The Diary

17 March 2008: Foxes Give Woeful Baggies The Brush-Off

?YOU HAVE WON ? WE DON?T COME BACK!? That, unbelievably, was the text message sent to Jean Homer by a Fox-lover friend situated somewhere in the away end, just seconds after we?d taken the lead in yesterday?s game. But there?s always the exception that proves the rule, isn?t there ? and that?s precisely what happened, of course.

I suppose the only thing that?s kept me from dissolving into a fit of pure hysterics, worthy of the best efforts of the dreadfully-spoilt Violet Elizabeth Bott herself, is the fact that after the final whistle, results elsewhere seemed to offer damage-limitation aplenty for Mogga?s severely-perforated side. Subsequent repercussions upon our drive to quit the Championship could have been much more serious than they actually were, believe you me.

Bristol City lost by the odd goal in three to upwardly-mobile Plymouth.. The real BIG ONE, Watford versus bloody Stoke? That was a bloodless bore-draw, if accounts in Sunday papers of what happened at Vicarage Road are to be believed. One reporter even held that those spectators suffering with neck problems might well have seen their condition seriously exacerbated through excessive use of said muscular tissue, over the entire 90 minutes.

The real threat now comes from those sides on the lower rungs of the top six, as per sixth-placed Plymouth, mentioned above, also Hull City, after the neat 5-0 demolition job they did on poor Southampton, which now puts them fifth in the heap. Those currently knocking on the door? Keep a close eye on 7th and 8th-placed Palace and Ipswich Town, who both collected their three-point reward at the expense of fellow Cup semi-finallists Barnsley, and Charlton, respectively. As I?d already tipped Palace to be the ones coming up on the blind side, late on, I?m not too surprised to see them there. Ipswich? Must be helped by their very strong home record, I guess.

To put it in a nutshell, then: No, our hopes for this season aren?t crashing and burning kamikaze-style, as yet, but one or two more defeats like yesterday?s, and they will be, that?s for sure. Which will leave us having to go through the play-offs for the second year in succession ? and, after what happened last time, do you fancy going through all that Wembley angst, once more? I certainly don?t. As for our other date in that part of North London, if our team discipline and self-control disintegrates half as badly as it did versus Leicester, then Harry Redknapp?s place in the Wembley Final will be assured.

It?s a real worry, isn?t it? And I can?t see the situation improving, at least not in the short-term, given the calamitous rapidity with which our injured-list is lengthening. And then there?s one other really ticklish consideration to take into account: to what extent did the dismissal of Luke Moore influence yesterday?s game? I know what most of our Halfords Lane Stand chums thought, albeit the majority of it quite obscene, and I do have some rough idea of what Mogga thought about it from his comments to Sunday newspapers during the post-match character-destroyer known laughingly as a ?press conference?, but for what they?re worth, here are my own thoughts.

Ever since he arrived at our place, as a seeming ?make-weight? to the Curtis Davis deal that took the lad to Seal Park, it seems to me that Luke has always had the devil of a job trying to adjust to the vastly-differing requirements of the Championship. And that ?wrong side of the tracks? background of his didn?t help much, either: to win over our people, he?s always needed to be as good as, if not better, than what we have now. In short, he?s always had potential bother on two undesirable fronts, not just the one. And now he?s stuffed up, Big-Time.

After the dismissal, I do know one thing. Being the caring and empathetic bloke he is, I?m firmly convinced that Mogga is also well aware of what might happen to Luke, were he to allow the lad to regain his place in the side after completion of his suspension. He could eventually turn into one of the best players this club?s ever had, but after the events of this Saturday just gone, the crowd will never again give him the chance to do so. Remember Scott Darton? Those who are still of tender years won?t of course, so, mainly for their benefit, I?ll outline what happened with him.

The lad was 17, just about, and (wrongly, in my opinion) thrust into our struggling side, the season after we?d won promotion from what was then the Second Division, back in 1993. I forget who we?d played at home that night (Tranmere, possibly?), but to cut a long story short, he ended up having a real stinker, which, being a defender, had a crucial bearing on the game. Worse still, what with us being on the losing side and everything, and some of it down to him, despite his tender years, the Hawthorns crowd gave him absolute hell.

