coming home

When my father died in 1983 much of my motivation to attend Villa Park died with him.

It was my father who had taken me to my first game in 1965 and had been my regular companion at games thereafter. I had plenty of memories to keep me warm; the third division days, promotion at Hillsborough, a trip to Antwerp, two league cup finals and the league championship.

I rationalised that I had had a good innings and that it was time to pass on the torch for those who were to follow.

Once you get out of the habit of going to the game it's all too easy to stay away, particularly when you have a young family to support. As the years passed I found that I wasn't missing my football over-much and could not see myself ever attending a professional game ever again. But circumstances can change again.

Recently my 14 year old son began agitating to see a live game at Villa Park, Eventually he held me to my promise that I would take him down to a game "some time this season".

Tickets were purchased via the credit card hotline and so the great day arrived.

My son bounded up the steps into the Holte, eyes like saucers. He was literally trembling with excitement. I found myself bounding up the steps with him.

In many ways it was like meeting a long-lost relative. After fourteen years there were bound to be changes. For instance, I couldn't understand why the goalposts were in the wrong place (until they were moved after the warm-up). The AV floodlights were gone, flags draped over the Upper Holte wall, replica shirts everywhere in the crowd, the teams coming out together. New heroes, new villains.

Middlesborough were poor. The match was poor. We loved every minute.

With Christmas coming, the germ of an idea grew. Finances were calculated and the following Monday saw me standing in a queue at the Villa Park ticket office.

Waiting for the train home with two season tickets burning a hole in my pocket, thoughts turned to the past. The legacy my father had left me and that had lain dormant for so long. My son's likely reaction to his surprise Christmas present, The torch I was now passing on to him.

Football? Sometimes it's enough to make you weep.

It was for me that Monday morning at Witton station.

Nigel Lancaster.