The Diary

06 March 2008: After Wednesday On Tuesday, Sundaes On Wednesday, Anyone?

After all the Bradford City 2002-esque last minute angst we so stressfully saw played out at Hillsbrough last night, a joint Wright venture into the realms of ?total relaxation mode? was urgently called for. What better way of achieving our aim than to take up a recent newspaper offer from a nationwide chain of pub carveries (think ?pottery jug fashioned in the image of an extremely bibulous-looking individual wearing a tricorn hat atop his pate? and you?ll quickly get my drift) offering a carvery meal for a crisp fiver per person, with a buckshee ice-cream sundae chucked in for good measure.

Our nearest, situated just a few miles down the road, looked favourite, so off we trundled. And as soon as we walked into the place, fairly crowded, but not to the extent that going up to the carvery counter would be a complete and utter pain, it was absolutely amazing to see the sheer number of people who had chosen the occasion of their own visit to sport Baggies regalia of some sort or another about their person.

Not just kids, either: many a grown-up also wore the sacred shirt, and in satisfied combination with the sort of smug smile that instantaneously enrages Dingles everywhere, too. Despite a strong urge to do similar myself, I?d opted for relative modesty in victory, sticking to a simple T shirt with a bijou club badge emblazoned on the left hand side ? but wasn?t it good to see how proud our people were of being a Baggie?

I was soon to discover during our meal, however, that an unfortunate accident I?d suffered at the precise moment Kev Phillips sought to completely ruin the home side?s evening, would come complete with unwelcome repercussions for me. What happened? I?d bitten my tongue rather badly when celebrating said goal. A convincing but painful practical demonstration of the sheer number of nerve-endings found in situ there, if ever there was one.

The upshot was that the very act of noshing roast beef and Yorkshire etc. proved excruciating for me, to the point where I had to finally admit complete defeat, and hand over some of the contents of my plate to the nearest thing the Black Country currently has to a black hole in space, i.e.: my other half?s digestive system. And left me with a real need for something locally anaesthetic to follow, which meant a brisk dose of their (free, so Steve The Miser would have approved, most certainly) ice-cream sundae, a comestible I don?t normally indulge in during winter months, for the most part preferring comfort food instead, but I was prepared to make an exception in this case.

Aaah, the sheer relief of it! About as satisfying as seeing Kev sending the entire away end wild with joy last night, and our Dingle chums frothing at the mouth like rabid dogs on acid, no doubt. The downside was that by the time we returned home from our meal, the soreness was pretty awful. Time to pop the painkillers I normally reserve for my back, which is why I?m trying to get this completed fairly quickly. Once the sodding things kick in, I?m liable to fall asleep in just about any place you care to mention!

If you will permit me a slight digression for the moment, while consuming tonight?s meal, my other half informed me that a workmate of his (GLYNISNOTE: Shouldn?t Social Services be told about this, I ask myself?) took a couple of his mate?s kids to Molineux last night, to watch their game versus Southampton, the visitors eventually rubbing the noses of the home supporters well and truly in the smelly stuff by scoring a last-gasp equaliser.

But that?s not all. According to my other half?s informant, the natives sure are getting restless at The Custard Bowl, these days. Many plaintive cries of ??EE?S GORRA COWIN? GOO?.? apropos the formerly-sainted Mick McCarthy (and, by inference, his merry men), and similar other Dingle pleasantries, mostly obscene, come the final whistle. All of which was extremely unpleasant, but oh-so-very Dingle. But what really must have had them drumming on their chests, then taking it out on the nearest plate-glass window, was the moment they first heard of our result!

Yesterday?s successful Sheffield caper not only gets us back into the promotion groove once more, it will also act as a tremendous psychological fillip prior to taking on Bristol Rovers in the Cup, this coming Sunday evening. Rovers weren?t so lucky last night, mind: they lost their own League fixture with Donny Rovers 1-0. But when checking upon their match report, I then discovered something quite odd.

As you probably know already, our old chum Miller had been set to ref this one, and after gleefully taking in accounts of a ?horrendous refereeing display?, including trying to book the wrong player for an infringement, despite the lino having previously supplied the name of the real offender, I was to become somewhat confused afterwards to see the name of the errant whistler given as ? erm ? Clive Penton? Even though the opening headline still had Miller?s name down as man in the middle? Just what was going on, there? Was he now so truly awful as to need the use of an alias when officiating?

