The Diary

25 February 2008: "Slip-Sliidin' Away" - Our 2006-07 Promotion Failure Repeated?

First of all, an apology, and one completely unvarnished and undistorted, at that. I didn?t produce a piece last night, and for one simple reason: after our exasperating failure to see off Hull that very same afternoon, the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about was bloody football, or the Baggies themselves, come to think about it. Banging my head repeatedly against an unyielding brick wall would have seemed particularly therapeutic after what we had to watch yesterday afternoon.

That?s what searing disappointment can do to even a lifelong aficionado: instead, I got stuck into one of the two books about the First World War I purchased from the bookshop adjacent to the Ricoh Stadium, just seven days previously, and, what?s more, enjoyed the change from normal routine enormously.

Hell, so mentally wearied was I by the sheer incompetence shown by all in the stripes, yesterday, after putting away a helping of fish and chips, and intending to read the newspaper I hadn?t finished that morning, the welcoming arms of Morpheus, the Great God Of Siesta-Time, embraced me instead, and it was gone eleven that night when I finally emerged from my hoggish state of slumber. Or was it delayed shock?

Even making whopping great allowances for the unusual hours I normally keep, I couldn?t even begin to justify the monumental effort involved in slaving over a hot keyboard for the remainder of the night, and while I was at it, mentally revisiting so many earlier scenes of massive frustration and regret. Repeated picking at well-encrusted scabs is not medically recommended. So, as my equally-frustrated Black Country forebears would have put it: ?Oy gid it cowin? neck, day oy?.? Now read on.

When engaged in the inevitable (and, at times, heated) post-match discussion between ?Im Indoors and myself, opinions apropos the real origin of what had gone wrong that afternoon were at considerable variance. My other half reckons the root cause lay in overall sloppy defending, failure to pick up their runners, and so forth. With that, I wouldn?t wildly disagree, but for all that, I perceived two major ?tipping points? during that game, above and beyond the various other faults, equally valid, for all that, identified by my ?significant other?.

To put a not too fine a point on it, it was our twin failures at these crucial stages in the game that made the Hull victory emerge from the relative shadows of ?possible?, blink momentarily in the unaccustomed light of ?might-win?, then move rapidly upward and onward to confident capture of all three points.

Our first lost opportunity? The 61st minute twin subbing of Phillips and Bednar for Ish Miller and new boy Luke Moore. Big tactical mistake, that, in my opinion. Why? Easy - after Bednar levelled for us just before the break, the traffic in and around the Hull penalty area was incessant high-volume. They were buckling, no doubt about it. A few more torrid minutes of the first half, and we?d have had them cold. You can?t blame Mogga for that, of course, but come the beginning of the second sitting, our hammer-and-tongs Tiger-shoot continued unabated, with Phillips, the sometimes-erratic Gera, and Morrison all coming pretty close, before Mogga made the aforementioned subbings, with just over 15 minutes gone. And that was the moment we lost it.

I can only assume that logic dictated a drastic change to our main armament was deemed necessary by our gaffer, who may have thought that the existing firepower was battering away ferociously, but getting nowhere fast, and to the point where it was perceived a certain staleness was creeping in. But was it? Personally, I would have given Messrs. P and B five or ten minutes more before actually making the change. And, for the reasons outlined below, not necessarily a straight striker-striker swap, either.

Consider what we were going to replace them with. One a young lad with an already-established goalscoring reputation with us: pace, power and skills good, but still inclined to disregard the screamingly-obvious fact that football is a team game. Good goals also come from good service, and are not necessarily the sole by-product of an individual?s nifty footwork. A fundamental lesson to learn, that: if he is to continue progressing as he should, it?s high time that Ish Miller took heed of that simple fact.

Luke Moore? Give the poor sod a break, even if he does have the distinctive taint of a Villa upbringing about him. Effectively, he?d only been a Baggie for a couple of days, if that, before being required to use his feet in anger for the very first time in yonks. Even when inclined towards massive generosity, was it really feasible to expect the lad to put in a virtuoso striking performance when he could have only known most of his new colleagues by sight?

Signs of tactical, positional, awareness, or a combination of all three? Given the massively foreshortened time-scale involved, you?ve got no chance whatsoever of demonstrating such skills, which only come as the end-result of the kind of chemistry developed in sides training and playing together for a considerable period of time. Greats like Shankly knew that, which is why it was harder for the proverbial camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than step straight into one of his Liverpool sides.

No wonder our attack crumbled to dust within minutes of the change being made. I can only hope that what happened doesn?t dent the new boy?s confidence too much. Personally, I?d have brought Chris Brunt, our best crosser of the ball, into the fray instead, and not left the poor sod stewing impotently on the bench. If anyone could have laid on a pin-point cross for our existing strikers to capitalise upon, Brunty has to be yer man.

