He wasn’t a prolific goal scorer a la Platt. He didn’t float balls half the length of the field with pinpoint accuracy like Cowans, but as a hard working ball winner, Des Bremner was second to none.

He began his career with the world famous Banks O’Dee “A” team and was to return to humble surroundings when he rejoined Ron Saunders at Small Heath. Not surprisingly then, when the world’s greatest manager paid £275,000 to Hibs for his services in September 1979 my first reaction was “Des Who?” There was no need to worry, though, as Bremner proved to be well worth every penny.

Saunders said that Des was the most under-rated player he’d ever bought and that summed up the Scotsman’s career. lgnored at international level (one appearance as substitute in 1976) and overshadowed by a forward line of Morley, Withe and Shaw in 80-82 when he was at his peak. His greatest moment came in the European Cup final when he shone against the cream of Europe. So many of Bayern’s moves were halted by a crunching tackle from Villa’s midfield dynamo, though once again the praise was focused on others.

He was an ever present in the 80-81 championship season and played in every one of Villa’s European Cup games as well as the World Club Championship and Super Cup ties. When he was made surplus to requirements by Graham Turner and made the short trip to the graveyard across the city we decided we didn’t want another ball winner and have paid the price ever since.

The only bad memory have of Bremner is of seeing him play out his career in a blue shirt. Despite this, I remember him with a fondness reserved for Villa greets simply because he always gave the 110% his manager and the fans expected of him. Perhaps that’s why he never got the credit he deserved. Des always did what was expected of him, nothing more and nothing less.

If only the current squad had his commitment and never say die attitude. If only they gave that all important 110%

Little, Shaw, and now David Platt, all have been witness to this age old fable.

But surely, greatest of them all was the man whose departure caused widespread redundancies throughout the wine bars and night clubs of the Midlands and permanent overtime for the Hampshire Constabulary.

Here, faithfully reproduced from October’s ‘Hit The Bar’ we present a tribute to the one, the only, the immortal, Warren Aspinall.

“He fell to earth at Wigan and was quickly transferred by Everton who believed they could bargain/dupe Aston Villa into taking him on permanent loan. From then there was only one way he could go. Down the atlas of Great Britain by one hundred and sixty miles to Portsmouth where he settled upon an unknowing seafront.

At first he took the penalties (later he was to receive them), then he became centre-forward and this is where our story really begins. He got into the usual habit at Portsmouth of being booked, getting sent off, getting other players sent off, suffering suspensions and enabled the fickle fans to move on to symbolic hanging, drawing and quartering enacted on the terraces as fans, their passions inflated, began to commit all kinds of egregious acts in order to effect. his dismemberment.

But to no effect.

Chasing a through ball was fun – from behind the goal. From the side view, it was as if a doughnut was spouting cheeks of jam and accelerating with all the regressive speed of an ascending bathyscape.

Doubtless the bends became a further scheme of self abuse employed by the enthralled fans as their stomachs churned when the man in question shot over the bar from five yards with not an opposing player within yards of him.

Flick-ons and through balls came thick and fast to our shocked hero as he sprung the sweeper system once more and the ball landed at his feet as he sped towards goal with arms upraised amidst total uproar. Without the ball.

Even Mike Fillery took to passing to him with the ‘keeper, by now mindful of Aspinall’s accurately, sat with his feet up and reading a copy of Match Weekly, nodded in passing to the ball as it ballooned over the floodlights for a corner – to the opposition.

Ultimately, a back pass resulted in Warren ‘Who called me a donkey’ Aspinall being left on his own in front of goal. The other team had since left the pitch for a siesta and there stood our doyen, before him one hundred and ninety two feet of goal.

He anticipated the back pass with crimson-jowled glee, steam pouring from his armpits, and advanced the two yards to the centre of the goal line. From six inches, the ball was powered with such ferocity that it smashed into the woodwork, causing damage beyond repair. Luckily, the club had had the foresight to obtain before the game a spare corner flag.”

