Okay guys. I set out on this cunting in full knowledge that it may appear idiosyncratic or lacking in relevance to the wider world, but I’m hoping that you’ll cut me some slack. I need to vent my spleen, and the object of my wrath is Aston Villa, the team I’ve had the ‘pleasure’ of supporting for sixty years or more (here I use the word ‘pleasure’ in the same context that some might apply it to self-flagellation).
Here’s the scenario. It’s 25th May, the last day of the Premier League season. Villa have got a great chance of securing a top five spot in the league and with it, participation in the 2025-2026 Champions League competition. To maximise their chances however, they ideally need to win their last game, and hope that at least one of their rivals fail to win. And here is where they come face to face once more with the dark side of The Force; their last match is away at Manchester United, the team against whom Villa have what must be the worst record in the PL by a country mile.
Now as it turns out, they didn’t even need to win. The Toon obligingly lost at home, meaning that just a draw for Villa would have been enough to secure fifth place at Newcastle’s expense. But this is the Villa we’re talking about. So what happened? They bottled it is what happened. They did what they always do at Old Trafford. They ran onto the pitch, promptly shat in their shorts, and proceeded to lose 2-0 against what is universally regarded as the worst Yanited side in donkey’s. Mad? I’ve got steam coming out of my ears.
Now I can guess what people may say. It’s only a game Ron. Think of your dodgy blood pressure. Relax. Be reasonable. Well all I can say is that my capacity for reason became stunted a long time ago where this club is concerned, and my response this morning is ‘fuck off Villa. JUST. FUCK. OFF.”. I think I’m done.
Erm… see you next season then I suppose…
Nominated by : Ron Knee