More than Just a Game

Dear Chroniclers,

I have little doubt 27th August 1994 is not an auspicious date that features prominently in your personal calendars. However, in the annals of the electrofried family it is a day of some momentous import.

Picture, if you will, a shabby but laden motor of uncertain Italian vintage, its driver a freckled and bespectacled youth adorned with the insignia of a certain Midlands football team. Up front in the passenger seat is yours truly, and behind us an excited eight year old who can but manage a few faltering words and some equally faltering steps - the young reallyfried. We're on a mission, reallyfried's introduction to the magical world of football.

It took my friend Neil and I some little time to get reallyfried safely into the ground, but once ensconced, he was a young man enraptured, his beaming face and a torrent of incoherent but excited sounds telling us all we needed to know.

The arcane recesses of the offside rule lay far beyond his limited comprehension, but even then reallyfried knew a goal when he saw one. Bang on the stroke of halftime, Steve Staunton rose majestically above a crowd of Crystal Palace defenders to head home his first of the season. My son rose falteringly to his feet, yelled in excitement and promptly toppled over the seat. And so a Villa fan was born!

Of Mascots and Men

The first few seasons we followed the great game, young reallyfried paid almost as much attention to the two Club Mascots, the lion-costumed and improbably padded "Bella" and "Hercules, than to the team itself. But as time went on his understanding of the great game grew - as did his ability to shout loudly in support of his beloved Villa.

We used to park about half a mile away from the ground and walk down together, reallyfried with his still shambling gait and myself gently easing him past sundry obstructions of varying danger en route, but we always made it safely in time. Reallyfried made sure of it, for his favourite ritual was to queue up on arrival to visit the Villa Shop, and then onward to the nearest Burger Bar for some greasy comestibles and a bottle of luke-warm Coca-Cola.

And so the boy became the man. We celebrated reallyfried's twenty first birthday last year in the Corner Restaurant overlooking the hallowed turf of Villa Park and never have I seen him so pleased. His god-parents, Doctor Phlegm and Debs the Artiste, accompanied us and we all raised a glass to toast our son. Greasy burgers were most decidedly not on the menu.

More than a Game

Right from the start it's been so much more than just a game of football for the two of us. The regular walks up and down to the ground helped strengthen reallyfried's legs and straighten his gait. So much so, I now struggle to keep up with him once the final whistle blows and we join the throng streaming out from the gates.

Reallyfried's learned an appreciation of money too, much of which has been spent over the years in the Villa Shop. He's developed so much confidence he can find his own way back to his seat through a milling crowd of supporters once the half-time pie has been despatched with customary gusto. And he's made real friends too in the fellow season-ticket holders who sit next to him - accepted for who he is, a fellow fan in search of victory come kick-off time.

I've learned something so precious too. Each walk down to the ground, each goal we celebrate, each loss we mourn on the way home brings us closer together. How far we've travelled since that sad Saturday evening Dr Phlegm broke the news to us of our son's handicap. This is indeed the great game.

Oh, and for the record, Villa drew one all with Crystal Palace that very first match. Reallyfried could tell you that for himself - he may not be able to count to a hundred, but who needs to when you can remember the score in every game you've attended!

best regards,

electrofried (mr)