The Diary

21 October 2003: Falling Leaves And Donnish Peeves

Woke up to a distinctly chilly, but beautiful autumn day today. Beautiful, because of the golden trees, especially around the Galton Bridge, as we journeyed towards the ground this lunchtime. Had I my camera in the clutches of my hot little hand, I would have taken a picture or two, so wonderful was the scene, especially when set against the unblemished blue backdrop of the sky, but I didn?t, so I couldn?t. Are the trees more colourful than ever this year? Apparently so; it?s all due to the large amount of sunlight we?ve had thus far (plus a bit of frost) causing some chemicals in their leaves to turn to sugar, and this, in its turn, affects their colour. That?s why New England is so famous for its ?fall? and why we?ve having a little bit of it ourselves this time round.

But enough of that; was our journey really necessary? Yep, once more, it was ticket-buying time, and once more, my credit card suffered one hell of a bashing. That?s what you get when you play West Ham and Bradford away, unfortunately. When we first arrived in the ticket office, there wasn?t much in the way of a queue, but add some complicated enquiries into the mix, plus a mate of the redoubtable Sauce, who was seemingly intent upon buying up half our ticket allocation in one go, and that line behind us didn?t half increase in size! Oh, and one other thing. I hadn?t intended it to happen, but we also decided to go into the club shop to check out the new merchandise, and while I was there, spotted a hooded top that seemed to be just the ticket on these cold days, and before I knew it, ended up buying the blasted thing. Luckily, my fiscal Waterloo won?t happen until next month, so until the moment of truth, aka my card bill, arrives, I?ll just pretend it never happened ? except on matchdays, when I?ll be wearing it, of course!

Which, I suppose, brings me quite neatly to tomorrow night?s fixture versus Wimbledon, or, if you want it that way, Division One?s answer to Pink Floyd?s ?surrogate band?, as per their 1979 best-selling album, The Wall. Rootless, hopeless, and sinking faster than an undercooked cheese souffl? is the way I?d describe them right now. Before penning this piece, I took a peek at their unofficial website, in order to gen up on what?s going on there right now, and as you?d imagine, there are some very unhappy people sending their (totally-justified) wails and lamentations across the electronic void right now. Let?s get this straight, it?s their diehard supporters I feel most sorry for. The Wimbledon Independent Supporters? Association have proved, time and time again, that a return to Plough Lane is a ?goer?; the council are happy for it to go ahead, and plans have been drawn up for a 20,000-seat stadium there. It?s most definitely not a Charlton situation, where the council were originally dead against such an idea.

Reverting to First World War parlance for a moment, Wimbledon supporters really are lions led by Swedish donkeys (via a South African-born lackey), and the move to Milton Keynes ? an American-inspired abomination, which should have stayed there - is total anathema to them, and, I suspect, to the vast majority of football supporters in this country. Yanks might accept a much-loved side (The New York Dodgers are a prime example of this) moving thousands of miles away to fulfil their fixtures, but this sort of franchising nonsense has no place whatsoever in football-loving Blighty. I can?t even begin to imagine what the FA were thinking of to allow this to happen in the first place, as it runs totally contrary to the spirit of their own rules and regulations.

As you might imagine, since the move took place, their ?home fixtures? ? if the MK Stadium can be called that - have taken on a distinct resemblance to the final scenes in the nuclear holocaust film ?On The Beach?. Crowds? What crowds? Not only that, a good many visiting supporters have stayed away in solidarity, so their players have, for the most part, been performing in front of ghosts. Unsurprisingly, their newly acquired leper-status has had repercussions on performances. They managed to win their opening game, but since then, one drawn game apart, they?ve achieved very little save giving their keeper chronic back-ache from picking the ball out of the net, so they?re currently bottom, with only a pitiful four points on the board to show for it all.

Meanwhile, back in London, WISA, The Dons? Trust, and Merton Council, in a show of unity, founded their own club, AFC Wimbledon, and very nicely they?re doing at the moment. In fact, I believe virtually every week they?ve had better gates than the club they so reluctantly forsook last season, and if they can maintain progress (they?re currently in the Combined Counties League, and they actually own their own ground, raising over ?1 million to do so), it?s not beyond the bounds of imagination they might well have the last laugh, eventually. Good on ?em. This distinctly-unsavoury background to tomorrow night?s game is reason enough to hope we absolutely whop them. Sorry to sound so brutal, but that?s the way I feel about the whole affair. Their supporters have been well and truly sold down the river, and deserve better. As far as we?re concerned, a scintillating performance from our finest would be absolutely tickety-boo.

