The problem with being a football fan is the footballers themselves. It’s the niggling ulcer at the back of the throat that these men aren’t Gods own subbuteo players but in fact, arseholes, pricks and wastrels, who’d no sooner share your passion than they would your bank balance. The problem being, just because they play for your team, doesn’t stop them being dickheads.

Being a Villa Fan I have long since pinned my hopes on the heroes in claret and blue, however, even my misty eyed allegiance could not blind me to the many failings of Lee Hendrie. Not wanting to ruin anyone’s ending here, but Hendrie is currently 33 years old and plying his trade in the beautiful games ugly back water, Indonesia.

Hendrie broke into the Villa mid-field at the turn of the millennium under the tutelage of John Gregory, who obviously saw a little of himself, in the pimple faced primadonna. The problem with Hendrie? He was born with a face to break bricks on, I defy you to find a photo where you are not consumed by his smugness and compelled to reach for a brick.

Stories of Hendrie’s immense twatishness soon filtered to Fleet Street where kiss-and-tells became common place, the difference being, when its was Paul Merson you forgave him, when it was even Dwight Yorke you just about forgave him, but when it was Hendrie, you swallowed your pride, held tight your claret and blue rosary beads and prayed to God he goes for a Bosman in the summer.

Sure, you celebrated if he scored and even admired when he tackled back, but as the final whistle blew you knew long before you settled in your armchair for Match of the Day that Hendrie himself would be shit faced off champagne, trying to suffocate himself between the thighs of Miss Birmingham 2005. His catalogue is full of cliques, from smashing up his Porsche on the way to an Intertoto Cup game, to having CUNT scratched into the very same Porsche by his soon to be ex wife, after allegations of his cheating turned out to be completely and utterly true.

But he still played for Villa, the team that I loved and still love. Every Saturday I would shuffle into the ground and almost will him to change my mind, but never did. If he did score, he had this horrible habit of kissing his badge, to me it always felt like someone sleeping with my sister.

David O’Leary said it best: Lee Hendrie is Lee Hendrie and will always be Lee Hendrie.

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