The Diary

08 February 2004: Doom, Gloom, and Deepdale

Oh, dear; I suppose the kindest thing you could say about today ? well, as far as us Dick Eds? were concerned, at any rate ? is the journey to Preston was a doddle, the conversation in the pub - The Summers ? before the game was far removed from the sort of stuff usually debated pre-match, and thanks to some nifty parking beforehand, the journey home was a breeze also. At the moment, my other half is attempting to assuage his assorted frustrations (ooer, missus!) by playing ?The Sims?, the computer game I bought him for his birthday, once more. As I type this, his ?family? ? perhaps I?d better gloss over what he?s called ?em! ? are trying to go to bed, but all the furniture is outside the house! Dad is ranting and raving fit to bust ? now there?s a clue! ? Mum has just fallen out of bed for reasons best known to herself, and her volatile other half is now wondering why a shower?s suddenly appeared next to the toilet! Oh whoops, their son?s just relieved himself on the floor. Stoppit at once, do you hear, I can?t type this for laughing!

The game itself? Oh, brother. Whatever cunning plan those Preston players had hatched before taking to the field of play this afternoon, it certainly banjaxed our lot good and proper. Well, that and with some assistance from a match official who seemed totally unable to differentiate between a genuine foul and a performance worthy of a BAFTA Award. That?s right, Jeff Winters and Ricardo Fuller, I mean the pair of you! Oh, and one other thing: unknown to professors of conventional science, Deepdale?s a place where there exists an anomalous gravitational field, one that mysteriously exerts its enhanced attractional effect only when one of their players ? yes, Ricardo, I mean you again! - hoves within falling-distance of our penalty area. Perhaps I ought to mention it to those nice people at Jodrell Bank when I next go there; there might be a Nobel Prize in it for me somewhere!

As I mentioned last night, it?s been around 45 years since we last turned Preston over on their own muck-heap ? and yes, before you ask, The Fart did witness this astronomical phenomenon, which last occurred in 1959, so I?m led to believe ? so the old confidence glands were producing in great quantity for this column when we left the West Midlands this morning. Those wins versus Walsall and Watford had buoyed up my spirits no end, and those ?feelgood vibes? were going like the clappers. As with Ipswich earlier in the season, surely today was the day the bloody percentages were going to turn, finally? The morn was cold but bright, the motorway was almost deserted (unusual, that, for the M6 at weekends), there were even bunny rabbits cavorting in the fields around Stafford. Was I even looking forward to hearing The Noise start rabbiting on when we reached his pick-up point? Sadly, yes.

The rest of the journey proved quite uneventful; in fact, we were in Preston by half-eleven, and in the Summers pub milliseconds after dropping anchor on their car-park. We?d been given this handy little tip a few weeks back, and it certainly paid dividends after the final whistle, but I?m getting a little ahead of myself there, folks. Once inside, we found the place looking rather like the Marie Celeste; signs of recent habitation, but totally deserted. Still, it was open for business, so ?Im Indoors got ?em in, Boddy for him, and Cokes for the rest of us. And a bag of peanuts for me ? no expense spared when we travel to away grounds, see.

Around 25 minutes after we?d parked our butts, in came the ?Drinking Family?. My God, we?d actually beaten them to it for once! ?What sort of time do you call this, then?? I loudly exclaimed, pointing significantly to the watch on my right wrist.

?Not so fast!? said they, in chorus, ?We?ve been in a pub already ? and had a pint in there, as well!? Sod. I should have known better than try to beat them at their own game!

By now, the pub was filling up quite respectably; most of the throng of humanity shoehorned in there was clad in either blue and white stripes, or its yellow and green counterpart, with a sprinkling of white-shirted Prestonites by way of contrast. Not that I noticed much; I was gassing with The Noise ? yes, fatal, I know, but someone had to do it! Mind you, it wasn?t football we were discussing, but education, education, education, as Tony Blair might put it.

