The Diary

29 August 2005: Robbo Blames The Defence; Yes, And Campbell, Say I.

I know it?s still early days, but looking at the Prem table tonight must have induced attacks of massed-hysteria up there in the land where the Tyne and the Wear patiently plod their respective age-old courses to the cold, grey North Sea. Sunderland and Newcastle, both berthed on the Prem?s bottom two rungs? Some mistake, surely? Sunderland?s plight doesn?t surprise me one little bit; since they won promotion, they?ve spent little in the way of ackers to strengthen their squad, a parlous situation made very much worse by their dodgy financial plight. Newcastle? This is what happens when you have a side with supporters who have massive expectations, year in year out. Last season, controversially, they gave Bobby Robson the elbow, and Souness the poisoned chalice instead; now, they may be reaping the whirlwind stirred up by the Robson affair.

The Mackems would have looked at all the banner headlines, back then, and understood much: talking themselves into a crisis when there wasn?t really one in evidence (if I remember rightly, the rot first set in following our FA Cup win there back in 2002), they ended up getting rid of a vastly experienced manager, then getting relegated with us the following season. The point is, it was the crushing weight of great expectation unfulfilled that did for Peter Reid, and that?s precisely what will do for Graham Souness before too long. Just you wait and see.

Remember, also, what I said about them having tremendous problems putting bums on seats these days; being more used to their supporters? constant blind loyalty to their cause, myself, when I saw recent media accounts of their inability to sell out their season-tickets this season, I was frankly disbelieving at first. But nope ? the story seems to be kosher, and one that?s being repeated throughout the majority of the Prem, by all accounts. Certainly, the black-and-white striped persuasion could quite easily make Northumbrian history repeat itself by talking themselves into similar panic-measures. Ordinarily, that wouldn?t matter, given the normal scope and fervour of United?s regular support, and the club?s reputation alone being deemed sufficient to attract quality players, but this time, for the reasons outlined above, I strongly suspect it won?t happen. According to MOTD 2, the last three managerial incumbents on Tyneside got their P45?s on the 27th, 28th, and 30th of August. Tomorrow, is the 29th, the ?missing link? if you like. Takers on Souness still being their manager come Christmas, anyone?

But back to our very own calamities, the ones generated by our fruitless encounter with Blues yesterday. Robbo was bloody furious after the game, and so was I. The more I think about what happened, the angrier I get. Why the hell was our defence about as mobile as an arthritic geriatric trying to swim through treacle? Why the hell did we keep backing off, backing off, for the first goal? Key opposition players not picked up, or only when it was too late. And the marking was absolutely shocking; for the third, so totally was the scorer, Heskey, shunned by our rearguard, you would have thought he had a personal-freshness problem of gigantic proportions. Oh, and another thing. Why wasn?t Big Dave given the managerial nod when things started to go pear-shaped for us around the middle of the first half? With him on board, the massive hole at the back would surely have been plugged very effectively indeed. Why wasn?t Kevin Campbell pulled off sooner, and the likes of Earnie given a more decent chance to make a difference instead?

I wouldn?t have minded had Blues been anything special, but they weren?t. Prior to that early first strike of theirs, we had them constantly on the rack on the left, and had the tide not turned against us so dramatically, I suspect our opening goal would have been but a matter of time. Buckling at the knees? Too true they were. Even when we fell two behind, they still looked vulnerable to a judiciously-applied bit of goalmouth pressure; had Earnie or The Duke been introduced to the party while there still remained sufficient time for their efforts to do some good, I reckon Blues might well have collapsed like a house of cards. Yesterday really was one of those games where we should have won in a walk, and yet somehow found ourselves trudging off the pitch dejectedly at the end of the full 90 minutes instead. I sincerely hope it doesn?t happen again.

Returning to the vexed subject of our strikers once more, I find it surprising that some have ventured to criticise Earnie and The Duke regarding what happened yesterday. The bottom line is that they were both brought on too late. Remember, also, that this was Ellington?s first experience of ?proper? Premier League football; hell, it took some of our more established players months before they finally adapted last season, so why expect someone virginal (ooer!) to take to the upgrade like a duck to water?

As someone near me muttered yesterday: ?He bay gorra bluddy clue abart things!? Well, ?things? have to be learned, the hard way, sometimes. Earnie? Well, he too was late, far too late, in my opinion, but of him I had higher expectations this term. That chance he had just before the end, the one he blazed over the bar ? it really is about time he learned that the Prem is a most unforgiving competition. Even when playing sides like Blues, at this level, you?re doing well as a striker if the amount of chances that fall at your feet during a game exceed the numbers of fingers on your hand. Earnie will have to start putting away some of those chances, and soon. ?Nuff said.

The moment I?d heard reports of the multitudinous calamities of ?Calamity? James, the more the feeling grew that Sven would be wanting to include the lad Kirkland in his plans for the World Cup destruction of both Wales and Northern Ireland, both next Saturday and a week on Wednesday ? and, lo and behold, it?s happened! Fantastic news for the lad, of course, but worrying in some ways; doesn?t that speak volumes about the paucity of genuine English goalkeeping talent available at top-level? Apparently, Sven would have liked to use the lad last season, but injury when with the Scousers intervened.

If his outstanding performance versus Man City was anything to go by, then that call-up was long overdue; some of those saves that brought him the man of the match award were truly astonishing. Does he, unlike the rest of the human race, have cat-like spinal reflexes, or something? And, there?s another Albion connection with the squad that?s just been named: well done Kieran Richardson, who also got the nod, despite having been only on the fringes of the United first-team thus far. I suppose that the England ?feather in his cap? will merely serve to put the lad even further out of our reach than he was before. A shame, that, as I genuinely would have liked to see him wearing the sacred shirt on a more permanent basis in the near future.

