A strange week, not least because it was supposed to be St Patrick’s Day on Monday, but because Easter is so early this year, the week was a Holy Week, and you can’t have a hooley in a Holy, apparently. The upshot was that Paddy’s Day was moved forward to Saturday, and most people in this country took no notice. Being one of the small percentage (allegedly) of folks who have absolutely not a drop of Irish blood in their veins, it was only the Guinness special offers that I missed by going to the wrong pubs after the Chelsea match, and saved my participation in the festivities until Sunday afternoon. Truth be told, that was accidental, as I popped out to watch the football having completely forgotten that the Station had a singer on, and his speciality of the day was Irish Stuff. Still, the football was on in the background, there was some ludicrous Bishop/Irish dancing resulting in only ejection (when a few drinks went flying), but best of all Ruddy in full singalong Sunday afternoon form. The best free non-football entertainment in weeks, to be honest.

During the week I did discover that Craig Russell is now playing left back for South Shields, and scored an own goal recently. I blame Frank Clark for the lad’s demise from the higher echelons of the game, having been the first person to play him in that position and in the process turn him from a fast, direct forward in to a puzzled defender. Still, he’s getting a game, which is more than Martin Smith, who has just had his contract at Darlo cancelled by mutual consent because of a persistent injury problem. Makes you feel old. Apparently, I made the right choice in missing the reserves game on Thursday due to the lack of football played, and the ongoing sartorial debate between myself and another member of the Durham Branch. After the recent Youth game at the SoL, I spotted him in the distance in a rather striking flying jacket, and referred to him as Biggles. Little did I know that others had just spent ninety minutes (plus added insult time) hoying pilot jokes in his general direction, and my jibe was the final straw. Apparently, I’ve got no room for comment, considering what I wear (generally a football shirt, denims, and a denim jacket – hardly worthy of comment, I’d have thought) and he was looking very smart at the Hetton Welfare Ground on Thursday night. Unfortunately, my dinner suit is at the cleaners, so I couldn’t wear it to Villa. I’ll have it ready for Fulham instead.

Back with the real stuff, the Premier League teams have shown us that they’re not to be trusted. We’ve long known that you can’t trust a mag (unless you want him to eat a pie, of course), and they proved that by neither winning nor losing against Brum on Monday. You can’t trust the smogs, the scousers, the cockneys, or the brummies. The Smogs let Reading win, Everton let Fulham win, and only Derby and Bolton kept on the slide. For the first time, I took a look at the run-ins the other teams have, and I can’t see where Bolton are going to get more than two or three more points from. I’m still hoping for thirteenth, but the main thing is to finish above the mags, Not for the usual reasons of local rivalry, but because they carry the luck to stay up, and the Prem will probably crap themselves if the barcodes look like getting relegated, and invent some new rule to keep them up, They’re soft like that.

With military precision, I picked up Dave and Rossy, Sixer picked up the three of us, and the bus arrived at Ron’s perfectly on time. After a chilly belt down the A1/M1etc, we got to Lichfield bang on time, with news that the polis wanted us at Villa by 2.

Like we’ve done for many years. We made the day at the Queens in Lichfield as we gathered in impressive numbers, with ABI & Marcus arriving from Hartlepool on their way to Shrewsbury. Birthplace of Dr Johnson, and all that. How the cheese counter suffered, and the pork scratchings likewise.

Suitably refreshed, we hit Villa Park and watched in wonder as Roy tinkered yet again with the starting eleven. Gordon, Bardsley, Nos, Evans, Collins, Reid, Richo, Whitehead, Edwards, Murphy, O’Donovan – away we go.

If you’d asked me six weeks away ago about our chances at Villa Park, I’d have been giving pretty poor odds. However, in the last month or so, they’ve fallen off the rails a bit, and it really was about time we brought something more than am bad head back from that part of the world. The first five minutes were spent in their half, and the game progressed nicely apart form their being no goals. O’Donovan came close a few times, and Richardson played with precision down the channels. Reid also managed to get near a score on 35, when he hit a free-kick just off target, like he does. It’ll come, son, keep at it. Ref whoever proved that today’s officials are scared to death of doing anything controversial by going with the flow, until Carson clearly handled outside the box and then a cross was blocked by both hands of a defender. How many times have we seen those given against us? Is it just me, or is there really a conspiracy going on? Of course there is.

As news of Whitley Bay going behind by three to Lowestoft cam in (shame) we started the second half in the face of the ref’s blatant bias towards the home side. I’m sorry if this sounds a wee bit like I’m off referees. But that bloke rally was bad, bad, bad. The papers might have given him 7 (honest), but it would have been a bteter game without home on the field. The powers that be really need to have a look at games like this and decide what contribution the officials give to the game. He didn’t even see Villa’s first substitution. As the hour passed, we missed two chances from a corner as we imposed ourselves on the game. With twenty minutes to go, O’Donovan made way for Chopra, which meant that Reid and Richardson had someone who anticipated the clever balls that those two found it in their nature to produce. Leadbitter replaced the tiring Edwards, and the crowd showed their appreciation by screaming “Turn” as one, and the man did. Leadbitter found himself free at the back of the box but scuffed the shot, then it all went a bit weird as Chops latched onto a through ball and cleverly clipped the keeper, much as I sued to do of a Sunday morning, to find the back of the net. Cue much jumping about and kissing strangers (for the first time in ten months) as we celebrated the possibility of an A-W-A-Y-W-I-N. Yes, I remember them well, even though it’s 26 years since we did the deed at Villa Park. Willa managed to impale himself on the railings (well, it is Easter) and left blood everywhere and we kept at the home side for the rest of the game to keep up Dave and Rossy’s 100% record at away games. There was a nasty late challenge on Collins, but, take away our natural pessimism, and we were well worth the win that we got. At the back, we were solid, in the middle we were creative, and up front we gave them a few surprises. So Jones wasn’t there – we didn’t really miss him, and if he had played he’d have had to fly across the world to play for Trini. Maybe I’m just being cynical, but well done on that one Roy. Yorke got a run out at his spiritual home, Reid put his foot on the ball, and we held on in clever fashion for a deserved win. In terms of performance, there wasn’t a bad one, as the defence held firm and the midfield showed lots of bright ideas, while the front people were sharp enough to give Villa problems for the entire 90 minutes. As far as man of the match goes, Evans and Bardsley were as solid as full backs should be, and Evans stood his ground like a man ten years his senior. In midfield, Reid and Richardson showed patience and vision to keep the home side in their toes. Up front, our Lads, whoever they happened to be, ran the home defence ragged, but for me Noz was back to his best – not that he’s been away from it – to nullify the huge threat of Carew and the support of Agbonlahor.

Gan on Noz.

Numerous phonecalls from Villa Dave later, (“we were shit”) it was back to the Station for an all-too-rare celebration of an away win. More please, Roy, I enjoyed the night out.

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