The Diary

29 March 2008: Coo - What A "Moving" Experience We Face!

?Oy, global warming thingy. Yes YOU! The one in the Pacific, buggering up the Great Barrier Reef. And that scrote, your mate, the one who?s upsetting all the polar bears by meltin? all the soddin? ice-cap. In my country. NOW!?

Well, that?s how DCI Gene Hunt of ?Life On Mars? and ?Ashes To Ashes? fame would have dealt with the little problem I had, just the other night. In his own sweet non-PC way, of course: you think of an ?-ist? ? misogynist, sexist, racist, whatever kind of ?-ist? you want, in fact - and the guy really is IT. The ?s? simply want walkabouts. But mouth the size of a parish oven or otherwise, my own problem, just three frosty, freezing nights ago, certainly needed someone of his wondrously ghastly ilk to come and shout the odds on my behalf.

It surely has to be an indication of just how far we?re both prepared to go to support our finest in action, this one. That?s why I opened in such an unusual way: come on, who else would be daft enough to leave a beautifully snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug holiday home, situated in Herefordshire, to go hightailing it some 40 or so miles northwards to see our reserve side in action, versus their Shrewsbury Town counterparts? At Shrewsbury. On a night so cold, the sound of brass monkeys clanging away could be heard right in the middle of the city centre. No kidding.

Let?s get this straight. The last time I?d felt Jack Frost trying to do such unspeakable things to sundry naughty bits of mine during a midweek game is now well and truly lost to the well-dusty annals of Glynis Time. At this time of year, night matches normally assume the mantle of the coming spring: wet, mild, and heavy with the promise of further good things to come, don?t they? So come on, Mister Clever Clogs Global Warming. How is it you can make it appear that the entire world is about to embark upon a one-way journey to Hell, with or without accompanying hand-cart, one minute, then place a ruddy great warmth exclusion zone around Shropshire?s principal city the next? Answer me that one, then.

But back to the essence of this piece, our reserves-watching evening at Otely Road, home to The Shrews, now the wonderfully-named Gay Meadow is no more. Small, yes it was, primitive, probably, and given its propensity to flood every single time the really wet stuff trickled down from the Welsh mountains not all that far away, really, really soggy ? but as far as matchday atmosphere is concerned, completely irreplaceable.

The new place? Think of any similarly-sized club that?s had to abandon its old home in favour of yet another out-of-town/adjacent-to-new-build- shopping-mall hybrid, and you?ve got it in a nutshell. Roof girders shooting just about everywhere (and anywhere) you can think of, 10,000 all-seated capacity, car-park totally inadequate for matchday use, necessitating leaving one?s vehicle to the tender mercies of some ?park and ride? scheme instead, and at least one nearby pub rubbing their hands with glee at the thought of grabbing hold of some buckshee Saturday afternoon custom during those ghastly winter months.

That?s Shrewsbury?s new place for you, then. But before we even thought of heading off to their ground, we?d first of all explored the sundry delights of the town centre during the late afternoon. Not the first time we?ve been there, of course, but it really is the sort of place that makes you want to explore in more detail. Especially the bookshops. And M and S, bless their vast stocks of cotton ladies? knickers.

Hightailing it to the pub, finally, and making the mouth-watering discovery they did catering, it was shortly after we?d ordered food that we spotted another couple of Baggies eager to ?get the ground in? making their way across the car-park to the bar entrance. Sorry, I don?t know their full names, just the fact they?re known as ?Merv and Rob?, real ale connoisseurs both, and killing two ?thirsts? with one well-aimed ?stone? by notching up this particular football venue on their metaphorical bed-posts as well. What else to do but pass a few friendly minutes with them?

Having noshed our grub in a perfectly satisfactory manner, ?twas now time to head on out to the ground itself, situated about five minutes drive away from the pub itself. Usual deal, car-park at the front (complete with Albion team coach discreetly tucked away in the corner, of course). But what wasn?t the norm was the fact their Ticket Office was actually doing business that night! For a reserve game, and one not very well attended, either? Blimey.