Keith Burkinshaw, our gaffer at the time, should have pulled him off long before he actually did, of course, so the end result was one distraught young lad leaving the pitch in floods of tears, an event followed by his rapid departure for lower-league Blackpool, where he didn?t last long either, vanishing into non-League obscurity not long after that. God know what he?s doing now, because I certainly don?t.

The best thing Mogga could do for the ex-Villa lad, right now, is keep him well away from our first-string. I?m already given to understand that he?s since given Moore some ?words of advice?. Delivered typically low-key, no doubt, but none the less effective, for all that. What happens in the long-term is up to both the manager and Jeremy Peace to decide, of course, but should our leader be rash enough to bring him back in the short-term, expect fireworks ? and I?d be pretty hard-put to leap to the lad?s defence, this time, being perfectly honest.

As the day wasn?t a complete and utter disaster, at least on the social front, I?ll go small on the actual game, and large on what happened both before and after. (Well, do YOU want more detailed reminders of what went wrong, right now? Better for memory to scab over the events of yesterday completely, I reckon, then rapidly move on to much more pleasant considerations.)

In the Hawthorns Hotel, the atmosphere inside gave little, if any, hint of the complete and utter trashing we were going to get at the hands of The Foxes, very soon. In fact, our table was completely reduced to hysterical laughter when Sky?s man at Bloomfield Road, a guy previously much-put-upon by their band?s unfortunate habit of striking up with a bloody big bass drum every single time he made to go on-air, came on clutching a bloody great pair of drumsticks in his hot little hand. And, ranged just behind, a knot of fed-up looking (and percussion-less, temporarily), Seasiders!

It was while I was giving The Fart, newly interested in all things astronomical by my loan of a book written with non-scientists very much in mind, an impromptu lesson on how the speed of light was determined, that the real surprise-packet of our elderly chum?s visit appeared. ?Anna? ? sorry, I don?t know her second name ? from The Observer, come to interview we Baggies about our current Cup-Premier League promotion-priority dilemma.

Tel, The Noise and myself kicked off, then it was young Carly taking centre-stage, in company with young Bethany, who had a hidden talent stashed away in her personal ammunition locker: once over her initial shyness, she could not so much talk the hind legs off a bloody donkey as end up conversationally-dissecting the thing! Like father, like daughter, I reckon, but environment ? All Stokies are loquacious, by nature - must have had a lot to do with it as well.

No wonder our entire party left the pub in good heart, then. What with our tame journo wanting to make us all (in)famous, and being on a promise to meet the Scandinavian Baggies in the Vine pub after the final whistle anyway, it was a reasonably happy duo that made its way towards the Halfords turnstiles: a tad late, mind, owing to the presence of the press, but still happy with it.

But that wasn?t to last. After taking the lead with some 20 minutes gone, courtesy an absolute screamer from Koren, from all of twenty yards, things then began to go downhill with great rapidity. Admittedly, we?d undergone considerable personnel changes pre-match, some due to injury, and others for tactical reasons ? in was Kim, making his first ever start for the club, also Shelton Martis, Luke Moore and Roman Bednar, and out were the injured Chris Brunt, also Kev Phillips and Ish Miller (both benched) and the dropped Jared Hodgkiss ? but what happened ten minutes before the end of the first half was simply down to sheer unprofessional behaviour.

As I?d previously intimated, even before the dismissal, Luke Moore wasn?t having the best of games out there ? and those in the Halfords certainly knew it. Much speculation had arisen among those Baggies seated in our vicinity as to the precise circumstances in which he?d arrived at our place: as a ?take it or leave it? add-on to the Curtis Davis transfer by Villa, perhaps? In other words, was Mogga saddled with the situation much against his better nature?

Whatever the background to his arrival at our club, the plain truth of the matter was a gut feeling among our crowd that Moore simply wasn?t contributing (charitable view), or a complete and utter liability (malevolent view). Why hadn?t either Miller or Phillips been given the job? And it was certainly his own incompetence, coupled with that of youthful volatility, that saw him sent for an early bath some ten minutes before the end of the half.