The problem, as I see it, is that far too much pressure is exerted on kids these days to do well. An example? Young Bethany, The Noise?s youngest, is 7, and when she?s not talking to her huge posse of imaginary friends, she has to do homework, quite a lot of it, by all accounts. At seven? The other day, she had a spelling test, and should these kids not get 50%, then they have to do the test all over again. She?s also having a bit of a problem with sums, and the trouble is, schools are so afraid of getting bad SATS results these days, they?re pushing, pushing, all the time. When Carly (our bag-carrier) was in her last year of junior school last season, all the teachers did that year was ?teach to the test?, nothing more, nothing less. Whatever happened to education for its own sake? There?s more to life than the ?three R?s; the way we?re going, kids will end up like those in Japan, under so much pressure, suicide will become even more common. Is that what we really want to see?

Rant over. As I was ?discussing this little lot with Mr. Talkative, who should burst in on the scene but Adrian Morgan, aka ?Baggie Boy? on the mailing-list, who hails from Morecambe, a place much in the news today, and for tragic reasons, of course. He?s the guy who entertained us royally when our reserves played at Lancaster Town?s ground a couple of seasons back. Inevitably, the conversation drifted round to the tragedy in the bay, and the lad told me that the stretch of shoreline responsible for the deaths has a very long and sad history of trapping unsuspecting visitors. The tide might look well out when you begin to wander outwards, but it then comes in like an express train, and what with that, the mud, the twin facts it was night-time and those cockle-pickers couldn?t read the warning signs anyway, anyone stuck there didn?t stand a chance.

Then it was The Noise?s turn to start exercising his vocal chords with those good folkies, and knowing my own limitations in the volubility stakes, I gladly left him to it. And just as well I did, for sitting next to me were yet another Baggie duo ? The Fart had been nattering to them for quite a while about one thing and another ? and when I started talking to them it transpired the female half of the bargain was doing a degree in complementary medicine at some nearby university or another. This led to a fascinating discussion with this lady about the merits or otherwise of homeopathy ? and I?m still wondering how diluting something until it?s reduced to about a millionth of a part per solution can exert a therapeutic effect on the body. Oh, and I?m also wondering how much is down to the celebrated ?placebo effect?, but this lady insisted it worked, and who am I to argue?

By now, it was about half-one; time to move on out, and flog those last 27 Deepdale Dicks. (Next one out for our home game versus Cardiff, folkies!) It was only about a five-minute walk from the pub to the ground proper; once there, it was a simple matter to declare ourselves open for business, and await all-comers. And right on time, too; just as we set up shop, up rolled our coaches, all twelve of the buggers. It looked as though both Leon Of Stafford and Dragon Coaches had done very well indeed out of our custom today; mind you, so similar was their livery, I could only assume they were one and the same thing. And, while waiting for those coaches to disgorge their yellow and green stripey contents, from The Fart, a belated bit of news concerning ardent Baggie Mike Vass. Apparently, he?d been in hospital with some sort of gastrointestinal disorder, had been discharged, then had to be readmitted as an emergency a few days ago. Sadly, that?s the sum total of what The Fart knows about what?s happened; Mike?s currently in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Brum, so I?m told, so if anyone can furnish me with any more info about his current condition, I?d be more than grateful. The return address is at the bottom of this piece. And, if any friends or relatives of Mike happen to be reading this, can you pass on sincere good wishes for a speedy recovery from all The Dick Eds?

And, just after that, there came an incident that had me in stitches. What happened? Well, it went like this; an Albion supporter getting off one of the coaches ? he?s well known to us - spotted us doing our thing over the road, came over to us, shook us all by the hand, said, ?I?ve missed you!? to me, then, by way of a parting shot, turned round to The Fart, and said, ?And I?ve missed you as well, Dad!? As he toddled off into the sunset, I turned to The Fart, and he to me ? and it?s fair to say that when The Fart?s stunned gaze finally met mine, my knickers were suddenly in grave danger of needing a rapid change!

Our remaining stock finally seen off in good order, we then made our way into the bowels of Deepdale. A quick ?wash and brush up? you know where, then it was to our seats, which turned out to be something of a ?Bermuda Triangle? in miniature; handrails behind us, which opened out at the sides in the form of a ?V?, one row of seats in front, and below that, the exit. A bloody good view, and because of the nature of the beast, one which couldn?t be obstructed easily. On the pitch were our finest, still warming up, the sight of which is quite a novelty for us as we?re normally flogging until just before the kick-off. Oh, and for what has to be the first time ever since I?ve known him, Ken, the bespectacled chubby-faced bloke who sits a few rows in front of me at The Shrine, actually managed to turn up before the start! When we?re at home, his normal routine is to take his seat about five minutes after hostilities have commenced, to much gentle abuse from the other occupants ? and didn?t we both let him know!

