Dave’s Ramblings – Aston Villa
So here we are. Christmas over. Turkey annihilated. Bank balance in ruins. Waistline under investigation. And just when our bodies are begging for rest, the Premier League kicks the door down and demands chaos.
First up, Aston Villa roll into the Bridge and annoyingly, they’re absolutely flying. Seven straight league wins. Seven. Including Arsenal, which means somewhere in North London a DVD of nearly moments is being updated as we speak.
Let’s not kid ourselves, this Villa side are not here to make up the numbers. They’re organised, confident, and playing like a team that’s just discovered belief… which is always dangerous.
And then there’s the history. Oh yes, the history. League titles. FA Cups. League Cups. European Cup. The full trophy buffet. Aston Villa are one of only six English clubs to have won the Champions League/European Cup. You know… the big shiny one Arsenal keep pretending doesn’t exist.
So yes, Villa come with form, confidence, and a medal cabinet Arsenal fans can only admire from behind the glass. Festive football is back. Subtlety is not.
What can you say about the first half? Villa arrived on a ten-game winning streak and somehow still looked like one of the worst teams we’ve played all season. We had all the ball, all the territory, and all the chances, yet used them with the sort of menace usually associated with a damp sponge.
It took until the 37th minute for us to finally score the goal we absolutely, definitely, unquestionably deserved. A Reece James corner flew in and João Pedro may or may not have brushed it on the way through. VAR could probably still be reviewing it now if they were bored enough.
Even now, as I sip a modest sherry by a crackling log fire like a man narrating his own football memoir, I can’t quite fathom how we only scored once. We should have been out of sight. Instead, we left the door ajar, the lights on, and a handwritten invitation for Villa to come back after half time. Naturally, they accepted.
Our dominance bravely staggered on for the first 15 minutes of the second half. Then Villa made some substitutions and, rather rudely, the entire game tilted in their favour.
Within minutes they were level. Yes, it was lucky. Yes, it was undeserved. And yes, the ball still ended up in our net, which rather undermines those comforting facts. Our lead vanished quicker than our composure.
We responded with changes of our own, though unfortunately these had the exact opposite effect of Villa’s. I understand the logic behind them, but logic and reality shook hands and immediately went their separate ways. Palmer, in particular, was visibly unimpressed, and I can’t say I blamed him. His frustration mirrored that of everyone watching, minus the TV cameras and professional restraint.
From that point on, our substitutions merely confirmed Villa’s newfound authority. It felt less like a question of if they’d score again and more a matter of when. Inevitably, they did, and exactly as you’d expect, that’s how it all ended.
Six minutes from the end and that was that: game, set, and deep existential sigh. Ollie Watkins, who is not exactly built like a basketball player, somehow outjumped everyone to nod past Sánchez and hand Villa all three points. Physics briefly left the stadium in protest.
Did they deserve it? Absolutely not. Villa are playing like a team held together with duct tape and good intentions, yet keep collecting results as if by magic. They’re inconsistent, occasionally baffling, and somehow relentlessly effective. At this point it feels less like football and more like a minor superpower. One we, unfortunately, ran straight into.
My takeaways…
The wolves will be huffing and puffing at Maresca’s door this evening. Let’s just hope he’s not living in the straw house, because the foundations are already looking a little… airy.
To be fair, the changes he made had a huge impact on the result, just not in the way anyone wearing blue had hoped. I do understand the thinking behind them, though. Palmer is still working his way back, Pedro is emphatically not a number nine, and Garnacho looked like his fuel gauge had hit empty.
The problem is what came next. Gittens briefly flirted with the idea of being effective before deciding against it, and the replacements, collectively, offered very little beyond enthusiasm and misplaced optimism. All three were poor, and, because football has a cruel sense of humour, they were poor at the absolute worst possible moment.
Look, I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again. Maresca may, or may not, be a truly great manager in the making. That’s still loading. The real issue, though, isn’t what’s happening on the training pitch. It’s the faceless individuals upstairs who keep buying players not to improve the team, but to improve the balance sheet.
Unless and until we decide we actually want to be a club that challenges for the biggest trophies, we’ll remain strapped into this footballing big dipper: thrilling climbs, stomach-churning drops, and no idea where the emergency exit is. And if Maresca were to be sacked tomorrow, who exactly is going to be walking through the door to deliver what we all crave most? Not glory. Not vibes. Just plain and simple consistency.
This isn’t about trusting the process. It’s about accepting that the owners’ priorities don’t necessarily match ours, and never really have. We want trophies; they want assets with resale value.
So for now, our best hope lies in nicking a cup or two while clinging on along this very long, very rocky road ahead. Helmet optional. Sense of humour essential.
For all the criticism he’s absorbed over a very long period, Robert Sánchez continues to quietly impress. Without him today, well… let’s just say the post-match therapy session might have needed to be longer and professionally supervised.
And finally, on the tube home, I bumped into the one and only David Lee, better known to the nation as Rodders. Absolute top bloke. And, if we’re being honest, someone who could probably still do a job at centre-back given our current options.
As Rodders stepped off the tube he cheerfully said, “See you on Tuesday.”
“What could possibly go wrong”, I answered.
Always look on the bright side of life. UTC
Dave M
