The Diary

22 December 2004: Welcome To The Albion Family, East Midlands Branch!

After Saturday?s defensive imbroglio, I didn?t think things could possibly get any worse ? but now it has. Big Dave, courageous defensive stalwart of last year?s promotion push, and former shifter of Dingles, Mister Newton especially, into the middle of next week, will be out until the New Year, at the very least. What with all the horrendous stonkings we?ve had over recent weeks, and now this, it would take a very brave Baggie indeed not to suspect that come Boxing Day, Liverpool are going to well and truly chew us up, then, having done that to their personal satisfaction, proceed to spit out the soggy bits. Just like last time, in fact!. Bearing this in mind, might it not be a bad idea were the club to get in touch with The Samaritans, and come to some sort of an agreement regarding providing counselling facilities at The Hawthorns over the coming weeks and months?

Since Saturday?s embarrassing affair, we supporters have been hurting badly, and our enthusiasm and passion for the cause plunged to an all-time low. This was epitomised by the sneaky way my other half endeavoured, last Saturday afternoon, to collect our re-framed Bob Taylor celebration picture from the framers; the problem was, his journey, on foot, took him past the Bluenose Butcher?s emporium, and it?s bad enough trying to avoid him at the best of times, never mind when you?ve got a gurt great Albion picture nestling under your right arm, and your team?s just been pretty-much annihilated by the Small Heath persuasion! Ever seen a grown man ducking and diving like crazy underneath a butcher?s shop window, to the complete astonishment of passers-by, thinking, presumably, hubby was a prime candidate for ?Care In The Community?? Precisely.

Still, what happened at St. Andrews is now water under the bridge ? it?s done, gone, history, forget it, and move on. That?s what I?m trying to tell myself, at the moment. And making a piss-poor job of it, too. Thank Heavens, then, for one faint glimmer of light piercing the Stygian darkness of what was rapidly proving to be an increasingly-gloomy tunnel, and that was our invite, The Fart, ?Im Indoors and myself, to the inaugural meeting of the East Midlands Supporters Club Branch that took place at The Snooty Fox pub just outside Ashburton, Derbyshire, earlier this evening.

As you may already be aware via this column, Dawn Astle, one of The King?s daughters, is their chairperson, and has already devoted a considerable amount of her own spare time trying to get the venture off the ground, so we were delighted to be asked along tonight to help kick things off. Not only because we needed to cover the event as fanzine editors; after Saturday?s disgrace, we needed to mull over recent Albion developments with like-minded people. And fume to our hearts content, of course.

As I?ve said many times before, Albion supporters are all part of a huge extended family, and it can only be right and proper that when things are on the skids, family members stick together, close ranks in solidarity, even. Arguments? Sure, and heated ones, sometimes, but all conducted safe in the knowledge that in the ultimate analysis, all those in the room are among good friends. There?s even a word for it in psychiatry: ?Catharsis?, it?s called, the definition of the term being: ?The purging of the effects of pent-up emotions and repressed thoughts by bringing them to the surface of consciousness?. Quite a mouthful, sure, but a perfect description for what went on tonight. There we were, among like-minded people, and the warm feeling that simple fact generates, and all talking constructively and intelligently about the thing we most love: the club.

There?s quite a bit of driving to reach The Snooty Fox, situated on the outskirts of Swadlincote, and not all that far from where Laraine Astle lives, really, about seven or eight miles, I reckon. And it doesn?t help at all that once off the motorway, much of the remaining journey takes you along ink-dark country roads, with the odd gaudily-illuminated house proving the old crimble-lights business is big in that area. Nor does the fact that having lost time because of a hold up in Birmingham city centre, we had to proceed at a pretty fair lick to make it in time for the start, either.

But, arrive we did, eventually, and leaving The Dickmobile to chunter to itself on the pub car- park for a bit, we then went in search of the action, taking place in a room adjacent to the gazebo-type erection serving as an entrance to the place, with mandatory Christmas tree all a-twinkle just inside. From there, it was the work of a moment to find the actualroom where the meeting was scheduled to take place, and no surprise whatsoever to see many well-known faces among those attending that night. The Astle family were all there, of course, including the lad who currently represents our brightest hope of seeing another of the Royal Family putting on that famous shirt, young Matthew, but minus youngest daughter Clare, who wasn?t very well at all; some kind of chest complaint, I gather, and a very nasty one too.