1. Bryan Robson was England captain.
2. His understudy was a Villa player who came into contention late on, after an outstanding season.
3. England played badly at first.
4. Robson got injured, and his place was taken by the Villa player.
5. The team eventually persuaded Bobby Robson to change his tactics.
6. England began to play well
7. They lost controversially in the quarter-finals.
8. The Villa player came home a star and was the subject of much speculation about his future.
9. Villa started the following season disappointingly.
10. It quickly became obvious that a certain player wasn’t interested in playing for the team anymore.

THE STORY OF THE WORLD CUP 1990

1. Bryan Robson was England captain.
2. His understudy was a Villa player who came into contention late on, after an outstanding season.
3. England played badly at first.
4. Robson got injured, and his place was taken by the Villa player.
5. The team eventually persuaded Bobby Robson to change his tactics.
6. England began to play well
7. They lost controversially in the semi-finals.
8. The Villa player came home a star and was the subject of much speculation about his future.
9. Villa started the following season disappointingly.
10. To be continued.

1) Bosko Jankovic – goals for Middlesbrough v Ipswich which won the league.
2) Unknown Gypsy Woman – the first of many to curse at Sty Andrews
3) Terry Darracott – lovely near post dummy allowing God in for the Winner, 1977
4) Brendan Batson – nicely weighted back pass letting in Withe for a vital winner v Olbiyun, 1981
5) Keith Burkinshaw – actually paid money for Gordon Smith
6) Alex Ferguson – Thank you very much for ooh aah
7) Dario Gradi – for allowing David Platt to develop as a footballer at Crewe
8 ) My Uncle Jimmy – taking me to my first Villa fave v Preston North End, 1971.
9) David Geddis clearing off the line on his debut. Start of a revival which halted a brief “Saunders Out Campaign” in 1979/80
10) Bruce Springsteen – the only decent performance at Villa Park in 1988

The day of November 10th started promisingly with Villa winning 1-0 away at Notts County, at that time a decent First Division side. This victory saw the team go third in the table and was aided by a good performance by 24 year old Tommy Ball. Born in County Durham in February 1899, he had been playing for a local colliery team when he attracted Villa’s attention, being signed in January 1920 as cover for Frank Barson. First team appearances were limited during the next couple of years, but when Barson left for Manchester United in the summer of 1922 Ball took his place and quickly became recognised as one of the leagues best centre-halves. The Notts County game was his 77th for the Villa, but while Ball was never destined for great things on the pitch he nevertheless holds a unique place in footballing history. For as far as we can tell, Thomas Ball over the weekend of 10/11 November 1924, became the only professional in the Football League ever to have been murdered.

Naturally, the facts of the case have been blurred over the years, with even the date of Ball’s murder in dispute. Some reports say it occurred on the tenth, others the following evening. But the circumstances of his death are consistent. Ball and his wife Beatrice spent the evening at the Church Tavern, Perry Barr before catching a bus to their home in Brick Kiln Lane, also Perry Barr, shortly after ten p.m. Ball took his dog for a walk, but a few minutes later staggered back home assisted by his neighbour and landlord George Stagg. He had been shot twice and died before assistance could be fetched. Stagg, a former policeman, was arrested and taken to West Bromwich police station where he was charged with Ball’s murder.

The funeral on November 11th was by all accounts a grand occasion, with a crowd of hundreds watching as the cortege made its way from Beatrice Ball’s family home in High Street, Aston to St. John’s church Perry Barr. The coffin was borne by Villa players and there were floral tributes from nearby clubs as well as Ball’s local Middlesborough F.C. A collection at Villa’s previous game had raised over a hundred pounds for Ball’s widow.

The inquest into his death heard evidence that Stagg had admitted the killing but claimed it had occurred when Ball had attempted to grab Stagg’s gun, which he had fired previously in an attempt to frighten Ball. Despite the coroner’s recommendation the jury rejected this argument and returned a verdict of “wilful murder”. Stagg was then committed for trial at Stafford Assizes.

