The Diary

28 April 2004: No More The Wide-Eyed Tourists?

Anyone out there remember an American cop show called ?Starsky And Hutch? that ran over here during the seventies? Of course you do. Two cops bonded together against criminality in a slightly homoerotic way, and very popular Saturday night viewing it was, too. Hollywood recently resurrected the concept for a feature length film, of course, but one of the original actors in that series was a gentleman called David Soul, and it?s he that provided the slightly-convoluted opener to tonight?s piece, albeit unwittingly. How come? Easy, around 1976-77, having reaped the monetary benefits of a thespian career, David then dabbled his digits into the crazy world of pop music, one record reaching pole position in the UK listings, the other charting quite highly, and it?s the second of these ditties whose title is highly relevant for me at the moment. In fact, it neatly encapsulates what we have to do in the Premiership next time round, or sink like a brick. The title? ?This Time I?m Going In With My Eyes Open.?

Remember our opening day two seasons ago, a searingly-hot Old Trafford, and loads of stripey-shirted Baggies squawking in amazement at the sheer immensity of the place and all the expensive baggage that accompanied it? My goodness, to the Mancs, we must have looked very much like a collection of hick farmers let loose on the bright lights of the Big City for a night or two, and, without wishing to appear detrimental to our players, some of that awestruck mindset must have rubbed off on them also. And what a baptism of fire we got; within the space of a couple of weeks, United, Arsenal, both away, then Leeds, at our place. Had someone at Prem HQ deliberately set out to disadvantage us right from the word ?go?, with that lot of games to start with, they couldn?t have done it better. Not that I?m suggesting that was the case, of course, but you get my drift. Surely we?ll be dealt a better opening hand this time round, come the 24th of June? And even if we aren?t, I?d like to think we?d be somewhat better prepared to deal with the quantum leap from the Nationwide to the big-time next time.

In 2002, promotion came as something of a shock to the system for everyone, directors, players and supporters included, and we just weren?t geared up to cope with it, purely and simply because no-one seriously expected it to happen until very late on in the season. And, of course, there was all that awful internecine close-season wrangling which, for me at least, completely took the shine off our incredible achievement. This had the spin-off effect of making forward planning very difficult for everyone, as it became almost impossible to work out which set of directors to plan for, at times. At least there will be stability at the helm this time round, and because we?ve done the biz with three games to spare, this gives us a couple of extra weeks of this season to begin formulating plans for the future. In fact, it wouldn?t surprise me at all to learn we?ve already quietly embarked upon the quest for new Baggie blood.

We know we can?t even hope to compete in the same player market as the Arsenals and the Man Uniteds of this world, so what we?ve got to look for now are the bargain-basement gems, and this is where the collapse of the transfer market may help us. Don?t ask me for a ?shopping-list? though, I prefer to leave that sort of thing to those whose knowledge of what?s out there surpasses mine by light-years, but I will chuck in a few comments. Come the end of the season, there are going to be an awful lot of talented pros out there looking for a good home, going cheap, and the trick is to snap up those bargains before anyone else gets the chance of a sniff, even. The three clubs relegated ? yes, even The Dingles, although I do hate to have to say it ? might well prove to be fertile ground from which to gather up our harvest. Sure, personal terms might well be the sticking-point in some cases, but our chairman did recently concede that in the Prem, you pretty much get what you pay for. Surely it?s possible to find, among all that lot, ?a few good men? as John Paul Jones, father of the US Navy, said in a different age? The main priority next time is survival, and after that comes consolidation, and, as Charlton and Bolton have both demonstrated, it can be done, and on a comparative shoe-string budget, as well.

So, which of our current crop do look capable of cutting the mustard next season, then? This is a pretty subjective exercise, as every Albion supporter harbours differing opinions and perspectives around this potentially-contentious subject, but, for what it?s worth, here are a few thoughts of mine. Houlty? We know already he can do the biz, and very well, too; we?re doubly fortunate in having an extremely talented deputy also. No problem there. Tommy Gaardsoe? Class, sheer class; Ipswich were mugged. Big Dave, although now 30, can still offer us a defensive option at that level, while Greegs just gets better and better. I don?t anticipate him having many problems crossing the Great Divide this time, although it may take a while for him to make that adjustment. Jason Koumas is another who should take to the Prem like a duck to water; last time round, his talent stood out by a country mile. The Horse, also, should be OK at that level, although age is not exactly on his side, really.

