The Diary

22 October 2006: 'In Remembrance Of Dingles Games Past', Sincere Apologies To Proust, Of Course!

Oh, brother. It?s a bit like suddenly discovering that the horrible disease you thought had been cured, sorted for good, has suddenly made an unwelcome reappearance, isn?t it? By that, I mean the imminent return to the Hawthorns of what has to be legalised mass-antisocial behaviour, by anyone?s lights, those bloody Dingles. Since the last time we played them, back in 2001, the intervening years have been very much an idyll by comparison, but the Sabbath will once more see their unwholesome (and unwashed, no doubt), return to the Smethwick End. Ugh.

To be perfectly honest with you lot, if someone declared, tomorrow, that we?d never again have to put up with their unwholesome ways ever again, I?d cheer my bloody head off. There are some things you really don?t want at my time of life, and they are one of them. A Sunday fixture, an early kick-off, to deter the more bibulous among their kind, no doubt, but then again, when it is your wont to drink industrial-grade meths on a regular basis, then get off your head on solvents strong enough to rot a stainless-steel sink afterwards, I don?t suppose the early start will make the slightest difference to their destructive ways for one minute.

Mind you, I certainly have some memories of Albion-Dingles encounters long since gone, some good, some awful, some just plain funny, and some just plain daft, stick ?em all into what category you will. Back in 1967, I just loved the Bomber Brown ?goal that wasn?t?, where Bomber got a penalty, and the ref was the only one among the 52,438 crowd at Molineux to have seen the offence that led to the award of it. Human nature being what it is, Wulves keeper Phil Parkes protested furiously at this gross miscarriage of justice, so the ref sent him for an early bath for his pains, poor lad. Priceless.

Less savoury was the time the Dingles came to our place, around the 1971 mark, as I recall. This was a game they were to win 4-2, with our brace grabbed by McVitie and Brown, and in those less-than-racially-tolerant times, our Wulves chums had a nasty little trademark chant when dealing with us: ?Zigger, Zagger Zigger ? Astle Is A N****r? Yes, we can look at that Dingle ditty with complete horror etched on our faces in this vastly more enlightened day and age, and think ?How awful??, but you do have to put this into true context. It wasn?t so long before that local Conservatives were telling potential voters in a mid-sixties Smethwick by-election: ?If you want a n****r for a neighbour, vote Labour?? (something their leadership never quite publicly condemned outright, if I remember correctly) and Enoch Powell ? a Wolverhampton MP at the time - completely stunned the world of politics with that inflammatory ?Rivers Of Blood? speech of his back in 1968. Oh ? and there was also The Black And White Minstrel Show, blacked up white singers trying to make like Deep South songsters, until killed off through sheer embarrassment later in the 70?s. Perhaps it?s better all round not to excavate from long-term memory dire stuff like ?Love Thy Neighbour? as well, what?

Moving further on still, I recall us whopping them out of sight in a fog-shrouded Molineux in the late 70?s, then, a long Dingle-free existence when they were relegated in the early 80?s, rattling down the divisions like a marble in a pinball machine, and almost going bust in the process. The long road back for them, of course over the remainder of the decade, then the nineties: that wonderful Darren Bradley piledriver of 1993-94 will live long in the memory, as will Keith Curle?s embarrassing Hawthorns lapse just a few seasons later, neatly turning the ball into his own net from way out, thereby giving rise to the delicious Brummie Road chant, whenever we played them afterwards that, ?Keith Curle Is An Albion Fan??

And, of course, who can forget the time we played them at their place (the very last time we played them in the League, actually), during our first promotion season, when there was an almighty fracas on the pitch when things got a little fraught, emotionally, after they?d conceded, thanks to the goalscoring efforts of a certain Jordao. In came just about every Dingle in sight, ready to get stuck into our lot, one of their number being a certain Shaun Newton, who chose that particular time to make one of the biggest miscalculations of his entire career. Charging into Big Dave at full tilt, that is. Well, his name being ?Newton?, he certainly illustrated beautifully one of the laws of gravity his 17th century counterpart so famously discovered, serial apple-munching optional. Number Three, in fact: ?To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction?. Too bloody true, blue ? Newton never knew what hit him.

Remember those old cartoon films ? Popeye will do ? where the little guy with the sailor-suit and pipe tries to mix it with massive arch-enemy Bluto, but bounces right off him the minute he tries, thereby making our hero resort to a clandestine heavy-duty spinach-fix in order to get his revenge? Well, that was the lad Newton, to a tee, but minus the spinach ? and what?s more, although Newton cannoned straight off Big Dave, ending up five or six yards away and on the deck as a result of his mismatched exertions, I don?t think Big Dave?s hair (or body!) was even slightly mussed. A bit like the scene in King Kong where all those puny biplanes try firing at the big ape, but every single one of their ?lead injections? bouncing harmlessly off Kong?s body instead.

