Some readers may remember that earlier in the year I spent time with the communications department of Birmingham City. I attended the 3-0 home win against Watford, where I watched the match in the press box and was present for the post-match press conference. Following the game, my report of that experience was written up in two parts (Part 1 & Part 2) and my mind wandered as to where I could continue my quest to witness how football is reported from both inside and outside of the clubs.

 I managed to get in contact with the right people at Aston Villa and secure passage to the pre-match press conference, the game and the post-match press conference. So it was that I drove the 30-minute journey from my home to Bodymoor Heath, Villa’s training ground.The complex is hidden away down a sleepy, Warwickshire side road and there is little evidence of its existence apart from a modest sign outside and the odd glimpse of freshly-mown and manicured grass through the trees.

I was greeted by a genial security guard who checked with Brian Doogan, the Villa communications manager, that I was ok to enter and allowed me to proceed down a deserted, twisting road, past astroturf and grass pitches towards the recently-completed principal complex. The main building at the site contains the players’ dressing and briefing rooms, a gym, a canteen, the media department and press conference rooms as well as many further facilities that I didn’t have time to see. Outside are the pristine training pitches; in addition to the astroturf and grass pitches strewn around the sprawling site are three perfectly maintained full size grass pitches, one of which has the exact measurements and even the same camber of the pitch at Villa Park.

After being greeted by Christine, the friendly receptionist, I was shown upstairs to the Media Department. Brian was, as he very often is, on the phone when I entered. His call finished, he shook my hand and introduced me to Sean and Gemma, the two press officers who report directly to him. He let me know a little about the setup at Bodymoor Heath (it was planned in 2005 under Doug Ellis and completed in 2007 by Randy Lerner (they didn’t build it personally)) and how the order of the day would develop. The fervent activity of the press office was in contrast to the pleasingly relaxed nature outside the press office. As I sat writing my notes, the whole first team squad walked past me in dribs and drabs to the briefing room before training. I recognised virtually every face and was surprised by a few things – Emile ‘Beast’ Heskey was nowhere near as tall as I thought he was; I always imagined that he was this massive beast of a man, ready to tower over puny defenders who got in his way, but it’s more accurate to say he is broad without being particularly tall. Still, I think I’d probably try and avoid getting on the wrong side of him.

As the players received their briefing from Alex McLeish, Brian was making and receiving yet more phone calls, to and from journalists, all keen on an exclusive with a certain player or comment on a certain rumour. Brian handled them all with charm, yet he clearly is not a man who mucks about and is someone who can be strident and forthright when necessary.

After the briefing next door, Sean and I went to watch the training session that was just starting outside. A cold wind greeted us, rushing over the vast expanse of the playing fields with a particularly vindictive chill, and, not for the first time, I thought, ‘Rather them than me.’, as the players warmed up before us. The training was conducted by McLeish with the help of various coaches, including Gordon Cowans, who won both the league and the European Cup as a player at Villa. As the outfield players played a game of one-touch piggy in the middle, which isn’t as rude as it mind sound to those of you of a distasteful mind, the keepers smashed shots at each other, slightly away from the main group.

As we watched the short-range passing, where Stephen Ireland seemed to have the best touch, Brian made his way over to us from the main building and took in some of the spectacle. At one point, due to a misplaced pass, a ball rolled just off the pitch to my feet, whereupon I showed the elan and panache so typical of my technique-based game with a pathetically weak pass back, that dribbled in the vague direction of the bemused players. I’ve no doubt that if Alex McLeish had seen my mastery, he’d have offered me a contract on the spot; indeed, I tried to get a chant of ‘Big Eck, sign him up! Big Eck, Big Eck sign him up!’ going, but Brian and Sean were less than impressed with my efforts.

After 25 minutes of training, where I felt like a scout, looking on assiduously from the sidelines, it was time for us to head back inside. Taking the short walk towards the building, I couldn’t help but notice the array of outrageously expensive vehicles on display in the players’ car park.  For some reason, most of the cars were startlingly white – the de rigeure colour for the young, wealthy footballer around town apparently.

Having warmed back up with a cup of tea, I helped Gemma prepare the conference room for the impending press conference, due to start at 1.30pm. The sponsor boards are attached to a large wall, in front of which we positioned the desk and chair for the manager, as well as the large Villa crest to go in front. There were around 25 chairs set up facing the desk, where the media, from the local to the national newspapers and radio would pose their questions to McLeish.

