Chapter 146: Alder’s Shirt

Up front, Villa and Norwich looked almost identical. Villa had the big target man Tomlin, and Norwich had a big target man too, Dean Carver.

Without a doubt, Carver was Tomlin’s replacement. Norwich had brought him back from a loan at a Championship club when Tomlin refused to spend his career as Alder’s sidekick.

Alongside the two big men were the typical English number ten and a half. Martin Alder was the most famous player in the country, and one of the best-known names in the world.

Compared with Alder, Pryce had always been a few steps behind. For club and for country, Pryce had spent most of his life politely sitting in Alder’s shadow.

So this match was full of highlights, quite apart from the fact that it marked the end of Saint’s ban. The contest between the two sets of strikers alone made it very interesting.

Who was better, Tomlin or Carver?

But there was something else that needed saying. Alder and Pryce were both veterans. Alder was thirty-six and Pryce thirty-seven, the two best number tens of their generation.

Neither was young any more, and yet there are things a player never puts down, however old he gets, let alone two men who had spent a lifetime at it.

Of course, they might feel sorry for each other, but that had nothing to do with competition. Once they stepped onto the pitch they were enemies, and what each had to do was put the other beneath him.

In the home dressing room at Villa Park, the players had finished warming up and come back inside.

"I know this game means something very special to some of you," Saint said, glancing across at Tomlin, Pryce and even Reyes.

Reyes had played for Norwich after leaving Barcelona, but a long injury had made his time there very unhappy, and last season he had almost returned to the club. Norwich’s doctors had written him off as finished, and he had never forgotten it.

Reyes held no particular grudge against Norwich as a club, but he did hold one against the way they had judged him. It had been an insult to his pride.

"Seriously, I’m looking forward to your performance," Saint said, a smirk on his face.

Although most of the players had not worked with Saint for long, the time was enough to understand him. Compared with other managers, this young man was undoubtedly different.

He never tried to downplay matches that had special significance for particular players. He even built little arrangements around them to stir up their morale and fighting spirit.

In this game, for example, Saint kept bringing up their everyday training, using the match itself to stir them, and beyond the words he had tilted the tactics too.

"Of course, this game has special significance for me as well," Saint said, but he knew when it was enough, so he turned the subject on to himself.

"Lads, the entire press in the country is staring at me right now, waiting to see me make a fool of myself," he said, with a rueful smile.

"Er," the players said. They were used to their manager’s suspicions by now.

"So, for this game, even if it’s for no other reason than me, you have to beat Norwich. You all know me well enough by now." As he said it, Saint swept a hard look around the room.

Authority. In that moment Saint showed his full control of the squad. When Saint put the smile away and showed a serious face, nobody dared to argue or even meet his eyes.

"Now go out there and win this game, and tell the whole country that Villa are back. A four-game losing run is not the record we should have."

"Welcome, everyone, to Villa Park for round ten of the Premier League, Aston Villa against Norwich City," Pemberton said, opening the broadcast.

"Oh no, Villa aren’t going to be in trouble again, are they?" In pubs and living rooms, the fans were glued to their screens, though they could not stop themselves groaning at the thought.

The viewers had a lot to groan about. In the first game of the run Villa had barely put up a fight, and the next few had been stranger still, with Saint tangling with Strickland on live television and getting banned for five matches.

"This is also Saint’s first game back after his five-match ban," Judd said, in a voice that was unmistakably his.

"Yes, and since losing Saint, Villa have lost four in a row," Granger agreed. Granger, of course, was even better at recognising that kind of thing.

"Phil thinks Saint’s return can get Villa out of the shadow of that losing run," Pemberton said, taking up the double act at once.

"It’s hard to call. Norwich’s position this season isn’t good, and they’re below Villa in the table, but on the team sheet the two sides are almost identical." While Granger was still arguing over the two line-ups, down at Villa Park the players had already followed the referee, Andy Pargeter, onto the pitch.

In terms of line-ups, Villa had naturally gone back to the regular side. Vacek was in goal, and the back four from left to right was Colley, Teale, Barzley and Faraday.

On the wings were Rocher and Jurek. Lavelle had been improving, but there was still a gap compared with Jurek. In the middle, Reyes had rested for a few games, and Conlan had rested too.

Up front, Tomlin and Pryce were the two leading men, but this match had many leads. Saint was a man too, and he was a big one.

On the other side, Alder and Carver played up front. It was said that Norwich’s poor start had a lot to do with Alder, because Alder’s body was prone to injury, and as he got older it was only natural that physical problems appeared.

Saint remembered perfectly well that, in the life he had come from, Alder retired at the end of this season, which meant that this was the last season of the English game’s melancholy prince.

Fortunately, Saint had been lucky enough to face Alder before he hung up his boots. He was not an Alder fan, exactly, but he could not deny that Alder’s influence was enormous, and that in some sense he was a whole generation’s memory.

"Should I ask for his shirt after the game?" Looking at Alder across the pitch, Saint could not help having a very embarrassing thought.

After all, a manager asking an opponent for his shirt had never happened in the history of the world game.

Of course, there was a big if attached: Villa had to win. Otherwise Saint would be in no mood to ask Alder for a shirt at all.

In the tunnel, the two sets of players lined up shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the signal. Tomlin stood with his eyes fixed straight ahead, and when he felt a gaze on the side of his face he did not turn his head. He knew exactly who it was.

"Evening, Tom," Alder said quietly, in the voice of a man who has said the same word to hundreds of rivals.

"Evening, Martin," Tomlin said. He was very polite about it, and every inch of him said that he had not forgotten.

Two places behind, Pryce looked at Alder, then at the floor, then at Alder again. The two old men nodded at each other, almost shyly, like schoolboys about to be sent in against each other in a playground game, and then the tunnel stewards lifted their arms and the noise from the stands rolled in.

At the tunnel mouth, Fenner offered his hand, and Saint shook it warmly. "Good to have you back," Fenner said, with the smile of a man who meant exactly the opposite.

"Good to be back," Saint said, and meant it more than he had meant anything in weeks.