The Diary

11 December 2003: Aggborough Aggravation

You know what? Tonight, we made the journey to a rather frigid Kiddy Harriers to watch our reserves play Blackburn, and once in the ground, it was as if I hadn?t bothered leaving Valley Parade after the final whistle last night. The reason for this acute attack of deja-vu? The fog, swirling, freezing, reducing all the participants to a soft-focus almost-monochrome in character; the only splash of colour in the whole place came from Kiddy?s electronic scoreboard behind one of the goals, its garish primary colours cutting a welcome swathe through the general gloom, enlivened by only around a hundred brave, mostly-Baggie souls. The fact the game wasn?t considered worthy of a yellow ball also added to the difficulties for the spectator; there were quite a few occasions when the bladder disappeared in a combination of the aforementioned murk and the general melee of bodies, and some sort of official help would have been real peachy.

There were another two surprises in store for us at Aggborough; the first was a distinct lack of the excellent roast pork and stuffing baps of which I waxed lyrical the last time we played there. According to the bloke on the catering hut, their appearance is solely reserved for Saturday games these days. Boo-hoo! Time, instead, for one of Kiddy?s hot-dogs, equally-excellent, and made with ?proper? sausages, not those awful boiled frankfurter-thingies, loads of fried onions, lashings of mustard on top. Lovely grub.

That?s the first of the two dealt with, then, so on to the second, in short, our new loan striker, Morten Skoubo. When we saw him at last night?s game, we?d all assumed he would be a dead cert to play in the ?stiffs? tonight, but at Kiddy, of this gentleman, there was not a whisper on the team-sheet, and certainly not on the pitch, where it mattered. You?ll have to excuse me if I?m missing something fundamental, but I?d always laboured under the impression that when a player spent a period of time on trial at a new club, they were actually selected to play in games of one sort or another. Anyone can play on the training-ground, but the acid test of any triallist is always how they make out under competitive conditions. The problem with our tame Dane not turning out tonight is that this game was our last reserve League game until January 12th; there is, at some stage, a Cup game versus Solihull Borough to squeeze in somewhere, but when that one will be played, heaven only knows.

As for the game, this was also a pretty close approximation of what happened last night, the only difference being there were actually three goals in it, and not just one last-minute bit of smash-and-grab. An interesting diversion was provided by both Gary Shelton and his Blackburn opposite-number, who seemed hell-bent on scaring the bejesus out of their young charges by bellowing at them in Stentorian tones every time they were deemed to be falling short of what was expected of them ? which was often! The final score was 2-1 to the visitors, but we started off well when Simon Brown gave us the lead quite early in the first half. Later, Ross Adams was stretchered off with what looked to be an ankle injury after being in receipt of what was most certainly for him a ?hospital ball?, A shame, then, that Kiddy?s hospital no longer dealt with injures of this nature, so the poor sod, more likely than not, would have gone to Worcester, 12 miles away, for treatment instead.

About twenty minutes before the end Blackburn equalised, then around three minute before the final whistle, they took the lead, and despite us going very close in injury time, we just couldn?t get the equaliser. Thee were, as usual, lots of predatory scouts hovering around the place in the peculiarly-vulpine way some of them have, not least of which was our old friend Richard O?Kelly, from Hereford. Still keeping tabs on Tam, I wonder, or has he other Albion targets in mind as well? As far as spectators were concerned, loads of the usual suspects were present, including the infamous ?Drinking Family?. They were in the seat behind me, and during a break in play, Annette demonstrated the huge number of layers of garments she had on her body to keep out the chill; a lot, yes, including thermal long-johns, but I could match her in every department, including the old thermal socks bit!

As expected, Steve The Miser, our treasurer, was also there, bearing seasonal gifts of gold, frankincense and subbers envelopes ? but only the last bit?s true, because there is absolutely no way you could get him to shell out on the first two items, new Messiah or not! Mention of Steve brings me to the problem that dominated most of my time today, Albion?s new on-line ticket-booking service. To be absolutely fair to the club, when we used it to sort out our own stilecards for both the Man United and Arsenal games, we had no problem whatsoever with it; a few clicks of our keyboard to input the necessary credit card details, and the job was done, much simpler than having to queue, and much less painful for this column, as I was generally the one who had to do all the standing around in the ticket office line; no fun at all if you?ve got leg and back problems like me.

