The Diary

10 January 2004: Saddlers Seen Off

The Bloke In Front Of Me (as yet another Albion assault on goal seemed to come to naught): ?Wot the bluddy ?ell was that supposed ter ? GOAL!!!!!!?

It?s not quite champagne in the Wright household, yet, but we?re both working on it! Lots of positives to take away from tonight?s performance, despite an opening spell where it looked ominously as though The Saddlers would manage to shove their leathery little noses in front after all, but of that, more later, as well as some pertinent thoughts on that cast-iron, copper-bottomed penalty we should have had at the end of the first half. What we did see, though, was a continuation of the 4-4-2 experiment first tried at Forest ? well done, Albion for having the imagination to persist with it ? a better standard of football all round, and, more importantly, the further blossoming of Lloyd Dyer as a young player. Regular readers will know where they heard it first, of course!

As ever, though, our evening commenced in the Throstle Club, and a very sad place it seems to be. Why? Simple: first off, the fruit machines, normally big earners on matchdays, were turned off and shuttered. Why? Second was a message via the microphone that ingress into the Billiards Room was verboten because of ?storm damage?, an announcement that immediately prompted me to ask why team talks were being held in there, and not our dressing-room. The third thing? Yet again, it seemed that the bar staff engaged to do the job were not of the best; once more, I encountered an individual whose command of English was seemingly non-existent, and had great difficulty in understanding my wants, namely three Cokes, and something called a ?J2O?. Sure, I?m Black Country born and bred, but compared to my two sisters, my accent is almost non-existent, so it couldn?t have been that causing the problem. Ally, come back; all is forgiven.

After taking up residence in our usual selling-spot (I plonked myself with ?Im Indoors again, as my voice isn?t quite up to it, still), and not long after doing that, we were joined by Jean and Michelle of Supporters club fame. Apparently, they have mates in Manchester, which is where they encountered the following joke, very much at our expense. Question: How do you stop a striker scoring? Answer: Sign him for the Albion! Please note, this is nothing to do with me, and I?m categorically assured this merry little quip is currently doing the rounds of that city like greased ligtning with a tub of lard added, so if you want to moan, do it there! There was also news from these two ladies of former Albion keeper, Alan Miller, plus his brother. Apparently, the pair of them have gone into the holiday business, in Majorca, of all places. ?Tailor-Made Holidays?, the firm?s called, and it all involves a boat, apparently, but what else they do in the way of custom-made breaks, I don?t know.

Being serious for a moment, did any of you know the Garden Of Remembrance is now up and running? No, neither did I until Jean told me, but yes, it is, it?s located at the rear of the East Stand, where it merges with the back of the Smethwick, and according to both my informants, it looks very nice, too. I?m assured that come the summer, it?ll be a stunner, and a worthy memorial to loved ones who once supported the club, and are now safe in the company of The King and all the others.

Away went our intrepid two, then, to fill their boots with gallons of hot chocolate, they said, and not long after they?d disappeared into the darkness, up popped Anc, carrying a large white object under his bijou armpit. ?What?s that, then?? I asked. Shouldn?t have, really; it turned out the mystery object was part and parcel of his ongoing campaign to restore The Liquidator to its former glory. When unfurled, the banner ? for that was what it was, make no mistake ? read something along the lines of saving said ditty for posterity, while suggesting the Safety Committee get themselves a hasty reality-check, PDQ. The intention was to unfurl the thing right in front of the cameras prior to kick-off, but whether they managed to achieve their aim or not, I?ve no idea, as we were selling outside right until moments before the kick-off. Perhaps the great man himself could further enlighten me? One thing, though ? my fears Mrs Anc would throw a wobbly at the destruction of one of her best bed-sheets proved unfounded; according to her other half, curtain-lining was used to do the biz, which is just as well, really. Anc?s only a little bloke, and I fear his skull would not be at all receptive to a rolling-pin brandished in anger.

A better selling-night for us than is usual for midweek games, which was a bonus, so thus heartened, we made our way inside, but not before taking delivery of a piece written by the chappie who wrote the previous editorial for us ? this is ?Part Two? - and will be hitting the streets next time round! And once in there, no sing of ?That Tune? of course, but neither did I hear its replacement, ?Jump Around?, lyrics as per yesterday?s musings, either. A sudden outbreak of common-sense on someone?s part? Surely not?

