The Diary

25 October 2003: Caught Between A Rock And A Very Sore Place!

Before I begin in earnest once more, here?s a nice little poser for you. What?s worse? Watching ?that? Wimbledon game last Tuesday night, or talking about it whilst having bloody large pins stuck into your lower back by a GP who?s an avid Villa supporter, and won?t let you bloody well forget it? Told you it wasn?t easy, a bit like ?trial by ordeal? in mediaeval times; you were chucked into a pond, bound hand and foot. If you floated, you were guilty, and burned at the stake, or similar, and if you sank without trace, you were innocent, but very, very dead! Or, if you like, being sentenced to death in the good ole US Of A, and then being given the right to specify the mode of execution. (In case you think I?m making that bit up, it really does happen in some states!) You can almost hear the exchanges, can?t you, immediately after sentencing, an immaculately-dressed and cosmetically-expensive young lady comes to your cell bearing gifts of a clipboard, a form with lots of tick-boxes on it, then murmurs sweetly in your lughole, ?Would sir/madam prefer death by electric chair, firing-squad or lethal injection?? then, having ticked the boxes as appropriate, ?Thank you once more for your valued custom - and have a nice day!?

Maybe my dilemma wasn?t quite as dramatic as the ones I just used by way of example, but you get my drift; half an hour after entering that surgery, I exited with one aching back, and a John Wayne impersonation masquerading as a walk by way of bonus. Thank goodness ?Im Indoors was chauffeur for the day.

Having said that, Tuesday night?s agonies will be a mere bagatelle compared to what awaits us should we stuff up again tomorrow afternoon. It?s been instructive reading through (and listening to) supporter-comment since then, and the oft-repeated remark from the pro-Megson faction that our ingratitude for his achievements since he came to the club shines through like a furiously-blazing beacon, but to that, I simply make the following comment. Sure, Megson took this club to heights undreamed-of five or six seasons ago, and the dubious joys of the Buckley/ Smith/Little eras, and I?ll always be the first person to acknowledge that fact, but the problem I have with him now is that we currently seem incapable of moving on to the next phase of evolution. Yes, I?ll concede that I revelled in all those grinding 1-0 victories when we went up, just like everybody else, but two seasons down the line, we now have at our disposal a collection of richly-talented players who are capable of much, much more than that. The problem is, we aren?t using them to our fullest advantage when we should be, and that?s the nub of the argument as far as I?m concerned.

I?m also getting rather weary of media-people who don?t pay to go to games trying to tell me, or any other Baggie who wants to speak their mind, what to think. I wonder if those same media-people would tolerate being served the same dish at a restaurant for years on end? The dish might be well-cooked, well-presented and so forth, but it?s still the same bloody meal. The metaphorical kitchen is now stuffed with oodles of chefs, many of a creative bent, so why can?t we have different and more exciting cuisine for a change? Gladys in the school kitchen has her moments, but there comes the time when you really need the expertise of a Jamie Oliver, or an Anthony Worrall-Thompson to swing it for you.

Perhaps the inclusion of AJ (plus that marvellously-insulating barnet of his!) in our starting line-up might help us bring home those vital three points? That barmy suspension did us and him no favours at all, and now he?s back, I?m truly hoping he?ll put some much-needed pazzaz back into our midfield tomorrow. Certainly, there?s a case to be made for the argument that we haven?t looked quite the same since he was forced to watch from the sidelines. Because yer man wasn?t able to get anyone in on loan to lead our strikeforce, we?ll be going with what we currently have tomorrow; the only remaining factor to be inserted into the equation is which combo of the three possible he?ll go with come the start. If it were left to me, I?d unleash Hughsie and Hulse up front, and go at ?em like stink ? but we shall see. Of one thing I?m certain; it?s going to be the modern-day equivalent of trench warfare out there. The Millers need the points, and so do we. Both are quite capable of ?putting it about a bit? in no-man?s land, so expect a slog-fest tomorrow. I?d like to think we?ll win by the odd goal, but after the disappointment of Wimbledon, anything?s possible. Newsflash! Sheffield United lost at home to Reading tonight, so I suppose that puts our own problems right into perspective. The Blades have now only picked up a measly four points from their last five games. I really do hope Warnock has sweet dreams tonight!

Talking of AJ and his enforced absence brings me to mention another Baggie who I?d much like to see in our ranks once more, and that?s Big Dave. That enormous noddle of his got us out of all sorts of defensive difficulties over the last couple of seasons, and his recovery from injury would be a great bonus. Mind you, if he?s watching from the stands, at least he won?t be bothered by what he thought were racist remarks, as mentioned on Midlands Today the other evening. Now this puzzles me, because we thought we?d nailed that one right on the head the last time we played them at their place, so I?ll repeat what we were told. Unfortunately (although he wasn?t to know at the time) Big Dave got the wrong end of the stick. As I recall, one of the phrases uttered by home fans stationed on the touchline that day was, ?Go on, monkey!? plus similar words, all centred around the word ?Monkey?. Suitably scandalised, we then contacted our Yorkshire counterparts, and were subsequently told by their supporters that the remarks were really directed at a player of theirs called Monkhouse, abbreviated by theirs to ?Monkie?, which, of course, sounds exactly the same as ?Monkey? to the uninitiated. In any case, had those remarks been intentional, I?m sure our ginormous defender was more than capable of fighting his corner should he have deemed it necessary. Come on, Albion considerations aside, would you seriously want to insult the guy? If that?s your bag, please let me know, and I?ll ring the Samaritans on your behalf before you do it.

