Another truth: Aston Villa in Rotterdam

'What kept me on the floor must’ve been a chemical accumulation of every single pint spilled beneath me in the years since De Kuip saw a cleaner.'

He’s looking into my eyes, and clasping onto my hand over the table. It sounds like an arm wrestle, but it’s not. It is a gambit of another type of intensity.

“So, what do you think of the stadium?”

Everything in me wants to tell the truth. It’s a shithole where you’re treated as much. It’s a death trap. It’s had its day.

You, know, there’s another truth here though. It’s also special. Beautiful.

In 1982, Aston Villa beat Bayern Munich to win the European Cup in this ground. For Feyenoord, it’s their cauldron. Their home. Despite the little renovation that’s occurred between now and then, it remains a historic and somewhat spiritual destination.

Historic structures aren’t always beautiful. Historic events aren’t always pretty. Villa’s win over Bayern isn’t one for the ages outside of its context. Right? It’s ugly. It’s special. It’s us. It’s them!

Us. Villa fans away in a fan zone? It’s a class sight sometimes. This one rocks. Rotterdam officials essentially gave Villa a portion of Oude Haven.

It’s on lockdown and Villa supporters are bunched up in a harbour-side marketplace in restaurants and bars. It feels right, and everyone seems to know each other when you’re grouped up like this. It’s not too small, it’s not too big, it’s bang on. It’s also fairly pretty to look at.

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The city itself has become my favourite destination in the Netherlands after nearly six visits in the past two years. It’s got edge. Real dynamics. Real life. It’s not nearly the black hole that Amsterdam can be.

It felt so much like Birmingham or a big English city in the best way. I’m not selling it to you there, but truly it felt like the best parts of a lot of cities mashed together. It felt a bit like home, which helps on these trips. It was a bit of a dream, all until you’re forced onto a train by Dutch police.

Back to reality. Try and move around in the De Kuip away end and you can’t. You cannot.

Separate blocks of Villa fans are crammed in amongst rows of utterly pointless seating. Each lined row acting as the top of a wall, fans teetering above each other rather precariously. All a bunch of claret and blue Humpty Dumpties waiting to be cracked upon threat of a goal.

And man, you need a goal to get through an away day like this. As enjoyable as it is, some trips bring out the worst in us, our rules and our societies.

I grew up treating travel as a privilege. When I started attending Villa away matches I thought of that as a privilege as well.

As lucky as I am to be doing what I do when Villa fly away, my god do you lose that spirit when you’re kettled to and from a match. European police are intense and the rules seem made up on the fly.

Why yes, you’re going to be held outside the ground uncomfortably for an hour. Why yes, you’re going to be told where to go and what to do. Why yes, we’re just going to keep you inside the stadium for an hour.

I get it. I truly get it. Releasing a horde of Villa fans into mixing with Feyenoord supporters on a thin train platform is a Bad Idea.

The solution to that is also shit. Especially when you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with coked-up gilet wearers who reckon they can ‘make a difference here’ – sure thing brother, that’s how you end up with a baton smashing off your forehead.

In these situations, Villa fans (well, football fans at large) are their own worst enemy and tend to only upset their own community.

So, being kettled, surrounded by a bit of typical away day aggravation and then standing on a sticky De Kuip proto-terrace? Not for the faint of heart. Wait for the pint of beer to fly past your head in a second when Emi Buendía fires Villa into the lead.

What kept me on the floor must’ve been a chemical accumulation of every single pint spilled beneath me in the years since De Kuip saw a cleaner. Vulcanised rubber soles sticking to the ground and being clawed in place by sticky old yeast brew.

On beer. In an away end it’s sometimes a mental idea. People will prioritise it over the game. Fair enough. People have started to buy beers in anticipation of chucking them. Free will is a thing, I guess.

But what was absurd about this game was the flow of it. On 86 minutes, with Villa 2-0 up and away with the win, a lad scrambles past over seats and through bodies. You’re thinking like me – he must be trying to beat the crowds. He wants to be kettled first.

No chance. He’s back with three pints in hand, lager spilling over his fingers, by the time the clock hits 89.

It’s moments like this, as much as an opening goal, as much as a last-ditch tackle or a big Marco Bizot stop, that make these games for me.

My lasting memory of all of this probably won’t be what happened on the pitch, but that lad dipping off to get more pints than he needed just because he could.

I’d like to think someone did the same in this very ground when Peter Withe scored in 1982. Missing the football for a pint beyond.

Reflecting on all of this after another Villa win against Burnley, four on the bounce, brings nothing but positivity. You get the idea that things might just be getting better. On the Villa front at least.

Oh, and my answer to that original question?

“It’s alright mate.”