Tribute to a King

H&V November 1996

In July 1989 the Express & Star published a story about Villa moving for a new player. It did, however, say that his arrival at Villa Park wasn’t welcomed in all quarters. One supporter was quoted as saying, “We’ve had enough of these overpaid has-beens.” In comparison Custer, the captain of the Titanic and the mayor of Hiroshima were masters of judgement.

I’d never really noticed Paul McGrath before he joined the Villa. There are two types of footballer in the world, and he belonged to the Others – those who don’t play for us. But Graham Taylor was a man of sound judgement so when he paid £425,000 I was happy to go along with his belief that here was the man for the job. After all he was replacing Martin Keown, so he could only be an improvement.

The first thing I remember about him was the friendly against Hibernian. Ball comes over, McGrath is waiting, knowing full well where it was going to be, and in one movement killed it and without looking delivered a first time pass into the path of a Villa player. Okay it was Ian Ormondroyd so it went out for a throw in, but he wasn’t to know about that. And so a legend was born.

That season was a great one. The team exceeded everybody’s expectations and even in such a team of outstanding performers Macca stood head and shoulders above the rest. Ironically it was his early injury that led to Taylor playing with three centre backs, as Mountfield and Nielsen had done so well in his absence that neither could be dropped, and the partnership worked superbly. One occasion in particular summed the man up. The night we won at Spurs was probably the best performance of the season. At one point McGrath went up for the ball, headed into space and walked to collect it, so certain was he that he’d placed the ball where no one else could get at it.

At the end of the season he took just about very award going from Villa, the Midland Football Writers, Sports Argus, and it was a regular end of season occurrence for McGrath to receive a multitude of player of the year awards. Eventually they started going to others, and I think that was simply because Paul was running out of room to store them all.

1990-91 was a disappointment for Villa but McGrath, if anything, improved. The emergence of David Platt as a truly world-class star took a bit of the spotlight from him, but his performances were immaculate as ever. Between them the Irish international and future England captain saved the club from relegation and I often wondered why McGrath was wasting his time with our no-hopers.

Ron Atkinson arrived, and McGrath continued to put in world-class performances. By ni w we were starting to wonder just how long he could go on for, but there was no let up in his displays.

Finally, the 1992-93 season saw some long overdue recognition, when McGrath was voted PFA Player of the Year. And about time too, was the general consensus. As out front cover said at the time “Player of the Year. Every year.” To round off a season in which Villa almost reached the heights, McGrath won Villa’s Player of the Season award for the fourth time in a row.

1993-94 was a mixed season, with the underlying decline in the team being partly hidden by a League Cup final victory in which McGrath played despite a shoulder injury which would have sidelined a lesser man.

Atkinson’s dismissal and the arrival of Brian Little was in hindsight the beginning of the end for McGrath at the Villa. Little naturally had no sentimental feeling for McGrath, using him as and when required in the fight against relegation. Last season too, he showed no hesitation in resting McGrath on occasions.

And now he’s gone. This isn’t the time for recriminations, there was probably fault on all sides and we don’t really know what went on between Macca signing his contract last summer and his departure. Let’s just remember the player.

After all, when I c all him the best Villa player I’ve ever seen it’s one thing. When someone like Terry Weir, who’s been going to Villa Park for over fifty years, says the same thing then that’s something else.

But perhaps we’re biased. In that case, I can recall several times when the sheer brilliance of Paul McGrath has crossed every possible barrier of football supporters. The week before his testimonial I was on a phone-in programme, most of the callers were Small Heath supporters, every one of them agreed that McGrath was special. Then there was a talk with some Manchester City fans about Villa players of the past. Jimmy Rimmer was a Red bastard, as was John Gidman, even though both men scarcely played for United more than a couple of dozen times each. And of McGrath, a name still synonymous in Manchester with the Robson & Whiteside school of alcohol abuse? “Great player,” they chorused. Or the Rangers supporters who should have no love for the most popular Irish footballer of all? “Wish we’d got him.” That was Paul McGrath.

For me the supreme McGrath moment came against QPR at Villa Park. Their forward was through, one on one with Nigel Spink. There’s no way McGrath can get a tackle in without giving away a penalty. Except that he does, and not only does he stop the attack but he comes out with the ball and lays it off for a Villa player. McGrath clenched his fist, you can see him muttering “yesss” to himself , knowing the bit of magic he’d brought off. And as one, the crowd, both Villa and Rangers supporters, rise to acclaim something special.

Words like world class and genius are easy to use, so much that they’ve lost their meaning. So new words have to be invented to describe Paul McGrath and his service to Aston Villa. if you’re of my age and like me, from a family whose support of the Villa goes back for generations you’ll have been brought up on tales from your grandfather of Billy Walker, of Pongo Waring and Eric Houghton. Your father would have added Johnny Dixon and Gerry Hitchens. And you’ll tell those who come after you about Paul McGrath. They’ll think you’re exaggerating, because no footballer could possibly be that good. And so you will be. A bit.

 

Our ‘Saviour’ Bravely Runs Away

H&V 116 – August 2004

For years we’ve been told there were plenty of people out there who would buy Doug’s shares if only they had the chance. However, there’s been no real interest, save for some newspaper speculation and a bit of wishful thinking.

Then, towards the end of last season, came the news that former footballer and Birmingham City player Ray Ranson, with the backing of ex-QPR chairman Richard Thompson, had made an offer for Doug’s controlling interest. Immediately, both suspicion and interest was aroused.