A short interval while both sets of combatants received last-minute instructions from upon high, then out they came once more. We lined up with the same starting 11 as last week, but in a 3-5-2 formation this time, with Jason Koumas on the bench, as I?d expected. And so, we kicked off, and we hadn?t even passed the two-minute mark when one of Preston?s lot was carried off with what looked like a broken leg. Certainly, a stretcher was called for, and not long after that, one of those inflatable splint-thingies, so I can?t be far wrong. No-one?s fault, as far as I could ascertain, just a nasty piece of rough luck for the poor sod on the receiving end, but that was well and truly ?game over? for him. One amusing touch; while we were waiting for their bloke to be secured on the stretcher, our finest began passing the ball among themselves ? and every time they did so, it was to resounding cheers from their admirers! As The Fart wryly commented, ?That?s the only way we can find our men ? when there?s no opposition!?

Up until the half-hour mark, despite a couple of ?whoopsies? at the back, we seemed to have their lot well and truly under control ? indeed, Hughsie had not long narrowly shot just wide when pretty much clear through on goal - but then Jeff Winter well and truly decided to impose his black-clad presence upon the proceedings. The reason? The gravitational anomaly in and around our box I mentioned earlier. Certainly, when Ricardo Fuller had the ball and was just outside the eighteen-yard line, he suddenly went down as though as if someone (or something) had put it into operation at that precise moment. That was the third time he?d toppled like fallen timber whenever anyone went near him, and this time, it paid off handsomely. It didn?t fool any of us, but it certainly had Jeff Winter going; a free-kick it was, much to the fury of the massed ranks of Baggies behind that goal. A sideways little tap of the ball, and Lewis hit an absolute scorcher through a phalanx of defending Baggies from around 20 yards, which eluded Houlty, who had no chance whatsoever with it, and Greegs, hopefully positioned on the line. 1-0 to Preston, and ?sod, sod, sod? from a very brassed-off me.

And, just before half-time, a heated exchange, but not between those on the pitch. The problem arose a couple of rows in front of us, and to our left; before we knew it, a couple of plods materialised in the gangway, and within a matter of seconds, a ?meaningful dialogue? had broken out between the upholders of the law, and a male/female combo sat there. What was it all about? My hearing isn?t all that good, so I turned to The Noise, whose aural apparatus is pinpoint-sharp, for an explanation. It all comes through his eternal search for suitable conversational ?victims?, I suppose! Any road up, it transpired that the couple in question had been ?pulled? because the female half of the combo had been heard to make what was alleged to be a racist remark. Presumably, Fuller was the intended target after that Oscar-winning performance of his earlier. According to The Noise, the police had told the two of them that they were being ejected as a result of ?a complaint from the pitch?. Now that puzzled us both, as we were sat less than ten yards away, and neither of us heard as much as a dicky-bird spoken in anger, never mind as part of racial abuse . Sure, they ?went quietly? as the saying goes, but it?s the first time ever I?ve seen someone be ejected for that ? and I?ve heard far, far worse chucked at black players, believe you me!

And, come the interval proper, a ?rave from the grave?. Hands up those who remember former Baggies player John Thomas from days of yore. You do? Then you?ll remember the song we had for him every time he took to the field of play. ?Johnny ?T?, from Wednesbury/He?s got a stall on the market/Johnny ?T? from Wednesbury?.? Yep, the Preston people had excavated our former favourite from wherever he?d retired to, and talked him into making their lottery draw! And yes, ?that song? was given an airing by those of our lot of more mature years, shall we say, and with considerable gusto, as well! Another amusing touch; the sound of their announcer reading the half time scores directly from Ceefax ? and actually admitting that?s what he was doing! Well, he couldn?t do otherwise, really; the pauses while waiting for the next page to roll over were painfully obvious!

