The Diary

04 November 2003: Defaecating On The Dingles

Hi, me again. What a pleasant evening it?s been; spent at Aggborough, Kiddy Harriers? home ground, but watching our reserves play our intellectually challenged near-neighbours. The result? Albion 2 Wolves 1, which can?t be bad. The Dingles played what might be described as their ?trump card?, Gazza, and in his case, my description of him is somewhat appropriate, as the word ?trump? in the Black Country refers to a particularly smelly bodily function!

This was our first ever reserve ?home? game at Kiddy?s ground, so we didn?t know quite what to expect. It?s just as well we left our place about an hour before the kick-off because, what with the rush-hour traffic and everything, we didn?t arrive at the place until about ten minutes before the start. Our opponents being the Dingles, there was one hell of a crowd ? 3,724 as we subsequently discovered, more than Kiddy get for their own games ? so the car-park was full by the time we got there. This meant I had to bail out and enter the ground on my tod while my other half found somewhere to shove the Dickmobile for the duration. Once inside, it quickly became clear that the crowd was more in keeping with that of a full League game, never mind a reserve encounter. The trouble was, how to tell ?Im Indoors where I was? Luckily, I?d brought my mobile, and so had His Nibs. It was then a simple matter to describe my location, so that he could find me once more. Even so, we didn?t reunite until about 5 minutes after the kick-off, and supporters were still coming through the turnstiles some 15 minutes afterwards.

No chance for me to grab a seat, unfortunately, so I had to make do with leaning against the pitch wall instead. Fortunately, the stewards weren?t in ?jobsworth-mode? so I was left in peace there. Normally, they?d have been on me like a dive-bomber for encroaching onto their precious ?hatched areas?. Not long after we?d pitched our tent there, Steve The Miser rolled up, sans young David, who, it seemed, had another prior parental commitment to attend. A shame, that, because watching us beat some particularly irritating opposition should be made compulsory for all Baggies of that age-group! As I said, though, we did emerge the victors by the odd goal in three, Sakiri and Cudworth earning the loyal-toast from all those born in this part of the Black Country. As for the Dingles? newest recruit, a certain Paul Gascoigne, it would seem that prior to the start of the game, he?d ticked the box guaranteeing him anonymity; this being my first encounter with his adipose bulk for yonks, I was curious as to what I?d see. And, to be fair, it seemed as though he?d spent quite a bit of time lately getting rid of the excess lard that had accreted around his waistline in recent years, but despite that, our defence contained him with ease for the whole 90 minutes. As far as I can see, the Dingles are welcome to him. Incidentally, if you want to know more, there?s a match-report elsewhere on this site.

On to other matters, then, and it would seem that another of my correspondents, Cyril Randle, has a rather neat theory concerning the difficulties I?ve been having of late with my PC, plus all the electrical problems in our living-room. Being of a scientific bent, I suppose I should have thought of it earlier, but he told me today by email that these difficulties might well be due to the strong surge of solar radiation we had arrive on the fringes of our atmosphere recently. Periodically (about every eleven years, when sunspot activity is at its highest) the Sun ?farts? ? that?s about the best way I can think of describing the process ? and sometimes the electrically charged cosmic stink gets as far as this planet. The last time this happened was in 1989, when it knocked out the electrics over part of Canada, and gave us all pretty evening displays courtesy of the aurora borealis, aka The Northern Lights. I must admit I didn?t consider this when actually confronted with the problem ? I was too busy losing my rag! ? but looking at it in retrospect, it does make perfect sense. Electromagnetic activity of this intensity can do things to electrics you wouldn?t think possible, so I?m obliged to Cyril for pointing this out to me.

That?s that one sorted, then; now for an associated problem. Another of my readers, Moyra Hampson, is currently having trouble with receiving my column, which I send privately to her email address, just like several other folkies that have also opted to receive my stuff that way. When I send it out, it gets to her PC fine, but with great chunks missing from the middle of the text. No, I don?t know what?s going on, either, as it leaves my PC wholly-intact every time. Anyone else who gets my column that way, and is experiencing similar difficulties, please let me know so I can track down the fault, then do something about it.

While we?re on the subject of not receiving things via the miracle of email, a word about our favourite football club. As per their instructions on the official website, both myself and my other half sent off our details by email for a PIN number, receipt of which would enable us to order tickets on-line, at any time. Well, ?Im Indoors sent off for his yesterday, and so did I today, but of a PIN number, not a whisper, thus far. No panic, as yet, as we still have quite a few days before the deadline for the Man United tickets, but it would be nice just to know whether or not our stuff has been safely received at The Shrine (or wherever Albion are processing the applications). As it so happens, I do have to go up to The Hawthorns tomorrow on other business, so I?ll make some polite enquiries then. If I get answers, I?ll relay then via this column tomorrow night, as I?m sure quite a few of you out there are in the same boat also.

Those of you who read my missive yesterday might have read of the mishap that occurred during Saturday?s game involving a supporter and a match-ball kicked into the crowd by a Sunderland player. At the time of writing, most Press accounts mentioned a child as the injured party, so I went with that in my piece last night. Since then, I?ve discovered that the victim was, in fact, an adult, a young lady (her bloodstained face adorned the sports page of the Guardian today), and one who posts to the Boing list, no less. There was a piece from her, describing what she could remember of the incident, on the mailing-list today. Luckily, concussion, nausea, dizziness and a headache apart there was minimal physical damage to the unfortunate lady, who has my complete sympathy. As to whether she might take it further, that?s a decision only she can make, but to a certain extent, it might well be taken out of her hands. Apparently, the referee included the incident in his match-report, so the FA could well want to have meaningful words with Mr. Williams about it also before too long. They?ll probably have to join the queue, though, because our old friends the West Midlands Police are also on the trail of the Sunderland player. Some Press accounts report that Williams apologised to the victim personally, but she reports tonight that she?s yet to hear anything from him. I await further developments with interest.

Right, that?s me lot for tonight, then. As I?m going to watch Hereford with ?Im Indoors tomorrow night, and won?t get back until late, I?ll only be doing a truncated version of my daily offering then. There is something I do want to cover tomorrow night, though, and that concerns a resolution due to be aired at Thursday night?s AGM. I?ll reveal all tomorrow, but until then, adios.

And finally... Here?s a thought for you older Baggies out there. During the course of tonight?s game, we heard Danny Crane bellow advice to Big Dave quite frequently, but instead of using our pet nickname for the bloke, it was ?Mooro!? instead. This got both Steve The Miser and myself thinking. Given that the usual form by modern players is to suffix nicknames with the letter ?o? (e.g. Darren Moore!), what would players like Ken Foggo, Len Cantello, or ? wait for it! ? Joe Mayo, have done today? Would their playing colleagues have chucked an additional vowel onto the end of the existing ?o?, thereby making the whole thing a totally-impracticable ?Foggo-o?, ?Cantello-o? etc instead? Or, given the distinct lack of imagination usually shown by players in these matters, would the monicker have simply become ?Oy, you!? instead?

 - Glynis Wright

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