The Diary

30 November 2003: We're Top Of The League, We're Having A Laugh!

What a strange day it?s been, what a victory ? and what a contrast in the weather. When we left the bosom of the Black Country this morning, the rain was drizzling down in that sullen sort of way it sometimes does in late November. Clearly, waterproofing on a grand scale was going to be needed if we were to pursue our normal pre-match occupation of flogging our wares right outside the City Ground today. And well-prepared I was, too. Three layers of sweaters, an away shirt, a couple of pairs of trousers, two pairs of socks, an Albiion waterproof that ridded itself of its jinx today ? and somewhere in the middle of that lot, there lurked a fanzine editor! Ironic, really, as by the time we arrived in the City Of Nottingham, the precipitation had ceased, and the lowering clouds were far too busy scudding across the sky to take the trouble to pause and dampen our spirits. No Noise in the Dickmobile today, though; being a Stokie, today?s trip was but a mere bagatelle for the lad, so he made his own way to today?s venue, and rendezvous, The Larwood and Voce pub, adjacent to the famous cricket ground.

As the journey to Robin Hood land had gone so smoothly, we arrived there around the time the Wulves-Newcastle game kicked off ? and, surprise, surprise, the bar staff in that hostelry had ensured every TV set in the place was going full-blast for the delectation of our noisy band of followers. Or perhaps they hated Dingles too, and wanted to see their come-uppance as much as we did? Whatever the explanation, quite a coterie of travelling Baggies had gathered in the place when we walked in ? and sitting all in the corner next to the giant screen, like Little Jack Horner, was The Noise, all full of sin and loquaciousness, as is his wont on these occasions. And, it wasn?t long before our pint-sized mate Anc came to join our happy band. Not for a natter; simply to acquaint us with a naughty message on his mobile from Tuesday night. Let me put it this way, had the Cardiff lot heard it, they would have gone ?nuclear? immediately!

One change we had noticed since the last time we visited the place about 2 years ago was the designation of the premises as a pub for away supporters only. Because of the huge numbers that made the trip, although there were still over 2 and a half hours remaining to kick-off, already, the place was bulging at the seams ? and still more thirsty Baggies streamed in! The Fart, noticing this, then went into what I call ?speculative mode?. Looking around the room, and taking in the sight of itinerant Albionites everywhere consuming beer like it was going to be banned tomorrow must have stirred something within his soul, because he then turned to me and asked, ?What did they do with this pub when Wimbledon played here??

I was about to reply, but the ever-pragmatic Noise beat me to it by a short head. ?Do with it? They closed it, of course ? for lack of custom!?

Of course, most eyes in the building were fixed upon events taking place in Wolverhampton; when Newcastle conceded, there were groans and curses aplenty, but life took on a rosy glow once more, when Shearer restored parity not long after. And the cheers ? My God! Shades of Coventry two seasons ago, when we watched part of their game versus Man City before leaving the premises to do some flogging. As I exited, I happened to notice a couple of the bar staff having a crafty fag outside. ?Tell you what,? I remarked, ?If Man City score, the roof will come off this place!? I don?t think they quite believed me at the time ? they couldn?t have known a lot about the peculiarities of football supporters ? and it was a shame I didn?t witness the event; I was subsequently told that when it happened, it was noisier than even I had predicted! But back to today, a bulging bar, and a fight worthy of anything the England Rugby team went through to lift the World Cup recently ? and this was only to make my way to the Ladies! It really was that bad, and what made it worse was the fact the ?facilities? were at the other end of the premises, although there was a Gents hard by where we were perched. Rampant discrimination, I say! As I made (fought?) my way back, a familiar face appeared in view; the elegant, lovely and talented ?Brooksie?, a former colleague of mine, and a one-man mobile chemical and biological warfare unit ? the only thing lacking is the ?nuclear? tag, and that?s only because our government tends to keep such things safely under lock and key! Today, he was accompanied by a mate, a bloke I vaguely knew. Time for a bit of good old fashioned ?winding up?, then!

