I was not around to watch any of last weekend’s matches and only got to see a couple that were replayed during the week so this set of circumstances, coupled with Villa’s awful result at Stoke resulted in a no-show by me for the Monday morning ramble…My apologies…I’ll be there next week…
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Ramblings, rants, and even some informed discussions on The Game, The Inner Game, and beyond...With your host - Claret & Light Blue... "I hope you enjoy the read and I look forward to your comments and input... Cheers" Claret & Light Blue ................................................Categories
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Another Monday morning…or not…
August 29, 2008 — claretandlightblue
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About this blog…
Like many of you, I'm sure, I do not believe that Football is just a game. Of course, there is the actual game, or match as I prefer, that we all love to watch and take part in on one level or another. However, then there is The Game. This not only encompasses the match but also delves within, and explores beyond, the match itself...Some of us refer to it as The Inner Game... I think this way because, in my experience, the actual game is simply the core of something greater that is interwoven into the fabric of so many aspects of my life. My childhood, my schooling, my worklife, my experiences and memories, and most importantly, my family and friendships. Undoubtedly many of you feel the same way and I am no different from millions of other football fans, well perhaps slightly diferent to most as I am a fan of Aston Villa and England! Football's role in my life will be from conception to the grave - literally, as you will see if you read the little anecdote below. For much of my childhood growing up on the north side of Birmingham in the heart of the industrial Midlands, football, and in particular the fortunes of Aston Villa Football Club, was my life, thanks in particular to the whole male side of my family who led me down this well-worn and occasionally glorious path. In my teens when I represented school and district teams, and later when I played at a semi-pro level, and finally coached at that level in San Francisco, U.S.A., I always had a desire to analyse, to study, to investigate, and to discuss the finer points of what the Brazilians insist, annoyingly, on calling "The Beautiful Game". To me it is not beautiful. It can be, but football, both the match and The Game, is far more frequently so many other things. Frustratingly annoying, heart-stoppingly shocking, tear-jerkingly and devastatingly sad, dull yet not boring, mentally and physically stimulating, downright scary, thought-provoking, anger-inciting, very, very funny - often hilarious in fact, extremely satisfying, magnificently joyful, memory provoking, utterly miserable, heartwarmingly satisfying. It is something that brings out the very best and worst in me (along with so many others) and, with the inextricable part it plays in my existence, it has given me some of the highest and lowest points in my life. In short, it's far too important to simply call a game...Please read on........................................ As has been the tradition in the Sparks Family for generations (at least since the early 1930's when my Gran washed the Villa kit after every match), it is at times of Villa joy/BlueNose tragedy (BlueNose = Birmingham City F.C. - and that's the only time you will see that name written in this whole blog) that we celebrate with an "extremely good drink" which can last for days, sometimes with the happiest of consequences..... Back in the late Spring of 1956 my Dad embarked on a lengthy drinking binge culminating in a fumbling, bumbling, rumbling sexual tryst with my mother on the night of May 14th. This, for me personally, was a most important event... In the F.A. Cup Final five days previously, Manchester City, despite 'keeper Bert Trautmann playing with a broken neck, had soundly beaten the hapless BlueNoses 3-1 and there was great rejoicing at the Sparks' stronghold in Erdington, Birmingham (North) which lasted for days...My Dad celebrated more than most..... Nine months later, on February 14th, 1957, my mother lay comfortably under The Holte End Stand in a rather fetching claret and light blue smock and, with her mother close at hand to give assistance if needed, gave birth to a healthy boy - me. Shortly thereafter, my Dad stood proudly in the bar of the White Swan pub and ordered beers for everyone in the place whilst my Grandad sat in the corner smoking his Woodbines, sipping his pint of Mild, and selling live chickens to friends and customers to help pay the bill..... To complete this joyous tale, just three months later, with my Uncle Roland, Great Uncle Norman, and Great Uncle Ray all in attendance at Wembley, the Cup Final of 1957 saw The Mighty Villa famously beat Manchester United 2-1. It is a little vague now but during the match, which we listened to on the radio in the living room, I do remember having a couple of pints (courtesy of my Mother's breast) and watching my family members, adorned in their Villa scarves and furiously twirling their Villa rattles, celebrate vociferously as Peter McParland's brace secured the Cup for the seventh time ("Seven times we've won it, no one else can catch us up", they naively chanted)... The party moved out to the street at the final whistle and Western Road was a blaze of Claret and Light Blue with just Number 12 shrouded in melancholy and darkness - yes, my friends, that was the house where the BlueNosed Skinner Family wallowed in misery - and still do............................................................ Humbly yours, Claret & Light Blue 4 Ever, Born under the Holte End Stand, Sitting on the Settee (aka S.O.T.S.; aka Shitting on the City), and Keeping the Faith....Pages
