Reports from Villa Park - In the style of...........

Right, well I for one am bored bored bored of the same old depressing crap, written in the same old depressing way by journalist hacks and footballing has-beens, about our beloved Villa. I can't promise to relate events in a non-depressing way, far from it, but I thought I'd change things and try and make the week by week depress-fest that is all things Villa seem a bit more interesting by presenting my views - once a week from now on - in the style of a famous author.

So for the first of my weekly round ups, we have:

                                                            For Whom The Ball Tolls
(in the style of Ernest Hemingway)

The Fox lay huddled in the lee of the mountain known as El Holte. Icy blasts of wind still found him, and his wounds were stiffening. It wasn’t the wounds so much as the hopelessness. When a man is hopeless, he is nothing. But the wounds. And the cold. And the hopelessness. This was too much to take.

How had he got here, in this cold, in this wind, with these wounds? He drank from the goatskin. Grappa, harsh, acrid searing his throat. It felt good. He was here, in these mountains, in this cold. Without his old mountain guide, Kaymac, he would have been lost an age ago. Captured and dragged back by the enemy to their base in El Campionship. That may still happen. This war would last until May.

“Viejo” said The Fox “can it be done?”

“Si, yes it can be done, if it has to be done, then it will be done si Dios quire”

“And our men, what of our men? Are they ready, have we the men to do this thing?”

“Si, we have them. Some are cavalier and have much trickery, can confuse the enemy and act in ways difficult to predict. These men could do this thing for us. These men could win a battle. At much cost, but they could win it. We must ask El Generalissimo no?”

The Fox groaned. His wounds were stiffening. The old injury ached as well. A dull, deep ache. This place. This war. How had he got here? This thing that must be done. And The General – El Generalissimo – safe in his headquarters across the mountain pass, by the old iron bridge.  

The Fox thought back to his audience with El Generalissimo three days ago.

“Any man can do this thing, can avoid dropping to El Campionship To avoid Relegacion is nothing,” The General had said, the lamplight on his scarred, shaved head, pointing with a pencil at the Premiership table.

‘You understand?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Absolutely nothing. Merely to avoid Relegacion is a failure.’

‘Yes, Comrade General.’

‘To avoid Relegacion at a stated hour based on using your worst, most predictable team for the attack is how it should be done. You see that naturally. That is your right and how it should be done, now go, leave and do this thing how it should be done.’

The pain from his wounds brought The Fox back from this memory.

“No Viejo, we must use men of little flair and promise. We must do this thing as El Generalissimo commands. Else we fail, we all fail.”

The memory of the battle against the bandit group called Los Santos in the south of the country the evening before still lay heavy on The Fox. This was a narrow defeat, but could have been much heavier. It had been a narrow escape and Kaymac had proved an unreliable guide when given responsibility. The Fox drank more Grappa. And wondered, as a man in pain, alone, in a foreign place wonders.

The icy gale blew cold across the Escorial, around the empty stands, over the wind-burnt grass and against the base of El Holte. And The Fox had lost hope. Knew in that precise moment all was lost. And the snow came. And the wounds ached. And he drank deeply of the Grappa.



Next week's installment: "Randy the Pooh and the hundred Ache-r Sher-Wood" (in the style of AA Milne), wherein Randy the Pooh and Fox go on a Very Big Recruitment Adventure and Get Lost.

Dearest reader, as promised, here is the next weekly installment of "Reports from Villa Park, in the style of.......

                                                                       Randy-the-Pooh and Fox in The Hundred Ache-r Sher-Wood.
                                                                       In Which Randy Loses a Manager and Almost Finds One
                                                                                               (In the style of AA Milne)

It was a blustery day in Aston, and the leaves blew across The-Park-With-the-Villa-In-It, gathered in papery-dry heaps and fluttered across the terraces. Randy-the-Pooh and his Very Best Friend Fox were walking along a track together. Let’s eavesdrop on our little friends, and see what they are talking about…….

“We’ll never get relegated because I’ve renamed the Team ‘Aston Tigger’ ”.

“Why?” said Fox.

“Because when we hit the bottom of the table, we bounce”

And then Randy-the-Pooh sang a little song:

“But whatever our weight in pounds,
shillings, and ounces,
We’re called Aston Tigger because
of our bounces.”

Fox looked confused and didn’t know what table Randy-the –Pooh was talking about, but he hoped it was a table that had honey jars on it, because Randy-the-Pooh always ate all of Fox’s honey supplies when he popped in for a “smackerel” of something at elevenses.

“Anyway”, said Randy-the-Pooh. “It’s time we went on an Awfully Big Recruitment Adventure. I’m feeling all rumbly in my tumbly and I want a new manager by lunchtime”.

“Oh dear” groaned Fox, remembering the last time they went on such an adventure. “Last time we ended up employing a Sher-Wood – and he was far more frightening than either Heffalambert or McWoozle.  Do you remember what he was singing when we first found him, dancing around outside your house?

