The Diary

24 August 2006: Shock Headline - 'London Bus Found On Moon'? Nope - 'Koumas Signs 3-Year Albion Deal'!

Welcome, fellow Baggies, to me pre-Orient number, and one to which I?ve already had to make drastic changes, in the light of: 1) Jason Koumas?s shock signing of a three-year contract with the club ? a lasting peace treaty signed between Hizbollah and Israel would have come far more likely in my book, to be perfectly honest: 2) The news last night that Kevin Phillips had come to us, and not Sunderland, as was widely expected, and: 3) I brought far more back from Edgar Street last night than I?d bargained for ? this morning, I woke up with some sort of sniffing and sneezing lurgi, and its only now I?ve felt in any way inclined to put finger to keyboard.

Chuckle-making defeats for the Dingles apart, the transfer deadline still draweth nearer, and as it does, what I?m left with are a plethora of uncomfortable thoughts first conceived as the result of a pre-Sunday lunch conversation conducted with my other half in between consumption of our first course ? pate, toast and garnish for him, melon fan with an orange and ginger marmalade and garnish of assorted berries for me - and making the short journey to the carvery counter preparatory to filling our Baggie boots for the second round.

Basically, the discussion centred on how below-par some normally-reliable performers when wearing the stripes were last Saturday afternoon. Chaps like Zoltan Gera, for instance, whose contribution to the full 90 minutes fell somewhat short of what we?ve come to expect of him these days. Then there?s Curtis Davis and Paul Robinson, who both seemed to lack their customary matchday sparkle. Could it be that amidst all the fury and moral indignation we supporters are heaping upon management for not getting in reinforcements as quickly as we would have liked, we?re neglecting what might well turn out to be a far more serious threat to our chances of regaining our top-flight status ? the possible imminent sale of what amounts to the Albion ?family silver? to one or more of the Premiership clubs currently believed to have expressed an interest in any quick sale?

Let?s face it, we?re not all footballing naiifs, we supporters: the constant heavy burden of life?s realities, financial or otherwise, serves to act as quite a deterrent to any such airy-fairy ideas, thank you very much. That?s why it?s generally taken for granted by most of us that one of the first indications of a player (or several) wanting to move to more lucrative climes is a distinct cooling of interest and/or enthusiasm regarding what?s taking place on the field of play.

Don?t get me wrong here: not being privy to such news at all, I have about as much idea as you lot out there as to how our first-team squad is going to pan out in the weeks and months to come. It?s just that coming straight off the back of the Colchester game, where some of our finest turned in performances considered by some to be their poorest in a long, long time, and right in the middle of the transfer window as well, you really do start to speculate as to whether or not their minds are fully on the job in hand. Expect some answers much nearer the deadline, of course.

Poor Cyrille. The cat, I mean. Great wailings and gnashings of feline teeth on Monday evening when we took him to the vet for his post-op check up. As anticipated, he?s recovered from the surgery to his mouth in fine style ? the evening after the op, after I brought him home again, but instead of slinking into a quiet corner nursing his poorly dinner-manglers, he piled into the other cats? food instead, much to their furry fury ? so now we?ve established he?s back to his normal feline self, all that remains is to ensure he carries on putting on weight. And keeps away from the other cats? scoff while he?s at it ? he?s supposed to be on a special diet.

After yet another ?gulp? at the size of the bill and a quick drive home to drop Kitty off, it was off to The Hawthorns for the second time in 48 hours, to take in a reserve game versus Huddersfield. This season, the goalposts have changed considerably for our second-string; in days of yore, relegation from the top flight didn?t affect our membership of the Premiership Reserve League one iota, unless another side falling within the bounds of the league?s Northern region got promoted to the Prem proper instead that same season, but now, things have changed a tad. Relegation from the Prem proper now means automatic relegation from the Prem Reserve League for the second-string, which is why we found ourselves facing Huddersfield Town Reserves in a Pontins? Regional League game last night. (And that?s not all; the recent sea-change in the way things are organised at that level now means that for the first time in a very long time ? if not ever, but I?m sure Steve The Miser will quickly put me right on that score ? we?ll be squaring up to Walsall in the same league this term).