A married man with four children, George Stagg was forty five years old at the time of his arrest. He had served in the army for many years, leaving to join the City of Birmingham Police Force for a time but volunteering for the army again when war broke out in 1914. Badly wounded, he had been invalided out two years later and worked in several local factories until in 1921 he bought two cottages in Brick Kiln Lane, letting one to the newly married Balls in October 1922.

The two families were not friendly neighbours though, and there were several arguments mainly over Ball’s pets.

The trial began at Stafford on February 19th, 1924 and the court heard Stagg’s claims for the night in question. An argument had broken out, and a drunken, abusive Ball had attempted to climb his neighbour’s bolted gate, threatening both Stagg and his wife. Stagg claimed that he had then fired a warning shot and tried to push Ball away with the muzzle of his gun. A struggle had ensued, and the gun had gone off hitting Ball in the chest. Stagg also said that Mrs Ball had backed his claims of innocence and that Ball was a violent man who had often attacked her.

This. however, was disputed by Mrs Ball, who said that on the fatal night she had heard a shot and ran out of the house to find her husband staggering along the road with blood pouring from his chest. A second shot was then fired, which passed over her head. Both versions contrasted with earlier reports that Ball had been shot in the head, and there are no records remaining of medical evidence being introduced at either the inquest or trial.

Mrs Ball further stated that her husband was a moderate drinker who had been perfectly sober on the night of his murder. They had been happily married, she said, and he had never struck her. Ball’s excellent character was further emphasised by Villa trainer Alfred Miles.

The jury took just two hours to reach a guilty verdict, but added a strong recommendation for mercy. ‘Me judge passed sentence of death upon Stagg, but passed on the jury’s recommendation to the Home Secretary. What happened after that is another mystery. It has been said that the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment, but other reports state that Stagg was executed at Stafford although the date of his death, whether by execution or many years later from natural causes, is not known.

If anyone knows the outcome of the story, I’d be pleased to know. It’s not impossible that Beatrice Ball might still be alive, along with descendants of George Stagg, although no-one involved could be blamed for wanting everything kept quiet and eventually forgotten.

As for the Villa, they continued without Tommy Ball, finishing sixth in the league and losing 2-0 to Newcastle United In the F.A. Cup Final.

We will never know what differences Ball might have made and how good a player he could have become. The great team of the early thirties, of Houghton, Walker and Waring, wasn’t far off and he could have played his full part alongside them. In an age when the word tragedy is used so often as to lose its meaning, only when we read of a story such as this can we properly see just how events can be altered so dramatically.

Thanks to Derrick Spink for his help with this article.

Brian Little made his debut during the third division championship, scoring in his first match against Torquay. He was also instrumental in winning the F. A. Youth Cup that season, in a side which included John Gidman, Bobby MacDonald and Jake Findlay. The next two seasons saw Little gradually improving, before the arrival of Run Saunders in the summer of 1974 was the catalyst which sparked both Villa and their number eight into action of the highest quality.

For Villa , the centenary season of 1974 – 75 heralded a long overdue promotion back to division one, with a first ever European campaign as a bonus courtesy of winning the League Cup. For Little it was recognition that he was one of the brightest young stars in football. Ten goals in six matches, a hat – trick on his twenty first birthday and highest second division goalscorer earned him a call up into the England squad for the Home Internationals. It is part of Villa Park folklore that he came on as substitute against Wales, set up an equaliser for David Johnston and for twenty minutes looked like the answer to Don Revie’s prayers., then was never picked again. Kevin Keegan, who had run away from the squad sulking after being dropped, was brought back to play against Scotland while Brian was never again to appear in an England shirt at any level. Perhaps if he had thrown a tantrum he might have received the awards his talents deserved; anyone who witnessed Keegan’s creation of a holier – than – thou image in years to come were entitled to do so with a degree of cynicism.

The following season was a disappointment as Villa struggled on their return to the first division. Little suffered some minor injuries, his partner Keith Leonard the major one which was to end his career. Andy Gray was bought as a replacement and a new partnership was born.