Says I to Brooksie?s ?buddy?, ?Whatever you do, do not stand near this man when he farts!?

Indignant Brooksie, ?Oy, you ? I?ll sue!?

Me: The rate we?re going, mate, you?ll have to join the back of a very long queue!?

Through the scrum and out some ten or so minutes later, and a rather amusing twist on an old tale from The Noise. Apparently, before meeting up with us, he?d gone to the local McDonalds for a burger and so forth. Normally, when frequenting those establishments, you get asked, ?Do you want fries with that, luv??

Not in Nottingham, oh dearie me, no. Here, the question was, ?Do you want a programme with that, etc.??

Come around a quarter to two, we were outside the main car park ? and the place was as dead as a Dingle after the final game of season 2001-2002. There was a sprinkling of Baggies here and there, though, and some came to keep us company not long afterwards. Well worth it, because they had a rather interesting tale to tell. Apparently, after the Cardiff game on Tuesday, four of these lads needed to get to the train station in the city centre, so being the good supporters they were, they politely asked the local Constabulary to assist, as the natives were becoming more restless than was good for their sheep-worrying souls. The ?assistance?, when it came, was truly mind-blowing ? four Baggies, but THIRTY coppers riding shotgun all the way to the station! Just as well, really, as they had to pass under a bridge at one point in the journey, and above were a raiding-party of locals chucking all manner of stuff at them as they passed below! We also heard of a van being attacked by about 40 of the little critters after the game, which has only served to greatly reinforce the antipathy I had towards Taffs even before that game!

Nearer the kick-off, things began to liven up a little, and we had some visitations from the home persuasion, some of whom were genuinely interested in our wares, but The Noise is still trying to puzzle out the bloke who wore a Forest scarf ? but then asked him the location of the Brian Clough Stand! And, with the arrival of Norm Bartlam, a chance to do my Doctor Kildare act. The poor sod had done something awful to his back and was getting severe gyp from the injury, so I offered him a few of my own painkilling pills by way of commiseration. Very effective they are, too ? just ask The Noise ? but they are a tad strong. I just hope the poor sod managed to stay the course of the whole 90 minutes without going bye-byes on his mates!

Flogging done, we entered the ground ? well, we tried! Now I do freely admit to being a tad overweight, but grossly obese, I am not ? so why was it such a struggle to get me and my bloody body through those sodding turnstiles? It?s enough to give you a complex, or something, but fortunately for my self-esteem, I wasn?t the only one having trouble by a long chalk. Phew! A struggle through the concourse where the bar was ? already, an impromptu ?glee-club? was extolling the many virtues of our finest ? and into our seats, quite near the front, which could have been a bother had the weather been wet, but it wasn?t so it wasn?t, if you get my drift.

Out came the two sides, then, and with them, a major surprise. No Dobes anywhere, or Lee Hughes, as we?d suspected, Rob Hulse and Danny Dichio leading the attack, and on the bench, our usual keeper - plus four defenders! Doo wot? Chambo J, N?Dour, Clem ? and a marvellous one ? Big Dave, back in the big time once more, and clearly pitchin?. Great to see our ginormous stopper back in the swim, of course but it did cross my mind that should we concede and end up having to chase the game, our options would be extremely limited, to say the least. But, these heretical thoughts were firmly pushed to the backs of our minds, as the ref finally put the show on the road.

And, dear readers, the word ?show? is a very apposite description of what went on today; the man on stage doing the soft-shoe-shuffle?, of course, was a certain gentleman by the name of Jason Koumas. Forest, although no slouches themselves, had only won one of their last seven and were mid-table as a result of this backsliding, but had recently managed to augment their firepower by signing Marlon King from The Gills. He was on the bench, of course, but at first, it had looked very much as though the home side might pot the three points without the help of their new boy. Certainly, Russell Hoult was kept rather busy in those opening minutes, but gradually, we managed to contain their incursions and beat them back to the stage where they were conceding corners with regularity. On at least one of these occasions, Hulse should have got us off the mark courtesy of a cross from our tame Scouser, unfortunately, the header was just wide of the post.

