The Diary

20 October 2003: Norwich: Look Back In Anger

Hello, campers, once more. If this column looks a tadge bloated and/or corpulent on your screen, it?s because we motored over to the ?out-laws? today, and they cooked us a magnificent Sunday lunch, pork and all the trimmings, plus a great chunk of strawberry cheesecake for afters, so my digestive system?s still trying to get over the shock! Oh ? and in between courses, we also heard the saga of Si?s mum trying to get the new Pensioners? Tax Credit. As instructed by that nice man from the government, they sent off for the forms, and they quickly arrived. About a dozen pages, which they duly completed after much agonising ? but that wasn?t the end of the process, by any means. Next, they had to get documentary evidence of their income and savings, which just happen to be held in three different banks/building societies, in three different towns. No problem for someone with wheels, maybe, but they currently don?t have any. Oh, and as they both enjoy fairly full health, completing the paperwork wasn?t too onerous a task, but what about those who do have difficulties getting about, or lacking sufficient patience or the will to do so?

Once all this data had been collected, off went the forms ? and, within weeks the answer came back. Yes, they were entitled. That was the good news. The bad? They were awarded the princely sum of (roll of drums for dramatic effect, here) TEN PENCE! No, it didn?t make for a dignified sight, me rolling around their carpet laughing like a drain in a monsoon. OK ? having worked in the welfare sector in the past, I?m fully aware it ?passports? you to other benefits, like Council Tax rebate (which they?re about to claim), but I?m firmly of the opinion it must cost the Treasury far more employing thousands of people to process all that means-testing paperwork than to raise Old Age Pensions to a liveable amount right across the board. Silly me for thinking such na?ve thoughts. When we chuck all that ?contingency fund? dough into wars we have no right getting into in the first place, it?s hardly surprising the housekeeping goes a bit awry elsewhere. No wonder people get quickly disillusioned with politicians and politics.

Oh dear, I seem to have strayed completely away from the subject of our favourite football team. Never mind, rant over, back to normal. Or is this column about to turn into yet another? Nothing to do with pensions or politics, this time, but about what happened yesterday versus Norwich. At the conclusion of yesterday?s game, I vaguely heard the sound of booing coming from the direction of The Brummie, but took little notice, as I presumed it to be aimed towards one or more of the opposition. It was only after I read a couple of mails today that I discovered the object of such vituperation to be, of all things, our lot! Although I?ll never condone the barracking of our own by supporters under normal circumstances, in retrospect, I can see why. Any players reading this can rest easy, though. I can?t believe for one minute the crowd were directing the full force of their anger against them. On the contrary, I believe the vituperation was directed mainly at our manager for allowing such a negative and boring style of play to take root in the first place.

Some might put forward the argument I?m being unfair, and they might have a valid point; a win over a fellow top-six outfit, a jump to second, with an excellent chance of tipping the leaders off their perch should we triumph over The Franchise on Tuesday night ? yeah, in principle, I should be swinging from the rafters with excitement, really. But, I ain?t, and, what?s more, the day after the event, I can?t even muster up enough enthusiasm to seriously sit down and digest the many media accounts of the game, which isn?t like me at all. Not so long ago, I would have worn the print off the sports pages in my efforts to milk such a win for all it was worth. Our stultifying style of play is deeply troubling me, and it?s because of that, my enthusiasm for all things Baggie has, temporarily, at least, lurched right into the pits.

Ingratitude? You could call it Old Fart Syndrome, I suppose. Like many others of my era, I was brought up on the likes of Chippy Clark, Bomber Brown, Bobby Hope, and The King, spent my early and middle twenties in the heady company of Johnny Giles, Cyrille Regis, Laurie Cunningham, and Co. and in my early forties revelled in the delights of the Ardiles attacking philosophy, Uncle Bob Taylor and all. We were guilty of pushing the swing-ometer a little too far to the right in the latter case, perhaps, but you can probably see a pattern developing here. In short, I quickly learned to appreciate good entertaining football, and from then on, took it as read that such a style would always be Albion?s signature dish. In recent years, of course, that hasn?t been the case, but knowing we lacked sufficient ackers to find genuinely talented performers via the transfer market, I accepted our lot with quiet resignation, put up with the overall sterility of the mid and late nineties, and secretly yearned for a Messiah to bring us out of the wilderness once more.

