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.

Audio version one step closer

Well we sure turned the air blue recording the audio version of Stoney Baloney tonight. Keith Douglas's potty mouth was in full effect, I'd have recorded bleeps over his swearing but it would have ended up sounding like a dead person flatlining. He seemed intrigued by the book's ending, a touch of poetic licence had been used, but if I'm the one who could be arsed to write the bleeding thing I can say what I bloody well like, end of.

The book is selling well, several outlets are looking to stock it now so you won't struggle to buy a copy (or have an excuse not to). As things stand they're available at the golf club, RBS & Bank Of Scotland in Stonehaven, Jenni Mac's (get yourself a delicious sandwich while you're in there) and online via Amazon. The audio version aint far away but make sure the kids aren't around when you press 'Play'.

Banchory tankory

Well that's my golf over for the season, serves me right for playing with three slipped discs. I dosed up on painkillers but they'd outlived their usefulness by the fourth green and the remainder of the round was like a slow death. Banchory isn't a tough track but try it with an electric shock searing up your coccyx every time you strike the ball, it ain't funny.

No golf for me then but I'll be up at Stoney Golf Club for Captain's Day this weekend where members will graciously contribute cash for the RNLI and Rotary. In return they'll receive Stoney Baloney, a page turning opus to rival Dostoyevsky for international acclaim. Seven sovereigns and you could be a proud owner. I'll be at Stonehaven's Harbour Festival on Sunday too, just follow the crowds, I'll be the one signing autographs and agreeing to selfies next to my yacht in the harbour.

Fame! I'm gonna live forever...

It's early days but so far the reviews of my book have been encouraging.

'this is some sort of joke right?' - Auchenblae Messenger

'this book's a triumph...if you have a wonky coffee table to steady' - P&J

'he's no son of mine' - my mother

'absolute rubbish' - Mearns Leader

The book launch on Saturday wasn't quite the spectacle I'd hoped for, somewhat lacking in pizzazz. The signs weren't good when The Chuckle Brothers cancelled, they were going to cut the tape but took a last minute booking at Accrington Baths for a kids swimming gala instead. Charming. The helium balloons I'd bought were hijacked by kids who used them to make silly voices and the shop owner's dog cocked his leg over my first box of books. The anticipated queue from car park to front door wasn't disorderly thanks chiefly to its non existence and when finally a couple of people did pitch up I was to discover they'd got lost and simply wanted directions to the bogs.

Hey ho, we'll go again this weekend with a relaunch at Stonehaven Golf Club. It's Captain's Day so perhaps club members will dig deep, I suggest they do or they'll discover how deep I can dig ...down at the cemetery by the 18th green. Plenty room for more bodies down there.

And release....

And it came to pass on a sunny Auchenblae morn, that a grumpy parcel delivery driver with rancid body odour did alight at Chez Russon, offload seven hundred and fifty copies of Stoney Baloney and disappear without trace. Verily therefore, I do now stand the proud owner of twenty two boxes containing books that I hope will presently wing their way via my front room to bedside tables across the land.

Stoney Baloney is an account of golfing escapades fair and foul at Stonehaven Golf Club, with heated competition, stand up rows and ill timed wind breaking. Who knew golf could get so feisty in a sleepy, coastal town? If you have as much pleasure in reading this book as I had in writing it then we'll both be happy, either way two exceptional charities in the RNLI and Rotary will benefit from the proceeds.

The book is available in paperback directly from Stonehaven Golf Club, Jenny Macs or RBS in Stoney, via Amazon Kindle or by dropping me a line at naffgolfer@gmail.com. The suggested price is £7 (£8.50 with postage & packing) but with all proceeds going to charity feel free to sneak a little more into the pot should you see fit!

Thank you very much for your support.
Severiano Russon