A few worrying counter attacks from Forest apart, we were surging forward by then, and in the space of a few minutes, uncharacteristically, Hulse and Koumas both missed chances that positively sat up and begged to be plonked into the back of the net. According to the Fart, plugged in to local radio, as ever, we should have had a penalty as well ? the incident occurred about ten minutes before the interval ? but I must confess I didn?t see anything amiss myself. Still, the blokes from the Beeb were adamant we were robbed, but aw, what the hell, justice was finally done a matter of minutes afterwards.

How do you describe sheer brilliance? You know, the sort of strike that makes you go, ?BLOODY HELL!? with ecstatic delight? The sort of thing you know you?ll be nattering about ten or twenty years down the line? Let me try. From my vantage-point, the whole thing seemed to happen in slow-motion; I saw Jason with the ball not far from the edge of the box, saw him make the marker ? Gunnarson, I believe ? look like a parks player by comparison by leaving him in a somewhat dazed and confused heap, I saw the ball arc overhead ? and then time stood still. Remember the film ?2001, A Space Odyssey?, when one of the man-apes sends a bone soaring end over end into the sky, and the camera then cuts to thousands of millennia hence, and a space station spinning in the void instead? Well it was a bit like that, really; up looped the ball at an acute angle towards the deepening blue of the afternoon sky, then slowly, ever so slowly, the despairing arm of the keeper stretched upwards and wide, the ball soared right over, began its descent ? and from then on in, there was only going to be one end to the exercise. What a bloody goal. All the 3,800 or so Baggies massed behind the goal went nuts, stark staring bonkers ? and rightly so.

Our next strike, shortly before half-time, can be credited to a bloke called ?Oggie?. Who?s he? Only the ever-obliging chap who?s potted, to date, no less than five of the beauties for our club. One more than the injured Scott Dobie, and two less than resident genius Jason Koumas, who was the real perpetrator of the damage with a wicked free-kick not far from the edge of the box, on our right, that whanged into the goalmouth like an Exocet, then was given a little nudge net-ward by the aforementioned gentleman, also known as Louis Jean to his mates, an act which left Forest defenders uttering vile recriminations among themselves, and us with double the lead! Come on, those of you who run Supporters Club branches ? who?s going to be the first one to make ?Oggie? their Player Of The Year, then?

With two in the bag, and it being close to half-time, our travelling support decided to extract some revenge from the home crowd in the adjacent stand, who had regaled us earlier with their spirited rendition of, ?Top of the League, you?re having a laugh!? Aw, you know, the one that goes to ?Tom Hark? and was a hit for somebody or another in the early eighties. What with that, and something rather rude about our bailed striker, it sure was pay-back time! The tune was the same, and the words very similar, but with one fundamental difference that truly captured the spirit of the occasion: ?We?re top of the League, we?re having a laugh!? we quickly informed them, with great gobs of gusto, and before we knew it, a new Baggies choral classic had been minted!

After the sheer exuberance of that last few minutes, the interval was a welcome chance to catch our breath, and to let Big Dave know we welcomed him back into the fold following his prolonged absence through injury. A chance also to catch up with the other scores that mattered - and most of our rivals seemed to be winning also. Sod. Never mind, provided we came up with the goods on this one, the yardage gained would help enormously. From the restart, it became clear that Forest were trying to pressurise us into making mistakes at the back; luckily, defenders Gaardsoe, Gregan and Gilly are old hands at the game, and lap up situations like that like gravy. What was it The Noise called them? Variously, the ?G-Force?; ?The G-Men? (shades of Elliott Ness there?), and, best of the lot, ?The G Degrees?! Call them what you will, but nuisance value apart, Forest?s threat had been largely neutralised by the lot of ?em. The balance of power could have been altered, though, when Paul Hart, realising heroic measures were needed, brought on Marlon King halfway through the proceedings. From the row the crowd made, you?d have thought they?d just signed The Messiah. What with him, and Andy Reid being a thorough pest on the left, we couldn?t afford to relax, really, especially when Bopp managed to force a corner, and Gilly had to look smart to shift the resultant header out of play. Oh ? and one more thought about Bopp. Had he teamed up with Tony Hale when he was our chairman, could we have boasted a real-live comet in our midst? Aw, you know, Hale-Bopp, 1997, and all the rest of it? Perhaps I?d better not give up my day job after all!