I eventually managed to clear up the mystery, so still thine beating heart, O Gentle Reader. But it didn?t half take some trolling through local press reports of the game to do it. Surprisingly, given the sheer amount of controversy shrouding this one, very few actually revealed the ref?s name in their reports. Finally, Bristol?s most estimable organ, the Evening Post, came up trumps by naming Penton in their own match report, which as good as settles the matter for me. The Conservative party?s best friend in those regions The Bristol Post may well be, but one thing they consistently do well is the football stuff.

But one uncomfortable thought still remains. Given this guy?s undoubtedly Miller-esque aptitude for stuffing up perfectly easy decisions, the time can?t be too far off when we also see this black-clad idiot?s name pencilled in to officiate at one or other of our games!

As for Sunday?s trip to the West Country, I?ll be having much more to say on that come the night before. One of the things I?ll be looking at will be a ?Where Are They Now?? type feature that appeared in the Sunday Times sports supplement, around ten days ago. Featuring the side that appeared in their 1972 Watney Cup Final-winning game versus Sheffield United, played at Eastville, the sheer number of Albion connections at Eastville at that time, both direct and indirect, are truly astonishing. Guaranteed enjoyment for all, honest.

Looking further at what?s hot and what?s not on the ?lame and halt? front right now, there?s sod-all about Tex worth repeating, but of the two that sustained injuries during last night?s win, Bednar and Hoefkens, with the former?s problem looking much worse than the latter?s when he did it, the news is that Mogga is ?hopeful? that both will recover from their respective knocks in time for next Sunday?s shindig.

I have to say that I didn?t appreciate at the time just how badly Hoefkens had also been affected, but given the fact that it was never the sort of game where you?d deliberately put a six-stone weakling of Charlie Atlas fame straight into the mixer, I can?t say I?m too surprised to hear he had a problem. By the time the injury happened, we?d already used all three subs, so the poor sod had little choice but to tough it out right to the bitter end.

?I think Roman will be fine,? said our leader in his post-match press conference, ?He?s just got a knock on his calf?..? Some knock, that, to reduce a strapping bloke like that to a state of almost total immobility by the time he was finally taken off. As for Carl?s problem, the word from the streets is simple: ?I think they?ll both be okay?. Well, we?ll see.

Oh, and guess what? Hereford United will be sending hot-shot Shergar back very soon. Which could get John Homer, already on a promise to honour a bet to run around Lower Gornal in his birthday suit, should the lad ever score for us, looking very worried indeed when he gets to hear the news!

Nothing to do with a lapse in current form on Shergar?s part, mind; quite the contrary, as readers of this column will already be aware. From what I hear, the new ?master plan? is to send him out on loan somewhere else, but given the fact we might need all the help we can get from squad rotation, pretty soon, plus the fact he?s finally discovered the road to the goal-net, at long last, I?m now wondering whether Albion will simply retain him on a ?belts-and-braces? basis until the end of seasonal hostilities.

Bloody hell ? if it?s not our first team pitching in for Cup glory at Bristol on Sunday, it?s our second string trying to emulate the heart-stirring feats of their full-blown counterparts at our place as well. Congratulations, then, to our reserve squad, who overcame Barnsley at The Hawthorns last night to the tune of a highly-commendable SIX GOALS, with only one in reply coming from The Tykes. (Just what is it about the Yorkshire side that consistently fires our players up to the extent they have to register a cricket score whenever engaged in mortal combat at our place?)

This admirable win means they?re now well and truly set for an appearance in the Pontins Holidays League Cup Final, very soon. I?m not too sure who they?ll face, or the venue, as yet, but after the stonking great seeing-to they gave the Oakwell mob, I?m sure they?ll not disgrace either themselves or the club when the Great Day finally arrives. Scorers? Let?s hear it for Slusarski, four-goal hero of the occasion, also Joss Labadie and David ?Wozza? Worrall, who both netted in the first half as well. Blimey, is this catching, I wonder? On that happy basis, expect, any day now, news that all our ground staff have triumphed in the Old Farts Five-A-Side League Final!

