All of you avid match report followers out there will have noticed that I’ve been going through a bit of a barren spell in the writing stakes recently. There has been some speculation that I’d been dropped from the line-up due to a series of poor performances. I refute this. There have also been others who have claimed that there may have been interest from other parties for my talents. This is simply not true. Like the true professional I am, I’ve merely been biding my time, waiting for the right opportunity to make my triumphant return. This’ll do…

I like to think that in many ways I’m a lot like Michael Chopra. I’ve been watching from the sidelines, unable to make the contribution I know I’m capable of. Today was my day. Even getting picked up in Leeds, there was something in the air. Perhaps it was the free McFlurry I won with my breakfast, perhaps it was merely that bitter chill that nearly swept me onto the M1; who knows.

Whatever it was, it followed us down to Birmingham. That chill was now an arctic bite and I hadn’t yet cashed in my McFlurry. Villa Park is a proper football ground, a stadium with four proper stands. Retaining it’s old charm without becoming destitute like so many of the older grounds, it really is a pleasure to frequent. That can’t really be said for the pub around the corner however. To those engaging in a spot of beer surfing and bottle throwing in the derelict and post modernist urban decay of a beer garden in the Cap and Gown, it’s not big and it’s not clever. It definitely isn’t funny either.

Dodging the flying bottles without sustaining any serious injury, I once again knew my luck was in. It only took 20 minutes of the match for me to doubt that however, as Scott Carson, or England’s number one as Howard Webb presumably likes to calls him, palmed the ball out of Murphy’s way nearer to the half way line than his goal. Yet, baldy Webb and his equally talentless assistants were seemingly the only people in the ground to miss this and Carson escaped any punishment. This incident occurred in a good spell of pressure that yielded a few decent chances, mainly for O’Donovan, who unfortunately failed to really come close with his efforts. This was all part of a pretty interesting first half.

Though a trip to the toilets at half time was possibly a more interesting experience. As lawless as the Cap and Gown but without the two quid admission charge, one could smoke, drink and take drugs just like the good old days.

If anyone did happen to buy anything on offer in the bogs at half time, they were probably treated to a trip like no other in the second half. In a pretty open game, The Lads gave as good as they got. Villa probably had the best of the chances but Sunderland had more. Reid was working well, pulling the strings in the midfield and Richardson and Edwards gave us a bit of width, despite both looking short of match fitness.

Rico, himself, had a few pot shots and Leadbitter, having come off the bench showed perfect accuracy in opting to shoot at the corner flag when the goal was surely a much easier target. Five minutes later however, as Richardson put Chopra through, the previously out of form striker opted to shoot at goal instead and did so pretty well, playing a sublime lob past Carson and into the net. The fans celebrated this goal, well, like the first meaningful goal they’d seen away from home since Miller scored against the Smogs in 1983 or whenever it was.

We may not be safe yet, but picking up three points in a game where we weren’t necessarily expected to, doesn’t half feel good.

Final Score: 1-0

ALS Man Of The Match: Nyron Collins

Matthew Woolston

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