The Diary

24 April 2004: The Prem - So Close, You Can Almost Smell It!

Blimey, isn?t it peculiar how circumstances and events can twist like a pretzel, sometimes? When I last posted on Sunday night, I was visiting the State Of Euphoria courtesy of our last-minute victory at The Stadium of Light, and grinning like a Cheshire Cat high on mood altering substances at the delicious thought we?d be ascending Premiership-wards very shortly, and, more likely than not, those pesky Dingles would be plummeting in precisely the opposite direction. A win versus poor, doomed Bradford, and we?d be there, no messing. What I wasn?t counting on was that despondent Sunderland would ease our task tremendously by putting up a white flag at Palace on Wednesday night, pretty much.

After last Sunday?s last-minute capitulation, I should have expected it, I suppose. When that Koumas goal hit the back of the net, in the midst of going thoroughly ape-shit myself, I did take the trouble to spare the opposition a fleeting glance or two, and the look on their faces said it all ? abject misery coupled with total dejection writ large, both players and followers, you could hear those chins hit the floor in despondent synchrony, almost. As I said to The Fart and ?Im Indoors a little later, ?They?ve gone, totally and utterly gone?.? So, the fact they couldn?t overcome Palace 48 hours ago didn?t surprise me all that much; what did, though, was the magnitude of Palace?s victory. 3-0 against Mick McCarthy?s mob is not to be sneezed at, keeper dismissal notwithstanding.

Reading all those newspaper accounts of the game the following day, it appeared The Mackems didn?t so much lose at Selhurst Park, they simply rolled over and died; looking at things from their singularly-depressed point of view, it must have been pretty difficult to regain any sort of composure after the Sabbath mugging we perpetrated on them. How the hell do you pick yourselves up from that one, I wonder? Sad? In a way, yes. Of all the supporters of all the clubs scrapping in our division, I really do have a soft spot for the followers of Sunderland; as the heated scrimmage for those vital top-two League positions began to reach its climax but a few short weeks ago, the thought we might go up at their expense did trouble me somewhat, and, now the deed?s been finally done all bar the shouting, it does, but even more so.

I genuinely like those of the Mackem persuasion; on the numerous occasions we?ve played them, both home and away, I?ve invariably found their followers, by turns, knowledgeable, humorous, friendly, and, way above everything else, passionate about their Wearside cause to the point of martyrdom, almost. Of one thing I?m sure; you could never, ever accuse them of Wimbledon-style indifference, and because of all that genuine fervour and sheer love for the club they habitually display, it?s sad to see their season end in such heartbreak for them. I?m very fearful that their unexpectedly-dramatic implosion will mean the 2004 promotion road is now completely barred to them, as it?s bloody hard indeed to summon up sufficient reserves of energy and enthusiasm to travel via the play-off route after a body-blow like that. No, if any Mackems are reading this, I?m sorry it had to be that way, and I genuinely hope you?ll be in there pitching next time round ? and this column giving you whacks of moral support from the sidelines as you do it.

Returning to matters concerning our own club once more, the events of Wednesday night mean we now only need one solitary point to book our ticket upwards, and, as you all know by now, we could well achieve this aim without so much as kicking a ball in anger, even. Everything hangs on what Wigan do in their game versus poor Sunderland, which kicks off early for the benefit of the old goggle-box, of course. By half-two tomorrow afternoon, we?ll know, one way or another.Apparently, our favourite football club are relaying live pictures from the JJB to The Shrine ? they?ve struck some sort of deal with Sky, it would seem ? so I daresay there?ll be quite a few takers for that, what with it being forecast to be a sunny, warm day, and all that jazz. And, as our finest go through their pre-match warming-up exercises out there, they?ll know, too. What would their thoughts be if Jason Roberts were the one to send us up, I wonder? Blimey, even if they weren?t aware of developments elsewhere, I?m sure the roars of delight from the Brummie would leave them in absolutely no doubt whatever.

Should things prove to pan out in our favour beforehand, I reckon it?s going to be awfully difficult to get minds concentrating on the job properly come kick-off ? both on and off the pitch. As our leader seems to have made it his intention to kick on for the title, then it?s going to need some pretty stern pre-match managerial talk to bring moods collectively plunging towards ground level, and directing thoughts towards sorting Bradford and nothing more. I suspect tomorrow?s game might well turn out to be something of a Nuremberg Rally for our followers, with definite shades of last time reasserting themselves come the final whistle. But all that frolicking will be but a foretaste of things to come. Come the Reading game next week, be prepared for one hell of a party!

Talk of the previous occasion we found ourselves in this delightful position reminds me of other promotions I?ve witnessed in over forty years of being a Baggie, and I have to say that of the four I?ve seen to date, this one?s been the most peculiar of the entire lot. Not just because we?ve done it with games to spare this time round, but also because when the ?big? breakthrough finally came just two momentous days ago, I was nowhere near The Midlands, but sitting in our holiday home dialling up Ceefax instead. Trouble was, once we?d ascertained the result, double-checked it, yelled, screamed, thumped the walls, whooped our total delight, half-scared to death some ickle bunny-rabbits lolloping around just outside, etc. we couldn?t even use our mobiles to share the experience with our (no doubt) equally-jubilant chums; when put to the test, the bloody things refused point-blank to pick up a signal, any signal, soddit, so we were totally stuffed on that score. And, what?s more, we couldn?t even discover how much sherry The Fart had managed to shift by way of celebration that night! Highly frustrating for us both, to say the least. Nest time, I swear I?ll send smoke signals ? and borrow a Red Indian to get us some replies.

