The Diary

17 October 2003: Those The Gods Wish To Annoy, They First Make Very Mad!

It?s funny how capricious are the whims of the gods sometimes, especially when they?re ruling the lives of those who devote a good deal of their waking hours to supporting our favourite football club. 99 per cent of the time, things go swimmingly, then ? KER-BLAM! ?Have a bloody frustrating day, sucker!? yell numerous white-bearded deities, as they all roll around Olympus, sniggering like hell, pigging on ambrosia and swigging nectar for all they?re worth, and as high as a kite on their latest schadenfreude-fix.

Thus it was with me. On Tuesday, I?d been warned to expect the arrival of some inserts for The Dick; they were supposed to be en-route from the printers, and would arrive the following day. Sod. That morning, I had planned to visit Steino?s emporium in West Brom Market and drop him off some freshly-minted fanzines, selling, for the use of, but never mind, there was always the next day. And, yesterday, like the good Baggie I am, I waited, and waited, and waited, all day, in fact. The result? Zilch, zero, sod-all.

Doubly annoying, because we?d previously arranged for The Fart to help insert the leaflets into our current edition, and as the old codger has other things planned for Friday afternoon, today was the only day we could have done the deed; without the goods in question, of course, we were totally stuffed. Intriguingly enough, when I arose this morning, I found a little slip from those nice people at the Royal Mail sitting helpfully on our doormat saying there was a parcel at their sorting-office awaiting our pleasure, and would we collect it? Hope briefly asserted itself; was this, then, the object of my heart?s desire? Trust ?Im Indoors to bring me straight back down to earth again with a resounding ?thud?. As he pointed out, quite reasonably, it would need more than the services of a postie to bring that lot to our door. More likely than not, someone like Parcelfarce (no, not a typo ? we?ve suffered before!) still had the goods clogging up their internal gubbins, somewhere. No, declared my beloved, far more likely was our ?surprise package? to be a Perth Glory sweatshirt he?d ordered from an Aussie Baggie mate (The Onion-Pickling Plod!) just a few weeks back. Unfortunately, as the sorting-office is closed after midday, and it?s not practicable for me to go and fetch the thing myself, we?ll have to wait until Saturday morning to solve the mystery. Trouble is, if it is those wretched inserts, it?ll be far too late to stick ?em in pre-match! Know of a good paper-shredder, anyone?

If ever there was a time when I?d been given irrefutable proof that four separate entities, now become two pairs, truly belonged to each other, were joined in holy matrimony, even, then today had to be it. The first? The news that Mark McGhee?s caretaker-successor was to be none other than a certain Denis Wise, formerly of Wimbledon, Leicester City, and all stations west, including what amounted to a P45 from The Foxes for that nasty assault on one of theirs. What with him, and their supporters, it must be a union made in Heaven. I can?t say I had a lot of time for the ex-Head Dingle, but the manner of his departure sounded rather alarming; apparently, after their defeat the other night, the players held a post-match meeting, then went to the chairman with their conclusions. The result, player-power 1, McGhee 0. The other? Paul Gascoigne taking up Dingles? captain Paul Ince?s invite to train with the Molineux club. Talk about a ?meeting of minds?; again, I reckon their supporters and the former Newcastle, Spurs etc. bad boy just about deserve one another. I realise that manager Dave Jones has been at pains to emphasise to the media he currently has no plans for Gazza in his gold-and-cack line-up, but football, is, as they say, a funny game, and you never know what peculiarities the Great Cup-Draw Of Life is going to throw up, do you? I shall watch developments with interest.

And, talking about ?developments?, what about the news tonight that Daniel Dichio (plus sideboards, presumably!) has gone out on loan for a month to Derby County? In one way, this may have been for the best as far as DD is concerned. His performance the other night was less-than overwhelming, those neat little flick-ons to others apart, you might as well have stuck an umbrella-stand up front, and supporters were beginning to lose patience, but his temporary departure now means we?re down to just three strikers good and true. Assuming an outbreak of galloping boils, or, failing that, a tweaked muscle or two, doesn?t break out and get generously distributed amongst Hughsie, Rob Hulse and Dobes within the next 28 days, we?ll be OK, but just suppose something catastrophic does happen? In that case, we might well have to look in the direction of the prodigal currently in residence on the Solent, in which case, He Who Must Be Obeyed would be balancing somewhat gingerly on the horns of a whacking great dilemma. Could he? Would he? Personally, I reckon there?s more chance of Ian Paisley being elected Pope, but as there?s no law against thinking, as yet, I?ll just content myself with a merry couple of minutes furtive sniggering at the delicious thought, and leave it at that.

My next item comes courtesy of that nice little Baggie, young Anc. Today, he sent me a mail about The Astle Bridge in Netherton, the one that?s daubed with graffiti about The King. Apparently, our bijou Baggie (well-annoyed with the news that Victorian Black Country athlete ?Jumping Jack Darby? is going to be honoured with a memorial plaque costing around five grand) is trying to resurrect the campaign to get a similar one erected on said bridge, commemorating the life and times of our former hero. As lots of you will no doubt remember, for yonks after that 1968 victory, the slogan ?ASTLE IS THE KING? stood loud and proud on the brickwork, courtesy of some unknown Baggie?s nocturnal drunkenly-inspired daubings after our Wembley appearance. Not so long back, spoilsport Dudley Council tried to have it removed, but within hours of shifting it, a new slogan appeared on the bridge, ?ASTLE IS STILL THE KING ? DUDLEY COUNCIL, PLEASE TAKE NOTE!? The scene then shifts to a couple of years ago, when Jeff died. An attempt was made at the time to have a commemorative plaque erected, but Dudley Council knocked it back, one of the grounds for refusal being, ?it would be a danger to traffic?. I?m still trying to work that one out. Anyway, Anc?s now trying to kick the process off once more; if you want to see the bridge in question in its full glory, tune in to Astle bridge. Sort it out council!!!!! and he will be suitably delighted. Oh, and if anyone can help in any way, contact me personally, and I?ll put you in touch with the main man himself.

And finally... Another update on Boris, my new pet spider. I thought he?d gone to The Great Web In The Sky yesterday, as I hadn?t seen him all day, but after I?d finished last night?s effort, into our kitchen I strolled, and there he was, sitting smugly in our sink once more, and waving his little legs fit to bust. Quite pleased, he was, to be restored to his plasticky hidey-hole once more. Well, I assume he was pleased, I discovered a little bit of web in there this morning! Why call him Boris? Simple, being a ?Who? fan, and recalling Pete Townsend?s early musical paean of praise for his own arachnid, it was a no-brainer, really!

 - Glynis Wright

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