The term used was by way of encouragement to that player, and no insult whatsoever was directed at Big Dave. Let me assure readers this column has zero tolerance for behaviour of that kind; in fact, we would have fully participated in the recent ?Kick It Out? campaign which targeted such troglodyte behaviour had not the couriers stuffed up and delivered the fanzine inserts to totally the wrong address! Misunderstandings can happen rather easily; the other week we saw Hereford play Northwich away, and we were initially disturbed by the remarks of the home side?s youth players, sat in the row behind us. References such as, ?Come on, Blackie!? were seemingly directed at Tam Mkandawire, and our ire was duly raised, but we later ascertained that the verbals were meant solely for the forward he was marking, called Blackstone.

Right, then. Now for my cultural bit, compiled this time with much help from Steve Sant and Dave Baxendale. The reason? Simple. As I said earlier in the week, I was really hard-pushed to think of something to say about Rotherham and its surrounding area. Normally, I can look at the name of any club on the current season?s fixture list, and instantly come up with a plethora of juicy/obscure/plain daft facts about each place, but tomorrow?s opponents really had me stumped. That?s why I drafted that heartfelt plea for assistance the other day! Anyway, my little helpers have come up trumps for me, and this is the result, so enjoy!

Rotherham is situated 6 miles north east of Sheffield at the confluence of the rivers Rother and Don. Nearby Creswell Crags is a limestone gorge with archaeological evidence proving man?s existence in the area during the Ice Age. This is in fact the most northerly point on the planet where man is known to have ventured during that period. Fame indeed, Rotherham was once that period?s equivalent of the North Pole, and remembering a distinctly-frigid January Third Round FA Cup-tie at their place around 20 years ago, it still bloody well feels like it!

Local industry consisted largely of coal mining, pre Thatcher. The last of numerous pits, Cadeby, closed in 1987. Mining was first recorded in Rotherham in 1700, so, in one fell swoop, The Iron Maiden managed to destroy a centuries-old industry in the area. I hope she?s satisfied. That pit was also the scene of a truly horrendous mining disaster in 1912 when 88 men lost their lives. Small beer when compared with what was to happen on the Western Front some four years later ? The Battle Of The Somme did for quite a few-locally-raised ?Pals? battalions, not a few of whose members were miners in Civvy Street ? but certainly noteworthy enough at that time. Small ship-building was also once a thriving industry, believe it or not. In 1841 a small vessel was launched at Masbrough, near Rotherham, but immediately sank, killing all 51 persons aboard. A bit like The Mary Rose, really, but without the embarrassing presence of watching royalty on the shoreline when it happened. The Masbrough Disaster, as it?s now known, is widely commemorated in Rotherham to this day.

Famous sons and daughters? David Seaman, Lynne Perrie (Ivy in Corrie), her brother Duggie Brown (crap actor/singer), The Chuckle Brothers, no less, and Paul Shane (Ted in Hi-De-Hi). The artist William Cowen (1791-1864) was also a son of Rotherham; he has works in the British Museum, but his local landscapes are mostly housed in Rotherham?s Clifton Museum, which also boasts the world?s finest collection of Rockingham Pottery. So don?t let any stray bulls loose in there tomorrow, OK?

Oh, and the ground?s surrounded by a huge scrap-yard, which, the last time I ventured to those parts, seemed to have won a stonking great contract to cannibalise loads of clapped-out London Tube trains. Their rusting remains were absolutely everywhere. Or maybe that was really London Underground?s future rolling-stock, awaiting the summons to the capital? Running nearby also is a pukka railway, the main line from Sheffield, should you wish to take a chance on the vagaries of Railtrack. If your heart?s desire is simply a drink of the falling-down variety, then you?ll probably have to patronise the ?offie?, as all our usual watering-holes seemed to be barred to us on constabulary orders the last time we visited. A complete turnaround, then, from 1993, the Ardiles era, when we brought around 4,000 ?shiny happy people? to the place, and all in beach-wear, it being our final League awayaday of that truly wonderful season. Then, all the major pubs were welcoming, and the majority of their landlords must have laughed all the way to the bank; although we arrived earlier than most, we simply couldn?t get more than one drink for love nor money, so packed were all the hostelries with bibulous but happy Baggies.

Anyway, that?s my lot for tonight. Let?s hope we all have dirty great smiles on our faces the next time I put finger to key-board late tomorrow evening. Until tomorrow, then, ?nil desperandum?, and all that stuff. And, of course, fingers (and legs!) crossed like crazy.

 - Glynis Wright

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