As for those three upwardly-mobile moments previous to the present, in 1976, that one went right to the wire, and agonisingly so, as we desperately needed an away win that day to secure top-flight status. Some fragmented memories, then; Boundary Park, a delightfully sunny one at that, terracing massed with blue and white and yellow and green-shirted followers, the discomfiting knowledge rivals Bolton were winning their own game ?dahn the Smoke?, Bomber Brown?s stunning strike, Ossie?s brilliant save, our Dunkirk re-enactment as we desperately endeavoured to keep the home side from equalising (shades of Sunderland 2004, there?) quaffing champers in quantity on the pitch right after the final whistle, and all those tart little bubbles sneakily infiltrating my nasal passages, and making me ?sneeze for England?, almost. 1993? That came courtesy of the Second Division play-offs, very late doors indeed by any standards, and that emotive Wembley trip versus Vale, who could only muster what seemed to be barely a coach-load of followers, comparatively speaking. Deadlock, then Vale capitulation following the dismissal of Peter Swan for upendidng SuperBob as he was about to pull the trigger just outside the box. And, amidst all the noise and tumult of those semi-final games versus Swansea, an unforgettable sight; the undulations of thousands of Baggies in the Brummie, the entire seething mass all ?boinging? as if their life depended upon it. Magical, and, as terraces are now no more, unrepeatable, sadly.

Memory then winds its inexorable way towards 2002 and Palace, also a last-gasp effort, and one conducted in perfect sunshine. Coupled with that amazing 2-0 win was the sheer satisfaction of knowing we?d beaten The Dingles to the punch, and in the most embarrassing circumstances imaginable. For them that is, not us. Lovely stuff, if you?re of a sadistic and decidedly anti-Wulves bent like me. Not so lovely if you happen to be a follower of the brain-deads, but since when has anything to do with Wolves been ?lovely?? Quite. My personal favourite? 1976 was unforgettable, in its own way, as was that Vale victory, but for me, 2002 really has to be the one. Although tomorrow may make me open to suggestion once more. How was it for you? ? or, do you think differently? All stuff to the usual address.

If you are following tomorrow?s events via the magic of the internet, or radio/TV, then I hope that even though sundered from events by a factor of thousands of miles, you can still capture a flavour of the day, and what it means for our club. I?ll be posting on here, as usual, tomorrow night, to give you my impressions of events. In the midst of all that joy, though, spare a thought for the chap I mentioned the other day, the one whose mother was dying of cancer. Since then, our good-buddy Anc has picked up another message from the same person (he posts as ?NinerBaggie? on the Rivals unofficial message-board, just in case you want to send condolences), and this is what he said as per the 19th.: ?(Her) sole concern was staying alive to see us promoted. She was passionate about the Baggies and only twice awoke in the last 24 hours, each time she asked how we had done at Sunderland, I was proud to tell her we had won. Sadly she has now passed away this afternoon, I only tell you as she was Albion through and through?..? Tell me again what was it Bill Shankly had to say about football being more important than life or death?

And finally?. One. Spare a small portion of your thoughts tomorrow for ?Im Indoors, who will be scooting down to Hereford United?s ground very early tomorrow morning to secure tickets for the home leg of the Conference play-offs, then back again in time to start selling Dicks before our game gets under way. The way things are going, it?s likely to be Barnet facing The Bulls for that one; just Hereford?s luck, really, they score over a ton over the season, slaughter several sides by seven goals or more (one actually conceded nine at home, without reply, and on the box, as well!), then finish on some incredible points total or another ? only to be trumped by a devastatingly-efficient Chester side, who do seem to be an Albion in microcosm. As The Bulls aren?t goal-shy by any means, I reckon there?s a pretty good chance my other half will be celebrating a ?double-header? before too long. Which will help marital harmony no end, presumably.

Two. A belated ?thank goodness? from me when I discovered today that Tommy Gaardsoe?s red card?s been rescinded. A victory for common-sense as far as I?m concerned, as I couldn?t, for the life of me, figure out why he?d been made to walk in the first place. A good many whistlers would have balked at the prospect of having to change their mind, so well done to Mr. Matthiesson for being big and honest enough to take the plunge and admit he?d got it wrong. Perhaps some of his more conceited Premiership brethren could do themselves a bit of good by taking a leaf from his book ? but that?s probably a transformation too far, a bit like Ariel Sharon having a reconciliatory knees-up with Yasser Arafat, if you like. In the meantime, that does mean our tame Dane will be all present and correct for our celebration of all Norse things horny and helmeted at Reading next week. Can?t wait.

 - Glynis Wright

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