The Diary

17 December 2003: Gunners Barrage Blasts Baggies

Well, that?s that, then. Out of the League Cup, or whatever they happen to be calling it this time round, which leaves us contemplating both our navels and the rest of the season ? future FA Cup progress notwithstanding, of course. As I?ve made clear on several occasions recently, my feelings were somewhat mixed about us getting enmeshed in a Cup run to that extent. Sure, it was good while it lasted, especially the hard-fought win against Newcastle, which really brought the memories flooding back of similar victories achieved totally against the odds way back in the sixties and seventies, but having to play all those extra games has taken its toll on our players, and regrettably so. I?m assuming Koumas was rested for reasons largely tactical, but tonight, AJ ended up limping, and had to be taken off, and several others got quite a bashing from the Gunners, weakened side or not. Although beaten, unlike The Dingles, we certainly didn?t disgrace ourselves tonight; those players gave it everything they?d got, were a credit to the club, and had it not been for the referee (see below) in the first half, we might have spun it to extra time or better.

Additionally, the whole thing churned up unpleasant memories of our brief stay in the Premiership last season. You know the sort of thing I?m banging on about; match officials who become suddenly blind to the misdeeds of opposing players once they?ve crossed that magical dividing line that separates the penalty-area from the outfield part of the pitch. I?m no referee, but I?m damn sure even Steve Wonder would have awarded a spot kick for the blatant holding of Dobes that went on in the box around the quarter of an hour mark. If I could see it from the Halfords, then I?m damn sure the lino should have; what makes it all the more galling is the fact I?ve since heard that Sky not only reckoned we had a cast-iron case for a spot-kick, the James O?Connor ?goal?, subsequently ruled offside, was absolutely kosher. Sounds familiar? It bloody well ought to.

This ?terrible feeling of deja-vu? ? sorry, Pythons! ? was exacerbated considerably by the cheap way in which we finally conceded, in the 26th minute. ?One chance, one goal? is a fair summation of the visitors? contribution to the first half, I reckon, and it shouldn?t really have happened. If blame is to be apportioned, then I reckon Ronnie Wallwork, in for the injured Koumas, should be the first to hold his hands up to the error; he was the one so cheaply dispossessed, and a couple of passes later, the ball went to Kanu, lurking in the box with menace aforethought, who had the initial attempt with his nut beaten off by Houlty, but the nippy little sod still managed to poke in the rebound.

Totally undeserved, as not only had we played, for the most part, out of our skins, we?d rattled ?em sufficiently enough to make them resort to not-so-sly skulduggery to try and stop us. A shame the match officials were insufficiently astute to realise what was going on right under their noses in a good deal of cases. Or was it a case of only seeing what they wanted to? Clem, in for the cup-tied Robinson, was, for me, man of the match; time and time again, he gave The Arse a torrid time on the left, and they really had trouble summoning up an answer to his classy act; his uncomfortably-accurate free-kicks on the edge of the box gave them more than a little food for thought as well. After that strike, insult was added to injury by the referee?s seeming inability to recognise natural talent when he saw it. The Arse?s Keown totally missed his vocation; judging by that wild challenge on AJ in the box towards the end of the first half, he should have been a clog-dancer, not a bloody footballer. Even Pop Idol?s Simon Cowell would have loved his act; the guy?s a natural!

Just before the interval, we decided to make a change. Off went AJ ? we had noticed him limping slightly for several minutes beforehand, so we weren?t all that surprised he left the fray prematurely ? and on came Lee Hughes, bald pate glinting furiously in the glare cast by the floodlights. We then seemed to shove three up front, and could have levelled right at the death, Rob Hulse being particularly unlucky with a belter that at least gave their keeper something to think about; he had to shove the thing away for a corner, and bloody glad to do so. Not long after that incident came the half-time whistle; unsurprisingly, the tirade of abuse that greeted man in the middle Mr. Messias when he finally left the pitch was of ear-ringing proportions.

What is it about Albion and appearances on Sky that conspires to prolong the duration of games for one bizarre reason or another? Last time, it was the traffic density that forced a late kick-off; this time, it was an injury to one of the match officials, a lino, I think. The first we know of anything being amiss was during the break, when an appeal was made on the PA system for a certain bloke ? I forget the name, but ?Im Indoors later recognised him to be a local whistler ? to report to the players? tunnel. Nothing to get worked up about at that stage, but when the appeal was repeated about 5 minutes later, this time with the added instruction for the guy to report to the referee?s room, we both realised Something Was Most Definitely Up. Finally, after a half-time lasting near-on twenty minutes, the Invisible Man was excavated from wherever in the Smethwick he?d been hiding, and was then escorted to the Holy Of Holies by the stewards, to ironic cheers from the Halfords. I must confess to cynical thoughts right then that the assistant?s sudden illness had probably been precipitated by the unaccustomed weight of all those fivers in his back pocket, but we mustn?t say things like that, mustn?t we?

So much for the drama, back to the footie. An initial flurry for Houlty, as The Arse tried to increase their lead, but pretty soon, we were once more putting together a convincing case for grabbing an equaliser. Hulse should have got one early-doors, but made a pig?s ear of the final shot, and both Volmer and Hughsie could and should have done better with their chances. The visitors were becoming distinctly rattled, and it seemed only a matter of time before they conceded ? and then, in the 57th minute, it happened. In a terrible lapse of timing on a par with that of the unlamented Fabien De Freitas, Santa, sack, sleigh, reindeer and all, came a-ho-ho-ho-ing somewhat prematurely to the Arsenal dug-out. To my dying day, I will never understand what Houlty was trying to do when he sent that ball in the direction of Greegs, with Aladiere lurking so close by. Well, it was all he needed, wasn?t it? In he nipped, like greased lightning on castors, what had been a routine clearance became an Arse incursion, and before you could even sing the first line of the French national anthem, or look embarrassed on our keeper?s behalf, even, the ball was well and truly in the back of the Albion net. Talk about taking candy from a baby. 2-0, game over, and the silence of the fans was deafening.