What I don?t want to see, though, is a repetition of the awful stuff-up the police made the night we played them at our place, midweek, the score ending with honours shared 1-1. In my opinion, the plods were bloody lucky not to end the night with someone seriously injured, or worse ? and the real irony is that our brain-dead neighbours had nothing whatsoever to do with what happened that night. The problems started before the game had kicked off, even, well before, in fact. For whatever reason, the police cast a human ring around the ground, effectively putting the Hawthorns inside a 400-yard ?exclusion zone?, then proceeded to police it far too enthusiastically. This meant that even people in possession of valid match tickets were being turned away as they got off the Metro, one ?sufferer? in particular being a disabled chum of my sister, who was accompanied by a helper. They too were told they couldn?t proceed, despite being ?legit?, and despite turning up well in good time, too. Then being threatened with arrest when they complained. They weren?t on their own; while in the process of writing up a fanzine article based upon the numerous complaints I received following my diary piece on that subject that same night, more and more came to light.

But it was after the final whistle they really excelled themselves. Keeping supporters of either persuasion in after the final whistle is a police tactic long-since discredited (because of various legal issues arising from detaining people in this fashion: effectively, it?s ?unlawful imprisonment?), so what did The West Midland finest do? Kept one lot of supporters back ? but not the Dingles. Instead, they threw that ?human ring? around the ground again, and stopped the HOME crowd from going about their merry way. This meant that by the time we left the ground, there was a pretty dense mass of people backed up in Halfords Lane, and no way for the ones stuck at the front to get out.

Naturally, as the crush from behind got worse, so did the number of complainants at the front rise. This included women and kids, who were having respiratory difficulties because of the crush. So what did the plods do? Threatened the loudest complainants with arrest, and in the case of one female in particular, I later heard that she?d actually been struck with a baton. As things were, although we were relative latecomers to this almighty policing balls-up, I found great difficulty keeping my balance, owing to the sheer weight of numbers pressing from behind, and at one point, I seriously thought I?d lose my balance, and end up getting trampled on or crushed. My walking or balancing ability isn?t of the best at any time, but what those idiots did that night nearly did for me as well.

As I said, we did make noises in all directions afterwards, but you might have well talked to the wall as talk to the people in charge that night. The Fart did attend a meeting with the plods a few weeks later, but their party line was that the threat of trouble made such tactics justifiable, no matter what, and they couldn?t (or wouldn?t) see that far from being a black-and-white sort of issue there were many grey areas surrounding the whole thing. Personally, I suspect that whoever devised their tactics based them upon one of those bright ideas that Police Staff College delegates devise purely to get brownie points from the teaching staff, and with about as much common-sense application as George Bush?s current Iraq campaign. Hence the result: once human beings entered into the equation, the plot was well and truly lost. As I said earlier, the police were dead lucky not to end up having to face an official inquiry over what happened that night. Let?s hope that whoever holds the reins tomorrow, they?ll be a tad more circumspect in the way they go about their business.

So, dodgy policing matters apart, what?s going to happen tomorrow on the only place it really counts, right there on the pitch? Well, our new gaffer isn?t half going to get a baptism of fire, that?s for sure ? and if he didn?t know beforehand what these games are all about, I?m sure that ex-Dingle sidekick Mark Venus will have well briefed him by now. I really would like to say that the vast majority of Albion people won?t judge him solely upon the basis of what tomorrow?s final whistle might bring ? but you and I know how much importance is attached to this sort of fixture, don?t we, children? One bad result, and out come the ?idiot tendency? from right out of the woodwork.

Should we go at ?em with all guns a-blazing, a la Leeds, Ipswich and Palace, I suspect we may unnerve them sufficiently enough to make the wearing of bike-clips in the away dug-out compulsory, but it should be borne in mind also that the Dingles are no slouches when it comes to going forward themselves. They do have something of an immobile rearguard, though, so given a little luck and a favourable wind, that might just be enough to see us home and dry. Another pivotal point for us might well be the firm of Jason Koumas. Since his return from Cardiff, and the unexpected extension to his contract, he?s been absolutely inspirational in midfield, just as he was that season we got promoted the second time. Even better than the time he took Nottingham Forest apart at their place, either scoring, or having a hand in all three goals. And being still in third spot after today?s frolics, there?s every incentive to grab all three points, and lever ourselves a little further away from the chasing pack, also on 22 points, Dingles included.

One player who won?t be participating in the jollities, though, is one Darren Carter, who recently amassed sufficient yellow cards for a suspension to kick in. We?re also likely to be without the services of recent goal-ace Kevin Phillips, who missed the Palace game through injury, although he might be left on the bench instead, just in case things get a bit twitchy and desperate measures are called for. As for the rest of the cast, Zoobie will tenant our goal, of course, and I presume the defence will be very much ?as you were?, not much to tinker with after Palace, really. As far as the midfield is concerned, being without Carter, that should give Quashie another chance to prove his worth, with Gera, Greening and the sublime Jason Koumas, prime architect of our last three wins, carrying on with all their good work there.