The trouble arose when we Dick Eds decided to do six of our sellers a favour by obtaining PIN numbers for them also, and offering to book their Arsenal tickets on-line, thereby saving them the hassle. Most of them have jobs that make it difficult to attend The Hawthorns to sort out the matter in person, so this was going to be a boon to them. Having emailed the club with all the necessary info last week (and again, this week), come yesterday, and still no numbers, I rang the club and was told there was a huge backlog of people wanting to register under the scheme, about 5-600 ? but the problem would be sorted by today, honest. Come today, I checked our mails, and lo and behold, three of the numbers had appeared, but not the rest. Well, it?s a start, I thought, and promptly set about booking the ones I?d got PIN numbers for ? and that?s when the problems began.

I managed to sort out one of the applications using my credit card, no bother, and then exited to make the second booking from scratch (different PIN number etc., you see) ? but when I went into the system once more, Albion?s site kept insisting on telling me I was still the first person booked! Having tried everything I could think of to sort out the problem, including starting again completely from scratch, I finally admitted defeat, and told The Miser he?d have to visit the club personally and sort out the whole thing himself, which he did very late doors today. I can only assume I?ve been the victim of teething-troubles endemic in a system as radically-new as this one, and once all the glitches are ironed out, this method of applying for tickets will cut out most of the embuggeration factor encountered when we play ?must-see? cup-ties such as this. At least I hope so.

A few more thoughts about last night?s game. Although Bryan Robson?s Bradford City didn?t actually go to their dressing-room at the end of the game and bang their heads against the wall in frustration (see last night?s Diary), they must have come pretty damn close to doing so. According to the E and S tonight, their gaffer told the press his players had been left ?soul destroyed? by what had happened. I suppose, had the situations been reversed, we?d have been feeling equally gutted; in fact, when discussing matters in the Dickmobile tonight, both of us could remember quite a few occasions in recent years when our club, skating on the thin ice of relegation trouble, had been robbed in similar fashion. As far as I was concerned, Bradford didn?t merit what they got last night. Not only did they play the ball better than us and our ?hoof-and-hope?, it was they who, marginally, had the better chances to break the deadlock. No wonder they were gutted. The city of Bradford deserves better than Second Division football next season; let?s hope that this reverse is the one that sets the tide flowing in the opposite direction for them once more.

As far as our performance was concerned, there wasn?t a great deal to stir the old hair follicles into action, was there? Of the lot, I thought that Gaardsoe was outstanding once more, and ? as a straight defender, and not a wing-back, mind ? Paul Robinson was the tops. Big Dave had a pretty sound comeback, and that enormous noddle of his was mostly there at a time and place where it mattered, so I wasn?t that surprised when he was affected by what seemed to be cramp and had to be taken off. The belated introduction of Sakiri into the equation led to the cross that resulted in a goal for Scott Dobie, very late doors indeed, which was encouraging. I am, however, somewhat concerned by what appears to be fatigue setting in amongst some of our better performers. Certainly Hulse, Jason Koumas, O?Connor, Gilly, amongst others, seem badly in need of a short break. I do hope this almost-constant ?two games in a week? lark doesn?t prove counterproductive for us in the long run.

One more thing. A little bird has told me that the Horsfield move is a ?done deal?. We?ll see. No column tomorrow night, as I?m having a rest. More, apropos of Crewe, on Friday.

And finally?. One. A little gem gleaned from Anc before last night?s game. When the team coach arrived at Valley Parade, as usual, as the players alighted, they were surrounded by eager autograph hunters, one of whom was Anc?s mate. Going up to Ronnie Wallwork, he asked for an autograph, and when the player had done the biz, he then asked Ronnie what his squad number was. ?You are Neil Clement, aren?t you?? said the well-wisher, in all innocence.

Wallwork?s reply? Very short and sweet. ?F*** OFF!? in fact!

Two. Many thanks to John Bayliss for the following, which concerns the food-related chants started out of sheer boredom during our game at Bradford last night. Apparently, such gastronomically-themed songs are nothing new to The Brummie; in the mid-to-late 1970?s, a popular one was shouting the word ?FISH!?, clapping in unison, then shouting ?CHIPS!? equally loudly. The volume could be adjusted upwards or downwards as deemed appropriate by those organising the singing on the day. I don?t remember that particular one, but what I do remember are the not-dissimilar ?Smethwick-Tipton!? chants that used to be endemic in our end at that time. Any more of this sort of thing out there? All replies to the usual email address.

 - Glynis Wright

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