The Diary

16 January 2008: Addicks 'Ad It, Thanks To Bednar Pen.

Er ? as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted?.. Yep, I?m back again, minus some weight and a fair bit of breath, but not coughing up gurt great lumps of coke every time I inhale, so that?s got to be something of an additional bonus, I suppose. After all, it?s not every day you end up with a chest condition that?s resistant to first-line broad spectrum antibiotics, and only clears up courtesy of bringing into play the therapeutic equivalent of the Black Country working bloke?s ?bigger ?ommer?.

Any road up, it?s only this week I?ve really felt well enough to apply finger to keyboard ? the very first time I ventured out of our house, last week, really exhausted me, which is a pretty good indication of how far the whole damned thing dragged me down ? so here goes. Mind you, it?s not over just yet. I still have to go for a confirmatory X ray to ensure all the gunge has finally cleared my respiratory system, then a few days after that, some kind soul gets to shove a camera down my clack, for another quick look-see.

It?s a prospect about as pleasant as going to Molineux, and us really needing all three points from the game, but having recently learned of another Baggie, whose father is currently in hospital with what's suspected to be secondaries from an original ? and symptomless - dose of lung cancer, it could have been much worse, believe you me. I?ll just settle for the wheeze and cough, and thank my lucky stars it can?t be anything more serious than that.

And well done to the lads, too, for making mine a winning return to The Hawthorns ? er ? I think! They sure made heavy weather of things tonight ? and, in retrospect, perhaps it would not be politic to reveal what precise manner of physical injury I wished upon Mister Kiely for turning what had been a pretty comfortable two-goal cushion into an instantaneous sweat-zone, right now. ?TWO-NIL, AND YOU MUCKED IT UP?..? Yep, those exuberant Charlton bods in the Smethwick sure hit the nail right on the head when the got the equalizer they shouldn?t have had, just a minute before the expiry of the normal 90 minutes.

Suffice it to say that I can only hope all that 30 minutes extra-time-plus-penalty-shoot-out physical and mental angst won?t rebound on us too disastrously, come our forthcoming League encounter with Cardiff City. Last season, we saw only too well that a half-decent Cup run could very easily turn into a bit of a Pyrrhic victory: to go into the Boro game top of the heap, then not win a single League game in (I think) the following five, wasn?t exactly my idea of scintillating success. Still, I?m, sure that Mogga?s well aware of that: what?s the betting that he?ll be bringing back Super Kev to start, along with the likes of Bednar and Gera? At least there?s one fundamental difference between this Albion squad and countless others in times of yore: goalkeeper apart, we now have a pretty formidable sub?s bench to call upon. Leg-weariness isn?t quite the issue it might have been just a few seasons back. Many more games like tonight?s, mind, and we?ll sure as hell be needing to draw heavily upon those resources.

But on with the show, as they say in the movies. For me, that meant a welcome return to our normal pre-match stamping ground, the Hawthorns pub. All the usual suspects turned up, of course ? The Noise, plus kids, and a pretty early Mister Fart (who has also completely justified all those NHS contributions he made, pre-retirement, by managing to go down with some sort of fungal awful on his skin), which was great ? but tonight, we were also graced by the presence of two other Baggies not normally seen in that particular location, pre-match. Their names? Norm Bartlam and Kev Candon.

Those who have followed this piece on a regular basis will know all about Norm: he?s the guy with the head so chock-full of gross jokes, and equally sick-making puns. No matter what the occasion, Norm?s yer man to get you groaning good and proper. Just two hours in his company, and you?d be ringing the Samaritans: his sense of humour is truly that bad. Kev Candon? You may not be too familiar with that name ? unless you?ve read and inwardly digested Adrian Chilles?s recent book, of course, Kev featuring quite heavily ? but for the benefit of those readers who don?t know him, he?s a Baggie with only one leg: the missing member was the result of an industrial accident some years ago.

He?s also the only bloke I know who needed medical attention on that god-awful autumnal Saturday in Swindon?s rain-leashed and windswept away end, around ten seasons ago, and not for hypothermia, either, the main reason why other supporters were dropping like flies that day. Nope ? just to be different, the cold affected Kev?s artificial leg so much, it literally seized up! Oh, and another thing. If you?re ever in his company, never EVER express admiration for Heather Mills McCartney! To do so is an exercise akin to ringing a bell within hearing distance of Pavlov?s celebrated salivating hounds ? and in any case, nobody looks pretty with an artificial leg wrapped right around their skull. So don?t go there. OK?

Another surprise visitor to our pre-match haunt was tame academic Bryn Jones. Considering the lad has to travel all the way from Bath to see a game, I was quite surprised to see him at all, never mind take in a midweek Cup replay. But there was a reason, apparently. His son, whom I think is currently attending Nottingham University, had made arrangements to meet up with Dad prior to the game, but just a few hours beforehand, phoned to say he couldn?t make it after all. Students ? ha! What do you do with ?em, eh? Never mind, Bryn, I?m sure it was all worth it in the end.