Believe it or not, EVERYONE ? supporters of both persuasions, not to mention Albion?s dynamic coaching duo Appy and Shakey - had to deal with this office first, in order to pick up a pass of some sort to get through the turnstiles. Both our two getting in via the players? entrance was verboten, it would seem. In fact, as we both waited patiently to be served, there was Appy, tracksuited, standing right in front of us. Even more amazing, he actually remembered me from GD days! A cause for worry, perhaps?

Once through the turnstiles and inside, yet another amazing sight unfolded right before several disbelieving Baggie eyes. I didn?t see it ? in the bog, performing the usual biological functions, I was ? but while I was busy in there, Shakey also stood in line at the turnstiles, ticket/pass/whatever in his hot little hand, then finally emerged, to dash somewhere else at near-light-speed. Said another cheeky Baggie to the great man, as the turnstile clicked merrily away: ?Bet you?ve never used one of THESE before!?

Cold? I?ll say it was. More frigid than a witch?s tit, if you want me to get all crude about it. Not my idea of late March weather at all. Global warming ? WHERE ARE YOU? Once inside, and bums firmly plonked upon seats, it was but the work of a moment to discover all those similarly affected by what amounts to collective insanity. Some Baggies whose name we didn?t know, of course, but equally, loads of those we recognised instantaneously.

No surprise to see Steve The Miser there, of course. But no David? Then it all came out, nasty bits and all: no, it wasn?t down to dad trying to economise, as per usual. Steve?s son and heir had instead elected to journey to MOLINEUX, of all places, that night. To see the England Under 21 side perform, of course ? but how dare he? Calls himself a Baggie, does he? Wait until I clap eyes on the little sod again: if nothing else, he sure as hell will get his youthful vocabulary massively expanded for him!

Also there were Roy Hayden, the Mike And Linda Albion Roadshow ? if someone ever managed to stage an Albion game in the Asteroid Belt, those two would be looking to grab seats on the Dave Holloway Rocket-Propelled Matchday Special as soon as the announcement was made ? also a bloke I only know by the name of ?Kieran?.

A home and away regular, he was steward on the coach taking both The Fart and myself to Charlton, last Friday. He?s also got a little bit of a problem, right now, more commonly known as a ?knee operation?, poor sod. Quite a haul of regulars, this one, and all there with the laudable intent of getting the ground well and truly ?ticked off? in their little black books, a la Jackie Charlton, if you like, but without any accompanying undertone of menace from Old Rubberneck himself. (Junior Baggies, ask your granddad!)

The ground? As described earlier, but with one distinctly amusing twist. The ground adverts there. We start by mentioning the board closest to us, the one advertising the services of ?Relate?, a charitable organisation specialising in the satisfactory mediation of marital disputes of various kinds.

?THE RELATIONSHIP PEOPLE - FOR YOU, YOUR CHILDREN AND YOUR FAMILY? the blurb said. Very necessary, an outfit like that, I would have said, given Shrewsbury?s current League form placing them in not a little danger of going down, come the end of current hostilities. Regulars must emerge from the place ready to do murder, come five to five on any given Saturday.

Sharing pride of place with that one was another for ?LOCK, STOCK SELF-STORAGE.? A very handy firm for Shrews gaffers to know, that one. Given that their last managerial incumbent got the old heave-ho as far back as last November, and the club are even now still looking for a suitable replacement, how many managerial aspirants there would dare throw caution to the wind by actively engaging in the tedious business of unpacking all one?s goods and chattels immediately upon arrival?

Further upfield, yet another board promised government grants for ?insulating and heating?. Dead handy, that, on a cold night like this one. Do they cover football grounds, perchance? As for the one that proudly proclaimed the alcoholic virtues of ?TANNER?S WINES?, that always has to be the place of last resort. Given the aforementioned deplorable managerial situation apropos the Salop Strugglers, further comment ish rendered completely unneshessary, ishn?t it, me ole mate? No, don?t mind if I do have another, ole mucker. And another? Hic!

The game? I guess you might well sum it up as: ?young, inexperienced Albion side get completely stonked by wily Salopian counterparts?. 5-2 in the home side?s favour was the final score, but with Slusarski aka ?Bartman? (now out on loan to Sheffield Wednesday) getting the show on the road very early indeed, courtesy a nicely-judged through-ball, a nippy rounding of the keeper, closely followed by a nifty side-footing of the ball over the line from a range of around 6 yards, and at a pretty acute angle. As cool a piece of striking as you?re ever likely to see.

