The Diary

15 February 2004: Valentines Day, Cardiff Style

?Do you feel soppy, punk?? That slight adaptation of a famous ?Dirty Harry? line comes courtesy of this column in an effort to acknowledge the fact it was Valentine?s Day today, and because I?m in a good mood tonight, and feeling appropriately full of ?squidgem widgems? and all that lovey-dovey jazz. Not that I normally celebrate the famous lovers? patron saint?s day; the nearest we get to romance on a matchday is if and when one of our finest manage to hit the back of the net, so that was taken care of anyway, courtesy Clem and Hughsie. In the interests of what the late Barry White would have termed in deep mahogany tones ?lurve?, thanks for your efforts, lads!

Before I embark upon a detailed account of what we Dick Eds got up to early this afternoon, here?s a little memo for our manager. FAO Gary Megson: That?s the second time Lloyd Dyer?s extricated you from the smelly stuff this season; isn?t it about time you sorted out an extension to his contract, which, may I remind you, terminates come the end of hostilities, in May? On such small things do the fortunes of football clubs revolve, and the timely introduction of our effervescent and zippy full-back during the second half certainly stuck the balance of power firmly back where it belonged ? in English, not Welsh hands. Unless you?re leaving it knowing we?ll get a fee for him anyway if he walks, but let?s not go there and completely ruin what has been a happy day, eh?

I have to say that early kick-offs disorientate me to an alarming degree; I discovered this during the seventies, when both a miners? strike and an energy crisis meant that floodlit games were streng verboten and earlier starts temporarily became the norm. Well, I ask you, at that time, usually, you got home around tea-time, kicked the cat if we?d dipped, said nice things apropos of Mafeking to grandma if we?d slaughtered the opposition, but an early kick-off stops such activities dead in their tracks. In the strike-riven seventies, once home, it was either wrestling on ITV, or some obscure winter sport or another on the Beeb; now, it?s Sky and bloody Rodney Marsh and Chris Kamara waxing lyrical (and emotional; what exactly is Kamara on, I ask?) about the games they?re sent to cover. Another thought: it really amuses me when I hear Mr. K deploring violent conduct by players at these games; in my recollection, when he was at the sharp end, he was the worst of the lot (just ask Gary Robson!), and should have become a clog-dancer after hanging up his boots, not a ruddy commentator.

But that isn?t knitting the baby a new bonnet, is it? Back to today?s doings. New kick-off time, new routine. Out went the normal Dick ?Ed pre-match pow-wow in the Throstle Club, and instead, around 11.15, straight into selling mode (well I did; my other half was parking The Dickmobile!) outside the Smethwick end, and more pertinently, considering the well-publicised atavistic tendencies of the opposition, right outside the Police Post. And what a sight greeted me as I began selling; TWENTY THREE police vans, all lined up expectantly as if about to convey day trippers to some outing or another. Plus, I was told, 50-plus bobbies at Snow Hill Station ? talk about ?seventies retro?. And, as the fag-end of the morning slid imperceptibly into the leaden-grey afternoon, the sounds of sirens ? no Simon And Garfunkel hit, that one: trust me - were heard loud and long throughout the land. And, as if to confirm their arrival in our neck of the woods, a few City supporters, in search of paradise, Welsh-style; lacking any handy sheep to deflower, they had to make do with the local pubs, and gaffers willing to admit that lot were in short supply. Nevertheless, I did see some hardy souls heading off in the direction of Smethwick; what the worshippers coming out of the Sikh Temple thought about it all, God (Khrishna?) only knows.

Still, it wasn?t all gloom, doom and police sirens; not long after the plods had gone their merry (and noisy!) way, I almost set myself up as an auxiliary branch of ?Friends Reunited?! How come? Simple. There I was, Dicks in hand, not a care in the world, when Conrad Chircop waltzed up to me. Who?s he? A lad from Malta, now studying in this country, well, at Coventry University, actually. Enter stage left Jean Wilkes, of supporters? club fame; the last time she?d clapped eyes on Conrad was when he was but a little sprog, around 15 years ago. In those days Our Jean was a regular visitor to the George Cross Island, and as Conrad was (still is!) active in Malta Branch ? we?re members, by the way - that?s how they knew each other. Well, one minute Conrad was there, and the next, Jean plus daughter Michelle turned up, so I had to do it, didn?t I? Talk about ?This Is Your Life?, but it was worth it just to see the delighted look on Jean?s face. I think I made her day ? well that and the win, but you get my drift.