Interest, because here at last was the offer we’d been waiting for. There was someone out there who disenchanted supporters could rally round. There was finally an answer to the question – Ellis out, who in? Not only that, but there was a lot of money behind them. Thompson’s fortune is estimated at £300 million – not Abramovich standard, but enough to buy us into the big league. And further interest because it’s long-since been claimed that there are several other concerns who want to buy the club and are just waiting for someone else to stake a claim so that they can nip in themselves.

And suspicion on several fronts. Being an ex-Blue was bad, but hardly insurmountable. After all, Ranson wouldn’t be the first Villa supremo with Sty experience. Of more concern what the fact that he’d made much of his own fortune by organising the finance deals that were to get Leeds into so much trouble. As for Thompson he’d done such a good job at QPR that he received death threats from disgruntled supporters.

Their first offer was, naturally, rejected out of hand. This was only to be expected, and the Ranson/Thompson consortium made lots of noises to the effect that they’d keep coming back until they won, that they would be making big efforts to get the fans onside and would show us all how they’d market the Villa around the globe. So far so good, and lots of people made lots of noise about how Doug’s days were numbered and he was hanging onto power – forgetting that he has a controlling interest in the Villa and as such, he’ll do what he wants until he doesn’t want to do it anymore.

Still, the stage was set for an interesting, intriguing, close-season with bid and counter-bid made, and maybe someone else coming in at the eleventh hour to outbid our potential new saviours. Except it didn’t work out like that. The comment in H&V 114 last April that “I’ve no doubt that the Ranson/Thompson double act will subject us to a PR offensive over the next few weeks and months” was about as accurate as our usual forecasts.

Nothing more was heard on the subject until a brief announcement to the Stock Exchange in June to the effect that the less-than-dynamic duo were no longer acting together but that Ranson was still looking for a backer. This was followed, to no-one’s surprise, a couple of weeks later by the news that Ranson had pulled out of his bid altogether and was looking for business opportunities elsewhere in the leisure sector.

There were the expected complaints that the bidders hadn’t been allowed to see the Villa’s full financial affairs, but in truth, nobody could really blame them. A hostile bid had been made, it had under-valued the club considerably, and the instigator had never done anything to show that they could be treated seriously. It was the footballing equivalent of turning up on someone’s doorstep, offering them well under the market value for their house even though it wasn’t for sale, then complaining because they didn’t let you have a look round and get a survey done.

Maybe I’m under-estimating their efforts and they did a lot more behind the scenes than I give them credit for. But for all their bluster, the consortium never did a single public act to make me, or anyone else, think that they would do a better job than Doug.

And what’s interesting is that whenever the bid was mentioned, there was a real air of “better the devil you know” amongst supporters. Either it’s because Doug’s a lot more popular than we give him credit for, or he was lucky that the bid came at a time when the team was going well and there was a mood of optimism.

I don’t know. It could have been that Ranson’s past aroused suspicion, that in the new realism of football there’s a growing realisation that Doug’s not been that bad after all (not that this is a theory likely to get much credence in these parts, you’ll be glad to know). They might have been seen as a bunch of asset-strippers only interested in the land Villa own, which might or might not be worth a fortune. Or it might be that we’re a bunch of miserable Brummie grouches who’d be against anything we don’t know and that doesn’t talk the same as we do.

Whatever the reason there were no impassioned speeches, no media blitz, no mobs tearing down the barricades and calling for the immediate arrival of our two new heroes. The Big Question had finally been answered, after a fashion, but for many it was the wrong answer. Even if they had made a big effort, it’s doubtful whether Ranson and Thompson would have garnered enough support from ordinary Villa supporters to make Doug’s life uncomfortable enough to pack it all in.

And on the subject of effort, one big question remained. Why was the bid made in the first place? What did the bidders hope to achieve by making such a half-arsed attempt? They didn’t offer a price that had a hope in hell of being accepted, they didn’t talk to supporters, they didn’t conduct any sort of media campaign. Why did they bother. You tell me, because, as usual, I haven’t got a clue.

And so the saga continues. I’m sure there are those who still think there’s another bid just around the corner. I’m certain that if there is any speculation, the claims will come out again that Doug’s hanging on for grim death and his departure is imminent . But even his worst enemy would concede that Doug Ellis, whatever his effect on Villa for good or ill, is a survivor. He’s beaten off another challenge to his throne and he’s as much in charge as ever. You might not like him , but for that fact alone you have to respect him.

Deadly Dwight Displaces Departed Dynamic Duo

H&V 37 – August 1995

In November 1991 the editorial in Heroes & Villains stated “…hopefully Dalian Atkinson has got over his injury problems.” At the same time Dwight Yorke was beginning to show why he is such a hero in his native land as he took up the goalscoring responsibilities from the departed David Platt. By the end of that season, Dwight was leading goalscorer (and snubbed in the young player of the year award) and Dalian hadn’t got over his injury problems. Now, at last, a player who cost next to nothing and has worked hard to be able to display his God-given talents to Villa fans will get the nod over a record signing who insulted both club and the supporters who kept faith with him to the end.

Throughout 1991-92 Dalian remained ‘injured.’ The inverted commas served only to highlight the confusion between genuine injury, lack of fitness and lack of desire. He was the beneficiary of too much faith from his manager and from fans who may not have approved of his antics but certainly never failed to give him their support whenever he took the field. So what were Dalian’s achievements whilst at Villa?

He scored some truly wondrous goals. Wimbledon will remain in the mind forever, as will his brace at Hillsborough. That season saw Dalian produce his best football ever and prove he has the ability to be genuinely world-class. yet when the going got tough in the run-in he ran off. It’s doubtful that the title race represented too much pressure on him. If he was genuinely injured then FatRon made the mother of all blunders by dropping an in-form Yorke to risk playing an unfit pet player. From thereon in his form dropped and the tantrums began.