The most encouraging aspect of the meeting was the Main Branch presence, in the form of John Homer, toting a 1968-type Albion shirt for the occasion, and quite right, too, and Alan Cleverly, he of the eclectic headgear ? think Terry Pratchett, and you?ve got it. And, not just they; the Hayden combo, Roy and Barbara, who run Kiddy Branch between them, were there mob-handed as well. As far as the general turnout for the event was concerned, it wasn?t bad at all, considering it was a cold night, and just before Christmas also. Oh, and I had the shock of my life when I noticed John Mainwaring sitting in a corner, supping beer and having a quiet natter to his fellow-enthusiasts whilst doing so.

Who?s he? The chap that recorded the ?Astle Is King? CD the other year; he?s currently doing various gigs impersonating David Bowie, and generously provided lots of cough sweets for the use of this column prior to the Blues game this weekend. And not just that; there are now plans afoot for John to record yet another CD ? but this time, one consisting entirely of Albion-related songs. I?m given to understand that one track in particular, written by John himself, will be about young Matthew, and his noble heritage. Obviously, when I have more details, I?ll pass ?em on.

As time went on, the room filled up even more, the buzz of conversation enlivened even more by young Matthew, who, clad in a replica shirt bearing his granddad?s name and number on the back, was running around the room as fast as his little legs would take him. Funny, though; look carefully into those juvenile eyes, and what you get above all is the realisation that The King?s grandson shares not an inconsiderable amount of his forebear?s illustrious DNA, right down to his somewhat extrovert character, even at that tender age. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to see that young man emerge from the players? tunnel in about ten or so year?s time, and proudly wearing the same number shirt his granddad wore all those years ago, of course.

But that?s in the future. Drinks having been sorted out to everyone?s satisfaction, time for the meeting to kick off, as it were. Being chairperson of the Branch, it fell to Dawn to do so, and very ably, too. ?It?s what I?ve always wanted to do,? she commented by way of an opening address, ?You come back home (after an Albion game), and you might as well live in another country; no Evening Mail out here, no Express and Star, you?re cut off, unless you go on the website!? Having explained in great detail what prompted her to get the new branch off the ground, she then handed over to John Homer, who was there to explain precisely what the Supporters Club was about, what its current aims were, and also its plans for the immediate and medium-term future.

Having listened to John speaking so eloquently tonight, it was easy to see why ACAS valued his mediation services so highly. When it?s such a significant proportion of your job, acting as go-between two sets of warring factions on the shop-floor, or as intermediary between both parties involved in a vicious employment-related dispute, I suppose you tend to find emotive issues such as Albion?s precipitous decline of late, not to mention the various difficulties involved in maintaining a constructive dialogue between the parent football club and the Supporters Club (which currently has around 3,000 members on its books, by the way) a piece of the proverbial by comparison. Newly-elected to the post, pretty much, John has been spreading the word about his current mission-statement since the beginning of this season. Members of Main Branch have already heard precisely how he intends to go about his work in future, but for a good many present tonight, this was all completely new to them.

According to his speech ? which only began after profuse apologies to Dawn for omitting to get something publicising tonight?s meeting to the club! - what he was trying to achieve was the increasingly-difficult task of steering the Supporters Club as a body through the narrow channel that currently lies between reality, and the needs of the Supporters? Club membership itself. In other words, treading the fine line ?twixt heaping coals of fire from the football club and/or Jeremy Peace onto his balding pate, and looking after the best interests of Supporters Club members themselves. It?s not an easy row to hoe, by any means; that was why John?s considerable negotiating skills were so vital to the process. As John said at a previous meeting a few weeks back, the one at The Hawthorns Hotel, the ultimate aim was to show the club the Supporters Club were a responsible body, and hope they would reciprocate by facilitating such things as providing players for branch meetings, for example.