What happened? Clearly frustrated by his inability to make any sort of mark upon the game, he?d then piled into a horror-show challenge on Leicester City?s Richard Stearman. Although the incident occurred at the opposite side of the ground to where we are, the moment it occurred, every single one of us chorused: ?He?s off?.? Which he was, of course. Had he been doing the job he was paid to do, then sympathy from the crowd might have been rather more effusive, but as he?d been a bit of a disaster area the whole game, stunned silence, followed by not a few hoots of derision (clearly not aimed at the referee) accompanied his sad progress from pitch to players? tunnel.

The rest we all know, of course. Not long after that, Leicester got their equaliser, courtesy a McAuley header, so we left the pitch for the interval even-stevens. And it was to get much, much worse in the second half. Leicseter, scenting victory now we?d been reduced to ten, really went for it. Result? With just 15 minutes of the second half run its course, they went ahead, thanks to a penalty, Greening being the man deemed at fault by the referee for a nasty tackle on Lee Hendrie, of all people.

The man every Baggie loves to hate, of course, who?d received quite a large quantity of stick from our followers during the first half: now he?d got perfect revenge, and didn?t he know it. And Leicester certainly knew how to take spot-kicks: with little further ado, Howard sent Deano (who?d had his own little nightmare, courtesy yet more erratic kicking under pressure) the wrong way to make it two.

Confidence greatly strengthened by their unlikely lead, it was now them firmly in the driving seat, not us. Now we were having difficulty stopping them, so it came as no great shock to see them make it three with 11 minutes remaining, and after we?d brought on Bednar and Shergar, in the first instance, then Kev Phillips relatively late on, to replace Pele, Kim and Bednar respectively. Then, not long after the final subbing of Phillips, we suffered another blow ? Barnett, injured, had no alternative but to limp off, leaving us down to NINE. No wonder Leicester finished the game by shoving in a fourth, with consummate ease.

No surprise either that acrimonious debate had already commenced in our stand by that stage. When their third hit the back of the net, John Homer?s laconic comment was: ?Thank you very much, Luke Moore?.? The Bloke In Front Of Me had differing views, though. ?Doe yow blame ?IM, blame the bloody manager!? You could almost see the steam issuing forth from his ears.

His reasoning, along with that of some others, was that Mogga had been guilty of a tactical boo-boo in choosing the team the way he did, leaving out Miller and/or Phillips in the first place. ?Why did he do it?? the BIFOM continued to wail at various intervals thereafter, ?Forget Luke Moore, concentrate on the cowin? manager?.?

Then, when Barnett went down, there was Old Inevitable, again: ?YOW PICKED THE WRONG TEAM, MOWBRAY ? WHEN YOW GUNNA LEARN?.....? Not long after that, when City had the ball well over the touchline, with no flagged response whatsoever from the lino on our side of the pitch, it was John?s turn to give his own vocal chords some unpleasant exercise, hence my other half?s mournful but instant response: ?Two goals down, two men off?. Does it really matter??

Which it certainly didn?t just a few minutes after that, when City made it four, to their supporters? complete and utter delight. I wonder how many had been rash enough to bet on a Leicester win before the kick-off? Then, when the fourth official held the board up ? ?FOUR BLOODY MINUTES? YOW SADIST!....? That was John, in bullish mood, by now. And that was the moment when ?Im Indoors, now in contrastingly-reflective mood, asked of us the burning question, viz: ?Where do we go from here??

?The play-offs, I suppose?..? replied a clearly-mortified John. After that, what else could you say?

After what had happened, I?d half expected to encounter a somewhat funereal atmosphere in The Vine, afterwards ? but as it turned out, that was certainly NOT the case. By the time we?d finally managed a slow, frustrating car journey from Hawthorns to pub (easily walkable via the railway line, apparently, but NOT with legs like mine, hence The Fart?s arrival preceding ours by a long way!) a goodly number of our party were already assembled in one of those little booths they have adjacent to the bar.

It?s always good to experience the warm feeling of total solidarity that comes when in the company of like-minded people, and that evening was to be no exception. The aforementioned Scandinavian Baggies were there, of course, in company with some pretty disreputable members of our own indigenous support, viz: Dean Walton, he of the spectacular end-of-season-away ground celebrations he used to organise, seemingly out of nothing.