And we also saw The Noise plus Bag Carrier; by the look of the stuff they were both carrying with them, they?d lunched in McDonalds, so we cheered up our resident ?Gatling Gob? enormously by telling him he was writing the match report (body count?) for Sheffield United next week. That should keep him quiet on the way back, if only for a matter of a few minutes. And, of course, we saw The Fart, hot-foot in the direction of the East Stand, where he normally plies his wares these days. All about par for the course, really, but I did have to giggle when a posse of plods set off in their infernal jalopies, ?blues and twos? going fit to bust; as they did so, one of the Police Post incumbents, female, came out to see what was going on. ?What?s happening?? she enquired. Says me, ?Well, if you lot in there don?t know, we?ve got no bloody chance, have we, luv!?

Quite a brisk selling session, really, which is only right and proper given we were flogging a spanking-new Dick, and amidst all the usual banter that goes with the territory of sorting out regular customers, several anxious inquiries as to the current whereabouts on the airwaves of The Fart; I was only too happy to explain he?s now taken up permanent residence on Radio WM, loves the new neighbours to bits, and has since volunteered to organise their street parties, should they ever need one organising. And, as the appointed time drew near, another observation; unusually, most of our followers seemed to have opted for a steady entry to the ground, rather than a mad late-minute rush, so when we finally called a halt to the proceedings, no queue. Straight in, and those nice stewards stationed on our turnstiles to facilitate our smooth entry, as per usual.

Straight to our seats, and to a hot-house atmosphere largely generated by those manic Welshmen stationed in the Smethwick, and boy(o), could they make some noise. A shame that such a passionate support is let down by their more brutish counterparts. Given a better reputation and a following wind, they couldn?t half make some friends in this division. As things were, only a narrow strip of cloth patterned with our club badge and some stewards, leavened with a sprinkling of plods, stood between our lot and theirs, and that was to prove woefully inadequate as the game progressed. As far as the team news was concerned, Greegs was shifted to the bench, and Scouse Jase parked his butt in the vacant berth instead. Our keeper change you?ll know about already, no doubt. The visitors? Ex-Baggie Gabbidon featured, of course, and their hot-shot, Earnshaw. And, as I mentioned yesterday, a lad by the name of Parry. Of him, more later.

Of one thing we were sure; after the awful performance at Deepdale last weekend, we needed to get back to winning ways ? and quick. Time, tide and automatic promotion places wait for no man, and with quite a few of our immediate rivals also engaging in mortal combat later that afternoon, the getting of those three precious points was of paramount importance, if only to keep the waters from lapping about our feet. And, before we were settled into our seats properly, even, an early scare. Parry made Bernt Hass look extremely silly on the left, then found the predatory Earnshaw in the middle; the lad wasted no time, and let fly, giving poor Murph a very early wake-up call indeed. And, not long after that, Parry nearly struck pay-dirt; again, it was a case of Murphy to the rescue, and suddenly, Valentines Day or not, we were courting the favours of Lady Luck like there was no tomorrow.

The worrying thing was our passing; wild, not thoughtful, and as a result, giving the ball away to a Taff more often than not. Even Big Dave?s heading, normally the strongest feature of his game, was giving me cause for concern. But there was a glimmer of hope out there; come the 19th minute, Hughsie?s glorious cross got right behind their defence for the first time, and set up Clem a treat; a shame his header went straight into their keeper?s tender embrace. And, at that point, a small diversion, courtesy of The Smethwick End: being the great students of human nature they are, their somewhat perceptive message to their Welsh counterparts in the adjacent bit of stand was, ?You?re just a load of Dingles!? Have to say I agree; I just hope some steward or bobby took the trouble to ?translate?. Another vagrant thought about Cardiff?s more obnoxious followers: forget Iraq, Palestine and Afghanistan, all you politicians out there. Anyone who can sort out Cardiff?s alternative to Al Qaeda deserves the Nobel Peace Prize, they really do!

