Dave Woodhall has an epiphany in Aston.
If you’ll excuse the personal indulgence, in 1988 I first joined the FSA and soon joined the West Midlands branch committee. It wasn’t exactly a great honour; in those days the local FSA, like all branches, was the sort of organization where, if you went to the AGM, you had to have a good excuse not to be roped into doing something. So I got ‘elected’ and spent the next three and a bit decades involved in football politics. H&V, the FSA, assorted Villa groups and what is now the Fans Advisory Board. All this came to an end a couple of weeks ago when I left the FAB.
The main reason for stepping down were that I’d had enough of meetings, consultations and being shot at from all sorts – usually including accusations of having some sort of hidden agenda and getting unspecified freebies. If only,on that last one. The final straw came at the latest meeting. Without going into too much detail, because for some reason the minutes still haven’t been released, everything that’s gone wrong this season is someone else’s fault and if you think the Champions League prices so far are high, when the knockout stages come round you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.
There’s no consultation anymore; the FAB only exists because it’s a Premier Leage rule and if it didn’t exist we wouldn’t be invited for a lecture every month or so on how we should shut up, stop moaning and be grateful. I’d had enough and I couldn’t be arsed pretending anymore.
The FAB is a microcosm of everything that’s wrong with the Villa, and with football in general, these days. Ordinary supporters being priced out in favour of day trippers and corporates, pressure put on to spend ever-growing amounts on associated merchandise, looking to rinse every last penny from supporters.
The way in which football clubs at all levels have persuaded supporters to believe it’s their duty to hand over every disposable pound is the greatest marketing success of the 21st century. I turn up ten minutes before kick-off, I haven’t spent anything in ground for years, Hi Ho Silver Lining makes me cringe and I refuse to clap along to anything. Aston Villa don’t want me; I wonder for how much longer I’ll want them.
When the Bayern tickets went on sale I got one without a second thought. They might be expensive but what the hell, It’s a one-off and if this really is my personal end then may as well go out on a high. And so match night came round. Walking down Trinity Road I couldn’t but notice all the new supporters we’ve attracted and how they did’t really deserve this. You, with the half and half scarf, you with your two children. You in the branded leisurewear with matching accessories. You’re not Villa supporters, you’re only here because you’ve seen it on TV. You don’t belong.
Into the ground, up the steps I’ve climbed many times before and BANG! The lights, the Champions League singage, that logo in the centre circle that’s on TV as much as Coronation Street. Tonight it’s at Villa Park. Then the teams coming out, the fireworks, the banners and above all, the anthem. This was real. This is the biggest stage in football and we’re on it.
The result was inevitable. The Gods didn’t bother turning out tonight because they knew they weren’t needed and besides, they’ve got a new recruit to train up, although what Rinder and Ramsay make of him I dread to think. 1-0, with a goal against the run of play scored by Villa’s number nine. It was always going to happen.
The night after, when my mate rang me to say the best thing for him was seeing me grin like the ten year old who thought there was nothing in life as good as being down the Villa, I knew what he meant because he’d been the same. Two grumpy old men being reminded that no matter how much Chris Heck & co try to knock it out of us they’ll never succeed because as of all people Tom Ross once said, when you strip everything else away, there’s still the football. They’re still the Villa.