My second ?tipping point?? It pains me to say this, but their second goal was largely down to Zoltan Gera, strangely brilliant at times, yet so amazingly na?ve at others. Like the moment he lost possession to Hull?s Folan just inside their half. Didn?t you just know that he?d then go on to treat our defence as if it simply wasn?t there ? you might want to argue that it wasn?t, at that time, at least not mentally ? and get the ball into the back of the net courtesy a deflected shot? That was all they wanted, and, try as we might, that massive blow to our already-shaky confidence ensured that we?d finish the game just like the third month of the year, March ? in like a lion, and out like a sodding lamb, with or without mint sauce accompaniment.

And, even at that horribly late stage in the proceedings, our errant Eastern European could still have made massive reparation for the blunder: first of all, from a free-kick that curled tantalisingly close to the crossbar, taken just outside their box and in close proximity to the circular bit of the ?D?, then, right at the death, and with their goal completely at his mercy, sticking the ball straight into Row Z from about six yards out. Was that a conscious attempt on his part to imitate previous offender Kanu, I wonder? Not the recommended way to earn Brownie points with the gaffer, though.

And there was an additional factor to that game, one that became as apparent as a smelly, running sore on an extremely private appendage, the longer it went on. By that I mean the disturbing ease, yet again, with which our natural game could be ambushed by the liberal use of rough-house tactics from opponents. So easy is it to unsettle our people, the various methods involved ? crude fouling, not allowing anyone to settle on the ball, acting performances worthy of an Oscar, had the Hollywood writers? strike not been on, plus many, many other destabilising tricks ? bear many of the hallmarks of a mathematical formula. Think about it ? how many sides have done this to us, over the course of the last few weeks? Four? Five? Dare I say it, then? That we?ve now been well and truly rumbled? Again.

In the words of the well-known Paul Simon hit, it?s all ?Slip-slidin? away?, isn?t it? Just like it did last season. Our forthcoming Cup trip to Bristol Rovers might well prove to be ?Groundhog Day? for us. Consider the evidence for the prosecution, members of the jury. Last season, we were top of the heap, and due to take on the Smog Monsters in the fifth round of the same competition.

That went to a replay, extra-time and penalties, we were then unceremoniously dumped from the competition ? and from that game onward, our promotion-push simply went to pot. Agreed, it was deliciously funny to see off the Dingles in the play-off semis, and worth it for that reason alone ? but to endure only Wembley heartbreak, at the hands of a genuinely-inferior Derby side, moreover one now billed as the worst ever to grace the big league?

OK, Rovers will certainly enjoy star billing as the natural underdogs, but all the aforementioned discussion demonstrates more than adequately our principal problem as a side: apply even a modicum of pressure, legal or otherwise, to our ball artists, and they collapse like a well-punctured set of bagpipes. We might well survive a bruising encounter with our 1991 Nemesis, and then go on to make the last four ? but at what price? It?s a wonderful thought, that of picking up the pot on the 40th anniversary of our last successful Wembley appearance, right on the heels of promotion to the Prem, and ensuring, in effect, that the record we set back in 1931 stays at the Hawthorns in perpetuity - but, in your heart of hearts, just how realistic is that wonderful vision?

Don?t forget, folks, this is the year our parachute payments from the last time finish, and in any case, should we crash and burn at the last hurdle, just how many of our expensively acquired, high-maintenance performers will want to stick it out for yet another season spent in ?durance vile?? Not many, I?ll wager.

It?s true we suffered similar levels of ?brain-drain? last summer, but back then, we had ample finances in place to bring in talented people to replace those who?d jumped ship so soon after the sounding of the final whistle on the Derby debacle. Sure, we?d get hard cash in return for our journeyman lemming-equivalents, but would that be enough? Even at Championship level, the relative wealth of title/promotion contenders is fast becoming a significant issue. Unless Jeremy Peace has sufficient cash stashed away in his biscuit-tin to avert such a crisis, we might well find a third attempt at the prize somewhat beyond our financial resources.

Sorry to sound so down, but I?m genuinely telling it as I see it. After well over 40 years of Baggie-watching under my belt, I?ve come to know heartbreak, both Cup and League, intimately. It?s not for nothing ?Im Indoors and myself came up with the motto ?Semper Te Fallant? as the masthead for GD, all those years ago. For the benefit of readers new to this column, it?s Latin for ?They Always Let You Down?, and, as any serious student of our favourite football club will tell you, on past and current showing, the prospects of anyone at the Hawthorns suing us for defamation of character were about as astronomical as those of the sun going nova tomorrow.

Oh, well. Having fully let rip with my little moan tonight, my next mission, should I wish to accept it, is to join the Bristol Rovers ticket queue very early tomorrow morning, and purchase two, one for me, one for ?Im Indoors (working, of course) ? and, if at all possible, one for The Noise, whose away trips have been curtailed somewhat this season. It might well be I?ll have to queue again in an effort to sort him out. The Fart? Being so horribly familiar with dawn ?Stand To? in numerous World War One trenches, early arrival for this one will be but a mere bagatelle, by comparison. No doubt rations of bully-beef and biscuits, stemming from the very same period, will be produced in quantity, along with ?gunfire?, the Army?s version of early morning tea.