Come the second half, we started brightly enough, but still didn?t look the part in front of goal. The Albion chances that there were saw a great tip over by Preston's stand-in keeper from a Gaardsoe header. With 19 minutes gone, changes were made; on came Koumas and Dyer, and off went Clem and Kinsella. Lloyd tried his hardest to make the breakthrough, but was erratic; mind you, he then went on to beat every home player in sight, tee up a marvellous goal-line cross that dangled invitingly in front of our new strikeforce ? only to see it whip harmlessly past their noses. Had someone been attacking the ball in front of goal as they should have been, they would have been milking the celebrations for all they were worth within seconds. Preston's second, though, came with around 30 minutes gone, and after a good spell of Albion pressure (Hughsie had been replaced by Skoubo by then). They suddenly regained possession, quickly pelted down their left before switching the ball to the unmarked Healey lurking with intent in our box; it was then simplicity itself for him to belt one right across Hoult for 2-0. Game over.

The third came right at the fag-end of the proceedings, and via a penalty. Yes, it was a ?bang-to-rights? job as far as I could see; a handball, and not one with any degree of sublety, either. Just about everybody in the ground saw Gaardsoe?s hand ? yes, him, believe it or not! ? make contact with the ball, and Preston?s Alexander buried it, no messing. And, in stoppage-time, a piece of pure stupidity from Paul Robinson; an awful tackle, totally unnecessary, which incurred both the ref?s displeasure, and a booking, which takes him ?over the limit?. Well done that man; he?s now well and truly out for the Sheffield United game. With ?friends? like that, who needs enemies?

Yes, a comprehensive whopping, and one we thoroughly deserved. For their part, once they?d got their noses in front, Preston played us off the park. They never let us settle on the ball, they were in our faces all the time ? and we just couldn?t hack it. True, we?re still second, so there?s comparatively little damage done, and as Sheffield United lost again today ? 3-0, at home, as well, that?s three defeats on the bounce for them, now ? we can rescue the situation with a result against Cardiff next Saturday. Forget Norwich; they?re well away with the fairies, and I doubt if anyone will catch ?em now. The problem is, we?ve got some tough ones coming up, top six sides, some of them, and if we can?t get something from those, then it could well be ?Goodnight Vienna? for our chances of going up as of right. Would you want to encounter Neil Warnock?s lot in the play-offs? I certainly don?t! Mind you, what didn?t help us was the fact that Wigan won at Ipswich tonight ? and, guess who got their first goal, folkies? Seems to be quite a day for former Albion favourites getting on the score-sheet, and isn?t it remarkable how they?re invariably so prolific once away from the Midlands? Deech managed similar today for Millwall, five goals in three games, now. Surely they?ll offer him a permanent deal after that?

It was back to The Dickmobile for a very disgruntled Away Team, and our flyer of a getaway was poor consolation for what had been a distinctly below-par performance on our part. Quite honestly, I?m finding difficulty in singling out anyone for praise, which is most unusual for this column. Even the normally-implacable and imperturbable Gaardsoe had something of a ?mare? today. If push came to shove, I suppose Hughsie would be my man, purely and simply because of the sheer amount of hard graft he put into his game before going off. Given a better day and a following wind, he could have got on the scoresheet himself ? but that?s football for you.

And Finally?. One. In the pub before the game, a sudden revelation from The Fart. Did you lot out there know he?s appeared in a Pathe News cinema feature? Aw, you know, those old black and white newsreels that used to come before the main feature in the days when money came in pounds, shillings and pence, matrons still ruled hospitals with bedpans of iron, and Liverpool were very much a mediocre Second Division side. The news item in question? The visit of film star Martine Carroll to the Cinephone Cinema in Brum ? it used to be located on the Bristol Road, not far from where the Alex is now ? and both The Fart and his ?significant other? (very youthful version, natch!) can be clearly seen in the front row of admirers as she gets out of her car!

Two?. Yes, I know it?s slightly early to be discussing such things, but I?ve had a whisper today that the Satanic Nurses are planning an end-of season ?do?, but this time, with a military theme. Army uniforms, of whatever vintage, or replicas thereof, welcome, and if you talk to The Fart nicely, he?ll even lend you his one of his old pith helmets and red tunics, Boer bullet holes and all. At the moment, it?s all still at the ?consultation? stage, so all feedback welcome. Just zap those comments to gd@football4sale.com, and I?ll pass ?em on to our nutty nurses. Ta.

 - Glynis Wright

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