A good start indeed, especially after some really superb work on the flanks that had the home defence well and truly on the rack before our strike, but Salopian experience told in the end. Towards the end of the half, their constant pounding of our defence told, finally, Shrews grabbing the equaliser some ten minutes from the end of that inaugural half.

Just after the resumption of play, the home side got their noses in front, finally, and helped on their way by what looked to me like a horrid defensive clanger gifting them possession, just on the boundary of our box. Well, you don?t look gift-balls in the mouth, do you? They certainly didn?t: the score was 2-1 in their favour before you could say ?brass monkeys?, of which there were many in metallic evidence, that frosty night.

And that wasn?t the finish of it. Just two minutes after the restart, off they went again, losing our people completely. The cross came in from the right, and the Shrewish lad duly nutted it in from about the same range as its immediate predecessor. But we then saw a mini-revival on our part. One kicked of the line, closely followed by one that actually went in, courtesy Mathew Pike, thereby reducing the deficit to 3-2. But two late goals from our adversaries, courtesy of a well-shredded Baggies defence, settled the issue beyond any shadow of doubt whatsoever. One consolation: at least the journey back to Herefordshire was pretty painless, but it was truly ages before all my little frozen bones finally regained their normal operating temperature!

Having spent a relatively quiet time out there, only venturing out locally in the main, Shrewsbury excepted, of course, we anticipated returning to the Black Country with very little in the way of problems awaiting our return. WRONG!..... While I?d ?jumped ship? with our car at the far end of the High Street, I?d used the time to pick up our house keys from the estate agents we?d used to flog the house (Oulsnam?s, by the way: a totally-unsolicited recommendation, this, but they genuinely did go the extra mile for us, and for that, we?re both truly grateful.) after which it was to the building society to pick up the cheque with which to pay the nice solicitor man, and square the deal. Blimey, I?ve never had that sort of sum in any account of mine in my entire life, before: at moments like that, you really do feel like framing the bloody pass book for posterity!

Back to Chez Wright, once more ? and that was when I first had intimations we?d landed well and truly in the smelly stuff. Not being experts in this house-buying game, we?d not fully appreciated the precise meaning of the phrase ?exchanging contracts?. What we hadn?t realised was that once we?d done that, the new people were now the owners of the property ? and they wanted us OUT, ASAP. By next Tuesday, in fact. Time for some pretty memorable ?Lance Corporal Jones? impersonations: ?DON?T PANIC, MISTER MAINWARING ? DON?T PANIC!....?

Result? One very hasty call later, we?d arranged for The Fart plus Dot to call over before the Colchester game, book-packing duties, for the use of. Many thanks to both for assisting us in our hour of need. Not able to arrange professional help with our water bed, after some advice from the firm that sold it to us, we?re going to have to drain the blasted thing ourselves. One thing went right, though: our chosen removal firm are able to assist, and at very short notice indeed, too. Hence some pretty nifty packing of stuff we won?t be needing in the short-term, the evening just gone. One bedroom and some books shifted, then, and loads more stuff to come.

Tomorrow morning will be one almighty rush to try and get other things sorted in time. But just like Cinderella, we will be at the Hawthorns Afternoon Ball. Cross my heart and hope to die on that one. One unfortunate casualty of our drastic alteration of plan, mind: we won?t be able to travel to Cardiff that Tuesday afternoon. A truly ?moving experience? of another kind awaits us. But we will be going to Wembley, come hell or high water. Trust me on that one.

As for tomorrow?s game, what of our prospects? Well, three points would be just peachy, of course, and given the current unfortunate state of the opposition, who look dead and buried, most would assume the spoils would be ours alone. But it?s Albion we?re discussing, here, so you never really know what to expect, do you?

The good news? We?ll have both James Morrison and Chris Brunt back in harness tomorrow, it would seem. Both of them have now resumed full training, so must be pushing for, at the very least, a place on the bench. As for fellow injury victims Leon Barnett and Shergar, the first will resume full training on Monday next, while the second won?t be all that far behind, according to Mogga. Problems less serious than previously thought, apparently.

