It’s25thAugust1990, the heartache of Italia 90 is still fresh in the hearts of the nation, and the time has finally arrived. At the ripe old age of eight, my dad is about to take me to my first ever live football match, Villa versus Southampton.ItwasallIhad talked about the previous day at school, and despite most of my friends being Liverpool fans, there was only ever going to be one team for me. We left my nan’s house and parked up on the Ridgeway, before beginning the long walk to Villa Park. As we approached the ground, having stopped at the little sweet shop on the corner by Tame Road, I began to feel the excitement, and as we arrived at the Holte End I could hardly wait to get inside. My dad paid at the turnstile (them were the days), and in we went. I don’t remember the clichéd things such as the roar of the crowd, the sights, the colours, the smells, I simply remember falling in love. The atmosphere was quite intimidating to a shy little eight year old, as was the swaying and the hustle and bustle of the crowd, but I knew instantly that this was for me.
“Aston Villa? Who are they?” I remember little about the game itself other than the score being 1-1 (research confirms Tony Cascarino was the goal scorer), and David Platt getting a hero’s reception on his return from the World Cup. I don’t remember how we played, how they played or the manner of the goals. If only I knew then that this game would set me off on a lifelong journey of pain, ecstasy, heartache and joy. A journey I wouldn’t change for anything
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