It was mostly a case of ?building bridges? again between the two bodies, getting clear lines of communication going once more. A difficult task, and a somewhat frustrating one at times, what with the club?s oft-mentioned public declaration of how marvellous our supporters were, but proving somewhat intransigent or difficult once it came to the question of asking for players to attend meetings, and so forth. But it wasn?t all gloom; John did also mention what the Supporters Club could offer in terms of benefits to members, including the recently set-up website, into which we Dick Eds have had some input, that being the ?Where Are They Now?? feature. I think John was only teasing when he added to that by commenting: ?Simon has extended this to members of the Supporters? Club!? I think the email address is philcauser@yahoo.co.uk but if I?ve got it wrong, feel free to hurl abuse in my direction the next time you see me!

All this, of course, sparked off quite a lively discussion among those present, and one that went on for quite some considerable time. Dawn then brought the meeting to a close by setting out what she intended to do regarding forthcoming meetings; already at an advanced stage were plans to make the next one a ?1968 night?, with Albion players from that era in attendance. Well, she certainly wouldn?t lack adequate connections with the likes of Graham Williams and Bomber Brown, now, would she? It was then left to young Tayler Astle to announce the date of the next meeting, 8 pm. on the 1st. of February, and, after that, for the rest of us to partake in the excellent buffet laid on for those present. Lots of sarnies, rolls, flan, pickles, to stuff down, and yum, yum - chicken legs. My mog would have loved it! Even veggies were well-catered for; I know, because Laraine actually made a point beforehand of ringing me up and asking if any of our crew were of that persuasion! Just as well she did; The Fart hasn?t touched meat for yonks.

It?s strange, really. We?d walked into that room at around 7.45 tonight feeling most cynical, bitter and twisted towards our football club than ever; already, our credibility as a Premiership outfit had plummeted to rock bottom, just like our current position in the table, and it would have to be something special to elevate our mood to a level consistent with being decent company once more. But that was before entering, and engaging in conversation with some of Albion?s most loyal and knowledgeable supporters, plus kith and kin of one of the greatest players ever to wear that blue and white shirt.

It?s the sort of thing that gives you an instant boost, a warm glow of solidarity, even; you?re among your own, once more, you?ve come home. In short, you belong. Supporters give vibrancy, colour and meaning to any football club; we?re their life-blood, and without us, The Hawthorns would be a soulless place indeed on match days. ?We Are Family? as the old song goes, and it?s as ?family? we come together, discuss our past, our present, and of course, our future, whatever that might hold for us. That?s the beauty of such gatherings; let?s hope they continue to find fertile ground, whatever division we find ourselves in next season.

And finally?.One. As it?s highly likely my other half will have this particular occurrence circulating among just about every Albion supporter in creation by this time tomorrow night, it?s high time for a teensy confession, folks! As we were about to leave the Snooty Fox after the East Midlands Branch meeting, ?Im Indoors, wanting to ?powder his nose?, as it were, chucked me the car keys and told both Tel and this column to let ourselves back into the Dickmobile. Sounded reasonable, it being such a nippy night out there, and off we trotted to the far end of the car park, tried to put the key into the lock ? only to discover the blasted thing wouldn?t go in. And then I realised why ? wrong vehicle. Oh, whoops! Trying not to blush too much, I then headed off to yet another car, swore profusely when I couldn?t locate the keyhole even, only to find?. Yep, that?s right, not once but twice, and yes, you may call me a pilchard the next time you see me, because that?s precisely what I am!

Two?. Amidst all the gloom of that shocking defeat last weekend, yesterday, thank you, Express And Star, for something that had me absolutely convulsed with laughter ? or could it have been hysteria finally finding an outlet? Whatever. The article in question told of the sorry plight of one particular inbred, who?d gone and decorated his Christmas tree with Wulves badges in lieu of coloured glass globes, and sprayed the tree itself gold and black. The best bit, though, was the fairy on top ? a depiction of Dingles gaffer Glenn Hoddle, would you believe? And, yes, before you ask, the next day, his missus cast one all-too brief glance at Chummy?s ?handiwork? ? then packed her bags at light-speed and left him, citing her former partner?s ?obsession? with the gold-and-cack as a perfectly valid reason for doing so!

Three. Still on a ?mock our local rivals? theme, heard the one about the Dingle who took his brand new scarf back to the club shop because it was too tight?

 - Glynis Wright

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