Randy-the-Pooh remembered thinking at the time 'there are lots of noises in the Forest, but this is a different one. It isn't a growl, and it isn't a purr, and it isn't a bark, and it isn't the noise- you- make- before- beginning- a- piece- of- poetry, but it's a noise of some kind, made by a strange animal! And he's making it outside my door. So I shall get up and ask him not to do it.'

“The wonderful thing about Sher-Woods,
is Sher-Woods are wonderful things,
Our mouths are made out of rubber,
Our gilets are made out of bling.”

Fox said “And you were captivated by him. You said he was a ‘Very Good Manager’ and that we ought to ‘Invite Him to Stay’”.

“I know” said Pooh, but he smelt of honey”

“Hmm” said Fox “Honeyed words maybe, oh we had lots of those, but did you listen when I said he was as full of himself as Kanga’s pouch with Roo in it? No you didn’t listen then and you’re not listening now”

“Sorry”, said pooh, "Can’t hear a word you are saying, I think I have some fluff in my ear".

“Yes, and you got Owl to write him a 3 year contract as well, you fat fool.”

“Well I couldn’t write it, my letters get wobbly and swap places with each other when I’m not looking.”

Randy-the-Pooh stopped suddenly, peering short-sightedly down at the ground.

“Look! Footprints. You know what these are – they look just like Actual Managerial Tracks. Fox my oldest friend; I think we might be on the trail of a Really Good Manager”.

Fox stepped off the page of the book for a moment, walked along the bookshelf and jumped onto the page of a Grown Up’s Book (it happened to be Jack Dee’s autobiography). “Fuck me sideways. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How on earth did I ever get involved with this twat? A weapons-grade fuckwit of the highest order. Please, someone, anyone, get me away from this asshole before I shoot him in the face".

Fox jumped off the Grown Up’s Book walked along the shelf and climbed back onto the page of the Hundred Ache-r SherWood.

“Okay Randy my Very Best Friend, what should we do now, you tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff?”

“Why we’ll go on a Great Big Hunting Expedition, and we’ll capture the Wildest Manager in the Forest”

Who, Dougie Freedman?

“No, not that forest, this one, the one we’re in now. Piglet said there was a Really Good Manager over by the lightning tree, who spoke a strange language and knew Tac-Tics. This Really Good Manager has lots of friends – Piglet, Eyeore, Jagulars and Owl – all Sher-Wood had was Rabbit”.

So the two friends followed the tracks to the lightening tree, and there, surrounded by his friends, was the Really Good Manager. He had a magnetic clipboard, some coloured marker pens, and a Michael Owen book of Football Tactics. He had a beret on with “Remi” embroidered on the front of it.

Randy-the-Pooh said

“Hello, would you like to be our Really Good Manager?”

Fox groaned and slapped his forehead

“Is that it, no interview, no credentials, no references?”

“Do you want the Very Bad Men instead - Pearson and Poyet?” Said Pooh.

“No, no, of course not”, said Fox, peering behind him into the gloom in case they were nearby.

“Then Hooray! We’ve found our next Really Good Manager – let’s all go on a march around The-Park-With-The-Villa-In-It, single file, I’ll bang the drum and you can ting the triangle Fox”.

Just as they were about to set off, Christopher Lyon arrived.

“Just a minute you two, where do you think you are going?? Remi can go with you, but as for his friends - Piglet, Eyeore, Jagulars and Owl, well I’m not releasing them yet, so you’ll have to wait”.

Remi looked scared – he didn’t really know Randy-the-Pooh and Fox, but there were rumours that they were both quite, quite mad.

“ Zis is tres mal - I’m not coming wizout my friends”, said Remi.

“Please yourself said Pooh, come on Fox, once we’ve started marching, we can’t finish until there’s honey!”

So off they went, Randy-the-Pooh and Fox, marching, marching, off through the Hundred Ache-r Sher-Wood, still in search of a Really Good Manager.

Next week, the Villa hierarchy star in "Much ado about Nothing", in the style of Wm. Shakespeare...........

Loved both of those, brilliant from De Kuip.

You've set an extremely high standard DK. I'm working on one in the style of Stan Collymore, but I haven't got to the part where he learns to read and write properly yet. He knows all the words, but putting them in the right order is proving to be "struggle of bit a".

DaveAV1 wrote:You've set an extremely high standard DK. I'm working on one in the style of Stan Collymore, but I haven't got to the part where he learns to read and write properly yet. He knows all the words, but putting them in the right order is proving to be "struggle of bit a".

Well, you've set yourself a real challenge there Dave - my advice would be, whatever way you choose to represent his series of grunts and whines, make sure you have an interlude halfway through to allow him to break off and twat some unsuspecting Scandinavian bird in the bracket, before resuming the story. I feel it paints a more complete and holistic picture of the amoeba-brained one.

Hope that helps..........................

the boy stood on the burning deck
and said
I think we should re appoint big eck