The Diary

31 January 2004: Facey, Burnley, Watford, Hutton - all that, and Mr. Whippy, too!

Greetings, Baggie-lovers everywhere. Back to a PC near you once more after a gap of approximately 5 days, and what a remarkable footie-free time it?s been. At least we?ve used our mid-term break in a constructive manner: to reinforce the sorely depleted ?main armament?, so welcome Delroy Facey from Notlob, for what the official website calls a ?nominal fee?. Effectively, we?ve taken over his contract until the end of current hostilities. Formerly with Huddersfield ? I?m told he played for them against us on one occasion ? he then trotted to The Trotters circa July 2002. He was seen as a potential replacement for Michael Ricketts, but made just 20 appearances for Sam Allardyce?s lot, scoring a miserly two goals along the way. Burnley boss Stan Ternent, who took him to Turf Moor on loan earlier this season, won?t be best pleased by what?s happened ? we?ve more or less nicked the lad from under his more than ample nose. During his three months at Turf Moor, Delroy made 14 appearances, and scored five times for them, including a hat-trick versus The Saddlers. A scoring ratio of almost one goal in every two games ain?t bad at all; unfortunately for Our Stan, in football, money talks bloody loudly, and Burnley?s current plight meant the Lancashire club recently underwent the fiscal equivalent of a tracheotomy. ?Nuff said.

We do know that one?s well and truly ?in the bag? so to speak, but there may be more to come. We also seem to have our ruddy great fangs thoroughly inserted into the flesh of former triallist Morten Skoubo, of Borussia Munchengladbach, and all stations west (change at Berlin Central). The last I heard, talks were still ongoing regarding that little bit of business, but our favourite football club do sound hopeful that their talks will ultimately prove successful. It?s now looking pretty likely ?Del Boy? will be featuring heavily in our plans for tomorrow, which may, or may not be a good thing for all concerned. Sure, we know we urgently need additional cover up front, and thank goodness our search of the past fourteen days has proven successful, but the new incumbent, who will hardly know his new team-mates by sight, never mind first name terms, will have to ?hit the ground running?, to use that awful political phrase. If the lad does get a start tomorrow, then patience must be our watchword; Rome wasn?t built in a day, and the same applies regarding the lad?s ability to correctly anticipate the movements of his new-found playmates, then respond accordingly.

Wasn?t it just peachy how lowly Derby managed to stick two goals past Sheffield United the other night? I?d have loved to see Warnock?s face come the final whistle: it must have soured milk at ten paces. As The Noise kept reminding us ad nauseam following our last few League outings, that was their much-vaunted ?game in hand?, so the Canaries not winning, and a win for us versus The Hornets, and we could be ?top of the League, having a laugh? once more come tea-time tomorrow. That encounter now leaves us with quite a tactical and selection dilemma. Do we go all-out to consign The Hornets to the hive of history, or do we simply try to nick a solitary goal as per usual, then grimly hang on to what we?ve got? Which, of course, begs yet another pertinent question: do we stick with 4-4-2 or revert to 3-5-2? Will we have new boy Mr. Facey up front with Horsfield from the start? And ? the million-dollar question, this - will Lloyd Dyer get his full first-team debut? After all, it now appears, as per a recent E and S piece, we?re really firm believers in ?blooding youngsters in the cut and thrust of first-team football rather than hoping to refine their talents solely in the reserves.? Interesting words, those, considering our past form in this department. Believe it or not, Lloyd Dyer is the first in four years to be "blooded" in this manner!