That?s the group I believe will have what it takes, but there are others whose ability to live with the big boys could go one way or another - it?s all in the lap of the gods, really. With most players at that level being spared the cruder sort of tackling you tend to find lower down, Artim Sakiri might well find things easier in the Prem, but a lot will depend upon whether or not he wishes to continue being a Baggie, and whether our leader wants him there anyway. Clem? He got found out big-time last time; let?s hope he?s profited from the experience, because if he ain?t, he?s going to get eaten alive. AJ will probably cope by dint of sheer hard work, but he won?t be cutting any rugs out there.

Lee Hughes I?m not at all sure about, although it has to be said his recent off-field troubles do seem to have matured his outlook somewhat. Everything hangs on that forthcoming court case of his, of course; if the worst comes to the worst, he may not be available at all. In times of yore, he would have reacted to ?sledging?, niggling behaviour or dodgy refereeing decisions by retaliating, either verbally or physically, but we?re seeing a different Lee Hughes these days. His consistency can also be a problem at times, once he?s found the back of the net, he?s like a thing possessed, but when he hits a ?dry? spell, all that confidence deflates as quickly as a pricked balloon. Lloyd Dyer? Hmmm. He?s set our division alight this year, all right, but the demands of the higher sphere might well be a bit too much for the lad?s talents.

Our brief Premiership spell, abortive and downright depressing though it may have seemed at the time, was a valuable learning experience for everyone connected with the club. Even Jeremy Peace said in a recent interview he felt we?d be far more streetwise about how we approached things next season. Since then, he?s networked extensively, apparently, and, Abramovich apart, now knows all the Prem chairmen personally. This should make us far cuter at the game than we were previously. I suspect also, not being the Prem?s fall-guys this time, we?ll get a lot more refereeing decisions going our way; sod it, bloody Norwich can take on that mantle, we suffered enough in 2002-03. In any case, the refs? head honcho at that time, Philip Don, has since had the push, and with the advent of Keith Hackett to the throne, looking at the Prem from the outside, it does seem to me (a couple of recent well-publicised howlers excepted, of course) that referees are now being allowed to run games with a modicum more common sense about them. Taking every factor into consideration, I strongly suspect our Premiership season will be pretty much made or broken during those summer months. If we get those purchases right, we stand a fighting chance of survival. If we don?t, then we?re dead in the water, end of story.

Right then. For those who want a bit of the horny action at Reading, action, here?s a few bits of Norse mythology to be getting along with. And, being rather fed up of the males of the species getting a look-in first, I?m going to pitch in with a few suggestions for the gentle sex, for a change, so I?ll kick off with The Valkyries. These mythical winged creatures, much beloved of Wagner (and Francis Ford Coppola!) were the maidens who chose which warrior would be slain in a battlefield. Once all the mucky bits had finished, spears entering people?s bodies, agonised screaming, red stuff gushing in quantity, intestines spread liberally all around the place, that sort of thing, they descended upon those they?d chosen, and wafted ?em off to Valhalla, where they got invited to a booze-up lasting for an eternity, which is one hell of a lock-in when you come to think about it. They served Loki, the god of the Underworld and their names were: Brynhild, Geironul, Geirskogul, Goll, Gondul, Gunn, Guth, Herfjotur, Hervor, Hild, Hlathguth, Hlokk, Hrist, Mist, Olrun, Randgrith, Rathgrith, Reginleif, Sigrdrifa, Sigrun, Skeggjold, Skogul, Skuld, Svava, and Thruth. There you go, ladies, pick the bogies out of that lot, and anyone feeling game enough to pick The Belly up from where he?s fallen on Saturday and waft him off to Valhalla, the best of British luck to you, I say.

That?s the ladies sorted, then, so what about those of you whose bodily features revolve around the presence of oodles of testosterone and ?Y? chromosomes? Fancy making like Odin for the day, then? Odin had a myriad of other names including Allfather, Ygg, Bolverk (evil doer), and Grimnir, so that?s a fair choice for starters. He also had many functions, including being a god of war, poetry, wisdom, and death. His halls ? think ?slightly-unusual gastropubs? and you?ve got it - were called Gladsheim Valaskjalf and Valhalla. Odin's high seat, Hlidskialf, was in Valaskjalf. Try pronouncing that lot after you?ve had a few. It was from this throne that he could see the world in its entirety. Valhalla is where he gathered his slain warriors, Einheriar, whom the Valkyries had chosen.