Luke Moore is also back after Under 21 duty at (spit!) Molineux, but can?t play anyway as he?s still suspended. Nor is likely to afterwards, and in the short-to-medium term as well, if Mogga has any sense at all about him. Ish Miller? He?s picked up what?s described as a ?minor groin injury?, but not likely to greatly hinder his chances of playing, apparently.

Only Bostjan Cesar, who faced Hungary the other night, and Doheon Kim, who played for South Korea against North Korea (I absolutely dread to think: the only international fixture where losing could spark off a nuclear conflict, perhaps?) in a World Cup qualifier in China, were absent from training yesterday. Of our peripatetic bunch, he?s the most likely one to be left out, owing to the huge amount of distance travelled, both there and back.

We?ve also recalled Clem back from Hull City, and rightly so, given the horribly ominous nature of the threat they currently present to our own promotion ambitions. I?d also guess the alluring prospect of a possible Wembley appearance is acting as one almighty incentive for our remaining lame and halt to get cured, right now! ?Every little helps?, and all that jazz?

Now for the opposition, Colchester United. They?ll have Karl Duguid, Chris Coyne and Mark Cousins out of dry dock in good time for tomorrow?s frenetic frivolities, apparently. Their top scorer, Mark Lisbie, will also feature: he?s now recovered from the calf injury that forced his premature leaving of the action last weekend.

But surely even well-brassic Colchester can?t be as hard up as one website seemingly intimated, courtesy the unfortunate wording of a recent report. ?PAT BALDWIN AND JAMIE GUY COULD BOTH FEATURE AFTER MAKING THE BENCH LAST SATURDAY?.? Somebody better tell the Essex club pretty quick: it doesn?t cost all that much to employ a carpenter, honest! Having said all that, the last one to get busy around the Easter period wasn?t all that good on crosses, apparently. So rumour has it.

One other quick cultural thought, you lovely chaps and chapesses out there. Appropriate enough, given the time of year, this: in tomorrow?s U?s squad is a lad who goes by the name of Wordsworth. Just make sure you have lots of daffodils on display around the place, Mogga. Two or three vases of the things in their dressing room, and he?ll be like putty in your hand! And just what do you make of a chap bearing the name of Gerken, I wonder? Liable to get into a bit of a pickle, perchance? Yes, I?ll get me coat. Sorry.

And while we?re batting the breeze regarding so-called ?culture? (no, not the bacterial kind, dearie), which lucky soul with a whistle in his hand and a twinkle in his eye has copped for the privilege of supervising tomorrow?s little bunfight, then? A whistler going by the name of G. Laws, apparently. Blimey ? yet another prime example of nominative determinism on the loose, then! Our charming chum Miller? Not doing any game at all this weekend, according to the League website?s own list of which refs are down to run what fixture. Could it be he?s finally been given the old ?heave-ho?? Could my days of sticking sharp pins into appropriately-fashioned clay models be finally over? More answers in tomorrow's thrilling episode!

And Finally?.One. Sauce, our cuddly little mate with the impossible Polish name, has asked me to draw the following to the attention of the keener Baggies among my readership. The lad?s going to be running a coach to the forthcoming Reserves Cup Final, involving our lot and Morecambe, due to take place on the 25th of April. Venue is Morecambe?s ground, and departure time is 15.00 hrs (that?s three pm, for those not of a Continental bent!), from West Bromwich, then all the usual pick-up points. No details of price, as yet. Want to know more? Just ring yer man on 0779 0396316, and he?ll put you right in his own inimitable way! And if you end up sitting next to Brooksie on the way there, don?t blame me, OK?

Two. Just a quick warning, folkies. Because of the ghastly way our move was forced upon us, I?m now looking at putting out my last instalment on Sunday night. That will then give us time to get the PC stowed away safely for the move. All being well, I then hope to resume for business in good time for Friday?s pre-match preview. A very special one, that, as it?s Wembley we?re off to, of course. But if we do have teething troubles getting everything up and running, once installed in the new place, please bear with us until we are fully functional once more. As US WW2 General McArthur once said, apropos the Philippines: ?I WILL return?.? Eventually. Just like the aforementioned general did.

 - Glynis Wright

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