Please, for the love of God, let this truly awful season end!

This season when Martin ‘Messiah’ O’Neil shafted us by walking out five days before the start of the season when he could have left in May and given us a chance to get a decent manager.

This season when a rather rubbish Newcastle put six past us on the telly.

This season when we got a manager who immediately said he didn’t think we were as good as our last three years' league position.

This season when our manager took us to his first love, touched the This is Anfield sign, smelled his fingers and then blew kisses at the fans whose team destroyed us on the pitch but ignored the Brummies who traveled away, again on the telly.

This season when we got knocked out of the League Cup in a violent clash against our bitterest rivals who went on to win the bloody thing.

This season when the Christmas away game involved us getting outplayed, outfought, out-thought and destroyed by Manchester City in one of the worst performances ever.

This season when the after getting a bit of momentum on the pitch was thrown away by putting out the reserves out in the FA Cup (which we have not won since 1957) against the team who went on to win the bloody thing.

This season when our manager said we wouldn’t have beaten said winners of the cup when we beat them a few weeks before.

This season when our defence has crumbled and our back four look if they have all been taken over by the spirit of Bernie Gallagher.

This season when our manager has been sponsored by Nike because he puts his foot in his mouth that often.

This season when we have had an old man wandering round the pitch like an old aged pensioner who has wandered out of ballroom dancing and into a hard house rave but still trying to pull some moves off.

This season when said manager, whose teams play decent football, had to give up because of the heart problems that we all knew he all had before he was hired.

This season where we have fallen back into the position where we will remain for years to come, challenging for Europa (The Albatross Cup) Cup.

This season where though calling for the manager head seems the only sensible thing to do has to be tempered with the fact that we will probably hire someone worse who will probably play anti-football in a bid to get us to sixth.

This season when we let our star-player do what he wants all but short of calling us Ashley Villa instead of forcing him to play wide and create goals.

This season when our centre halves got so narked at being told to do some work on the training field they decided to have a five star food fight that the world knew about a mili-second after the fois gras landed on Cowans’ conk.

This season when the fans of our local rivals rightly have ridiculed us.

This season where some of our own fans pulled out all the stops to get some naff bell sounds played at Villa Park and harked on about being ‘the 12th man’ when the first 11 getting paid gazillions every week couldn’t even be bothered to string a pass together.

This season when the only end of season drama will be seeing what the fake Steve Bull says on twitter and whether the Blues go down.

Which, and it grieves me to say it, will rob us of the two most interesting matches of next season.

However, that said we have bought a Goal Machine this season.

And this season, next season and for infinitum I will still love the Villa, as will all my mates, because those idiots on the pitch and in the dugout are just passing through my club.

When we will be here forever.

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