The Diary

31 October 2003: More On The Lark At St. James's Park!

Writing this as I am not long after returning from Villa Park following an awful 5-2 tanking that took place in the most appalling conditions imaginable, tonight?s offering is going to be a real ?matchsticks under the eyes? job, make no mistake about that. Not only am I trying to get over the sleep-deprivation caused by last night?s jaunt to Geordie-land, I?ve had to write tonight?s reserve match report as well, so I?m not too hot on the old concentration stakes at the moment. Still, I?ve got the memory of last night?s fantastic win to keep me going, which has to be something!

Praise for our team spirit last night was fulsome, and rightly so. Even Sir Bobby Robson was magnanimous in defeat; our manager, meanwhile, had nothing but praise for his troops, and also, shrewd as ever, our travelling army, mindful in particular of the troubles travelling Baggies endured just to get to the game on time. One nice touch; when asked to ?give us a wave? last night, Meggo peered into the distance, shading his eyes with his hands, as if having difficulty in discerning the precise location of our lot, and having done that, only then proceeded with the obligatory hand gesture! Sure, I?ll never be able to reconcile myself with certain aspects of our manager?s make-up, but what he and his troops achieved last night was absolutely magnificent, and I wouldn?t even think of pooping on his party by damning him with faint praise right now. You really have to hand it to the wily old bugger; just when I was feeling that the joys and thrills of being an Albion supporter were beginning to pall a little, up pops Gary and his lads to act as an astringent to my jaded palate, and a sharp reminder of all the reasons why I came to be a Baggie in the first place. And who am I to argue with that?

I?ve an awful feeling that this Saturday?s game versus Sunderland is going to be a classic case of ?The Day After The Lord Mayor?s Show?. Quite a few of our finest will undoubtedly be feeling the strain of last night?s exertions, so changes might well be in order for that one. I presume Lee will start, as will Koumas, now (hopefully) recovered from that ankle injury sustained at Rotherham. Meggo might well also choose to rest one or two others flogged to death at The Toon. I do hope that our success in the competition will not blind us to the necessity of ensuring our League form doesn?t suffer as a result.

This is my biggest worry about the whole thing; as I said the other evening, that?s precisely what scuppered Sheffield United last season. Had it not been for those excellent but body-sapping cup-runs of theirs, they?d have walloped the Dingles out of sight in the play-offs. And it?s not just them, either. I recall the same thing happening to Bolton a few seasons back, and the same goes for the Small Heath persuasion. As The Soup Dragon said in tonight?s papers, he wants to see us pitting our wits against top-flight outfits on a weekly basis, and not just confined to the occasional encounter courtesy of one cup competition or another, and that?s something I can understand. Let?s hope we can sort out The Mackems without too much grief come the weekend ? but don?t bank on it.

I have to say that once back on the coach after the final whistle, it was astonishing, the rapidity with which the other occupants managed to fall asleep. One minute they were all there, whooping and hollering with the best of ?em, the next, they were all comatose, as if someone had surreptitiously slipped into their refreshments a strong sleeping-draught of one sort or another. I?ve heard it said that on the battlefield, amongst all the carnage, it?s still perfectly possible for sleep to supervene as a result of strong reaction to excessive stress-levels caused by intensive artillery bombardment or the like. Could it be that I witnessed a similar physiological reaction after last night?s game, and the intense emotion caused by our win? I must admit, I became somewhat animated myself when I returned to our coach, but it wasn?t the result of excess adrenalin surging through my veins, simply the fact that while we were at the game, someone took the opportunity of nicking my Guardian, which I?d left on my seat beforehand, fully intending to read the supplements afterwards. Ratbags!

Which brings me neatly to the eccentricities of our driver. Will someone working in a similar industry please explain to me why he deemed it necessary to return, not via the normal M1/M42 route as usual ? it takes you via Derbyshire and part of Staffordshire, and is, more or less, direct - but the bloody M62 instead? As most of you will know only too well, that motorway meanders its way right across the Pennines, then, having hit the heights, so to speak, heads on a steady downhill slope towards the plains of Warrington and an eventual rendezvous with the M6, handily placed to take you back to God?s own country again. When I told ?Im Indoors ? he was snoozing fit to bust when the driver left the M1 ? he nearly had a dicky fit on the spot. As for The Noise, he wasn?t in the best of moods either. The reason? He lives in Stoke, and commutes to our place via the M6, which lobs a good hour onto any journey of that nature, consequently he was not all that pleased to see his home-town gliding swiftly behind him and into the distance, meaning he had to double back upon himself up the motorway again once off the coach once more! As things turned out, we made landfall in West Bromwich at about three in the morning, but we really could have done without all those extra miles.

A reprise, now, for our friend Anc. As we were pulling away from the ground, I was idly gazing out of the coach window, when I happened to espy a familiar-looking vehicle draw alongside, the bloke in the driving-seat whip out a camera, and then give me what?s colloquially known as a ?good flash?. Yep ? it was that man again; it turned out that when he took the pic, he had absolutely no idea we were on the coach, and it was only when his son and heir pointed it out to him afterwards he realised exactly what he?d captured on memory-card. Oh ? and one other thing about our bijou tiler-friend, while in the act of capturing us for posterity, he managed to grab a couple of night-time shots of the exterior of St. James?s Park as well. And, when he came to download them to his PC, he discovered that there was a distinctly-atmospheric feel to them as well; all softly shrouded in mist and lovely to behold, they were. David Bailey, or Lord Lichfield would have drooled themselves silly over the end result, but the whole thing was a bit of an accident, really. How come? Simple; our hero happened to be smoking at the time, and some of the emissions from his fag wandered unknowingly in front of his camera?s trusty lens as he was lining up the vital shot!

Mind you, I think the weirdest story of the night had to come from within our own dressing-room. Some of you might have read of it already via the local media, but for the benefit of those who haven?t, I?ll repeat the tale. Apparently, come half-time, Houlty felt the need to wipe his face on a handy towel; not surprising, really, as things can get rather sweaty and muddy out there. Trouble was, the chosen article just happened to be one completely plastered with Vic Vapour Rub, a substance used by footballers to ease matchday aches and pains. It?s also a goalkeepers? favourite as it aids picking up greasy balls, but it certainly didn?t give Russell any assistance that night.

Within seconds of applying towel to eyes, the pain and agony really started for Houlty. Just imagine rubbing curry powder into your own peepers and you?ll get some idea of what happened. Panic then ensued; while Nick Worth tried to expel the offending substance from our hero?s giglamps, reserve keeper Joe Murphy was told to stand by for action, and was seen warming-up just before the start of the second half. Luckily, thanks to Nick?s timely intervention, the services of our Irish international weren?t required, but it was reported that the problem continued to give Houlty some bother during the remainder of the game. As someone said to me at Villa Park tonight, ?Blimey, if that?s what he can do when he?s half-blind, what would have happened had his eyes been OK??

And finally?.. The last word, from Anc, once more. At least we can now safely assume that those coppers employed by the Northumbrian Constabulary don?t routinely undergo surgical extraction of their sense of humour upon entering the force and commencing initial training. As our friend and his mates were leaving the ground last night, they passed one lone Geordie rozzer, and - Anc swears he?s not making this up, by the way! ? over the radio, so help me, God, Anc heard the words, ?Boing, Boing, over, over!? not once, not twice, but three times, and as clear as a bell

 - Glynis Wright

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