Five minutes or so from the end saw the introduction of Chambo J to the fray, with Bernt Hass making way. We?d thought that the change would have been made sooner when both The Noise and myself saw Chambo stripping down at a rate of knots, but someone must have had second thoughts, as the lad then remained where he was. Not a bad idea, really; you know the old saying, ?if it ain?t broke, don?t fix it?, and at the time, our defence was firing on all four cylinders. Still, Bernt had done his bit and left the pitch to great applause from his blue and white clad admirers. Although it was looking more and more as though Forest had shot their bolt, the final lesson of Jason?s midfield master-class had still to take place. It all started, innocuously enough, on our left. Jase accepted the pass from a colleague, and then embarked on one hell of a run down that flank, shimmied his way around a tardy Forest-ite, and then gave the ball one hell of a wallop. Three-nil, game over; suddenly, home supporters were leaving the City Ground in droves, with our brand-new choral favourite ringing in their ears for good measure.

It only remained to substitute Big Dave for Jason ? when he came on, they must have heard the cheers right in the middle of the city, I reckon! ? and it was all over. An emphatic three-nil, still top, and the joy on the faces of our finest was plain for all to see. And, as we exited the place, we made certain all the neighbours were aware of our status, as well! A five-minute walk to where the Dickmobile lay in stately repose, a rapid catch-up on other results, a farewell to The Noise, and we were on our way home. And, as we neared the outskirts of the place, out came ?Radio Ga Ga? once more. There?s just one problem, though; our copy comes as part of a Queen CD called ?The Works?, recorded way back in 1983, and following most awayadays thus far this term, I?ve removed the disc from its plastic case so many times, the bloody thing is now completely falling to bits on me! I don?t know whether the outer packaging will last to the end of the season or not, but looking at it after tonight?s ?performance?, it?s going to be a close-run thing. Come on, Albion, any chance of a replacement? Please? Pretty please?

And finally?. One. The Old Fart, after the game, admiring one of the contemporary-designed and floodlit stands at Trent Bridge cricket ground, close to where we?d parked the Dickmobile: ?Coo ? it looks just like the Ark!?

Me: ?You should know, Terry?..?

Two?... Found in today?s Mirror, the following is a quote from Dingles manager Dave Jones.

?We dominated for 75% of the game, but we have to make sure we do that for the other 15???

Thick? I rest my case!

Three?. As we journeyed home tonight, we turned into Radio Five?s ?6.06? football phone in, only to discover the presenter, one Alan Green, was on a mission to discover the most pert bums in football. Eventually, an Albion supporter came on to debate the merits of a certain Sean Gregan on that score. ?Blimey,? he said, ?He?s got a bum that big, he needs a ?WIDE LOAD? sign on the back of his shorts!

Four?. Heard some delightful news today, which really warmed the cockles of my heart ? in fact, I was laughing so much this lunchtime, on a couple of occasions, I was hard pushed to reach the toilet before acute embarrassment supervened. What am I banging on about? Nothing whatsoever to do with our favourite football club, peeps, but very funny all the same. Sorry, but it?s got to stay under wraps for the moment, while I make a few enquiries, but all will revealed in the fullness of time, I promise.

 - Glynis Wright

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