93-94 saw the whole side slip, and none more so than Sicknote. A changing room bust up with the manager and more ‘injuries’ saw fans question whether it was worth keeping a player on the basis that he could occasionally turn it on. The League Cup Final showed how productive he could be, but Dalian the Genius was becoming an increasingly rare sight.

The season just gone turned a player who could split opinion into one who was universally despised. Rather than trying to impress a new manager, he whinged about leaving. He had the gall to say the fans didn’t give him a chance despite the fact that we never failed to get behind him. Well now he had the warm climate he wanted although I would suggest that supporters of Fenerbache may not be as intolerant as us if he gets up to his old tricks again.           He had the world and the fans at his feet and he kicked both where it hurts. None should mourn his passing but all should mourn the waste of such supreme talent.

The player with whom Dalian struck up such a productive partnership for all too brief a time also left and here opinion will really be split. My recollections of the pre-Villa Saunders amounts to his blatant dive and handball which won him a penalty in April 1989 and a spectacular inability to find the net at Villa Park a few months later, ineptitude which led Graham Taylor’s men on a run to second place. This same type of goal drought recurred at Villa Park yet it was a brave man who criticised hard-working Deano.

Like Dalian, FatRon showed faith in Saunders which may others may have found difficult to justify. While his efforts could never be questioned, he has never been a truly prolific striker. Yet it was goals we required from our  record signing and all too often they simply dried up. There were times when he should have been dropped, primarily to give him a rest and allow him to come back fresh. It seemed that he tried too hard at times and his ability to find the woodwork became infuriating.

The overriding memory of Dean Saunders should be that he never gave less than his all for the Villa. He obviously loved the club and the adulation of the fans. Right now we need him more than ever, not so much for his goals as for his ability to take the pressure off Savo. I sincerely hope that Saunders makes makes a wedge of money and enjoys the success he deserves. If only Dalian’s ability could be merged with Saunders’ effort. However, I have always found it hard to get into the Deano cult. At the end of the day he would have served us best if he had had a 25 goals a season player beside him, rather than one who struggled to play 25 games.

Now that the dynamic duo have left for foreign lands, what are Villa left with up front? Tommy Johnson (recipient of the most embarrassing chant ever) will hopefully find his feet now that Milosevic has taken the spotlight from him. If not, replace him. It’s imperative that the lessons from Dalian are learned. As for Savo, he is a raw talent untested in the English, or any decent, league. Time will tell but history has shown that the best Villa strikers made their name at Villa Park, not elsewhere. Buying previously successful forwards has rarely worked for us. Give him time and plenty of support and he should prove to be worth every penny.

Whilst the big-money signings grab the limelight, the man who was callously discarded in favour of the decidedly non-prolific Dalian and Deano  show now has the chance to show once more. Dwight Yorke received some acclaim from the terraces when his goals gave us respectability in 91-92. Yet he has been ignored by Villa fans ever since. Classic examples of this can be found in the last two homes clashes with Liverpool, which have spawned for goals both for the Villa and for Yorkie. Yet despite his match-winning efforts, few in the crowd could even be bothered to chant his name.

Why? If ever a player mirrored the paying abilities of his manager Dwight is he. The man is pure talent. He is now our most experienced forward and without doubt the most gifted player we possess. Encourage him, especially when his pure skill is thwarted by brute force, and if brought along and marketed properly watch him take the world by storm.

Unlike Dalian, Yorkie has come in to a foreign country and foreign climate and worked. He has honed his skills to such an extent that nowhere in this country can one find a player with better positional awareness; he always finds space for himself and is unfortunately too often let down by his teammates lack of vision.  And unlike Deano, Yorke has the ability to ghost past three or four players in a way which would send commentators into raptures if it were done  by FatRon or the French Fouler.

Yorke is the future of Villa. It should be hoped that FatRon’s mistake of taking him  for granted is not repeated this season by management or fans. I well remember hearing rumours that Dwight was on hi s way to Manchester City in the summer of ’93 and thanking the Lord that it didn’t happen. Let’s all make sure that it never does. I’m starting to forget about those other two already.

Simon Page.

Galloping to the Finish

H&V 66 – March 1999.

It was a small story in the Evening Mail, but of course they whipped up the hysteria to Royal Wedding proportions. And it brought back memories, as these stories often do.

The police are disbanding the Mounted Division. The police horses, those fine, noble upstanding beasts have had their day. No more will they march along full of grace and style. No more will they stand out in a crowd. No more will they do their duty as keepers of the peace.

Good. I hope they turn the things into Pedigree Chum. I hope they do the same to the bastards who ride ’em as well.

Anybody who spent his formative years at Villa Park will know just how dangerous those beasts could be. I swear that they weren’t animals at all, they were robots programmed to home in on football supporters and turn in to killing machines. Half a ton of horse, with a rider wielding a great big stick. It wasn’t very nice.

I suppose the only good thing you could say about them was that they couldn’t exactly get onto the Holte. But they did the next best thing. At the first sign of a queue, up would come the cavalry and straight away we knew we were in for a pleasant few minutes. Everybody near the horses would be pushing away from them. The ones furthest away would be pushed up against the wall. And the usual mantra from the twat responsible for it all, “You lot are the animals here.”  I lived for the moment one of them came off his horse, but it never happened.