As long as the old reprobate doesn?t turn up at the ground in full Field Service Marching Order, complete with rifle, tin hat and gas-mask, I really couldn?t give a flying fornication. (On the other hand, should Brooksie be stood next to me in the queue, I just might undergo a rapid change of opinion, especially that concerning the appropriateness of wearing service gas-masks in days of piping peace?.) Back tomorrow night, when I?ll not only dish the dirt on ticket queueing, but proceed to tell you lots more about Bristol Rovers, and the various plus-points there are to be found inside their ground. Not so outside; if you plan to go there by car, facilities there are quite appalling, but all will be revealed tomorrow, I promise!

And Finally?. I reckon I must have been about the only Baggies supporter in the entire Hawthorns Hotel to miss the appalling tackle by Bluenose Taylor on Eduardo Da Silva during yesterday?s live game versus Arsenal. So busy was I nattering to The Noise (we?d only just walked in), I was completely oblivious to what was happening on the big screen.

And even when we?d arrived home, I still missed it. Blame the aforementioned ?battle fatigue? for that one: by the time I?d finally woken, they?d already shown the relevant footage on Match Of The Day. Mind you, having since seen various newspaper photographs taken of both the incident and its immediate aftermath, you didn?t need any medical expertise whatsoever to realise that the injury was a bad one: just noticing that the poor sod?s foot was turned a full 180 degrees opposite to where it should have been was more than ample evidence for me.

Personally, I feel that the lad is finished in football. As I was explaining to one of my relatives earlier tonight, as it now seems the injury involved fractures to both tibia (shinbone) and fibula (the thinner bone behind it), plus ankle ? not forgetting possible significant damage to major blood vessels (heavy blood loss really made the whole thing a bit of a horror-show, I?m told) and trauma to muscles, tendons and ligaments located in that region ? we?re probably looking at a similar situation to that which finished Coventry?s David Buust, around 12 years ago, in a match against Man United.

A couple of years back, Midlands Today interviewed Buust, long retired from the game by then - and it was during the course of that interview that he rolled up his trouser leg to reveal the true extent of the damage inflicted that day. Suffice it to say that I?ve rarely seen such a ghastly bone deformity, save when someone?s been the victim of a road traffic accident, or a ?hit and run?. Even my sister?s own appalling leg injuries, caused by a 1970 collision with a van driver who was not only uninsured, but intoxicated and already banned from driving anyway, couldn?t come close.

My next thought is obvious: will Eduardo take legal action against Taylor, I wonder? A lot will depend upon the prognosis, of course, and that won?t be determined until the poor sod?s up and running once more, of course. The big problem for the injured lad will be proving any intent on Taylor?s part to the high standards of justice set out below.

The standard of proof in civil courts is still much less than that enjoyed by most criminals. For the former to win, the case has to pass the test of ?the balance of probabilities?: in effect, a metaphorical tipping of the finely-balanced scales of justice in the direction favouring the injured party, with defence arguments put to either judge or jury adding significantly to prospects of the success or failure of the case. For a criminal case to succeed, however, it is incumbent upon the prosecution ? and only them, mind: the defence has to prove nothing in that respect ? to show ?beyond all reasonable doubt? that the person in the dock has actually committed the offence in question. Legally, the whole thing will hinge upon whether it can be shown that Taylor deliberately, recklessly, went into that tackle, knowing full-well what the likely prospects for his opponent?s health and well-being might be. A hellish difficult thing to prove, that. Just where does the real boundary between sheer incompetence and malicious intent begin and end?

You lot out there, having already seen all the relevant footage for yourselves, might well have formed your own opinions as to the various merits, or otherwise, of pursuing such a case. Was Taylor merely an idiot to rush in so rashly, and an incompetent one at that, or were more sinister thoughts at work in his own mind at that time, I wonder? What had the St. Andrews backroom staff said to him just before the game?

Blues, remember, are currently enmeshed in a vicious fight to avoid the drop to the Championship: the full three points from Saturday?s game would have proven invaluable, a massive boost to their survival prospects, in fact. Was Taylor specifically told to go in hard on Eduardo early on, rough him up a little, unsettle him, if at all possible? When you?ve got multi-millions worth of footballing talent facing you, and your own side still in a bit of a hole, it stands to reason why some might resort to unorthodox methods, in order to frustrate the best intentions of attackers. Whatever the long-term career prospects of the injured party, I now get the distinctly-uncomfortable feeling this one is going to run and run. Just like The Mousetrap, in fact. Oh, it?s being so cheerful that keeps me going. Or something.

 - Glynis Wright

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