I wandered downstairs after that, and took a seat in reception, where I had a chat with the lovely Christine. She used to work at my current employers and lives a few miles away from me in South Birmingham. Clearly completely at ease with the players, Christine told me that you can tell who’s a good lad by whether they call you by your name. Robbie Keane was certainly in her good books as, after his last game at the club, he presented Christine with some champagne before jetting off back to sunny LA.

As I sat in the luxurious leather sofa, a lady who worked at the club brought a group of around 7 or 8 sheepish looking gents to the front desk. Just as they’d arrived, Stephen Ireland appeared, having got changed after training, and was quickly ushered over to the immediately more excited posse of awkward-looking men. It turns out this group was a minor legion of the Norwegian Aston Villa Supporters’ Club and as the amiable Ireland signed their team photos, it was all that they could do to prevent the excitable schoolboy inside them from exclaiming out in glee.

Soon enough, it was time for the press conference. The smattering of journalists that had arrived made their way into the press room and chatted idly amongst themselves as Alex McLeish prepared to enter. Sean introduced me to one of the club’s writers, who write articles and features for the official website and programme, and to one of the producers of the club’s video pieces for AVTV and broader concerns. Having chatted to them both, it seemed clear that the people working for the club had a genuine affection for the place and the team as well as appreciating the opportunity they had to work there. Equally, it made clear quite how much is expected of them in what is a high pressure role – creating media for a Premier League club is a never-ending job; as well as the press, the fans have an unquenchable thirst for greater and more information regarding ‘their’ club.

It’s worth pointing out here that prior to the Fulham game, Villa had been on a dreadful run of not having won at home in the league since the 5th of November. Naturally enough, this was an area the press wanted to focus on as Alex McLeish took his place in front of the baying mob. They were, of course, not a baying mob, more a quizzical murder. The number of journalists at the press conference was down on normal, as West Brom were holding their own press conference at the same time nearby and with Roy Hodgson being considered as a potential England manager, quite a few of the press had chosen the Hawthorns over Bodymoor this particular Friday.

In the end, there were no particularly controversial or aggravating questions and the Villa boss answered all questions with a level of consideration and thought that is often missed in the soundbite-driven world of highlighted interviews where managers responses are often cut to just a couple of sentences. Most questions revolved around Villa’s disappointing form, particularly at home but a few turned their attention to Rangers’ precarious situation and whether or not the Glasgow giant’s former manager would be interested in any of his old club’s players. McLeish dismissed the idea of raiding the struggling Scottish side and lamented the position the club found themselves in. All the while, Brian hovered at the side of the room, happy to let the manager answer the questions, but ready to cut things off in the case of a potentially problematic question.

At the conclusion of the press conference, which lasted the best part of 45 minutes, Alex McLeish left the room, followed closely by Brian, and I watched the press as they began to tap feverishly on their laptop keyboards. Some journalists were on their way fairly sharpish, while others hung around to complete their reports.

Once the press had made their way from the training ground, Sean and I went to the canteen for some lunch. The selection on offer was excellent, there were meals that were clearly aimed at the players/those of the staff interested in eating healthily; salmon, pasta and chicken abounded. Luckily for gluttons like me, there was also a good selection of, shall we say, ‘hearty’ foods. So it was that I settled on a slimming beef pie and jacket potato combination. As we ate our meals (the pie was, I have to say, delicious), Brian played pool against young midfielder Barry Bannan nearby. There were some seriously impressive skills going on, with Barry as at home on the green baize as he is on the green grass. Such was the seriousness of the competition between the two, that shots were thought out like a Crucible final. On this occasion, the Scottish international won out but Brian promised vengeance the next time the two great rivals clashed.

After lunch, we made our way back to the media room, where Barry was to broadcast live via telephone to the nation on Talksport. The dour Scotsman discussed Villa’s season and how things would improve with a win against Fulham the following day and made a reference to the club’s upcoming celebration of working with the locally-based Acorns charity.

While Barry was on the phone, we maintained a hush in the room, any stray words could have us lampooned on national radio for our accents or comments. Because of this enforced silence, a strange sign language conversation took place between Sean and one of the fitness coaches, who was the other side of the media room window, in the corridor. It was a mystery to me as to what had been so expertly discussed without the use of words, but Sean quietly came over and asked in a whisper if I wanted to play football. My mouth uttered, ‘Yes!’ before I’d even had the chance for my somewhat limited brain to consider fully the prospects of the offer. Play football? Sounds great. Hold on.. against whom?!