Of course, there were times when they were called into proper action. During the numerous bouts of fisticuffs which went off down Witton Lane they could always be called on to come thundering into action, not caring who lived or died under their hoofs. To this day there’s not one recorded instance of a policeman on a horse ever making an arrest, but still they raced up and down the road getting in everybody’s way. They were the living embodiment of the rule that says : The more a copper’s safety is ensured, so the more he will risk the safety of the public (For other examples, see riot shields, CS gas, side-handled batons).

Even more enjoyable for our prospective John Waynes were semi-final days. There used to be a fine tradition here where Villa supporters would congregate on the park to meet the locked-out supporters from the teams taking part. Here, with two hundred yards of grass to get a run-up on, our heroes could re-enact the Charge of the Light Brigade with one essential difference – there wasn’t any Russian artillery to blow their heads off.

It was quite awesome in its way, seeing a dozen horses riding full pelt at twenty or so young wannabe hoolies. It was also a bit futile. The police couldn’t grab hold of anybody. They couldn’t run them over, as even the West Midlands Police would have had a hard time justifying ‘Misadventure’ in the circumstances. The best they could do was corral them back onto the road where their mates on foot would randomly arrest one in ten and push the rest off back where they came from.

So now they’re going. and like all things that form a  part of growing up, we’ll miss them. The bloke who used to collect the horse shite for his garden will miss them as well. I hope their riders have to walk the beat for ever. I hope they get blisters.

Catch the Pigeon

H&V 44 – August 1996

“Doug Ellis displayed his caring nature when he inspected Aston Villa’s pitch last week. Ellis, taking a look at the Villa Park playing surface following the installation of undersoil heating, gathered up a pigeon whose wing had been damaged. The RSPCA were later called to look after Villa’s latest injury victim.” Birmingham Post, 4th August.

You might have heard something about this story elsewhere, but this is the full version and besides, we heard it first.

A few weeks back an injured pigeon landed on the new heated Villa pitch. Allegedly a certain chairman, after much trying, caught the bird. Concerned for the plight of the feathery one – hereinafter referred to as Ivo – Doug decided Ivo should be placed in the care of those who could administer the requisite medical attention. It appears the Good Hope had run out of intensive care cages and Ivo’s insurance unfortunately didn’t cover the luxurious Mirror and Bell suites at Little Aston.

What to do? Only one thing for it. Get in Villa’s resident expert on birds, who would know the best way to treat poor Ivo. Sadly, the Villa Park workforce are not on a par with Alcatraz’s most famed inmate, so the delicate task of finding the nearest Pigeon Fanciers Chapter fell to Peter Withe. Obviously Ivo’s health was of greater importance than discovering the stars of tomorrow. Still, could it really be true that such mundane tasks are foisted onto our stars of yesterday?

There is an alternative version of this story which might, though, be a complete fabrication. The pigeon fancied a quick rest on its way home from a race, espied Villa Park and flew down for a few minutes peace and quiet as well as a nice free meal of grass seed. Mr Ellis, gazing upon his pride and joy from the vantage point of his North Stand office, ordered the immediate arrest of the bird, lest it should cause a full-scale riot amongst the queue of season ticket buyers.

A detachment of Tangomen were henceforth sent for, with orders to apprehend our feathered friend with a view to depriving him of the usual £400 fine, as well as banning the malefactor from Villa Park for the foreseeable future. How this latter measure was to be implemented, short of employing a helicopter to patrol the skies of Aston on matchdays, neither occurred to Mr Ellis nor to his deputy during the operation, the Head of Security (Airborne Invaders Section), Air Chief Marshal Hood.

Said winged miscreant, at this time still in perfect health. was duly detained and taken into custody, subject to further questioning as to the nature and intent of his unscheduled violation of Villa Park.

However, whilst in custody the accused sustained injuries various. At the subsequent inquiry a security man who had been involved in the interrogation of the unfortunate Pidge and wished to remain anonymous claimed that “The prisoner tried to escape and fell down the stairs guv.”

Mr Ellis has been nominated for the order of the Dodo. Of the pigeon, we unfortunately have no further news. Amnesty International are said to be investigating the case.

Permission Granted

H&V 65 – February 1999.

Some things in life are impossible to leave behind. Like flared trousers, Birmingham City claiming to be a big club and Duran Duran, just when you thought you’d seen the last of them they come back with a vengeance, causing everybody concerned a whole lot of trouble, effort and inconvenience.

The saga of the Villa Park redevelopment has been going on for years now and it still shows no signs of ending. We all know the story, we know who the good guys and the baddies are and I for one am getting sick of the whole thing. Unfortunately it’s reared its head again in recent weeks and has shown everybody concerned to be far from perfect.

It all started in the Evening Mail of December 21st. A Sports Comment along the lines of why Villa Park must be rebuilt was accompanied by the usual exhortation to Have Your Say. And we most certainly did. For days afterwards the sports pages were filled with letters from Villa supporters. As usual they were full of soundbites and contained very little in the way of reasoned argument. That’s not to criticise the writers, it’s just difficult to put anything new across in the space of three sentences.

Anyone of a cynical nature would have wondered about the timing of this particular Mail campaign. Then they would have realised it was Christmas and nothing much was happening to fill the blank pages of our favourite newspaper. As someone once said, there’s always just enough news to fill the pages. Funny, that. And of course, getting the Villa onside didn’t do them any harm.

So the letters came flooding in. The council came in for heavy criticism for being backward looking, with the residents a close second because, after all, they knew they were moving next to a football ground when they bought their houses. As an aside, there was a comparison made with the redevelopment of Sty Andrews and Old Trafford. All very good. But none of it actually did any good, except merely entrenching opinions and making compromise even more unlikely.