Not so those in the away end, of course. The same lot, mark you, that had the cheek to chorally offer, ?Shall we sing a song for you?? early in the first half! A bit rich, coming from them, considering the relative silence we encountered at their place last term, even after they were comfortably in front. Not for nothing did we dub the place the ?Highbury Library?! But, I digress. Not long after that, there was yet more delay; this time, it was referee Messias?s turn to become ?hors de combat?, this time to what seemed to be cramp. I must confess to joining John Homer in the fervent hope the problem would necessitate his permanent removal from the action. No such luck, though; some treatment, and about 3 minutes later, the little wounded soldier was whole again. The fact a referee succumbed to cramp, I find surprising, to say the least. Aren?t these guys supposed to be assessed on fitness these days? Come to think of it, that?s got to be the first time I?ve ever seen sudden illness/injury strike two match officials in one Albion game. Anybody out there who knows any different?

With the game killed stone dead, it was simply a matter of playing time out, and, to be fair, The Arse could have got even more had their unmarked player not elected to shoot straight at Houlty instead of bashing the ball for all it was worth into the back of the net. Gilly came on for Volmer around the 65th minute, which did make a difference out there, and Sakiri replaced the largely-muted O?Connor on 71, which gave us some alternative options wide, but it wasn?t enough. Towards the end, we could have made things a tad more interesting for the visitors; both Dobie and Hughsie had reasonable chances, but couldn?t make then count. One hit the bar, and the other went just wide, but really and truly, our League Cup number was well and truly up, and we knew it. One brief blaze of glory well and truly over; time, now, to concentrate on our real priority, promotion.

One thing really struck me during this game; the continuing - and worrying, quite frankly - ineffectiveness of our forwards. This was highlighted by what was for me the fundamental difference between the two sides; we had several pretty good chances to score in both halves, but managed sod-all. The Arse, for their part, had one decent chance (their first) midway through the first half, were gifted another with just over ten minutes of the second gone ? and struck gold with both. Additionally, they were literally light-years ahead of us in the passing and movement department, particularly how much better their speed of reaction was in the box. Contrast this with the comparatively-sluggish response of ours. I recall one occasion in particular when Hughsie ? I?m not deliberately singling him out, as others were guilty also ? was in the box and on the receiving end of a lovely pass, and had his reactions been quicker, their keeper would have been reaching for thin air, but because of the half-second or so delay while he steadied to shoot, The Arse were ready and waiting. That?s the fundamental difference, folks, and if we can?t bridge the gap, even only to a small extent, then we might as well not bother to jump on that Prem-bound rocket, because the inevitable return to Earth, not to mention the magnitude of the ?crash and burn?, will rival that of the ill-fated Space Shuttle not that long ago.

Perhaps the situation will rectify itself in a couple of days with the successful completion of transfer negotiations concerning either The Horse, Huckerby, or ? may the ghost of Major Keys drop dead a second time through shock ? both! Isn?t it strange how peculiarly the mop of life can flop suddenly? One minute I was greeting the imminent arrival of The Horse with that ?any port in a storm? sort of feeling, given our failure to win at home, whilst bemoaning loudly the fact we?d not attempted to sign what I regard as the better player, Huckerby. The next? Simple. I learn via the internet this bright and sunny morn that we?d also put in a bid for Kevin Keegan?s player/temporary Canary, and it had been accepted! Personally, I wouldn?t have thought that Huckerby would fancy playing to our style, but there you go.

Should we acquire the services of both, then I most certainly will be decking the hall with bows and holly, but looking at the situation more realistically, it?s more likely to be an either/or sort of thing, and not both. Significantly, Norwich, his former loan club, have now declared themselves to be in the chase for Daz-Boy also; chances are, if they can talk even more turkey, he?d go there in preference to us. I really would like to meet their bank manager, as for the last few weeks, they?ve been very publicly declaring themselves brassic, so where?s the money going to come from, should their bid be successful? Santa?s sack? It certainly won?t come from gate receipts, as they?re still building a new stand. Their capacity has been chopped to around 16,000, which means that source of revenue will be much diminished until the new structure comes on-line. Perhaps Delia Smith, their board member and resident culinary expert, has a way with finances commensurate with her much-renowned expertise at all things gastronomic?

And finally?.. Whoopee! Somebody likes us! For various reasons, all perfectly sound, we at GD Towers have been feeling somewhat unloved lately, therefore it came as a really pleasant surprise to receive a letter recently singing our praises to the high heavens. Who was the author of this remarkable tome, you ask? None other than Tam Mkandawire?s grandmother, that?s who! This lovely lady tells us in her letter she?s 86 years of age, was delighted to read our recent GD article about her grandson?s predicament at the club, and also added some further details that wouldn?t be fair on Tam to repeat. So impressed was she by what was written, she?s also taken the trouble to become a Dick subber, possibly, our most venerable thus far? Unless you know better, of course? All bets void as far as The Old Fart?s concerned; he?s an editor, not a subber, so therefore doesn?t count!

 - Glynis Wright

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