And, in the fullness of time, our present manager came onto the Hawthorns scene, and instantly, there was much of which I approved. The dead wood was chucked onto the metaphorical bonfire, the sluggards were replaced by good honest professionals, Gary then worked a miracle by keeping us out of the Second Division, and in successive seasons, we reached the Division One play-offs for the first time ever, then got promoted automatically. A fantastic feat by anyone?s standards, and those joyful scenes after that Palace game will remain with me for the rest of my life, as will the most part of our inaugural Premiership season, but for me, the abomination I saw yesterday was total anathema to my Baggie principles. Passes going astray, or being sliced into the stands, an unwillingness to really push up on the opposition, and on the rare occasions we did make progress, a route-one style mode of attack. Even worse, my perception that our players seem to be frightened rigid by the thought of being subsequently held to blame for conceding. Which, of course, only served to compound the problem.

Earlier, I mentioned the Ardiles era as a time when I thought the balance had tipped too much in the other direction. The present, the Megson era, is in grave danger of taking their greatly-cherished creed a formation too far also. In fact, it?s probably happened already. With such a negative mindset seemingly ruling the roost, I do wonder how players of genuine talent ? Koumas, Sakiri, to name but a couple ? feel about all this. All that creativity, that mazy ball-weaving magic, the sheer joy of playing that way, must be slowly but surely leaching into the ground. It?s a bit like telling Constable to stop painting all those stupid bloody landscapes and get down to some proper work on next door?s garden fence instead. Sure, we might well get back to the Prem come the end of the season, but will one or both beat us to it via that looming January ?window??

Judging from the sounds of dissent coming from the Brummie at the conclusion of yesterday?s game, it?s abundantly clear I?m not alone in these views. In fact, walking down Halfords? Lane back to The Dickmobile afterwards, I heard quite a few fellow Baggies express similar thoughts to mine. It?s often said by outsiders that Albion supporters are, on the whole, an intelligent lot, and my experiences both at The Shrine and on the road over the years do tend to bear this out. The idiots, the nutters, the ?green-ink? brigade, are very much in the minority, something that can?t always be said about the followers of other local outfits. Usually, opinions, conflicting views, dissent, even, from supporters is expressed thoughtfully and constructively, and only after much pre-and post-match debate among themselves. It?s for this reason that we have to take such rumblings of discontent really seriously, for there are many other Baggies besides me who first cut their footballing teeth on the likes of the ?greats? mentioned previously, and view with some distaste what?s going on at the present time.

The tragedy of the whole situation is we already have the players to form the nucleus of a bloody attractive side. Defence in depth plus negativity isn?t the alpha and omega of everything in the game, and does have its limitations, as we found out so painfully last season. It?s not much that I?m asking, to give those with the necessary skills tacit permission to create their magic in the middle, and by doing so, give our strike-force a much-needed breath of fresh air. As I said after the Palace game, it?s bloody difficult to score a goal if the opposition can?t even get the ball out of their own half. Jimmy Hagan (a very Megson-like manager in style, by the way) always maintained the best form of defence was attack, and I agree to a large extent. Let others be scared of meeting us for a change, let Lee and Rob Hulse frighten the bejesus out of other defences, live a little ? in short, go out there and bloody entertain! Bearing this in mind, I shall watch the Wimbledon game with some interest, because if ever there was a time to allow our players sufficient freedom to ply their trade with a smile on their face, next Tuesday night has got to be it.

And, before the complaints come flooding in, no, I HAVEN?T said Megson should get the bullet; in fact, as a manager, he has my deepest respect. It?s just that I feel something?s got to change on the pitch, and soon. I?m fully aware I?ll probably be in for a considerable amount of criticism by daring to express this heresy in print, but fortunately, it?s not the Middle Ages, the Inquisition no longer stalk the land, consequently not that many people these days get burned at the stake for standing up for what they believe is the truth. Admittedly, instead of the Index Expurgatoris, the branding iron and the pyre, we now have the disapproval of some in the media to contend with, but even they don?t have the powers of excommunication. Not yet.

 - Glynis Wright

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