The Diary

05 January 2004: A Merry Time At Merry Hill

One day, now, post-Forest, and the Great Debate still rumbles on apace out there. No surprise, then, to learn it?s all getting rather heated and somewhat acrimonious at times, but, hey ? we?ve managed to relieve the attendant stress, partially at least, by going to Merry Hill today and indulging in a little retail therapy. The thing is, we were both given ? wisely, in my opinion ? book tokens in abundance as Christmas presents, so at least we were able to forget the cares and woes of our Cup exit for a little while by indulging freely in what W.H. Smith had to offer, or, should that not quite fit our rather specialised bill, Waterstones instead. As I?d had my eye on several tomes with a World War One theme, pre-Christmas, I was delighted to discover that one of them at least had been marked down to half-price in the January Sales, so I grabbed it in similar fashion to that of Gollum trying to get his sticky little mitts fastened onto what he termed his ?precious?. The fact I also purchased another four volumes that just happened to be biding their time on the shelves for the very moment I walked into the shop is neither here nor there, of course!

His Nibs also spent lots of moolah, but his purchases were of a more orthodox fashion. Well, orthodox for him, perhaps, as they largely consisted of shirts of a hue that would have had any reasonable Baggie reaching for the migraine pills and a hanky for copiously-watering eyes in minutes should they ever be unfortunate enough to clap eyes on them. I also invested in some more cough medicine, as my recent bout of bronchitis plumb cleaned me out on that score, and there?s still a long, long way to go ? not to mention a whole load of coughing - before the first blooms of spring finally shove their first delicate shots above ground. By the time we exited our third menswear shop, we were both urgently in need of nosh, so we headed to a place that does Italian-style snacks ? Pellini, I believe its called ? and there embarked upon a mid-flight refuelling operation.

It was while we were munching away on our paninis and slurping cappuccinos that the conversation turned to ways of dissipating the stress caused by yesterday?s unexpected and totally-unrequited Cup exit. We hit the clothes shops and the bookstalls, of course, but what of others who didn?t or couldn?t gain access to this form of therapy? A nice little poser, wasn?t it? OK, so I hummed and hawed a bit, people watched for a while, then eventually came up with the following conclusions. If you?re a traffic warden by trade, then venting your frustration?s dead easy: you simply take it out on the poor bloody motorist. Just how many parking-tickets does it take before a Baggie-loving meter-maid?s adrenalin-levels, thoroughly-elevated, finally return to normal, I wonder? For similar reasons, magistrates, too, have at their fingertips the perfect remedy. Judge Jeffreys had people hung because his piles played him up something rotten, so my question is this: just how many West Bromwich criminals will end up with custodial sentences over the course of this week simply because we lost? Coppers? A total no-brainer also. Military men, presumably, head for the armoury, grab the biggest thing on the inventory that goes ?bang? and take their frustrations out on the rifle range. One thing, though, should any of our uniformed brethren also have ready access to nuclear weapons, I?m definitely staying well away!

Medical people have the perfect outlet, though: simply keep a syringe, unsharpened, of course, and most certainly unsterile, handy on the off-chance that the person principally responsible for your current unhappiness is stupid enough to have to attend your casualty department for treatment. Or take the easy way out and simply plump for the first damaged Dingle that walks through the door. Then inject, slowly, using the bare backside as the route of choice, and enjoy. If you can hit the sciatic nerve as you do it, so much the better: that?s fifty bonus points, by the way. Easy, really. Tax inspectors, dole-office clerks? So much frustration relieved at someone else?s expense, and while we?re at it, let?s not forget the humble car-park attendant. The words ?Yew cant park that there car here, mush!? must resound across the borough like the mating call of an exotic species every time our football team underachieves badly!

Some, though, are missing out on a wonderful opportunity to turn the situation to their own financial advantage. I?m talking about The Satanic Nurses here, a perfect opportunity for these learned medical gentlemen to set up a stress-counselling service outside or in close proximity to the ground before matchdays. There would be a fee, of course, but as that would probably involve the prior purchase of something strongly alcoholic for the benefit of the counsellors, it would probably land them in hot water with the local rozzers on account of what the licensing laws have to say on the subject. All the same, between them, those lovely chappies can probably paper the Throstle Club walls with all the psychiatric nursing qualifications they have to their names, so at least traumatised Baggies would be in good hands, albeit somewhat drunken ones!

As for our good selves, who counsels us? Our four moggies long ago learned to assume State Defcon One ? rapid and explosive exit via the cat-flap situated at the rear of the premises - the minute they hear the furious application of key to front door, post-match, so we can?t even vent our spleens upon them these days. I swear the buggers have our TV tuned to Ceefax and the football results while we?re away. How else do they know precisely when to miaow their excuses and leave?

To be serious for a moment, I truly believe, now, that the outcome of the Walsall game will largely dictate what happens to a certain aspect of our favourite football club over the near future. All the ingredients are there: it?s live on Sky, a win gives us the chance of regaining ownership of the clear blue water standing between us and Norwich, there?s the opportunity to further experiment with the innovative but unsuccessful tactics employed at Forest ? let?s be charitable and simply call the unfortunate Cup-tie a ?learning process?, shall we? ? and it being a local derby, albeit one with less kudos, emotional involvement and expectation than, say, one involving the Dingles, grabbing all three points would be a distinct morale-booster for our beleaguered troops. Should we fail, though, patience, both in the Brummie and the boardroom, would be tested to destruction, and probably well beyond.

To an outsider, the whole situation must seem absolutely crazy. I can almost hear the exchanges ? ?Second in the League, and they?re still baying for blood? What are they flaming well on for Chrissakes?? ? but it?s one that only someone close to the club could truly comprehend. There are precedents, though, and the one I?m particularly fond of quoting comes from the world of politics. During World War Two, Winston Churchill was the saviour of this country, and people were, of course, grateful for what he?d done, no doubt about it. Even so, come 1945, when hostilities finally ceased, the electorate chucked him out in favour of Clement Atlee, and decisively so, as well. That?s pretty-much where the term ?landslide victory? first originated. Why? Lots of reasons, but principally because the British people, while recognising and appreciating Churchill?s undoubted ability as a wartime leader, once a state of piping peace was restored, they felt a totally different type of PM and governing party was needed, so they duly went and changed it.

The thing is, though, should we dip on Friday, if they were minded to make changes, then the Board would have a bloody difficult judgment-call to make. Should the necessary steps be taken in a highly-charged and emotive atmosphere, and, as a consequence, in somewhat hasty fashion, what follows might conceivably be cause for subsequent regret. The flip-side, of course, is this. Leave the remedy until much later, and we might well end up bringing about the very scenario ? failure to regain our top-flight status ? we wanted to avoid in the first place. Another significant factor at play regarding the timing of any final decision is that should our promotion quest crash and burn come the end of the season, it?s a racing certainty that all the half-classy players we now have on our books ? Sakiri, Koumas, Houlty, Uncle Tom Cobley and all ? will, like as not, head for the hills, and, to be fair, who would blame them?

It?s a fine line we?re treading right now, and any decisions made in the coming days and weeks have to be absolutely spot-on. There?s so much riding on the club?s future, the possible repercussions attendant on calling it wrong really are too awful to contemplate. There are times when I?m glad my involvement only extends to shoving my body through those bloody turnstiles every week, and right now is most certainly one of them.

And finally?.. Feeling down about Saturday?s game, still? If you want a good giggle, take a good look at Forest manager Paul Hart?s programme notes, because they speak volumes about a certain someone not a million miles away from our current situation!

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index