Thanks to our newly-toothless mog being dealt with promptly by the nasty vet-man, we were able to get to the ground with oodles of time to spare before kick-off. Nice, too, to park up on the pristine facility newly constructed at the rear of the Tom Silk Building. Lots and lots of lovely Tarmac there, which, you?ll agree, is a vast improvement upon the pot-holed and cracked abomination calling itself a car-park last term. All tied in with the newly-constructed (and nearly ready to do business of an educational nature for the first time ever this coming September) secondary school dominating the rear, of course.

It being a comparatively-long time since we?d last taken the trouble to watch the stiffs in action (the reason we?d stopped going was because of the insomnia-curing tactics employed by the coaching staff, which, when conducted in conjunction with a bunch of embittered old pros who didn?t really want to know, really put a dampener on the entire 90 minutes-worth), long and hard perusal of the team-sheet was called for. Filling the ranks were a bunch of young kids, basically, with none other than Juanichi Inamoto constituting the exception that goes and proves the rule. Just what was he doing there? To get some much-needed match practice, after contracting a bad case of bum-splinters through repeated occupancy of the subs? bench, or because of some falling-out or another with the hierarchy? You really did have to wonder.

Mind you, having expected to see more of the apathy-inducing fare that prevailed last season, we didn?t half get a jolt to the system in the first minute of the game. Quite unexpectedly, and before some had taken their seats, even, Albion?s Stuart Nicholson put us one ahead, with a superbly-taken strike: the confidence, bordering on arrogance, some might say, with which he received the ball, took it on past the defender, then belted it for all it was worth past the advancing Huddersfield keeper was wondrous to behold. Truly a strike that demonstrated beyond doubt the lad?s footballing maturity to be way beyond his chronological age.

About seven minutes or so before the break, Huddersfield equalised courtesy of a well-placed shot from about 12 yards out, but the drama of the occasion hadn?t breathed its last, by any means. Just two or three minutes later, a horrible rising Huddersfield effort was fingertipped over ? and I really do mean that in the strictest sense of the phrase ? by our keeper for a well-earned corner. Cue for Steve The Miser to make his excuses and leave by the nearest exit. Had enough of what he?d seen? Not a bit of it: his cricketing sprog, David, was participating in a coaching session taking place at nearby West Bromwich Dartmouth Cricket Club, and the game-plan was to grab son and heir once he?d changed, then return to the Hawthorns nicely in time for the second half!

During the break, I managed to twig yet another serious anomaly making a stark contrast to our normal reserve-watching routine ? the distinct lack of what had been very familiar faces indeed at such events. Think back to the time prior to our inaugural top-flight promotion: back then, you?d have seen a small crowd of we ?regulars?(nothing to do with the state, healthy or otherwise, of our bowels, me ducks; just the sheer number and level of Albion games watched per season) none of whom had less than twenty years of serious Albion involvement under their belt; in fact, I reckon it can be safely assumed that when added up, the aggregate number of years supporting the club amassed among our little group would have run well into the three-hundreds.

So, where are you, Fab, Anc, and all your other noisy chums, these days? Perhaps you?ve travelled down the same road as another former fanatic I spoke to on the phone just the other day ? totally brassed off with the monetarist mentality that prevails at the club these days, a gut feeling shared in tandem with that of OTT stewarding in either home end now being more reminiscent of that in operation during early Hitler rallies? What proved to be the final straw for my chum occurred during the last Man United home game, when stewards were coming on very strong indeed with chorally-inclined Baggies for standing up ? while, in the away end adjacent to where the grief was being dished out in large lumps, their visiting Manc counterparts were allowed to stand without any semblance of let or hindrance. That?s when the lad, a former career soldier, and not normally given to indulging in law-breaking activities, finally decided the whole thing was more trouble than it was worth ? and it?s not all that difficult to see where he was coming from, either.

But back to the narrative. Come the second half, Albion had a subbing to make. Off came Stuart Nicholson, and on came the new boy, Nardiello, hot-foot down the M6 from Liverpool. And, once the referee had got things underway once more, Albion didn?t let the grass grow under their feet: within a minute of the restart, they had the ball in the back of the net again. Sissoko was the lad that did the damage that time, and from what might be described as a classic ?Tony Brown goal? ? superbly controlled, superbly driven and placed, giving their keeper no chance whatsoever of retrieving the situation.