As far as this column is concerned, the last few days have been remarkable for two more reasons, and neither of them anything whatsoever to do with football. The first? The great gout of freezing cold white stuff that descended upon the West Midlands conurbation the other day. The second? The long awaited findings of The Hutton Report, but I?ll deal with the first topic first, so to speak. Those Baggies living in Scandinavian climes reading this will probably have a good giggle, snug as they are in the fastness of their triple-glazed, centrally-heated houses, and having access to a road structure that doesn?t collapse into an undignified heap the minute the fist snowflake falls. The mercury (the liquid metallic element, that is, not the late Freddie!) began its precipitous plunge around Monday: such was the dirty-yellow hue of the sky that afternoon, I honestly thought we?d get the whole lot dumped on us that evening - but nothing happened. Instead, the heavens reserved their ammo for the following night, which meant we awoke the next day to the sight of the whole street being liberally sprinkled with the contents of a giant celestial icing-sugar dusting thingy. Bad news, because we?d planned to journey to Manchester and the Imperial War Museum North that day, but casting caution to the wind (ooer!), we decided to make the trip anyway; once out of our slippy-slidey little side street and onto the main thoroughfare, the outward journey, M6 included, became an absolute doddle.

Incidentally, the IWM isn?t at all stuffy or highbrow, just thought-provoking (it covers some aspects of conflict I?d never before considered in any great depth), and is absolutely jam-packed with innovative features and exhibits I?d never seen anywhere else. Their hourly ?sound and light? slide show on various aspects of war, projected right across the whole expanse of the exhibits area, was worth the journey on its own. If (like me) your idea of fun is of the ?black humour? variety, I?d thoroughly recommend their video showing of the infamous ?Protect and Survive? TV clips. Originally meant for screening during times of international crisis in the early 80?s (when the prospects of the Cold War turning ?hot? in every sense of the word looked increasingly likely), the voiceover was done by a certain Patrick Allen, whose same sombre words ? ?If you hear the air-attack warning, you and your family must take cover?? - featured as an opener to the famous Frankie Goes To Hollywood hit ?Two Tribes?.

An example of nuclear lunacy at its worst? ?-Find yourself a room in your house which is as far away from windows or outer walls as possible. If you live in a block of flats, build your shelter in the middle storeys?.? Assuming, of course, you still have a house or block of flats standing after a nuclear explosion, a concept which sounds pretty ropey to me. Even more unlikely is the prospect of yourself remaining in one piece, as opposed to many microscopically-sized particles, liberally (and radioactively) spread all around next door?s garden. Mad? Sure, and this was genuine official advice at the time! Oh, and talking of ?unlikely prospects? one final thought ? admission to the IWMN?s absolutely free, and for those Baggies who might want to take the place in at some stage in the future, it?s not all that far from Old Trafford either, so when we play them next season?..(sorry, got a little carried away there, better slap myself sharply on the wrist with a ruler). OUCH!

Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes! Having successfully negotiated the well-gritted southbound length of the M6 to return home, the fun really started once we came within about two miles of GD Towers. To put not too fine a point on it, the whole of Smethwick was a complete motorised mess. The cause? You didn?t need a degree in science to work out what had happened; when we left, the roads were adequately gritted, OK, but while we?d been cavorting in Manchester, there must have been a further snow-fall, closely followed by a further drop in temperature, and that, coupled with the original salt solution being washed away by passing motorists, led to an almighty freeze-up, which brought every 4-wheeled vehicle in town to a slippery (and bodywork-denting!) halt. This meant the gritters couldn?t work their saline magic on the roads, of course, which further meant more cars crashed, which?. Aw, you figure it out for yourselves. In the meantime, I?m willing to bet anything my Scandinavian and Canadian friends are already hooting fit to bust at all this wintry mayhem, and all because of icy precipitation amounting to nothing more than an inch or so of the stuff. Crazy, but true, sadly.

The weather forecast does promise somewhat warmer (but rainier) climes for the weekend, so at least our game versus Watford shouldn?t be affected; the football-related activity that was, however, was our planned jaunt to Morecambe, and our kids? Cup tryst with Blackburn Rovers. Just as well we?d given up on the idea the day previous to our Manchester trip, really; as we later discovered, the whole thing was called off about an hour before kick-off anyway. What does escape me, though, is why the final decision was left so late; you didn?t need to dangle pieces of seaweed out of the car window to appreciate the weather was going to rapidly deteriorate, so surely our young players could have been spared the long journey had someone been a little more proactive in that area?