Up front? All depends upon whether Phillips is declared match-fit or not, I suppose. If he doesn?t, then I guess we?ll get to see a Duke Ellington/Joe Kamara combo taking it to the Dingles. I don?t know about you, but even with the best will in the world, I wouldn?t want to see Hartson put in the firing line for this one, and I?m damn sure that Mowbray has far more common sense than to allow that to happen anyway. Expect to see him on the bench, at best, if Phillips is still ?hors de combat? and watching from the seats if he isn?t.

Result? Being a Baggies supporter through and through, I?d love to see us take the buggers to the cleaners tomorrow lunchtime, but Mick McCarthy is a cunning sort of cove. His current tactics seem to be very much ?a la Megson, season 2001-02?, grinding out 1-0 wins innumerable. Not very pretty to watch, ?tis true, but as we Baggies discovered around five years ago, very effective, all the same. I?m going to opt for a ?diplomatic draw? with the distinct possibility of a much better outcome lurking handily in the wings also.

More tomorrow about the phone call I had from Laraine Astle yesterday. We now think we know why the sudden interest shown by a Premiership club in eight year-old Matthew, The King?s grandson, and likely heir to his striking throne. Incidentally, well done Albion ? well, Mark Jenkins, actually - for your consideration and thoughtfulness in phoning Laraine to get her views on the matter before repainting the Astle Gates navy blue, as opposed to their current black gloss number. As Laraine said to me yesterday: ?That?s the colour my Jeff played in, so yes ? I?m very happy to see them repainted that colour?.?

And Finally?? One. Possibly at my peril, here?s this column?s sole contribution to the current controversy as to whether or not Muslim females should wear the niqab (an item of religious apparel that covers the face completely, save for the wearer?s eyes) when engaging with other people in the course of their employment. Isn?t it high time that less-than-self-effacing Blues MD Karen Brady was forced to wear one? Just a thought.

Two. Its not every day you?ll find me sticking up for those who deliberately perpetrate acts of violence on the field of play so enthusiastically, but there are ?mitigating circumstances? Yer Honner. Honest. Let me put it this way: if ever I should come across Aussie coach John Kosmina, of A-League side Adelaide United, remind me to buy him the most outrageously-expensive drink in the house. Why? Apparently, during a recent game versus Melbourne Victory (Adelaide eventually won 1-0, but that?s not the real point of this story), he had one of their players by the neck in some sort of Vulcan Death-Grip after the guy knocked Cosmina off his chair following an unseemly scuffle for the ball by both men after it went out of play during the game. A shame, also, that he was later suspended by the Aussie FA as a result of what he did to his assailant.

Not like me to be so bellicose in this column, of course, but I?m sure you?ll all understand why when I reveal the name of the other participant in this dinstinctly unsporting fracas ? a certain Kevin Muscat, former Dingle of this parish, and the nearest thing Oz has ever had to a Triple-A, copper-bottomed, dead-cert psychopath since those distant days, well over a century ago, when we routinely dumped all our unwanted criminal rubbish on them!

Oh ? and another belated thought about Mister Muscat and his unwholesome ways, one linked, albeit indirectly, to the doings of our finest tomorrow. Cut back to one particular Wulves-Albion encounter at Molineux, about six or seven seasons ago, if I remember correctly, one we drew 1-1; at that particular time, I was able to easily obtain photographic press-passes enabling me to take pictures from behind the touchline for fanzine purposes, so that?s precisely what I spent my time doing.

It was around midway through the game that I decided to shift my position from behind the goalmouth to the touchline, the idea being to grab shots of Hughsie in action there. And that?s precisely what I got, albeit not the sort of ?action shots? you?d necessarily want your kids to see, if you know what I mean. No, what I got instead were some wonderful images of Lee running down the left, OK ? but with Kevin Muscat not only in ?hot pursuit?, but trying his darndest to insert his elbow right in poor Lee?s eye-socket, and on the blind side of both ref and lino, too; in fact, to tell the truth, I suspect elbow actually met target on at least one occasion. As both officials hadn?t seen anything amiss, mainly due to Mister Muscat?s animal cunning when perpetrating the damage, they gave sod-all, despite Hughsie?s very vocal protests about the matter, but once the throw-in awarded instead was taken, the ebb-and-flow of the game quickly took priority, and the matter was dropped.

But not as far as I was concerned. As soon as I was able, I checked what I?d got on my camera ? and sure enough, I?d caught the horrible Mister Muscat and his belligerent ways bang to rights. In fact, come the final issue of the Dick for that season, I actually used that pic to illustrate one important point, which is this: the player perpetrating the damage may swear blind he?s done nothing wrong, and the match officials genuinely may not have seen any wrongdoing themselves, either ? but the camera never, ever lies - does it, Mister Muscat?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index