1976- 77saw what many people regard as villa’s most exciting post – war side, and it was during this time that Little really made his reputation. The League Cup was again won, and if ever a trophy has been won single – handily then this was it. Little scored ten goals in the competition, including an overhead kick against Manchester City which had drew comparisons with any great forward of any era. The semi-final against Queens Park Rangers was one of the hardest fought ties imaginable. Over two legs both sides were equally matched, then in the replay at Highbury little played the finest game of his career, scoring all the goals in a 3 – O victory. The final, and the first replay, were eminently forgettable games. The second replay will never be forgotten as long as the club exist. Chris Nicholl’s forty yard equaliser, both sides scoring within a minute and a last gasp winner. But despite Little’s brilliance there was still no further England call up. He was at the peak of his career, and there was only one way he could go.

Again a successful season was followed by one of disappointment, the only high spot being a run to the U.E.F.A. Cup quarter final where a goal by Little in the Nou Camp put Villa agonisingly close to a famous victory against Barcelona. Little was becoming increasingly injury prone, as was Gray, and Ron Saunders was re – building again. In 1979 Birmingham City sold Trevor Francis to Nottingham Forest for £1 million and unbelievably Little was lined up as a replacement.

By divine intervention the transfer fell through on medical grounds, but while Villa supporters breathed a sigh of relief their good fortune was not to last. On March 19 1980 Villa played Wolves in a game which only went ahead because we lost to West Ham in the last minute of an F.A. Cup quarter final two days earlier and the replay would have taken precedence. Little injured his knee, and while it seemed a minor knock at the time he never played again. In February 1981, as the team were on the threshold of winning the highest honours in football, its finest player announced his retirement.

His testimonial in May 1982 showed the full extent of his loss to football, as playing on one leg he destroyed an England XI who were shortly to play in the World Cup. That tournament would have been a fitting stage for the talents of Brian Little, yet the career of one of the most brilliant players Villa Park has ever seen had been cut short at the age of twenty seven.

But the story doesn’t end there. Little joined first the club’s commercial staff and then became youth team coach. After a bust – up with Graham Turner Little was to join Wolves, where he was briefly manager and is still held in high regard for his work there when they appeared in danger of extinction. Little then joined Middlesborough before becoming manager of Darlington, whom he took from the Vauxhall Conference to the third division in successive years, a unique achievement. Then he moved on to Leicester, and transformed a team who were relegation candidates, in to play-off victors, with the aid of a backroom staff who are heavily Villa influenced. We are all now familiar with the next step he took, even if it wasn’t as clean-cut as it should have been.

Little took over an ageing Coca-Cola Cup winning team that had managed to lose 8 of their last 9 matches. If his new charges at Villa thought they were getting a push-over who couldn’t handle big names, they were wrong. One footballer who turned up 5 minutes late for training in a woollen hat was told that if happened again he would be fined a weeks wages. It wasn’t long before that player was spending the football season in Turkey.

Brian Little is simply unique. Over a decade has now passed since his last appearance for the club, yet he remains as popular as ever. When Darlington played at Kidderminster in their Conference winning season the ground was packed with Villa supporters, for many of whom Little was no more than a few minutes of magic captured on film or a story from another new generation who believe that players are not as good as they used to be. No one else has managed to retain such an affection in the hearts of Villa supporters, or for so long, but that should be no surprise.

We have had many great players wearing the number eight shirt, but when it comes to picking the all – time Villa team there can he only one man who could possibly take that place. And he could walk on water at the same time

Since before Thatcher sent in the cavalry to break the heads of the miners, it has been considered rather beyond the pale for the common people of England to challenge the sway of capitalists and plutocrats; and for this reason Ellis’s position will remain for ever more inviolate. And alas, all those born to serve the Villa colours have no choice. They are bound to follow the claret and blue and all complaints are futile. They can make no diference, they have no say, they have no choice. Good times or bad, they are just stuck big time. Any thoughts otherwise simply lead to disillusion, frustration and misery.

