The Diary

03 April 2006: If You Want To Avoid Terminal Albion Trauma - Look Away Now!

What a depressing weekend it?s been for we Albion supporters ? and I can?t see it getting any better. Can you? Let me put it another way. Back in the days when the world was full of some very unpleasant dictatorial regimes ? as opposed to allegedly-democratic ones, ditto ? it used to be standard operating procedure for troops tasked with the job of executing political opponents or religious minorities, to make ?em dig their own graves first. Made the thing much more self-contained, not to mention cost-effective, it did. And that, minus all the nasty blood and brains and stuff, is what we?ve effectively done to ourselves these past seven games. Dug our own graves, and nicely in time for someone else to apply the coup de grace to the back of the shin-pad, just a couple of weeks or so further down the line. Maybe less, if we don?t at least try and have a go versus Villa next weekend.

Even over the normal course of events, most Baggies would find this distressing; what makes it even worse, though, is that on paper, the side we?ve got now is about the best we?ve had in three full seasons of trying to crack this Premiership lark. In The Pole In Goal, we have one of the best custodians in the business, something that made his recent White Hart Lane lapse so inexplicable, while others, on their day, are well capable of competing with the best out there on that park.

Kanu? Greening? Robinson? Watson? Kamara? We?ve seen each one, or all of them in combination, perform to a far higher standard than we?ve seen of late. And what?s going on with Ellington? A lad who was the deadliest thing on legs for Wigan last term shouldn?t lose that ability, those silky skills, that exquisite first touch, overnight, on the back of a move to The Hawthorns, should he? Yes, I know the learning curve is particularly steep in this division, and the margins for error punishing, but there is a precedent, and one very close to home indeed. After a pretty frustrating spell with us, Wigan?s Jason Roberts is now demonstrating what he?s genuinely capable of. Other Premiership outfits, even the good ones, are somewhat wary of his predatory abilities by now. And look where The Latics currently are in the table; with a decent wind in their sails and an untroubled sea, they could even finish up in Europe. Not bad going for a side considered ?no-hopers? just nine short months ago, is it?

After being totally-outclassed by Liverpool yesterday, about the only good thing to come out of the experience was the much-awaited return of Zoltan Gera to first-team duties. It only serves to highlight the huge disparity between what the Scousers were achieving and we quite plainly weren?t, that within just two minutes of coming on at the start of the second half, he very nearly reduced the deficit to just the single goal. And, after that, threatened to give their keeper a torrid old time between the sticks most times he touched the ball. As I said yesterday, in just ten minutes, he managed to unpick Liverpool?s rearguard no less than four times, which was considerably more than either Ellington or Kanu had achieved the whole of the previous 45.

Additionally, our defending was absolutely shocking. Our Scouse friends were practically given full licence to run amok the entire game, which was why Cisse must have thought it was his birthday come early, and a gift-wrapped bottle of hair-bleach arrived Special Delivery that very same day, awaiting collection at his local Post Office, the sender being a certain Mister Benitez. The bottom-line at this level is simple; in order to properly ensure Premiership survival, you?ve got to do somewhat better than all the other strugglers. That means playing them, both home and away, and at the very least, not losing the majority of those matches. Taking valuable points off them, in other words.

When we failed dismally to do this, versus Blues, the writing was well and truly on the wall; now Pompey have undergone a last-gasp renaissance, those three points could have made all the difference. As Orwell might have put it: ?One point good, three points better?. The Premiership is not so much one great big league, more three separate ones, each as geologically-stratified as the rock layers found on so many seaside cliffs. Forget the Manchester Uniteds, The Chelskis, The Arsenals and the Liverpools of this world; expecting to blag anything worthwhile from that little lot is a distinct non-starter. Finish as near the top of our own little group as humanly possible, however, and you?ve virtually cracked it. That?s the time you try and crack on to the next level. And in that department, either during the course of the present campaign, or those that preceded it, we?ve fallen woefully short of expectations.

Touching on a related aspect of this problem, now, some supporters have been particularly scathing in their criticism of Robson?s tactics, of late - not just the once, but several times over the course of the current season. Sure, some of his more eclectic moments, both tactical and man-managerial, have had me scratching my head in total mystification at times, causing numerous sparks to fly everywhere as well, but it?s not solely down to him, surely? In Nigel Pearson, we have one of the very best coaches, both theoretical and practical, in the entire business, and headhunted by the club, I believe; surely anyone that gets to lecture both Premiership and upwardly-mobile Championship gaffers trying to get their FIFA licences wouldn?t be in the habit of getting their tactics straight off the back of a cornflake packet at breakfast time? Er ? would they? From where I?m sitting, it?s either that, or the whole crazy situation looking as though the pair of them have had a spat of Brown/Blair proportions recently.

After yesterday?s non-performance, the doubters and doom-cryers, of whom there were plenty in The Hawthorns pub prior to the game, are now shouting ?I told you so!? and very loudly, too. Up until the night of the Spurs game, in my opinion, there was the chance, albeit remote, of getting away with it ? but not any more. Thanks to a wealth of incontrovertible evidence, most of which was supplied by the Scousers just over 24 hours ago, I?m now pretty darned sure we?re dropping, just like a hanged criminal, right through the bloody trapdoor, with our spinal column snapped as cleanly as a broken twig.