Thor was the Norse god of thunder, and the son of Odin. He was a large, powerful bloke with eyes of lightning and a red beard. Just as well Hughsie shaved his off, then. His missus was called Sif, and she earned pin-money by being a fertility god, part-time, presumably. I wonder if she was eligible for maternity leave? His job description required him to run through the heavens in a chariot pulled by two goats during a thunderstorm, and chuck a bloody big hammer around every time he wanted those pesky mortals to believe the lightning was flashing and the thunder crashing. Apparently, when he dies, his sons get to keep the hammer, which is nice. ?Premier league, ?avin a larf?? Then why not take on the persona of Loki? He was the god of fire, mischief, knavery and trickery with a nice little sideline in Underworld stuff, but after topping his mate, Balder, he was sent down for a very long time indeed. With good behaviour, he?s due out on parole around the time of Ragnarok (see below).

Aegir was the god of the sea, and a bit of a moody one, by all accounts. Some might call him the Norse pantheon?s answer to Gary Megson. In fact, you could say he had the original ?stormy personality?, because when he got annoyed, which was often ? yes, you?ve guessed it. I don?t think his love-life could have been up to much, though, he went about his daily business covered in seaweed, which does tend to pong a bit once it dries out. His wife, Ran, was also his sister, so make of that what you will. He did have nine daughters, though, and these made waves, because that?s exactly what they were. When not giving the BBC Shipping Forecast something really nasty to think about, he brewed beer for the other gods.

If you?re the sort that gets sea-sick just rowing in Dartmouth Park Boating Lake, then why not be Tyr instead? He was the god of war, and that?s a land-locked occupation, really, nuclear subs and Polaris missiles notwithstanding. He also had a disability, namely the total lack of a right hand. Whether Social Services were involved or not, I don?t know. This came about when another god, Fenis, a wolf (sounds about right, considering), bit off the missing member during a little argy-bargy. Because of that, he became what?s known in the Black Country as a ?caggy-?onder?. A big mate of Thor, and they even named Tuesday after him.

Before I finally take my leave of the Norse world, here?s a god named after a Baggie ? or is it the other way around? Either way, if you fancy being this one for the occasion, here?s a bit of background. Sigurd (geddit?) was the son of Sigmund and Hjordis, and he was the wielder of his dad?s magic sword. He also had the killing of a dragon on his CV, a transferable skill which must have really helped him in his search for a god-related line of work. Unfortunately, at the same time, he also did for his foster-dad, but let?s not talk about that, shall we? Just like Gollum in Lord Of The Rings (Tolkien was a lover of this sort of thing, so this is probably where he first got the idea), the lad had a bit of bother with a magical ring, and it eventually brought about his downfall. One thing led to another, and both he and his bit on the side, Brunhilde, were burnt together on a funeral pyre.

As with any religion, there?s always a terrible reckoning lying in wait for everyone who sins, or in some cases, merely likes a good time, and has a laugh occasionally. In Christianity, it?s Revelations, when all that stuff about Armageddon and The Rapture comes to pass. Disturbingly enough, some rather high-up folkies in the US government actually believe it?ll happen. The Vikings? They had something called Ragnarok, and it goes like this. Three little ice ages will fall upon the world, known as the Fimbulvetr (?terrible winter?), and many other signs will come to pass. Then the time will arrive and the cocks will crow. The fire giants led by Surt will then come out of Muspelheim. Naglfar, the ship made out of dead men's nails, will carry the frost giants to the battlefield, Vigrid. Motorists are warned this may lead to severe tailbacks on the M25, causing some delay to travellers to Heathrow and Gatwick Airports, and speed restrictions on the West Coast Main Line, all trains being diverted via Milton Keynes and Northampton, which will result in severe delay also.

And finally?. A nice little tale from Banbury Baggie Nigel Johnson to finish off with. Apparently, there was a St. George?s Day parade in the village where our hero lives, and being a good dad, Nige took his kids along to watch it. As the procession wended its way along the road, suddenly, one of his offspring, wearing the sacred shirt, natch, took it upon herself to start ?boinging? from her vantage-point. Quite a sight on its own, but amazingly, on seeing that, the scoutmaster in charge of his little parade contingent, and wearing full ceremonial gear to mark the occasion, promptly began doing it as well, much to the astonishment of the lads behind, and the bemusement of the audience in general. I wonder how many revolutions Lord Baden-Powell did in his grave when he finally found out?

 - Glynis Wright

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