No formal notices whatsoever: the info always seemed to spread by word of mouth, somehow - eg. Barnsley 1989, Rotherham 1993, etc and paving the way for others to take up the challenge in later years Also propping up the wall at the other end of our ?booth? was our old mate Dubbsey, who has now adopted a child, apparently: good on him, for I can?t think of a bloke more suited to becoming a dad. Just how seriously he?s taking his new role can be ascertained by the fact he?s now decided to put a complete end to his globe-trotting activities, in order to concentrate more fully upon the sundry demands of parenthood.

Finbarr, ?controlling mind? behind the website you?re currently looking at, was there also, and in company with ?Smethwick Batman?, a name familiar to many on the Boing mailing list, Jim Currie, he of the last time we all met at the same venue, post-match, and The Fart, looking smug because he?d got there before us all. ?Batman? also had in tow a young companion. No, not Robin ? well would YOU trust an old geezer that insists upon wearing underpants outside trousers? ? but a 13 year-old lad called Sean Thomas, once a Liverpool admirer, now well and truly converted to life with The Baggies. ?So he?s finally had to take the medication, then?? was my droll comment upon his recent ?conversion?, along with ?Where?s Esther Rantzen, right when you need her??

My repeated offers to ring Social Services on the poor little sod?s behalf gained some considerable support from our well-brassed-off Baggie chums! Mind you, having already confronted the poor little shaver with unspeakable horrors of the Albion kind, Jim Currie then proceeded to tell him of the many diseases that preyed upon local miners, only but a few generations removed from the present day.

Pneumonocosis, a chronic condition where coal-dust first inflames, then destroys, the lung?s ?business ends?, the alveoli, where the swop of life-giving oxygen for that of waste carbon dioxide always takes place, was the main cause of miners having to finish early. The wheezy ? and life-threatening ? results speak volumes. Same deal for silicosis, caused by the continual presence of silica in those very same mines. A common component of coal-dust, it used to carry off similar numbers of coal-face workers well before their allotted span. I don?t know why Jim was actually telling the lad about all this, but he certainly looked impressed by what he was being told.

Not long after that, The Noise and sprogs arrived, along with Jay Poole, wearing a replica shirt purchased from the side Zoltan Gera used to play for, Fencenvaros, Jay subsequently ?customised? it by adding a T-Mobile sticker to the shirt-front, something that caused not a few of our own supporters to query, come the end of last season, whether what he was wearing was to be our new away strip! He?s also the Baggie blessed with a somewhat unfortunate talent for succumbing to car breakdowns, mostly at the most inopportune moments he could ever wish for.

In fact, every time we?ve seen him at pre-season friendlies, it?s always been with his vehicle in ?bonnet-up? mode. Mind you, he did hit upon an ingenious solution post-match, one night, at a motorway services. His battery was as dead as the dodo, and he was understandably reluctant to call out exorbitantly-priced repairers to get the thing going again ? so what could he do to sort the matter out for himself?

Talk about ?lateral thinking?. Luckily, our man had a battery charger to hand, so what he did next was remove said battery from his vehicle, carefully shift it to inside the building containing all the ?amenities?, furtively unplug one of the arcade game machines located there, stick into the empty socket his charger?s plug ? and away he went! Job done, eventually, he was able to drive home without further worry, but just like hiding tell-tale sand from the inquisitive eyes of German prison camp guards, it was certainly a solution that required one helluva big brass neck to accomplish successfully!

Later still, we were joined by Jim?s lady wife, Rosie, who?d indulged in a little ?retail therapy? while we were all gnashing our collective teeth inside the ground, apparently. Not my favourite way of spending time, that, but given what had happened at our place, had I known beforehand, I might well have given it some serious thought! Walking into our bijou hidey-hole, she quickly cast eyes upon the lot of us, then asked, in a very bright tone of voice indeed, ?Have we lost, then?? And seemed genuinely baffled when we all collapsed in hoots of complete and utter derision!

And there was yet another surprise to take on board, one that concerned The Noise?s elder daughter. ?Is she pregnant?? enquired one curious wag ? but nope. Apparently, so taken was that Observer reporter by what Carly had to say, she ended up doing a full-blown interview with her! Given the relative lateness of that event, I can only assume that it?s intended for inclusion next week, or not long after that. Quite an erudite bunch of coves, are we one-time Dick Eds ? and now it?s the next Baggie generation, in the form of Carly, taking up the literary reins on our behalf.