This afternoon saw the pair of us put the cares and woes of the Premiership firmly behind us with an outing to Baggeridge Country Park near Dudley. The first time I?d ever visited the place; apparently, the site had been a working colliery just 35 years ago, the last coal leaving the pit in 1968. It?s wonderful how one generation?s pollution can be another?s recreation. A bit like the Norfolk Broads, once mediaeval peat-bogs, now a haven for wildlife and small craft. Just thank Mother Nature, who, since the departure of the nasty men with shovels and excavators, has performed such an efficient makeover job on the varying flora and fauna inhabiting the area. A bite to eat and a gentle stroll; what could be better? And, on the grassland, lots of families picnicking - and playing cricket, also. Not surprising, given the amount of coverage the England side have had versus Australia ? well done also our bat-and-ball lovin? counterparts for whopping Australia courtesy that nail-biting finish to the Trent Bridge proceedings this evening. Loved it.

Tomorrow, it?s off to Tamworth we go, for their Conference tryst with Hereford United, who, to the fury of my other half, lost last Saturday. A chance to have a butcher?s at Bob Taylor, now leading the East Midlands side?s attack, of course. After that, it?s over to Laraine Astle?s place, for a (very protracted, no doubt!) chinwag concerning Life, The Universe And Everything.

And Finally?. Some more stuff culled from the dark mists of time. Cor, they didn?t half have funny ideas about entertainment in 1920! According to the local rag, the council were toying with the idea of holding a ?Rat Week? (no, you couldn?t make it up!). The purpose wasn?t to undermine the efforts of their own workers in exterminating the little blighters, but to highlight what a nuisance they could be to the health of the borough.

A few more stories that show there?s nothing new under the sun; there was a tornado in Tipton, of all places, which took tiles off roofs and broke windows, officials were complaining about the ?physical degeneracy of our youth?, what would now be termed ?antisocial behaviour? - lads constantly running riot in the Public Library Reading Room (tell me again how well-behaved kids were back then?) ? and, just to keep the old morals safe in the face of such degeneracy, there was a long-running serial, entitled ?The Grip Of Sin?! Scanning through the weekly progress of the plot, I quickly gained the impression that the female author wouldn?t know genuine ?sin? even if it came up and biffed her on the face on a dark night.

And our favourite football club were advertising. No, not for a rat, or a set of them, come to think about it; just that they were ?prepared to permit the tipping of dry ashes or dry soil on excavations at The Hawthorns?. I wonder if that was the source of the contamination the club reported when the Rainbow Stand was demolished to make way for its East Stand successor? And, talking of small ads, there was even one from one of our keepers in there. Harold Pearson, to be precise; he was looking for a house ?on the main road? with a rent of a pound a week (?40 now; bloody cheap at the price, by our hyper-inflated housing standards), and was offering ?20 (?800) deposit for the privilege of moving in quickly.

And the deaths, my dear, the deaths??. What with medical science being in its infancy, a lot of people were meeting their Maker far earlier than they would today. In fact, the Chronicle thought the survival of local people into their eighties sufficiently newsworthy to justify a couple or so column inches marking the event. At one end of the spectrum, there was the case of a 35 day-old baby ?overlaid? ? i.e. suddenly found dead, usually after sleeping in its mother?s bed. These days, the authorities would probably call the tragedy a ?cot death? and be done with it, but events of this sort were relatively common back then, what with housing shortages, overcrowding, and everything. I doubt if many of her peers would have been uncharitable enough to condemn the poor lady concerned. At the other was a 75 year-old, who snuffed it from what was described as ?a seizure?. That term covers a multitude of medical sins ? epilepsy, a coronary, a stroke are but a few that spring to mind ? but the coroner didn?t see fit to make any further inquiries, it would appear.

Life came very cheap indeed, sometimes, and none cheaper than that of a 35 year-old bloke, found in his factory with a fracture to the base of the skull, and torn clothing. Apparently, this had somehow got caught in the flywheel of what was described as a ?gas engine? and the victim dragged in, hence the head injury. The circumstances suggest to me that there were inadequate guards fitted; when the poor sod was actually found, the engine was still running. And what about the 14 year-old lad described as a ?labourer?? (That was the school-leaving age, back then.) Apparently, after work, he?d gone to bed complaining of back trouble; the next morning, he was found dead. And no, I never saw a satisfactory explanation for that one either.

Even those living in Dingle-land did so in the shadow of The Grim Reaper. One edition reported the collapse of a billiard hall in Wolverhampton town centre, killing two and injuring many more. Other notable West Bromwich demises were those of a 52 year-old woman, who was burned to death. How come? Her shawl ? most women wore the things over their heads in those days, in a similar way to the shalwar kameez Muslims wear now ? caught fire while she was cooking. She was rescued and taken to hospital, but succumbed ten days later to what was called ?blood poisoning? back then. No antibiotics then, of course, and none of the highly-skilled care now deemed necessary for such patients; because of that, the outcomes of severe burns cases in those days really were in the lap of the gods.

The most tragic death of all had to be that of a 51 year-old male, found with his throat cut. Not unnaturally, the coroner recorded a verdict of ?suicide?, but it was the background to the event that made me sit up and notice. Apparently, the chap had served throughout the whole of the recent war, and had even stayed on to assist burying the dead in what are now War Graves, of course. The stress and strain of both trench warfare and doing what was, quite frankly, a horrible job, must have finally tipped him over the edge; he was found not long after he?d been discharged from the Army.

One curious tailpiece to one of the Chronicle?s editions; The West Bromwich Board Of Guardians were complaining about ?The Increased Cost Of Lunatics? Don?t tell me about it; one lunatic in particular cost us a 1991 relegation to the Third Division!

 - Glynis Wright

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