On going into the ground later, it was clearly evident that a considerable proportion of Albion supporters had, unlike Bryn, not considered their presence really vital tonight. That was reflected by the numerous gaps showing in areas that would normally be shoehorning them in, had this been a meaningful League encounter and not a somewhat less appealing Cup tie. Confirmation was amply provided by the presence of just the ?hard core regulars? in our immediate vicinity.

But belief in human nature was rapidly restored by the welcome sight of John and Jean Homer making towards their usual perches, not long before the start. Mind you, had they NOT shown up, I really would have been worried: the only thing likely to prevent either of them from going would be something in the order of incipient nuclear war. And even then they?d come, if only to grab deserved bragging-rights for being blown to atoms right inside their spiritual home.

And it was Jean that had yet more worrying news, about Zoltan. The cat, that is. Apparently, not only does the beast have a penchant for the sealant from double glazed windows, he?s now developed an additional predilection, that for the aerial cable running from the back of their TV and into the wall socket. Dearie dearie me. Does that cat have a repressed death-wish, or something? Mind you, if you?d had to face The Wrath Of John after a particularly-annoying Albion defeat, even just the once, you?d want to seek the quickest-possible exit from this life, too.

But on with the show. As we?d expected, Mogga rang the changes for this one, completely resting Kev Phillips ? poor old sod! ? benching Messrs Koren and Brunt, plus replacing the suspended Robbo. That meant games for Alby, (the non-feline) Zoltan, Tex, and Bednar. I hadn?t realized it. But prior to this season, we hadn?t encountered the Sarf Londoners in the competition for a good 18 years (I do remember, now: that was the day the entire Hawthorns pitch resembled a bog, someone somehow scoring our winner despite the visitors? six-yard box bearing a distinct resemblance to the shallow end at West Bromwich Baths) ? and, just to make up for it, tonight?s little bun-fight was our third meeting in as many weeks. A bit like the Dingles scenario, last season, if you like. But some things hadn?t changed ? the rain, for example, the main difference being that this time round, our pitch was in vastly better nick than had been the case all those many years ago.

As for the game itself, it was one of those dreadful off-days when we should have won in a walk, but almost chucked it away through our own stupidity. Yes, Mister Kiely, I mean YOU! And we?d started ever so well, too: once the opening exchanges had taken place, with both sides warily assessing each others? strengths and weaknesses, we managed to take the lead, and very unexpected it was, too. But what a finish, a headed one from Bednar, in response to a cracking ball from Tex, and all the more palatable because of the considerable surprise element involved. His ninth successful strike in eleven games, apparently, and, what?s more, he just keeps getting better and better.

Well, at least that early opener paved the way for a lot more in the way of entertaining play. Suddenly, the visitors realized they had a bit of a game on their hands, and started to open things up a little. And they should have opened their account when their player McLeod found himself one-on-one with Keily, but stuffed up the shot, leaving our visibly-relieved custodian gratefully scooping up the ball from in front of him, and not from the back of the net, which is where it should have ended up, had the visitors not failed in such spectacular fashion.

From then on in, most of the pressure came from the men in the stripes, but it could so easily have gone wrong when, at the fag-end of the half, Pele had a bit of a ?Condor moment? at the back, conceding possession to Charlton at the worst possible moment, and the worst possible place, right in their box. In nipped their lad Varney, unmarked, and that seemed to be that ? but instead of burying the thing, as he should have done by rights, the bladder went sailing into the midst of the Brummie, instead! A good moment for the ref to blow up for the interval: not because of the narrowness of our deliverance, more because of the fact that John Homer, sitting directly in front of us, looked about ready to achieve critical mass, then ?go nuclear?. Somehow, I get the impression that the West Midlands Police would have taken a very dim view indeed of a supporter producing a mushroom-shaped cloud, not to mention copious quantities of attendant fall-out.

Having had no less than two pretty narrow scrapes during the course of that first half, you would have thought that our finest, not wanting the additional hassle that extra-time and penalties would produce, might have sewn the whole thing up during the second installment - but we?re banging on about West Bromwich Albion, here, aren?t we? Well, at least we did get 50 per cent of it right, thanks to a superb Morrison strike with about seven minutes of the half gone, but we hadn?t reckon for the pure genius of Dean Kiely, in gifting the Londoners a way back into what had seemed a slam-dunk lost cause for them.