And Finally?. One. This is more Terry Wills country than mine, of course, but I was particularly saddened to hear of the death of Derek Dooley today, aged 78. For the benefit of those Junior Baggies who don?t know, he was a striker outstanding in the Sheffield Wednesday side of the early 1950?s before a truly awful accident during a game finished his League career completely for him.

How come? Shades of what happened at Blues v Arsenal, really. It was February the 14th 1953, and Wednesday were playing Preston at Deepdale. During the game, Dooley sustained a really bad fracture to his leg - the bone was shattered in several places - so was quickly hospitalised as a result. But it didn?t end there: whether the result of a shard of broken bone protruding through the skin and coming into full contact with both open air and pitch, or not, I really couldn?t say, but even the newly-discovered miracle of antibiotics, not to mention various other therapeutic measures, proved completely ineffective in this case.

Before the poor sod knew it, gangrene set in, leaving surgeons with no alternative but to amputate in order to save his life. For a professional football, moreover one on a salary about the same as the average working man ? roughly 15 quid a week ? this was a complete and utter disaster. The Stanley Matthews of that world apart ? established internationals could always boost their own finances by boot endorsement, or that of some popular item of male apparel or other, such as ?Brylcreem? - there was little or no opportunity for lesser breeds to put serious money by for their eventual retirement from the game, unlike the plethora of loadsamoney journeymen you see populating modern-day sides. The result was usually hardship, but in Dooley?s case, his strong local connections were to save him from such horrors.

Dooley eventually became Wednesday?s manager, a job that lasted from 1971 to 1973, then switching much later to Bramall Lane, first as a director, then as chairman. Unsurprisingly, both Sheffield persuasions will be mourning his death over the course of the next few days. It just goes to prove that no matter how good or state-of-the-art your medical facilities are, Mother Nature, wearing her ?evil? hat for the occasion, simply cackles with delight by occasionally chucking something well known for decimating wounded World War One soldiers right into the mix. Players who deliberately indulge in reckless tackles (not so much Blues? Taylor, genuinely mortified and repentant after the incident that got him red-carded, as the near-psychopathic Kevin Muscat-type), please note.

Two?. OOOH! MY BRAIN HURTS! (Or, put another way, the very sad tale of how I inadvertently ?came out in sympathy? for the plight of poor Roman Bednar, left hobbling badly after last night?s successful, but severely bruising, Hillsbrough ordeal!)

After we?d dropped The Fart off at his house, and pulled up at our place, once more, surprise, surprise - it was late. Very, very late. Gone midnight, in fact. No huge bolt from the blue, therefore, to find my three cats all howling like mad to be fed, so, in order to minimise any potential feline disruption during the hours I was to sit before our PC and put together my customary post-match piece, I decided to stuff the faces of the whole lot of them pretty handsomely. All bribery and corruption, sure, but as it?s a tried and tested remedy for feline angst, who am I to argue?

Unfortunately, while emptying pouches of cat food galore into their dishes, I somehow unbalanced myself, hitting my poor little head very painfully on our kitchen wall in the process. My sodding legs and back playing up again, no doubt. Hearing my somewhat ripe language after said mishap, and rightly fearful of the neighbours learning a few more Old English phrases than they?d originally bargained for, a suitably concerned ?Im Indoors, wearing his ?knight in shining armour? hat, rushed in like a thing demented to offer help.

Assisting me in my attempts to regain normal equilibrium, he then enquired if both my head and left arm still hurt after said mishap. I obviously said ?yes?: even at the best of times, losing one?s balance like that is no fun whatsoever. But, as I further pointed out to a very anxious hubby, ?I might not be feeling too much pain myself right now, but I?m willing to bet you anything you like, that after the almighty clattering he got tonight, Roman Bednar most certainly will - and from the very first moment his feet swing out of bed, and onto his bedroom carpet!?.?

Three?. Sheffield Wednesday folks, still narked about our Late, Late Show strike last night, please note?. The Bible says: ?As ye sow, so shall ye reap?..? Being much more pragmatic than that, Winston Churchill, when telling the House Of Commons about the effect of heavy German bombing on the capital, back in 1941, put it slightly differently: ?They have sown the wind. Now they will reap the whirlwind?.? Still so keen to indulge in blatant time-wasting tactics so close to the final whistle, Wednesday?

 - Glynis Wright

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