Our foray ?oop North? also coincided with the publication of the Hutton Report. I first got wind of this when listening to the radio on our way back, and my initial reaction was something on the lines of, ?someone?s having a laugh, here!? Never mind the great quantities of snow being dumped outside, I reckon the ?learned judge? deposited the white stuff in much larger amounts when he finally sat down and put the thing together. When Hutton was actually sitting in deliberation, I followed the inquiry at great length, and that?s the principal reason I?m still trying to work out how come Andrew Gilligan and the BBC (late newsflash: Campbell?s finally got his sacrificial goat: the radio reporter?s just quit The Beeb!) took most of the flak for Dr. Kelly?s suicide, and yet Ally Campbell, Defence Minister Geoff Hoon, Tony Blair, the government, and Uncle Tom Cobley and all came out of the whole affair smelling of roses, more or less. Or, to use the words of the old First World War marching song, ?whiter than the whitewash on the wall?, which just might be a tad more accurate a description, because a ?whitewash? it was, pure and simple. I just hope Tony Blair can sleep at night.

And finally?. A sympathetic word or two about a chap called Phil Summers. He?s one of our Oz-based supporters, and he has what might be best described as a ?shaggy dog story with a difference? to relate. Nothing to do with Albion, mind, but worthy of mention, all the same, and once you?ve read it, I?m sure you?ll agree. Apparently, one of his mutts ? a Rhodesian Ridgeback, bloody enormous, and I know, because I actually saw the brute with my own eyes a couple of years ago! ? had just recovered from an acute pancreatitis attack, and the illness left a strange legacy; on recovery, the hound insisted on ingesting anything it came across that looked remotely edible i.e. anything it could swallow whilst Phil couldn?t see him. Remember that bit, folkies, it?s important. Last week, the dog had its foot protectively bandaged because of some unspecified allergy. Everything went swimmingly for both canine and human, until one calamitous day when the dressing simply disappeared off the mutt?s leg then into thin air, and despite strenuous efforts to do so, Phil was damned if he could locate its whereabouts.

Eventually, our hero had no option but to abandon the search, and made the reasonable assumption the errant dressing had fallen off while out taking the monstrous hound on its daily perambulations. Now, fast-forward several days to the beginning of this week. What happened? Well, as the TV companies sometimes delicately phrase it, ?those of a nervous disposition should look away now?. Ready? Right. It all started (finished?) when Phil was giving the animal yet more exercise. As both hound and master paused awhile on their journey, our hero suddenly noticed that Chevy ? that?s the dog?s name, by the way - was having a deal of trouble doing what Phil charmingly described as ?a Mr. Whippy?. Puzzled, the brave lad then bent over to better ascertain what the problem was with the mutt?s recalcitrant bowels, which was why our Down Under Baggie suddenly found himself doing what he delicately described as ?the horizontal version of the Indian Rope Trick? or, for those whose knowledge of conjuring is largely confined to the antics of Paul Daniels, ?pulling the knotted hankies out of the hat?, Aussie style.

Yep, you?ve guessed it; the missing bandage had finally made an appearance, but in a most unusual manner, and, to make matters worse, right by a busy main road, with loads of cars passing and all! Poor Phil: there he was busily extricating 2 or 3 feet of bandage from the dog's arse in the fashion of the aforementioned famous prestidigitator, and there was sod-all he could do to hide the fact from an increasingly-admiring public! As for the funny looks he got, I?ll leave that one as an exercise for the reader. The bad news? Phil now has his bandage back, but in a totally unusable state, for obvious reasons. The good news? There is some, honest. Phil now tells me that incident permanently cured his long-standing nail-biting habit!

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index