And that looked to be that ? but this is Albion, remember? No sooner had the opposition got the game under way once more, we managed to concede a penalty! Huddersfield had chucked themselves an over-large life-line, and a halving of the lead looked certain. Wrong! Our keeper, bless his oversize gloves, went into full-length ?dive? mode, and actually saved the blasted thing. Incredible ? and, all the while, Steve and offspring were still absent from the scene of the crime! I mooted the possibility that he?d been kidnapped by space-aliens lurking in the vicinity of the Brummie Road, but thinking on a little, finally came to the conclusion he?d been unavoidably detained through trying to prise off the pavement a ?5 note stuck down with super-glue!

But it wasn?t over yet. No sooner had Albion kept their lead pristine with the save, off play caromed to the other end, with Sissoko nearly making it three; what stopped him doing so was the fact the lad hit the ball a tad too soon, hitting the post instead of the back of the net. Albion did eventually make it three, however. With twelve minutes gone, Rob Elvins was put clear by the ambitious ? and wannabe-upwardly-mobile ? Nardiello, whose precision pass completely split the Huddersfield rearguard asunder, and made comparatively easy the former?s task of sending the ball home to its mum.

Finally, with almost 25 minutes gone, we were honoured by Steve and young David?s presence alongside us. Apparently, things had overran a tidge, hence the delay. I also discovered that despite his tender years, young David was about as mean a performer with bat and ball as his dad was with money, and had a promising cricketing future in prospect. Oh ? and when he heard about what had transpired in his absence, Steve couldn?t quite believe it either. Perhaps his wits had deserted him or something, but he never once demanded his money back on account of missing most of the action ? or are the cares of incipient old-age gradually creeping in, I wonder?

And that, dear readers, was the final score. Turning on the car radio on our way back home, the featured game happened to be the Accrington Stanley-Forest home League Cup thrash ? and no sooner had we mentally registered what the game was, blow me down dead, Stanley managed to score. As were to learn from our TV just five minutes later, the ball had taken a massive deflection on its way past the keeper, which meant the poor Forest keeper didn?t stand an earthly of stopping it. From then on in, it was a case of ?all hands to the pump? for Stanley in order to prevent Forest trying to force extra time, but the home side still managed to weather out the storm and emerge the winner not long afterwards.

That win of Stanley?s was pretty impressive, sure ? but little did I know, that within around 24 hours of watching the final minutes of that game on the box, I?d see a victory far more emphatic; in fact, were it possible to measure ?degrees of embarrassment? in scientific fashion, then I?d say the Hereford-Coventry League Cup tie would have driven the pointer right off the scale!

Our early-evening journey down the twisty windy road that leads from Worcester to Edgar Street was made far more palatable by playing Steeleye Span CDs the whole journey through. We don?t know why it is, but Steeleye Span and Hereford seem to go together like salt and pepper, thunder and lightning ? or, if you want a decent Albion slant on it, Jeff Astle and Bomber Brown. Because of being slowed down by that perennial harvest-time hazard, the common or garden hay-laden farm tractor, we were slightly late getting there, but still well in time for the ?off?. Just as well, really ? as Hereford managed to score right from the kick-off, near enough!

What made the strike all the more remarkable (and unexpected!) was the fact that Coventry had elected to put out their ?proper? side, which included such veteran stalwarts as Adebola and Stern John, for this one. Clearly they had intended taking the game seriously ? which was the last thing we did, both of us chortling merrily at their discomfiture as they trotted back to the centre-circle, tails well and truly between their sky-blue legs. The goal came about because of a defensive howler of massive proportions by City, when a hopeful Hereford punt up field was totally-misread by City?s Ward, the bladder bouncing right over his shoulders and straight to the grateful feet of Bulls hat-trick hero Stuart Fleetwood, who then left the remainder of City?s rearguard for dead. It doesn?t help, either, if your defence insists upon backing off all the while, thereby making Fleetwood?s scoring task all the more easy. Yep, it was a really good night for the old ?Schadenfreude glands?, was Tuesday, and rapidly shaping up to become even better still!

From then on in, The Bulls, giving City a torrid time, really lived up well to the attacking and goalscoring credo first established back in 1972 with that famous Ronnie Radford goal of theirs against then-high-flying Newcastle. At first, the visitors? response to the mortal insult inflicted upon their reputation consisted of Route One in its entirety ? which got them absolutely nowhere ? so with 15 minutes gone, they then tried Plan B, passing and movement. Had they stuck to that from then on, they would have probably got the game back in their favour, especially considering that whilst employing such tactics, they virtually passed the Bulls to death, got to within reasonable striking-distance as a result, then hit the post. Truly, the Edgar Street lot?s defence had creaked mightily ? which is why it came as such a mystery to me they didn?t persist with such tactics, reverting instead to more ham-fisted methods.