I was given a Villa training kit to change in to and borrowed somebody else’s trainers – still unaware of who would be playing and to what level. Sean and I made our way down to Villa’s extremely impressive 3/4 size indoor pitch, where the youth team were taking part in a training exercise.  We looked on as the teenagers finished up their session and a few Villa staff in their training kits made their way out on to the pitch. As I considered my impending embarrassment, Alex McLeish walked in, asking us what was going on. I introduced myself and said he’d probably want to keep an eye on me as he might be signing me up after the shift I was about to put in. ‘A game’s happening?’ he asked, ‘Yep.’ I replied, ‘Ah, I might have to play myself.’

More people arrived until there were about 14 players all together. They stroked the ball around with consumate ease as they warmed up for the game – I gently tapped the ball to whoever was nearest in an effort to avoid being instantly picked out as a laughable footballer who’s zenith was reached 18 years ago, scoring a flukey goal for the school team. As I looked around, I didn’t recognise most faces, but there were three that stood out. First, was, of course, the Villa manager himself, former Scotland international, Alex McLeish. Secondly, we had Big’Eck’s right-hand man at Villa and former League and European Cup winning midfield hardman, Gordon Cowans. Finally, I noticed the more recent former player, the former Welsh international, Mark Delaney. Gulp.

We split into two teams of 7 and played width-ways across the pitch into full size goals. There were no goalkeepers, but you were only allowed to shoot with your first touch in the area, otherwise, you had to pass. Now, to say I was nervous would be to engage in a disgracefully dishonest form of understatement; I’ve never played football with even a semi-professional, let alone a European Cup winner. Cleverly, or so I thought, I decided to mark Alex McLeish, in his mid fifties, possible slightly past his physical peak – what could go wrong? Most things, actually. The Villa manager enquired as to whether he was being man-marked, as I shadowed him around the pitch, ‘It’s all I can do!’, I replied.

Instead of heading off to get changed, the youth team had decided to sit all along the side of the pitch to witness this spectacle, much to my dismay. The age range of players on the pitch was from around 23 to somewhere around 57 – from the relative fitness you would be forgiven for thinking I fell somewhere towards the ‘old’ end of that spectrum. I was gasping within minutes and desperately trying to maintain a semblance of fleet-footedness against some surprisingly physical tackles.

Believe it or not, and you’d be forgiven for not doing so, the first chance of the game fell to me. I was running in from the right wing, straight towards goal and onto a through ball. The nearest defender was too far back to reach me in time, I knew that. I was slightly to the right of goal, but at an angle where even the faintest touch in the right direction would send the ball sliding effortlessly through the posts. I missed. Not only did I miss, I missed by a mile. Not only did I miss by a mile, I fell over. As you can imagine, the youth team erupted with laughter and howls of derision as I picked myself up, dusted myself down and promised my sympathetic but less-than-impressed teammates that I would not be shooting again.

I huffed and puffed for the rest of the seemingly interminable 25 minute half; my below-average display only really interrupted by a thunderous challenge from Gordan Cowans. Can I just say now, for the record, going in to a 50/50 with a midfield hardman who’s won the league is not a good idea if you are as obviously unatheltic and puny as I… I went flying, my knee was bloodied and I lost the ball. Apart from that, it was hard to tell whose was the better challenge.

After an all too brief half-time, we made our way out for the second half. I hadn’t completely embarrassed myself (my open-goal miss aside) and had even managed a few decent passes here and there and we kicked off drawing at 4-4. I fought as hard as I could, i.e. with all the power of a baby deer, in the second half but after a few exchanges of goals, our rivals pipped us to the post in a tortuous ‘next-goal wins’ scenario. Up against fitness coaches, former Premier League players, internationals and league winners, I could have done worse and there were sympathetic handshakes for me all round.

I went and got changed, went back up to thank Brian, Sean and Gemma for being such wonderful hosts and wondered out of Bodymoor Heath. As I approached my car, I laughed out loud to myself. What an experience.

I can only thank Brian, Sean, Gemma and all at Bodymoor Heath again for such an interesting and enjoyable day.

Next up was match day, the report of which will be coming to an internet-capable device near you, very soon.

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