And talking of the Observer, that was around the time El Tel disappeared in order to provide a potted account of our game for them: the results you?ll find in their sports supplement. Now our company was swelled considerably by the arrival of the late-comers, it was The Noise, getting into ?top gear? at long last, who became much more noticeable. ?The only real difference between Moore and the challenges their defenders did? Moore?s connected, and theirs didn?t?.? You might as well have stuck the word ?discuss? on the end of that sentence ? and that?s precisely what the greater part of our company did.

Others quickly waded in with the suggestion that we were all panicking somewhat prematurely: you only had to look at our rivals? own results to see what was happening out there. We should be deriving some degree of hope and comfort from that, not dismiss our chances of going up completely out of hand. As I said, there was a lively debate going on in there, but one conducted without even the smallest degree of acrimony. The night was more about happier Baggie times mutually shared, not about apportioning blame for what had gone wrong earlier on.

One real late-comer was Stian Boe, the lad that so generously offered to push me, temporarily wheelchair-bound after a car accident, from ground to railway station, after the conclusion of one of our Danish pre-season friendlies, some eight years ago. But once he?s appeared on the scene, a wicked thought occurred to us both. We?d never asked him before, so we simply had to do it this time round: what was his job? Accountancy, as it turned out, so that reply quickly prompted the next question on the list, viz: ?Was accountancy in his home country considered as dull and boring as it is over here?? The answer? A categorical ?Yes?. So now we all know.

One final thought. At least the conviviality of our little gathering ensured that we all left The Vine in considerably better heart than we?d found it. Even young Bethany, exposed to the spicy delights of tandoori chicken for only the third time in her entire life! But what of our next game on the list, our away Good Friday encounter with Charlton Athletic? No question about it: if we sincerely want to go up automatically, that sure is one game we?ve got to extract all three points from. Anything less will almost certainly mean the play-offs, again. But more on that subject next Thursday night!

And Finally?.. One. Pure laziness by not removing our stuff no sooner we were relegated a couple of seasons ago, perchance? Or do they secretly know something we don?t? Seen on a ticket-provider?s website?.. ?We can get tickets for all West Bromwich Albion Premier League games: Man U, Arsenal, Chelsea?.?

Two?. Trust The Noise to stuff up on doing us all a favour?.. Apparently, on his way to his usual parking spot (ours, also), The Noise almost ran over yesterday?s match official as he was crossing Halfords Lane. Which was why, almost as soon as he?d walked into the Hawthorns Hotel and fetched up at our table, he was asking me the name of the poor sod concerned. And thought I was having him on, once I?d finally stopped howling with laughter, and told him. Boy, was his face a picture when I did, the biggish ?O? puncturing his mush at the time being his mouth!

His name, for the benefit of those Baggies elsewhere who haven?t seen detailed match reports yet? Talk about ?nominative determinism? (i.e. being destined to take up a certain occupation because the similar nature of one?s surname absolutely demands it) ? his monicker, believe it or not, was DEADMAN!

Three?.. Although it was such a miserable Saturday afternoon for us all, at least a chum of ours, Ollie Kano (It?s one of those funny Scandinavian affairs that have peculiar markings above certain vowels, etc and that?s the closest I can get to it on an English machine, honest!), managed to return the smile to our faces.

He even had a little story for us all, quite hilarious, actually... The Swede Wolves (no jokes, please! ? Ollie.) had already arranged their annual trip to the Custard Bowl to coincide with their home game v Cardiff , on April the 5th. A real shame, that, because - guess what? Cardiff will be involved in their FA-cup semi-final against Barnsley that weekend, so their game?s been postponed.

And THAT means 50-odd Swedish Wolves fans now have in their possession flight tickets, match tickets in quantity, not to mention hotel rooms pre-booked for a (dirty?) weekend in Wolverhampton - but without even the merest whiff of a game in sight! As Ollie commented right at the end of his deliciously-amusing tale: ?Couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch of people...?

 - Glynis Wright

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