So what’s to be done? Who do we blame and how do we get ourselves out of this mess? perhaps we could start by looking at the saga from all sides, because after all, that’s where the discussions will take place. We might think that the Villa should be allowed to do whatever they want, but in  the real world compromise has to be made.

The club could have done better in the past, and that has contributed to their current problems. Take the Witton Lane stand. The arguments with the council, problems with sightlines which led to the whole lower tier having to be realigned and the asbestos trial. Then the club said that without Doug’s tenacity and genius it wouldn’t have been built. Not very tactful.

Look at the old Trinity Road stand, the wonderful, unique memorial to a truly great sporting institution. Then look at it now, with the frontage ruined by the Museum Club. It hardly gives confidence that future renovations will be sympathetically carried out, however much the club reassures us otherwise.

The existing redevelopment of Villa Park will never win awards for architectural merit. Simon Inglis has accused Villa officials of ensuring that “Style is not a priority“. Doug Ellis has seemed more concerned with economy than quality and a common criticism has been that new stands have been built without blending in to an established pattern. ‘Piecemeal’ is the world often used to describe the club’s plans.

City planning chief Cllr Stuart Stacey said much the same, referring to Villa Park as resembling “four sheds” when permission was refused for the original Trinity Road plans in 1997. When they first started to rebuild the ground in the light of the Taylor Report a decade ago attendances were often half what they are now. Had they known what the following ten years would bring then Villa may have bitten the bullet and moved to a greenfield site. From a similar position Sunderland left Roker Park for the Stadium of Light, the best new ground built in Europe for many years. Instead, Villa chose to redevelop Villa Park with all the inherent problems of the inner city.

In choosing this option they have incurred the continued opposition of local residents, who fear increased inconvenience and further erosion of what little open space remains in  the area.

It’s easy to blame the council, but they have been put in a difficult position. One former councillor and Villa season ticket holder said to us that they genuinely have, over the years, been sympathetic and wanted to help the Villa. Unfortunately, Doug’s attitude meant that they often had to remind him just who it was that runs Birmingham. They are obliged to acct even-handedly towards all inhabitants of Birmingham, and not just the prestigious ones.

Furthermore, to call the city council backward because of one planning application is somewhat shortsighted. This is a body who have overseen the Broad St and Heartlands developments which have helped create one of the most progressive cities in Europe. They may not be perfect, but it would be churlish to criticise them because of one delay, however unpopular it might be. And as for the claims that they were obstructive because they were Blues, well think about it logically. The majority of this city, despite the more ludicrous claims emanating from the Sty, support the Villa. Do you really think that on the local council the position , for some strange reason, is reversed? In any case, the Labour Party is now at all levels obsessed with its popularity and getting re-elected. I can’t imagine that having a vendetta against what could, with very little organisation, become the largest pressure group in the city.

As for redevelopment being carried out with less fuss at the respective Heaths Small and Newton, it’s sad to say that the nature of the applications meant that theirs would always cause less problems. For a start, the Sty lies in an industrial wasteland. Any improvement there would improve the look of the dereliction that lies between Tilton Road and Coventry Road (You could say that a small nuclear missile would improve the look, but that’s another story). They’re also reducing capacity, which helps with planning permission, and there are few people living round the parts of the ground that have so far been ‘improved.’ When they start on the Main Stand, though, that’ll be another story.

As for Old Trafford, it’s in an industrial area and nothing that’s built there will affect residential areas. And for good measure, both clubs already own the land they want to build on. The Blues, in fact, did suffer a setback when refusing to pay Railtrack the going rate for the embankment which meant that the plans for the Railway End had to be scaled down. In contrast the Villa have the small problem  of a 400 year old stately home nearby. Aston Hall might help give out ground its unique setting, but it also means that it’s a bugger to build next to.

Equally the local residents are not wholly without cause. Supporters argue that the ground was there when they moved to Aston. Maybe, but so was Aston Park, which is now one ninth of its original size. And Villa’s success in recent years, coupled with a reduction in public transport has seen matchday inconvenience increased. With the Premiership experiencing a financial boom period the local people of Aston could be excused for wondering when they will receive some of the benefits of their wealthy neighbour.

Villa, meanwhile, say they are doing all they can to help move things along. They certainly seem more responsive than ever to making concessions. But their previous reluctance is surely a factor in the current problems. As we said before, Doug’s obstinacy, single-mindedness, call it what you like, may be an admirable trait in business deals. But when dealing with an elected body it can also be a handicap.

Council leader Theresa Stewart said as much in the Evening Mail. when describing him as “A difficult man to work with.” Uncle Doug has remained silent in recent weeks, leaving to explain club policy. So maybe the way is open for a greater era of co-operation.

Theresa Stewart again, “Ellis and the council planners should be locked in a room and not let out until they’ve reached an agreement.” A bit extreme maybe, but understandable given the obvious frustrations.

For the current and future development of Villa Park, agreement must be reached. The club must continue talking to residents and the agencies who run local amenities. The council should accept that there are times when common sense must override the strict letter of the law. And the local residents have to be persuaded that Villa Park isn’t going to go away, the club’s proposals will actually benefit those living in Aston and that there are worse places to live than close to a football stadium.

The time has come for all concerned to meet and finally sort out the matter, club officials council officers, residents, supporters, anyone who has a vested interest in Villa Park. Villa  have already said that their plans include improving facilities in Aston Park and implementing a park and ride  scheme to help alleviate traffic problems. Further assurances that there will be no further redevelopments, which Mark Ansell regards as “unlikely,” would help appease the locals, as would ensuring that newly created jobs would be given to local residents.