And, talking of which, in the 35th, there was an almighty ruckus in their bit of the Smethwick, when they appeared about to ?invade? the home territory adjacent to their seats. Suddenly that strip of cloth separating the two factions didn?t look substantial at all, and as swarms of angry Welshmen made as if to venture into ?our? part of the structure, up rushed loads of plods and stewards to maintain the integrity of the ?thin fluorescent line?. As the line was augmented further, I got the sickening feeling that if we scored ? or they did ? then all hell would let loose. I can?t remember the last time I saw scenes like that at The Shrine; it really was like watching a rerun of a Seventies ?hoolie? video. Funny, I?d thought their much-vaunted ?membership scheme? of theirs was supposed to prevent that sort of thing going off inside grounds ? so much for that idea, then.

And, talking of scoring, just on half-time, we had a re-run of the circumstances leading to Preston?s goal last week, only this time, it was Scouse Jase doing the ?high-dive? act on the edge of the box. Cue for a Cardiff ?wall? and cue the ?injured party?, Jason Koumas. Sadly, that one didn?t evade their keeper?s clutches, a la Preston; instead, it just flashed wide of the post.

A welcome half-time whistle shortly afterwards, if only to take the heat out of the situation in the Smethwick. And, it being Valentine?s Day, marriage proposals, three of ?em! All read out by DJ Matthew, to great cries of ?NO!? and ?DON?T DO IT!? from both sets of protagonists. Did they, or didn?t they? I?ve no idea, but no doubt the local hacks will follow that one up in due course.

On to the ?second sitting?, then, and mercifully, things seemed to have quietened down considerably in the away end. Mind you, with around three minutes of the half gone, there could have been a considerable amount of egg splattered all over the faces of the visitors, courtesy of a clanger of ginormous proportions from their keeper. What happened? Well, Danny Gabbidon (I think) tried to back-pass to his custodian, and he must have had his mind on a post-match leek-fest (or something involving woolly animals, even!) because instead of gathering the ball up safely into his arms, he missed the thing completely! Had it gone in, it would have featured on ?bloopers? compilations until the sun goes nova, but somehow, the ball went for a corner instead. We seemed to be putting far more pressure on the Taffs than we had in the first half, especially on the left, and they didn?t like it one little bit, began to rock a little, defensively speaking. And, come 55 minutes gone, we finally managed to break the deadlock. Thanks to an opponent?s over-enthusiasm in the tackle, the Horse collapsed in an untidy heap on the left, not far from the edge of the box, and Koumas took the resultant free-kick. Over went the ball in an arc, and up rose Clem to nod it in, sweet as a nut. Net result, ball in the net, and one-nil to us.

Not long after our opener, the normally-dependable Murph nearly landed us in the smelly-stuff. In an effort to reach the ball before a Cardiff player did, he raced out of his area to intercept, and with me thinking, ?Blimey, he?s going to handle the thing, and right in front of the ref as well!? but instead of doing that, and earning himself an early bath, no doubt, he managed to nut the thing instead ? but to a Cardiff player, and there he was stranded right on the edge of his area, and with an open goal lying invitingly within the sights of the ?interceptor?! Luckily for us, the lad concerned couldn?t hit a barn door at ten paces, and it went for a goal-kick instead. Phew!

