of the tests??

(Mutter, whinge, moan again)?.?Er, hang on a mo ? am I too early for me pass, and is that wet patch me incontinence bag come loose again?......?)

 - Glynis Wright

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