Get everyone round a table and come up with a plan that will be acceptable to the majority. You won’t get everybody to agree but surely something must be done to get out of the stalemate that has existed for too long. As a neutral, how about getting Carl Chinn to chair the discussion? He’s a Villa supporter, the most popular man in the world and his desire to keep the city’s heritage intact would surely make him acceptable to all sides.

It’s gone on for far too long. Nobody is completely at fault but equally nobody is totally blameless either. The Villa have done as much as they can at the moment to en sure that everybody’s happy. Their plans include improving the amenities of the park and helping return to the original aims of the Aston Lower Grounds – to make them an attraction for the people of Birmingham.

Maybe we need to do more. I don’t know. It appears that there are residents representatives who will settle for nothing less than the demolition of Villa Park and the disbanding of the club. Unfortunately, it’s one of the prices of democracy that these ideas have to be given as much of a hearing s the sensible ones.

But will somebody please do something to make sure that thus farce is over as quickly as s possible and that’s the last we hear of it. We’ve had seventies revivals, eighties revivals and any day now I’m expecting to hear of an early nineties revival. Just don’t ever let us have an Aston Residents revival.

The Manager Now Departing on Platform One

H&V 12 – August 1991

Normally, the sacking of a manager is cause for relief that he can do no further harm, as well as giving optimism for the future. This was never more apparent than in the summer of 1987, when Billy McNeill was replaced by Graham Turner amidst scenes of jubilation and a feeling that years of neglect and deterioration were to be put right. And so it proved.

This time around, though, whilst welcoming the arrival of Ron Atkinson there must also be disappointment that the bold move of appointing Joszef Venglos did not work, together with anger at the squalid was in which his last few weeks at Villa Park were played out. It is, of course, an easy thing to look back and say that he should not have been appointed, but how many people can truthfully say that  they were against Venglos becoming manager? Most people who I spoke to at the time were delighted with such a visionary appointment and looked forward to leading the rest of the league into a Brave New World of Euro-football.

The reasons why Venglos failed have been gone over in enough detail by better experts than I – Phil Shaw of the Independent in particular wrote an excellent piece about his time in  England. But when a team who at times could field nine players picked for their country last season at some level have to rely on other clubs results to save them from relegation, the fault cannot purely be down to the manager’s inability to shout at them. Unfortunately, the buck stopped where it always stops in English football and Venglos found himself returning from whence he came no doubt a sadder and wiser man.

The gamble had not paid off, yet it as English football which was the real loser. It is a pity that just when we were beginning to learn from Europe following the 1990 World Cup, supporters of the Nicholas Ridley school of thought will be able to quote Venglos as an example that there is nothing which foreigners can teach us about the game. To many people he was a nobody and as they’d never heard of him before, he could never have done anything of consequence. He was a Czech, therefore that was where he had spent all of his life. As one man said to me, “He’ll probably ask for political asylum, he’s never been so well off in his life.”

Venglos has actually worked all around the world, in places where living standards are much higher than in Birmingham. When he first came to Villa Park Ellis introduced him as “the best manager in the world” and there was enough evidence to support this statement. Venglos is one of FIFA’s most highly respected coaches and last season was probably the most knowledgeable man in English football. But none of this counted because he couldn’t speak the language. But none of this counted because he couldn’t speak the language. How many people reading this are fluent in Czech? That’s just you and your husband then, Mrs Stas.

There are probably thousands of people involved in football throughout the world who have encountered language problems when moving to anew club in a foreign country. Most clubs abroad, though, at least make a token  attempt to meet foreigners halfway with any cultural problems they might encounter. If we refuse to adapt, if we continue to say “Conform to our ways or else” then who will be the losers? Can we really say that we have nothing to learn from the lands of Beckenbauer and Platini, of van Basten and Schillaci, of Nou Camp and San Siro?

Unfortunately, there are too many people who will say that this is indeed the case, and for every one who felt genuine sorrow at Venglos’ departure there will be many more for whom his leaving will be a cause for celebration. They won;t have to take any risks, they will be able to go back to the old ways with perfect justification. After all, Villa went foreign and look what happened to them.

All of this pales into insignificance, though, when compared to the way in which Venglos was treated by the media, particularly as the season staggered to a close. He was never popular with the national press, particularly as they could never expect to work as well with him as with his predecessor and was often the subject of criticism because of this. Then the Evening Mail, who a few months before had been selling ‘Joe 90’ t-shirts launched the most vicious campaign I can ever remember, headed by a writer who did not even have the decency to put his name to his vitriolic outburst. The Argus even offered a guide to who would be the next Villa manager, while Venglos still held the job. I honestly believed that our local press would never descend to such depths and I hope that the club will remember such behaviour in the future.

It was another squalid chapter in the history of Aston Villa, yet if one man emerged with credit, it was Joszef Venglos. His dignified behaviour was an example to everyone and the way in which he handled his eventual dismissal was of the highest order. Language batter or not, he could have made his feelings know quite easily and split the club wide open with his story of last season’s events yet refused to say a word. In an era of cheque-book journalism and opportunistic headlines, such an attitude is all too rare and cannot be commended too highly. Whatever his managerial shortcomings, at least Venglos can walk away from the whole affair with his pride and self-esteem intact. Perhaps the others involved can feel pleased with the way in which they hounded a man and his family simply in order to fill a few inches of tomorrow’s chip wrappings.

I wish Joszef Venglos well, and hope that he will find success with his new club Fenerbache. It is a pity that he was unable to utilise his undoubted abilities for the good of Aston Villa, but I trust that everyone will learn from the mistakes which were made last season.