Well, I ask you, it does take a certain gift. Shades of Paul Crichton (honest - You really had to be there in person to truly appreciate what an almighty cock-up this was!), as our keeper came off his line to intercept a ball that looked ominously likely to fall into the path of Charlton?s Iwelumo, but instead of scooping said ball up into his ever loving arms, as expected, he somehow managed to spill the thing instead. Result? As predictable as the next high tide at Rhyl: in came Iwelumo, not quite believing his luck, and the next thing we knew, there was the ball in the back of the net. We were still a goal in front, of course, but to we regulars, almost inured to such catastrophe by now, it represented the crack of doom itself.

Just before the visitors had got that one back, I had muttered something about us managing to stuff up, so you can blame me, if you like, and not Mister Keily. But, with just a minute of normal time to go, plus stoppages, you would have thought we?d have been ultra-cautious not to give Charlton such an almighty gift again. Wrong! The very moment I snarled ?Don?t you DARE stuff it up, Albion!? what happened? Yep ? give the banana to the bloke at the back wearing the bra and pants, folks. We went and did it again.

A hell of a lot of people must have had an almighty shock on turning on their car radios, having left the ground as much as ten minutes before the end, but not nearly as much of a shock as the one we had, watching the blasted ball go over the goal-line! The really annoying part was that just three minutes previously, we?d seen substitute Shergar fail to net from a superb Chris Brunt cross, when it seemed a much easier undertaking to stick the thing away and be done with it, than miss. So, extra time it was, then. Bugger.

It?s always the case with these things that managing to emerge triumphant from an extra thirty minutes spent in durance vile is very largely down to luck on the night. As that first period wore on, it was as plain as the nose on your face that not a few players, ours and theirs, were starting to feel it in their weary legs. When you get to that stage, literally anything can happen: and it almost did to Shergar, who ended up with no less than two pretty good chances to settle the issue for us, but stuffed up both times.

John Homer was mightily relieved: Jean and I still have that joint bet going on her hubby having to streak through the mean streets of Lower Gornal, should the lad ever register one in the course of normal play! (We let him off for the duration of the penalty shoot-out, which was pretty magnanimous of us, to say the least!) Mind you, on the Charlton side, they too could and should have finished us off at the start of the second period of extra time, the ball carooming off the post, and into the welcoming arms of a very relieved Dean Kiely, instead. With that miss, both sides decided not to tempt fate further, allowing the game to gently wind down, instead.

And so for the ?biggie?. Penalties to decide the issue, ominously so for us, as we?d never once managed to register a home win in that highly-arbitrary fashion. Ironic really, as during the course of last season, and watching Hereford?s progress in various Cup competitions, it seemed to me that just about every win they?d achieved was courtesy of a similar spot-kick showdown! At least their players could keep their heads in a pressure situation, which was a lot more than I wanted to say about ours, so resigned to the worst by then, I sat back gloomily, and awaited the end.

With the kicks being taken in front of the Smethwick, I thought we?d ended up in a ?Trevor Francis? type situation, when Blues, playing Preston in the play-offs a few seasons ago, argued the toss with the referee about which end they had to be taken from, and because of all the attendant delay and uncertainty, lost their impetus, and hence the game. But, just to call me a liar, instead of putting his shot away like a good ?un, nuisance-boy Varney, the very first penalty-taker up, managed to hit the bar instead! Oops. Advantage, Albion.

But not for long: our reputation for doing things the hard way is not an unearned one, by any stretch of the imagination. Greening was the Baggie whose shot ended up saved by the Charlton keeper ? so it was all-square, once more. And that, dear reader, was the moment that Dean Kiely, owing us a massive one, following the monumental stuff-up that led to the first Charlton strike of normal time, finally redeemed himself.

With around the fourth penalty-taker ready to take a poke, the lad Zhi, that was the moment he finally came good. Instead of landing in the rigging, as per the script, Deano managed to get a fist to it, somehow, thereby giving the advantage to us. Everything was on our fifth attempt: time itself stood still as Ronan Bednar lined up to take it ? and he didn?t disappoint, either. Over the goal-line it went, and with it went all Charlton?s hopes of further FA Cup progress. Rough justice? Quite possibly, but the real acid test will be our performance versus Cardiff, this coming Saturday. Ask me at five to five whether it was worth it, or not ? by then, I might have come up with a quite different answer.

More tomorrow, both about tonight?s game, and spending a few ?sickie days? catching up with several books I?d meant to read, but hadn?t quite got around to. One in particular was the recent effort penned by Adrian Chiles ? sorry, Ade, for being so tardy in catching up with your work! ? but it was worth the wait, as you?ll read tomorrow.

AND FINALLY?? Dearie, dearie me?.Yet another ?blonde moment? from young Carly. Is all this higher education addling her little brain, I ask myself? Jamie Oliver did so well to argue for the plight of the humble battery farmed fowl, the other night, but not even his undoubted genius could come up with what Carly, somewhat unwisely, termed a ?vegetarian chicken?!

 - Glynis Wright

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