Having ridden luck like that, you just know Someone Up There is going to call in the favour, and come the 78th, shortly after Cardiff shoved two subs on ? Lee and ex Charlton player Robinson ? we repaid our dues. It wasn?t really Murph?s fault; they had a free-kick, and the bladder went in via the aforementioned Lee, who, I suspect, didn?t know much about it either. Murph certainly didn?t; he must have been unsighted. And it could have been disaster not long after that; a Cardiff shot with a bigger bend than a banana only narrowly missed going in the aperture, bouncing just behind the crossbar instead . Time for a change, then. With around 7 minutes left on the clock, Kinsella came off and Lloyd Dyer came on. The change didn?t suit Cardiff one little bit; within seconds, the lad was creating havoc down the left flank, so their defence chose to stop him illegally instead. Up stepped Clem once more, he lobbed the ball into the business end, it was picked up by Gaardsoe, who headed across goal; guess who was there to apply the final touch, and deservedly so, in my opinion? Hughsie, that?s who, and the crowd went wild with joy for the lad. If ever a player deserved rewarding, it was he. For most of the game, he terrorised the Cardiff defence something rotten with a very passable imitation of an angry wasp in and around that box, and never let up, not for one minute. I don?t know what it did to Cardiff, but it terrified the life out of me. No wonder he looked absolutely cream-crackered after that, and was subbed, to a thoroughly deserved standing ovation. My ?man of the match?? No contest.

Sure, Cardiff tried yet another change just before the end, but they?d shot their bolt, and they knew it. Three minutes of injury time ? a brief panic when Murph and his defence seemed to have ?communication problems? ? and it was all over. Back to winning ways, thank goodness, but the real test of our resurgence will be at Bramall Lane next week.

Right then. I?ve just run ?that? equation through my trusty calculator ? the one that gives me our points average thus far ? and it now stands at 1.8, with 15 games remaining. Last time round, we amassed a stonkingly-good 89 points, and that proved enough to pip The Dingles, or, if you want it another way, give The Dingles the pip! Working on that basis, I reckon we still need to ?up? our average to over 2 points per game if we are to emulate that feat, and do it comfortably. We?re now looking at around ten wins to find before the end of term; hopefully, we might get away with less. There?s precious little leeway for slip-ups over the run-in, and the results elsewhere today didn?t really run kindly for us, either. Blimey, I?m getting all sweaty just thinking about it!

Other thoughts? After last Saturday?s Deepdale imbroglio, it was much, much better, Baggies. Hughsie turned in one of his best displays ever for the club; could it be that his recent troubles have finally made him realise where his true priorities really lie? Also, he seems to have forged an excellent partnership with The Horse; may it ?live long and prosper? as they say in Star Trek. Gaardsoe was awesome today; he seems to have got Preston well and truly out of his system, thank goodness. Clem made a good fist of it, what with scoring and everything. Big Dave? Some of those headers of his really worried me; instead of whanging well out of the danger area as usual, they seemed to be going to the opposition far more frequently than is good for anyone?s health and temper, but that apart ? the long lay-off might be something to do with it ? he put in a solid enough performance at the back. Bernt Hass had a few problems coping with Parry today, but having said that, we knew a fair bit about the ex-Hereford lad ourselves, and guessed he?d be a handful. He seems to have made the transition from the Conference to the First with consummate ease, and could have given us far more grief that we actually got. Murph? Must improve his communication skills! He couldn?t do a lot about the goal, ?tis true, but he?s experienced and an international keeper to boot, so any teething problems should settle down once he and his defence are more familiar with each other?s way of working.

And finally?? For a good part of this week, I?ve been composing a letter of complaint to the West Midlands Police about their post-match traffic arrangements. Or, more to the point, their distinct lack of such arrangements ? see Diaries passim for details! Having sent one copy winging its way to Chief Plod Scarrott, I?ve also let E and S newshound ?Desperate Dan? Slee have another, and an article about that same subject duly appeared in tonight?s edition ? cheers, Dan! I?m hoping that when I finally do get a constabulary ?official? reply, it?ll be better thought through than the quote the E and S got from the force?s spokesperson today. It never even remotely sought to address the question I was asking, namely why arrangements that worked superbly a couple of seasons ago have been abandoned in favour of what appeared to be what our Scottish cousins might term a ?Godless stramash?. And the other annoying thing? Dead easy, that one; when we drove away post match today, just to call me a liar, there were point-duty coppers in abundance, and we were home in around 15 minutes! It?s at times like that, I tend to do my ?Marvin The Paranoid Android? impersonation: ?Life? Don?t talk to me about life?.?

 - Glynis Wright

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