Holtenders Babble On

H&V 49 – February 1997

Villa fans. We’ve got a lot in common, y’know? Things that the outside world just cannot comprehend. To us, Rotterdam isn’t just a song by the Beautiful South, Pongo is not considered a hygiene-related insult and Billy McNeill is a bastard. But despite sharing with me a love of “By far the greatest team, the world has ever seen,” (c) 1874 Aston Villa FC, some of my fellow supporters really get my goat up.

1) Discussing Cussing. Love it or hate it, swearing is part and parcel of matchdays at Villa Park. Personally I couldn’t give a shit. but I’ll try my bets to present both sides of the argument.

Whilst browsing through a recent match programme I was surprised to find the following – no, not the obligatory piccy of new-born Aston in his Villa babygro – but this comment from a Villa supporter: “I can’t stand it when I hear the obscene chant at Villa Park about Birmingham City. It’s not necessary.” 

I agree that the unoriginal Cheer Up Trevor Francis ditty is unnecessary, as we already have equally offensive chants about Small Heath that actually rhyme (Anyway, the only tunes that could cheer up throaty Trevor are of the menthol variety). However, I’ve a funny feeling that this person is more concerned with stadium swearing in general.

As a result of this, I have compiled a list of questions a non-swearing supporter might possibly ask regarding the issue of swearing. Taking each one in turn I’ve attempted to answer them without bias.

Proper fans and profanities don’t mix. Football clubs are trying to encourage families to attend more games, and in doing this women and children should not have to be subjected to such vulgarities. Would you agree?

I would argue on behalf of the pro-swearing lobby that this is a load of bollocks. If ‘families’ do wish to attend then they should be reminded that the family enclosure was provided for their benefit. This section of the ground could be strictly controlled and patrolled so that swearers and non-swearers could be segregated.

But the continual use of blue language at Villa Park is dragging us down to the unacceptable level of those Bluenose scummers over at Small Heath, isn’t it?

Bullshit. it is universally accepted (except by my mum, of course) that swearing is a useful way of expressing emotion, and although a  chorus of “Jolly hard luck, old chap,” may be a more polite reaction to a misplaced pass or wasted opportunity, such disappointments often demand more aggressive responses – or at the very least “Shit!”

Indeed, the value of having a good swear cannot be underestimated. The odd expletive serves a similar purpose to pornmeister Sullivan’s ‘personal assistants’ in relieving the tensions and frustrations of everyday life, but I’m afraid that’s as far as the connection with those Bluenose bastards goes.

Surely, though, there is too much swearing?

I firmly believe that swearing in and around the ground should only be directed towards Small Heath, opposing fans,. referees, assistant referees, Albion, opposing players, cold pies, arrogant stewards, Man United, people sitting in your seat, bobble-hat wearers etc – anything else is just gratuitous.

Only kidding. Most of the time we don’t even realise we are doing it. Mention the word ‘curse’ to most Villa supporters and they are likely to think of  Sir Bert’s evil spell which has                                                                                            prevented us from winning the cup in the last forty years. few will consider that ‘curse’ is precisely what we do when Villa are drawn away from home – again.

Do you like Doug?

Stop trying to change the subject.

Do you?

I’m not saying.

I don’t.

Me neither.

Aren’t obscene chants the end of sportsmanship as we know it?

You’re (talking) shit and you know you are. Cheeky chants are merely extending the boundaries of rivalry. Friendly banter never hurt anyone.

If you swear once more I’ll tell that policeman on you. Did you know you could be ejected for foul and abusive language?

Yes, I was aware of the fact but you only have to listen to the sheer volume of some of the chants to realise that there are lots of ‘offenders.’ Many of them wouldn’t include swearwords in their everyday exchanges. They choose to do so as a means of escapism, that’s all it is. So don’t switch to PC (Politically Correct) Plod.

King Brian, Lord Brian, he who walks upon the water, has slapped a ban on swearing. Any player caught uttering obscenities are hit with an instant fine. Doesn’t that suggest that I am right and that swearing is wrong?

You just had to bring Brian into it, didn’t you? For your information, the aforementioned swearing ban was enforced in order to increase Savo’s confidence (those boys can be so cruel). And what’s more, in private Brian loves a good swear. I think.

Okay, I take your arguments on board, but may I suggest that you moderate your language just a bit?

May I suggest that you mind your own bloody business. And while you are thinking of an alternative way to describe Paul Tait, I’ll wash my mouth out with soap and water.

Nigel Callaghan really was shit wasn’t he?

Yes.

Mathew Kendrick.

 

 

Nightmare Journeys from Hell – Ice Station Zebra

H&V 68 – May 1999.

Most of these tales are based round defeats. This one, if anything, was even worse. The match didn’t happen and was never even likely to. Chelsea versus Aston Villa, February 1985. Match postponed due to the start of the new Ice Age.

It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place. I shouldn’t have even gone out the house that day. For a start I couldn’t afford it. As one of the casualties of Thatcher’s war on the working classes I was a poor unemployed school leaver at the time, struggling to survive on twenty quid a week. There was no way I should even have thought about blowing the whole amount on one afternoon’s ‘entertainment’. But it was the Villa, we were still kidding ourselves that Graham Turner, our bright young new manager, was about to unleash a second wave of eighties glory onto the world and with Chelsea newly back in the first division it was a new ground for me.

The second reason for staying at home watching Grandstand was the weather. There had been blizzards sweeping the country and south of Birmingham was virtually impassable. No way was the game ever going to be played. Looking back, it was when the bus couldn’t make it into town and I had to walk the last mile through the driving Arctic conditions that I should have realised the futility of the day.