Finally, though, we got under way, and for the first ten minutes or so, it could quite easily have been goodnight, Vienna, for us. The Saddlers let three absolutely ?sit up and beg? chances go, one of which was pretty-much a free header, and another foiled thanks to the close attentions of Houlty. Not the sort of game we had in mind, really, but there you are. Oh, and while all this was going on, we were also treated to something of an amusing interlude. The first incident was when the Smethwick, clearly irked at the loss of their favourite pre-match anthem, began an a capella rendition of The Liquidator, complete with un-PC ?additions?! The second? That came when the Saddlers faithful began to sing, ?Stand Up If You Hate The Wolves?. Nice to know they can?t stand the sight of them either (we?ve encountered this at other places, most notably, Palace), but even nicer when practically the whole of the bloody ground stood up in support of their ?public service announcement?! For that, the visitors richly applauded us, and quite right, too!

Back to the doings of our finest out there, and now it was the Saddlers who felt the strain as we huffed and puffed to blow their house down. The problem was, though, we lacked the ability to play the ?killer ball? in the box; both The Horse and Dobes could and should have done better with the chances they got. What was also slightly disconcerting, not to mention worrying, was the re-emergence of a problem that had dogged us in recent games; our inability to pass the ball from A to B without losing the blasted thing to the opposition.

It was during the latter part of the first half, though, that the referee, one Barry Knight, began to enter into the proceedings to a degree we began to find distinctly unwelcome. Mind you, I should have guessed; as The Noise reminded me in the Throstle Club pre-match, our paths had crossed before. Hands up all of you who remember Swindon versus Albion, around five or six seasons ago? Yep, a gold start to the bloke at the back, he was the guy who, when Albion were 3-1 in the lead at their place, then proceeded to add on an incredible EIGHT minutes injury time. Why? Dunno, and, I suspect, neither does anyone else. The problem was, during that time, the home side managed to turn that comfortable 3-1 into a sweaty 3-2, and the man in black shouldn?t have been too surprised to learn what manner of nasty names he was called by itinerant Baggies that night!

Back to what I was saying, though, and the award of some peculiar free-kicks to the opposition apart, thus far, the guy had had a pretty-middling game. Until the Horse felt the wrath of this gentleman, that is, being yellow-carded, for ?diving?, allegedly. Now hang on a mo; this is some curious variation in the meaning of the term ?diving? I?ve come across for the first time tonight. If our hero is to be believed, this now encompasses a situation when a defender engages in a full-blown wrestling match with the attacking player in the box, and the latter then emerges the worst from the encounter, and on his arse, to boot. Remind me to inform The Greater Oxford Dictionary when I get the chance.

Oh, and I?m now given to understand that the incident was rated a full-blown, dead-cert, copper-bottomed penalty by those sitting in the studio, and it certainly looked that way to me; the whole thing occurred on my side of the ground, more or less, and guilt seemingly accepted by the Walsall player, who held hands to head as if he couldn?t quite believe what he?d just done! What with this, and the one we should have had but didn?t versus The Arse, I?m beginning to wonder just who appoints these half-wits to games these days. And, not long afterwards, the Horse missed what should have been the chance of the half when the Saddlers fell victim to a complete balls-up of a pass, which went straight to our equine new recruit, and not to the red shirt intended. Clear on goal, he was, and should have let fly as soon as he was within range, but held his ? erm - horses instead, the chance was gone, and the keeper managed to recover the situation in the end.

Still, another half, another dollar, but what was concerning me was the fact we might rue all those chances we did get, but spurned. But for the lack of that ?killer touch? we might have been smiling once more. Equally, had Walsall been able to hit a barn door at ten paces during those opening few minutes, we might all have been cursing richly. Never mind, though, to the loo I toddled ? and what I saw down there nearly made my excretory plans totally unnecessary, for just inside the doorway, by the first cubicle, was a notice, and all in big helpful letters, it was. ?PLEASE SIT ON THE SEAT SHOWN ON YOUR TICKET? it read, which was an intriguing prospect to contemplate, to say the least! Meant to go next to one of the entrances leading onto the pitch, of course, but the delicious thought of loads of ?bursting? females checking the number on their ticket before entering the bog did make me smile more than is my usual wont.