Once these facts have been faced and accepted, the fans are then able to enjoy what remains – the team, the camaraderie and at least the quality of the opposition. The worse your team are, the more there is to admire from the visitors.

The best bit about supporting a crap to mediocre football team is having a laugh at your own players. Always remember that even the most dedicated and committed player doesn’t care a fraction as much as does the average supporter. If the money’s right, he’s off. A player’s dedication and commitment depend on a number of factors. (1) How confident he is of retaining his place in the team (crap players just have to try harder, that’s all). (2) The need to prove his value for negotiating a new contract or moving to a new club. Players tend to suffer loss of form in the middle of contracts with amazing regularity.

While crap players should be treated with amused contempt and given nicknames that capture their resemblance to farmyard animals or the mentally retarded, they should be viewed with gratitude because these are the only ones who actually want to play for the club. They have no choice.

Any player that emerges as any good at all should immediately be reviled and disliked because they will inevitably move on and this will just mean saving time later when they play for your greatest rivals.

Any player that on scoring goes in for the old shirt-kissing nonsense, should be pelted with a mixture of rotten eggs and over-ripe fruit because he did the same to every shirt he ever wore, right up until the moment he left on a Bosrnan.

Similarly, any fan caught toadying to the chairman or publicly praising the old bastard should be tarred and feathered, keelhauled, or in the case of females the ducking stool reintroduced. The chairman provides the fans with the most useful of hate objects and should always be greeted good-naturedly with some appropriate epithet that encapsulates his wealth, corpulence and the traditional doubts about his parentage. When his Rolls-Royce is seen parked in public, no fan should miss the chance to remind him of the pandemic spread of support for his club by etching an encouraging ditty on the bonnet. When expressing disapproval, personal insults should be avoided and all death threats directed at his wife and children but in such a way as to express the sense of humour characteristic of simple working class folk.

Joy of joys for those stuck with the crap team of a stagnant club is playing another crap team, of which there are plenty. When the relative crapness of any two teams is more or less equal, then much amusement can be had with the argument: My tearn is worse than your team. Even more fun can be had talking about each club’s great players and enquiring who they play for now.

A game for serious players only is known as Pathetic Martyr. In this sad but amusing pastime, points are scored for highest percentage of income squandered relative to pleasure gained. Trumps are the number of estranged partners and alienated kids achieved in the shortest possible time. He/she who has endured the most misery wins and is Pathetic’ Martyr and must buy A the drinks all night and be inflicted with a DIY club tattoo.

Football. You know it makes sense.

Stephen Wade

I hate the fact that few players have any loyalty any more.
I hate Dwight Yorke.
I hate bung takers.
I hate Ron Atkinson.
I hate arrogant bastards who refuse to play.
I hate Pierre Van Hooijdonk.
I hate the ridiculous wages of players who think it’s perfectly natural to earn anybody else’s annual salary in a couple of days
I hate Steve McManaman.
I hate News international.
I hate Murdoch.
I hate Sky.
I really hate Murdoch.
I hate it when I can’t watch a match on Saturday afternoon.
I hate my neighbour, who has never been to a match in his life, having more influence over kick-off times than me.
I hate the increasing calls for a 4th official.
I really, really hate Murdoch.
I hate inconsistent refereeing.
I hate Dermot Gallagher.
I hate cheating diving players that make referees look like fools.
I hate David Beckham.
I hate the second-rate supporter life stories that fill up the bookshelves.
I hate Nick Hornby.
I hate having to sit down.
I hate the second-rate, biased so-called reporters and pundits who cover football.
I hate Alan Green..
I hate Oliver Holt.
I hate Alan Hansen..
I hate Rodney Marsh.
I hate the fact that people have bought the idea that the premiership is the greatest league in the world, when truly world class stars at the top of their game have played here.
I hate the way that the only “true” supporters are portrayed in the media as loveable baffoons.
I hate face painting.
I hate the fact that modern football is fashion and not a passion

So why am I sitting next to you today?

because i love aston villa