Much to Coventry?s discomfiture, it could have been a while lot more in the back of their net, that trauma-ridden first half. Not only did the Bulls have the ball in the net again ? ruled out for offside ? on at least two subsequent occasions, and within the space of about five minutes, too, Fleetwood could have quite easily worked his magic again, had the final effort not been narrowly off-target.

After the break, and The Ceremony Of The Chomping Of The Mints with our Bulls-lovin? counterparts ? this is fast developing into one of those daft matchday superstitions footie supporters everywhere delight in, by the way ? off we started again, only for The Bulls to nearly blow it in similar fashion to Coventry at the very start of the game. It was just as well for the League newbie upstarts that Coventry really were incapable of hitting a barn door, and missed by a country mile instead. That aberration aside, the second half really was ?all Bull?, as the home side built up yet another head of steam with a series of corners that truly had the City defence rocking. You could tell the excitement was getting to some of the main stand?s more venerable members by the fact that even such common items as travel rugs and Thermoses were being waved enthusiastically by them.

The only thing that surprised me at that point was the sheer length of time it took for The Bulls to finally double their lead. All of ten minutes, in fact, their second strike coming from a bit of defensive ?After you, Marshall ? no, after YOU, Whing?.? from the now-panic-stricken visitors. Once more, it was that man Fleetwood nipping in to take advantage of the confusion, giving rise to an immediate chorus of ?Championship ? you?re havin? a larf!? from the home stand.

Two minutes later, City managed to grab an unexpected goal, courtesy Adebola?s sheer bulk, which could have put quite a different complexion on the game, of course ? but once more, it was an eternal mystery to me why City never really sought to capitalise on this unscripted piece of good fortune. The Bulls simply responded with more of the same instead, and just five minutes after the visitors had pulled one back, Fleetwood had got his rightful rewards for such a good night?s work ? a much-deserved hat-trick, the lad once more leaving the City defence literally wondering what happened before putting the ball away in fine style once more. Oh, whoops. Not for the first time that night, I seriously speculated as to whether they?d taken suicide pills prior to kick-off.

The visitors did try to remedy the situation, ?tis true, on one occasion making the Bulls keeper perform a full-length fingertip save, the high standard of which would probably have earned applause from Gordon Banks, had he seen it, but City?s doom was upon them, now ? and they knew it. As for their crowded away end, total silence, highly-reminiscent of an active volcano about to go up in an explosion of Krakatoa proportions, in fact. I really did wonder by that time as to whether they were quietly organising the manufacture of brown paper bags with eyehole-slits cut out in order to face the considerable trauma of having to show their faces in the city the following day.

As for this Baggie, pre-knowledge of Kevin Phillips signing for us (it was The Noise that told us on our way back from the game, by the way), I was by then left wondering whether Albion?s scouts were watching Fleetwood?s remarkable performance, and making copious notes while they were at it. (In fact I was to discover today that there had been representatives of most League clubs at last night?s game, which really does beg the question of just how long The Bulls can resist the financial temptation of off-loading his talented services onto some other, much more opulent, outfit?).

Back to the game, now ? and with three in the net by that stage, and City?s own attack getting absolutely nowhere every time they tried to get past former Baggie Tam Mkandawire, you could see the visitors wilt visibly. Most sides would have ?throttled back? by then, secure in the certain knowledge mortal damage had been done ? but not The Bulls. Instead, they cheekily tried for more ? and given a little more luck, and a following wind, they might well have made City?s humiliation all the more telling. Particularly notable was one audacious back-heeled attempt from Hereford?s Rose, from point-blank range, and giving the City keeper much food for thought in the execution of it. All in all, the visitors must have been mighty glad to hear that final whistle go, I reckon.

With the attrition-rate from both yesterday?s and tonight?s string of League Cup fixtures closely resembling, in style, if not substance, that of one of the First World War?s more fraught trench encounters, I?m now left seriously wondering as to whether we?ll get past our own forthcoming live TV encounter with Orient tomorrow night. Certainly, the additional fixture load wouldn?t be all that welcome to our gaffer, promotion being first in his list of priorities, I suspect, but on the other hand, should we make further progress in the competition, further live coverage wouldn?t do our finances much harm either, I daresay.