Much? relieved?, back to the game once more, and the start of the second period. No changes for us, so it was ?more of the same? for the moment, at least. To be fair, both sides had their chances from the start, but neither could capitalise. Around 10 minute into the half, it seemed Lloyd Dyer was being prepared to enter the fray. We saw a rapid peeling off of tracksuit top, revealing the bare flesh beneath ? ooer, missus ? which we took to mean we were about to see a change, but the best laid plans of mice and managers aft gang agley, and, in this instance, for the best of reasons, because completely out of the blue, Jason Koumas managed to find the back of the net! The whole thing seemed quite innocuous at first; the visitors conceded a free-kick on the edge of the box, to ironic cheers from The Brummie, and when Jase did the biz, I, for one, assumed it was going nowhere. Low and weedy, it was, hence the bitter remark from The Bloke In Front you see prefacing this piece, but somehow, it deflected off a defender, eluded the keeper?s despairing hands, and there you are! Albion 1, Walsall 0.

That unexpected breakthrough seemed to open up the game completely, and it?s fair to say that both sides could have registered strikes in the frenetic period immediately afterward. Around the 70th minute, the change we?d been expecting came to pass; off went Sakiri, and on came Lloyd Dyer. And, with his first touch of the ball, he threatened to do damage. Having well-beaten his man on the left, he was then pulled up in a highly-illegal manner, an act of desperation for which the errant Saddler was booked. That came to nothing, but a scant minute later, Lloyd really left his mark on the game. He totally skinned his marker on the left, and the resultant cross, pulled back from the touchline, was spot-on; it must have been the easiest goal The Horse has ever scored, a header, from very close range indeed. Many plaudits for the scorer, of course, it being his first for us, but many more for the youthful provider, and good to see our players acknowledging his role in that second, as well. And did I hear the lad?s name being chanted, and enthusiastically so, by The Brummie? Quite right, too.

That second just about stopped Walsall?s tap, but there was an additional piece of drama not long before the end. Both Scouse Jase and a Saddler went for the same ball in the middle of the park, on the East Stand side of the pitch, immovable force met irresistible object with a sickening ?thud? and before you knew it, both were on the ground, and a stretcher was being called for. Curiously, of the two wounded little soldiers, it was the Saddler that looked by far the worst off, but it was Jase and not he that ended up being carried off, and O?Connor coming on. I caught a glimpse of our man as he disappeared into the players tunnel, and to me, he looked in a great deal of pain. Let?s just hope the stretcher was precautionary only, and he?s OK once more versus Burnley, in 8 days time. We briefly saw Ron Hulse take centre stage for the totally-knackered Dobes, and three minutes injury time later, it was all over.

At least our awful run of late has now been well and truly nipped in the bud, and, may the Lord be praised, we did see some entertaining football tonight. Our switch to 4-4-2 has proven beneficial. Well done, Baggies, for persevering with it. Even so, there are still areas of concern. Our seeming inability to string two decent passes together, for instance. Also, I don?t think Sakiri is particularly comfortable in that slot he?s in at the moment, and if Clem is a midfielder, then I?m a Dingle. I don?t think Big Dave is quite match-fit, either. However, tonight was the best I?ve seen The Horse play since we stabled him, and Robinson didn?t do too badly, either. It?ll be interesting to see what Norwich make of their game tomorrow; not to mention Sheffield United. On tonight?s showing, the dream?s still alive ? just ? but there?s still a long way to go before we can finally breathe easy and break out the champers that?s been quietly sitting in our fridges for months.

And finally? Steve Bull. Yes, the same unspeakable little oik we all knew and loved when he was turning out for our local rivals, back in the late eighties and early-to-mid nineties. According to my informants, he really disgraced himself on ?Soccer AM? recently: Someone happened to mention the Albion in passing, and by way of response, and in front of half the nation, Wolverhampton?s favourite son then deposited a crunchy great gob of saliva (bowdlerised version!) onto the deck.. Ugh. This was the man, remember, recently deemed civilised enough to go to the Palace and collect an MBE from Liz? High time Princess Anne set her bull terriers on him, methinks.

 - Glynis Wright

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