Returning to the subject of our club once more, it was interesting to note that today, lots of journos were also commenting on ?the tactics that dare not speak their name?. I mean, of course, the yawn-making (and nerve-racking!) nonsense that went on during the Norwich fixture, of which I made much comment yesterday. The E and S called it a ?poor performance? and the Birmingham Evening Mail had this to say about the game:

?There is no getting away from the fact that many supporters were unhappy with Saturday?s performance against Norwich. While most cheered the final whistle, some did show their displeasure by booing. Paying customers are entitled to their opinion and if anything it shows the level of expectation placed upon Gary Megson and his side.?

Even David McVay of The Times commented on ?a performance guaranteed to champion the cause of watching paint dry as a spectator sport? and went on to forecast that should we emulate the astonishing feat of two seasons ago and not improve significantly upon what we already have, what he described as a ?replica relegation? would be the end result. It?s easy to dismiss the internet ramblings of one supporter, or heated discussion on Albion-related mailing-lists as absolute nonsense, but when you get to the stage where fully paid-up members of the journalistic profession are writing on a similar theme, it does tend to suggest there may well be some substance to my misgivings about Saturday?s game, and our tactics in general.

At least we should be up to full strength for tomorrow night?s football-fest; the only dead-cert absentee, of course, will be AJ, who finally completes his suspension. As I mentioned before, there is an added incentive for grabbing all three points from the game; Wigan host (if that?s what you choose to call it!) Sheffield United on the same night; first versus third, and should they dip, and we win, we?ll be lords of all we survey once more. Until we encounter Rotherham on Saturday, of course, but that?s an entirely different story! Wimbledon were on the wrong end of a 6-0 pasting at Forest (who?d caught a crab or two in recent games) on Saturday, and they may well be looking to salvage some pride by gouging out some sort of a result at the Shrine. My mantra? From what I?ve seen of our manager?s tactics thus far this term, it?s about as likely as this column buying a Dingles season ticket, but if I had any sort of say in it, I would urge our players to hit ?em, hit ?em hard, and hit ?em quick, with those much-underused twin weapons of flair and panache, before they?ve had sufficient time to suss us and our defensively-minded tendencies out. Result? I?ve naturally gone for a win. As to whether I?ll enjoy myself along the way, the jury?s still out on that one.

And finally?.. Scoff ye not; what I?m about to describe really happened! Before I adjourned to our ?office? to write this piece, I took time out to watch that dramatised BBC programme about Pompeii, and the violent manner of its destruction courtesy of an erupting Mount Etna, pumice, hot gases, and pyroclastic flow. Seeing the ruins of the city once more brought back memories of a different kind, the time when Albion played Salerno away in the Anglo-Italian Cup, and ?Im Indoors and I visited the place a couple of days after the game. To be honest, I?d always harboured an ambition to go there, and the fact our favourite football club were playing approximately 25 miles away provided the perfect excuse.

It was really strange, seeing those perfectly-preserved artefacts, the beautiful frescoes, what had been shops, the arena, the gladiators? quarters, the streets, complete with chariot-wheel marks amidst the cobblestones, the graffiti, all in Latin, honest, and all those bodies frozen in the moment of death. Walking in deadly silence in the hot sunlight amidst those shattered buildings, now populated by multitudes of sleeping stray dogs lying passively in the shade. I don?t know why, but the twin sights of those quietly-snoozing canines, and Vesuvius brooding ominously in the background really spooked me, and a somewhat fanciful idea then entered my head; suppose those dogs were the reincarnated souls of the inhabitants who, once the tourists left come nightfall, quickly reclaimed what was rightfully theirs? I was quietly musing on this chilling concept, when I noticed that my beloved also seemed to be engaged in what one might describe as a ?brown study?. Was he, I asked, also quietly contemplating this place, the violent way in which its inhabitants died, and the lurking suspicion they?d never really gone away?

?Nope,? said my spiritually-insensitive other half, ?I was just trying to remember who was in our midfield in 1979?.?

 - Glynis Wright

Contact the Author

Diary Index