Came the eventual arrival at New Street and the choice of transport. By now things were getting ridiculous. The trains were delayed, the only people about were fellow idiots trying to find a way to Stamford Bridge. You knew in your heart that you shouldn’t be going but there was just a chance that it might be on, and if you’d missed it after all the deprivations so far, then weren’t you the stupid one?

Eventually someone I knew vaguely persuaded me to get in a mini-bus full of his lads. I didn’t know any of them so I started to feel a bit left out as they spent the first hour of the journey talking about all the murders and retribution they were going to dish out along the Kings Road that afternoon. Er, hang on lads, there’s only eleven of you, and I definitely don’t mean twelve of us. Don’t you think that the most infamous gang of thugs in the land are going to be a bit too much for you to handle? I’m all in favour of gallant defence against overwhelming odds but I don’t want to get any nearer to it than watching Errol Flynn in They Died With Their Boots On.

Luckily there was about as much chance of this West London Armageddon happening as there was of us getting to the match, as you will find out. For a start, the driver didn’t exactly know his way. To get to London in those pre-M40 days you got on the M6 and headed south until you saw lots of people living in cardboard boxes. Not difficult, you might think. Wrong. Whether the snow had affected his brain or what, we soon found ourselves heading down the A34. Two hours later we were in Stratford. Two hours to Stratford is pushing it on a Bank Holiday afternoon. When you’re the only vehicle on the road then you can see the problems we were facing. Like a complete white out. And windscreen wipers that weren’t working. And having to swerve to avoid the polar bears.

There was one other member of our party with any semblance of sanity. As we approached the middle of Stratford, with nary a soul to be seen, he pointed out that the pubs were open. At this point I should point out that I’ve got the same attitude to comedies based on Irish religion that the editors of this noble organ seem to have, so I’ll say that the rest of our party had the Father Jack approach to alcohol. Find, seek out and devour.

By now even the most stupidly optimistic had agreed that we wouldn’t get to the match. Confirmation came with a phone call to the ground, which the bearer of the bad tidings swore had been answered by Ken Bates. There was half-hearted talk of pushing on to see if Oxford had got a match on, but there wasn’t much point.

The only action we saw that afternoon, sporting or otherwise, was a snowball fight we kicked off in the main street of Stratford. Unfortunately, just as this was getting interesting with the arrival of girlie type reinforcements from a shop which had just shut, we were reported to the police. Some bloke from an antique shop thought we were big armed robbers or something so, and this is no exaggeration, two riot vans arrived. Even they were embarrassed at having to deal with the aftermath of the Ice Battle of Stratford and wanted to piss off back to their nice warm station but the bloke from the shop was having none of it.

“They are breaking the law. It is a criminal offence to commit public nuisance and that is what these people are doing. Besides which they have thrown a missile against my property.”  An errant missile had, indeed, landed on his shop front. As his windows were made of reinforced glass and had the shutters down, it’s unlikely that he would have lost out much. A quick conference between the few people at the scene who were at this point capable of rational thought ended up with us offering to apologise. The head policeman pointed out to the shop owner that if he wanted to make a complaint then he, the policeman, would insist on a full statement being made outside the shop, right now. Even the said purveyor of antiques was getting too cold to argue at this point so it was sorries all round and home.

By now the snow, which had been getting better, returned worse than before. It really was dangerous out there and the driver had decided that as we wanted to get home as quickly as possible then he should take advantage of the roads being clear. A country road. A blizzard. It’s getting dark. A Transit doing seventy. And a driver that had drunk more than anybody else. Somebody tell me how we got back in one piece, because I still haven’t worked that one out to this day.

The buses had stopped running so it was the little matter of a four mile walk back home.  Scott of the Antarctic had it easy as far as I was concerned. At least he didn’t have to worry about how he was going to have to survive until Giro day on 50p.

A couple of months later we played the rearranged match. I went down by coach, which picked me up and dropped me back at the bottom of the road. We lost three-nil. It was great.

Richard Owen

Numbers

H&V 120 – December 2004.

73 – the percentage of adult males who received a Peter Kay DVD as a Christmas present.

187 – the number of Chelsea supporters who know that Vinnie Jones used to be a  footballer.

12 – the number who know he used to play for Chelsea.

29,819 – the total IQ of a Small Heath crowd.

0.00037 – the average number of GCSEs held by them.

1,487 – the number of times Karren Brady has claimed to be a “normal working wife and mother” in the press.

27 – the number of times Karren Brady has attempted to begin a media career.

26 – the number of media outlets that now won’t touch her with a bargepole.

1 – the number of Birmingham Evening Mails there are.

28 – percentage of Manchester United supporter who can find Manchester on a map.

1,478 – the number of recently-deceased celebrities the Kop have assured us will never walk alone.

14 – the number of coats in Newcastle.

3,478,921 – the number of little old ladies who have written to Doug thanking him for paying their season ticket for three years with the money they made when they sold their shares they’d bought for a fiver.

440 – the amount in pounds the minimum number of shares cost at flotation.

95 – the amount in pounds you’d get after commission if you sold them now.

15 – the amount you’d have got if you’d sold them about eighteen months ago.

0 – the amount in pounds, pence, euros or washers that anyone was docked in wages after saying what a good bet Villa shares were.

13 – the percentage of Arsenal supporters who know the name of their manger before Arsene.

9.7 – the number of seats each Coventry supporter will have to themself in their new ground.

65 – the scientifically proven distance in yards Chris Nicholl scored from in the 1977 League Cup final.

1,000,000 – the number of camels whose fleas inhabit Steve Hodge’s arse, according to Arab legend.