This time last season, we were showing determination, grit, all pulling together, call it what you will ? grabbing at least some morsels from the tables of bigger clubs, getting the breaks. This time? Forgive me if I?m wrong in this, but I?m rapidly getting the distinct impression that no-one out there can be particularly arsed any more. Come the end of hostilities, all those having previously demonstrated aptitude for life at this level will be out of The Hawthorns faster than an erring husband caught in flagrante delicto, not to mention gimp mask and bondage trousers, with the blonde-but-well-pneumatic-with-it divorcee living over the road, at Number 24. Will that include the present management staff, I wonder? As for the rest, precisely how many will still have the stomach for the rough-and tumble of life in the lower sphere remains open to conjecture. When we do go down ? you?ll note I?ve given up the ?if word? until further notice - it?ll be very much a case of ripping up the entire current squad, and reconstructing another one virtually from scratch. Possibly, the backroom staff as well.

And that?s another possible dilemma that needs to be ventilated. The last time we went down, almost three seasons ago, despite some departures, either actual or threatened, we still managed to retain the nucleus of what we then had, then went on to head straight back up once more. This time? As my title for yesterday?s posting implied, I suspect it?s going to be an awfully long time before we get to celebrate promotion again. Would our present gaffer have the ability to get us back there again? Assuming he still wanted to stay here, of course. And the possible lack of anyone sufficiently courageous enough to say, in dulcet ?Tony Butler? tones: ?Enough?s enough ? on yer bike!?

There?s also another factor to be lumped in with this equation ? were I of the Islamic persuasion and arguing the toss over some particularly abstruse aspect of religious doctrine, I?d probably be accused of apostasy, then judicially-stoned for even hinting at this - but, hand on heart, just how many of we supporters would seriously want to endure the whole thing again? I?ll probably be struck down by lightning for even thinking about this, mind, but that?s precisely what I?m asking everyone to do, tonight. Think about it.

The astronomical ticket prices; the prevalent 'keep-the-corporate-wallahs-happy-and-sod-the-rest? mentality; the imperceptible-almost alienation of players with salaries of telephone-number dimensions from grassroots supporters; the continual bean-counter mindset (I don?t necessarily want a ?quality Premiership matchday experience? from ?the Company?, Jeremy, just the chance to watch a cracking good game, reasonably priced, most weeks!); the vast amount of money, legitimately-acquired or otherwise, that?s sloshing about at this level; a pernicious betting culture, be it gradually infiltrating at player level, or that of ordinary punters, with all the temptations such ?grey-area? activities imply; the almost incessant hype and over-hype of bog-average players projected by the media towards a height considerably in excess of their ability-ceiling; the duckers; the divers; the sleaze, either low-level or worse; the rank hypocrisy of it all ? not forgetting an increasingly-prevalent balance-sheet culture, where the genuine needs and wishes of ordinary supporters are marginalized right from the word ?go??

Looking back on it all, in some ways, I now feel very much like one of those movie-struck and very naive English war-brides, back in 1945. Promised the earth by their new husbands once they?d arrived in the US after the end of hostilities, only to find once they?d got there that home conditions were considerably worse than they?d been led to believe back in Blighty. Life, especially for those who fetched up in remote country districts, wasn?t an endless procession of fast cars, smart clothes, modern domestic gadgets, central heating during those bitter American winters, and good fresh food easily available from local stores. More of the same drudgery most had known in the UK, in fact, a sure-fire recipe for mass disillusionment. Arrival in the Promised Land genuine progress for The Baggies? Read this, think on a bit - then return and give me an honest answer.

And just to kick us all straight in the middle of the old lunchbox, metaphorically speaking, we?ve now got a 90-minute tryst with those wonderfully-cultured people from Witton to think about next Sunday lunchtime. Maybe it?s wrong, maybe it?s right, and maybe Doug Ellis really is the ? Dark Destroyer?, metaphorical or otherwise, of the fish-loving persuasion, but if our finest know what?s good for them, they won?t dare lay on the same sort of shoddy show they did yesterday. Albion supporters will stand for an awful lot of ordure flung in their general direction these days, but they?ll most certainly draw the line at seeing their side hand all three points to David O?Leary?s side on a plate. Cock that one up, chaps, and you won?t half find your ears burning come the final whistle. And that will only be the start of it.

Oh, the joys of supporting a rapidly-collapsing Premiership side! Back once more next Friday night ? and if my back?s really playing up, and I?m feeling suitably malicious, get set for even more of the same.

And Finally. I?ll leave this one exactly as Manchester Baggie chum Dave Baxendale sent it. Just cut and paste into your destination box as appropriate to establish the link below properly (don?t know how to do it directly from this column - I guess I?m just an IT dinosaur, really!). ?Saw this on Ebay. Look at the secretary?s name. And would the manager?s address ever be given out these days?? Yerrssss, Dave. Imagine what might have happened had we been given Bobby Gould?s, for example. I think we all know the answer to that one, don?t we!

http://cgi.ebay.co.uk/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=8787098501&rd=1&sspagename=STRK%3AMEWA%3AIT&rd=1

 - Glynis Wright

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