And that leaves us with the proverbial $64,000-dollar question, once more. Just what will tomorrow?s side look like, I wonder? Will new signing Kevin Philips get the managerial nod, and will the seemingly now-repentant Jason Koumas wiggle his way back into the family-fold also? To be perfectly honest, when I heard both news items, I first of all genuinely wondered as to just what was going on back on Planet Sunderland. Strange that former Mackems favourite Philips had elected to come to us, and not back to his former club. Befoee the news broke, I?d have regarded that a slam-dunk certainty. Could that be indicative of the fact that The Mackems might well have considerably more internal problems on their plate than currently meets the eye, I wonder?

As for the Jason Koumas caper, and that three-year commitment to the club, about as unexpected and startling as a clap of thunder right in the middle of a scorchingly-sunny day, I reckon the last time there was head-scratching of such massive proportions was way back in 1941, when Adolf Hitler totally and unexpectedly reneged on his 1939 non-aggression pact with Joe Stalin to invade Russia instead. Just what the hell is going on? With Bryan Robson, I mean, not Hitler.

Harking back to the distant days when I had managerial responsibilities of my own, the last thing I would have ever done or wanted was give someone who?d displayed such clear contempt for his own team-mates any sort of second chance. The last thing you want in any sort of fraught situation is someone quietly nursing a grievance with management ? I?m now left wondering as to how the remainder of our first team feel regarding this sudden about-face from Jason? On the surface of things, it doesn?t do a lot for team-discipline, does it?

Unless there exist secondary considerations of which we supporters know nothing ? some sort of off-the pitch family trauma badly affecting the issue, for example ? it simply is not done to allow someone to undermine a manager?s authority in such cavalier fashion, now, is it? Think back to your own place of work, and any parallel situation that might have arisen: correct me if I?m wrong, but a quicker recipe for outright dismissal and/or scathing criticism from one?s peers, I can?t really imagine.

Or, even more to the point in Phillips?s case, the likely reaction during Sunday?s game versus The Mackems, who are likely to be stinging badly following League Cup defeat by Bury. Just like the prodigal Jason, I can only hope he?s got a thick skin, that?s all. Perhaps I?ll be able to make far more sense of things after tomorrow?s Cup-tie, eh? We?ll be watching courtesy the modern miracle of satellite TV, but The Fart will be travelling down there, so I can expect a full and frank account of what happened after the final whistle. Much will rest tomorrow on precisely how seriously our manager is taking the competition, of course; from what I?ve heard and seen of many of last night and tonight?s ties, not every Championship club has bothered to put out a first choice selection. Which way will we jump, I wonder?

Perusal of the Albion site indicates Kevin Phillips travelled with the first-string to Brisbane Road this afternoon, so that would suggest he?ll likely feature tomorrow night: others seem to indicate keeper Zoobie will be rested for this one, giving Luke Steele his chance to rise and shine instead. Robson might also take the opportunity of giving more of our regular performers time off tomorrow night, so the result could go either way, really. As for Our Jase, it might well be a chronic lack of match fitness ? whose fault is that, I ask myself? ? will rule him out for this one. Stupid boy.

And finally?.. Even though I was racked by a stinking cold tonight, I could still find ample time to exercise my schadenfreude glands via that deliciously-wonderful penalty win of Chesterfield?s versus our Molineux chums. According to Sky?s version of events, come the end of extra time, and the scoreline still pristine, it would have taken a crowbar to separate either club ? and even the taking of the first five spot-kicks still proved inconclusive, so it was then down to sudden-death. (One other vagrant thought ? why the hell Sky couldn?t have shown those penalties actually being taken by that time is a complete and utter mystery to me. Surely any residual issues about such exposure affecting the gate would have been made totally redundant by then?)

Great mirth all round in the Wright household, though, when it transpired that they?d blown their own response to Chesterfield?s successful sixth strike, and by doing so becoming the twelfth Championship club to fall at the first hurdle, so it was the North Derbyshire club that went through, finally, and not the Dingles. Oh ? one other thing. The actual game took place amidst an almighty downpour that left visible puddles remaining on the pitch come the end ? or was that simply down to the visitors not being strictly familiar with modern sanitary-ware and/or elementary hygiene, one wonders? - so I?ll leave it to the imagination what conditions must have been like inside that open away terrace come that late stage of the proceedings!

 - Glynis Wright

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