AVFC Supporters Club - Auchenblae branch

Following my relocation last summer, it's taken longer than anticipated to build the Auchenblae branch of the Aston Villa Supporters Club. I had some early success when strong arming my three year old son Ernie into a subscription but there have been no additional enquiries since then. I can't quite put my finger on what the problem is.

It's over thirty years since I last lived in this area, when Villa were European champions, the darlings of English football, even Cloughie admired us. We were sexy then, blonde haired poster boy Gary Shaw scoring goals, toothless keeper Jimmy Rimmer saving them, captain caveman Dennis Mortimer bulldozing his teammates to glory. Great side, big support, even our iconic kit and match day programmes won awards until it all came crashing down with a humiliating relegation in 1987. We've never truly recovered. Yes we've enjoyed sporadic flirtations with second string silverware, winning a brace of league cups before fluffing our lines in two FA Cup finals, but a repeat of full former glories has eluded us comprehensively.

In particular the Chelsea defeat in the 2000 Cup Final epitomised the reasons for the dearth of interest that Aston Villa now suffer in British outposts. That day we stank out world club football's set piece event so pungently with a lily livered surrender that the public has never forgiven us. Like a drunken Uncle sabotaging his nephew's christening, our irredeemable display cast us asunder in the hearts and minds of hitherto empathetic football followers, many of whom might have favoured Villa as their 'second club'. Gone was the goodwill and bonhomie, replaced by grudge filled resentment. Even the kit we wore that day betrayed the club, the players looking like they'd left their pyjamas on. It was a turning point, Villa unofficially dropped by distant admirers and consigned to shoulder shrugging status. Leicester City beware, your time may also come.

Recent seasons have seen Villa competing purely as Premiership make weights and latterly, cannon fodder. For years the annual dalliance with relegation miraculously ended happily until last season demotion was achieved with such sustained haplessness that even Blues fans felt sorry for us. Such ignominy awoke the Villa faithful from their Lerner induced comas and they were compelled to tell the club just what they thought of the malaise. The final straw was the attitude exhibited by Villa's players who cocked a snook at fans with ill chosen social media faux pas, confirming their indifference to the club and obsession with wealth's trinkets. Supporters' patience snapped, gallows humour was replaced with furious protest, having lurched from one rock bottom to another fans had seen enough. The roll call of ritual humiliation in recent seasons had 'boasted' regular cup exits to lower league opposition including a semi to Bradford City, routine local derby defeats, three victories in an entire season, ten games without a goal, and these just a glimpse of the torture suffered by a once proud club, a founder member of the league. It was almost a relief when we were relegated last season, relegated with knobs on, the inevitability obvious before we'd even started the reverse fixtures in December.

Will the worm turn? Can Aberdeenshire's coach companies expect fortnightly excursions to the West Midlands or will a Ford Fiesta continue to suffice? There's a lot of making up to do by Aston Villa, not least to their own supporters. How can the club expect to win new recruits if the existing faithful remain disillusioned? A season long restitution period is called for culminating in direct promotion, not a sassy shuffle through the playoffs, perhaps then a bridge might be built with the faithful and foundations laid to entice further followers. Perhaps then I can plan the Aberdeenshire supporters club's growth, meantime committee meetings can remain in my lad's bedroom.

Gettin' the needle

The base of my back will be in receipt of a surgeon's needle on Thursday, my immediate golfing future will then be decided. Three slipped discs have put paid to hopes of regular golf, the backswing is bearable but the through swing tortuous, that's from both the player's and spectators' perspectives I grant you. The surgical procedure I face on Thursday is aimed at freeing up a trapped nerve while reducing inflammation, at least that's my understanding, you just put yourself in the hands of the professionals don't you, entrusting their expertise. I love my golf so this damp squib of a season has been difficult to stomach particularly since it's my first year back at Stonehaven Golf Club after three decades away.

My hope is for a speedy return to the Stonehaven fairways, not that my ball often finds them, back to a piece of land I consider home. Perhaps it's because I'm one of life's sojourners that I've never felt a sense of belonging to a certain town or city, I've hopped around so frequently that I've never considered an individual place as home, except Stonehaven's golf course. The expanse of turf between first tee and eighteenth green has the capacity to becalm me, the rigours of life that crowd my head banished for a time. There's something reaffirming about the familiarity of the terrain, an absolute constant in my life while so much around me has changed or is in mid turmoil. The humps on the 1st , the ravine that separates tee and green on the 15th, the spectacular Skatie Shore beneath the 7th tee, all of these and more were there when I played Stoney in the 80s, they're still here now and will remain long after I've gone. In a life devoid of structure, these constants have significance.

Familiarity may breed contempt, but not where my relationship with Stonehaven's golf course is concerned, instead it breeds love and respect. I may love it but have never mastered it, being fully cogniscent of its humps and hollows doesn't insulate my golf ball from these perils. It's an unforgiving stretch of turf, our long standing friendship hasn't softened its approach to my game, the course remains unyielding and punishing at times. My loyalty goes unrewarded in terms of numbers recorded on the scorecard but is rewarded one hundredfold with satisfaction, peace and pride. There really is no other place on earth I'd rather be, I've found eutopia.

Junior Golf...stalwarts of tomorrow

Super to see so many junior members enjoying their golf up at Stoney this afternoon. Hats off to the adults who accompany them, a lie down with a cold flannel on the forehead is surely the order of the day. Players ages range from 8 upwards so some of the younger participants become somewhat, let's say, 'exuberant'. They don't mean any harm but their lack of spacial awareness tempts decapitation as they amble into each other's swing arc mid tee shot, the adults supervising die a thousand deaths as they look on helplessly. 

The etiquette, or absence of it, is understandable yet hilarious. Personal favourites; speaking in each other's backswings, standing unabashed upon putter's lines, alighting at the greenside to count up the score while the group behind wait to play, it's all there but is entirely innocent so instantly forgivable. And to tell the truth, these things don't irk the juniors they just irritate the adults and given the tee is devoted to them for a couple of hours, to my mind they can roll how they want to. They're the future these kids, golf clubs would crumble without the next generation coming through so thanks to each one of you for sharing this game and club with us. We look forward to you plonking your drives past ours before long.