Adam Gamble @adamgamble91 - Twitter Profile

🎟️ 🏆 Morning Villains! Cure that sore head with a celebratory giveaway after #AVFC win their first European trophy for 30 years! We’re giving away: 👉🏼 5 final stubs 👉🏼 1 full set of home/away + final stubs All you have to do is: ♻️ Repost this 🚶‍♂️ Follow @footballstubs_ 🏷️ Tag a friend you’ve seen Villa with this season 📥 If you’re definitely wanting one, order and enter. If you win you’ll get a refund or credit for a game next year - Super Cup anyone? Order via DM. £7 for one, £5 for any others in the same order. Already ordered? Same applies! ⚠️ giveaway ends Friday 22nd May at 22:00. Winners drawn at random using an online name generator.

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Who to follow

If we’re ever in a situation where I am the ‘voice of reason’ then we are in a very, very bad situation || AVFC ⚽️ || Tennessee Titans 🏈🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Rob

@villa_Darren82

Villa fanatic. Season ticket holder.

adamgamble91 retweeted

Football Stubs 🎟️

@FootballStubs_

2 months ago

🎟️ 🏆 Morning Villains! Cure that sore head with a celebratory giveaway after #AVFC win their first European trophy for 30 years! We’re giving away: 👉🏼 5 final stubs 👉🏼 1 full set of home/away + final stubs All you have to do is: ♻️ Repost this 🚶‍♂️ Follow @footballstubs_ 🏷️ Tag a friend you’ve seen Villa with this season 📥 If you’re definitely wanting one, order and enter. If you win you’ll get a refund or credit for a game next year - Super Cup anyone? Order via DM. £7 for one, £5 for any others in the same order. Already ordered? Same applies! ⚠️ giveaway ends Friday 22nd May at 22:00. Winners drawn at random using an online name generator.

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

3 months ago

@james7190 @AVFCSupport Easily done when you are in the GAE gang

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

4 months ago

Standard villa away trip

Amazing Maps

@amazingmap

4 months ago

In 2014, three travellers managed to reach 19 countries in just 24 hours

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

5 months ago

Still go the villa with the same lot 30 years later ♥️

Popside Fanatics

@PopsideFanatics

5 months ago

We are in the 1990’s. You’re a pub kid from the estate. You’ve been dragged along so Dad can have “just the couple” before the game (which is never just a couple). Mum said, “Keep an eye on ’em.” So now you’re part of the pub furniture. You’re not on pints. You’re on a pint glass of Coke that’s 90% ice. Orange juice if they’re feeling flush. Or a glass bottle of Panda Pop if the bar’s got some in. You’re allowed near the pool table, but only to “mind the cues” and definitely not to touch the felt with sticky hands. You build towers out of beer mats. Little estates of your own. Tower blocks. Flats. Entire communities that won’t make it past closing time. There’s always snacks. Scampi Fries. Cheese & Onion crisps in blue packets. Dry roasted nuts that make you cough but you pretend you like. You drift about. In and out of conversations. Through clouds of smoke so thick you could chew it. You start collecting empty glasses. Two at a time if you’re feeling strong. The bar staff call you “treacle” or “love” and slide you a packet of crisps for your hard work. The pub smells like stale lager, Embassy cigarettes, and someone’s overpowering aftershave they got for Christmas. Big green ashtrays on every table. All overflowing like tiny volcanoes. The fruit machine is your PlayStation. You stare at the lights. The symbols. The sounds. Certain if you watch long enough, you’ll crack the code and become rich. You get the shout from your Dad, ‘we’re going’. On the way to the ground you have your starting 11 in mind. On arriving the Dads get some beers in and tell you to bugger off to the seats/area or you begin to play football in the concourse with paper, plastic cups or other just to have a kick around. The game goes by, win, lose or draw you have lost your voice from shouting, singing, calling the ref a wanker. You make your way back to the pub with the Dads and their sons. After a while you’re left with your Dad while the rest of the kids go home. The dads are roaring. Proper belly laughs. Arguing about football like it’s politics. Talking absolute nonsense with full confidence. You hear words you’re not allowed to say. Stories you’re not meant to know. You don’t get all of it — but you get the rhythm of it. The warmth in it. No one asks who you belong to. They already know. You’re our kid. You get slipped a quid for crisps. 50p for the machine (that you’re not allowed to use… but do anyway). Some old fella does a coin-behind-your-ear trick while his cigarette ash hangs on for dear life. It gets late. Your eyes go heavy. You curl up in the booth under Dad’s coat. Sticky table. Warm jacket. Muffled laughter around you. And everyone respects it. They still shout across the pub like they’re hailing a bus, but near you, voices drop. Footsteps soften. No one moves you. No one complains. You’re safe. You’re known. You belong to the room, and the room belongs to you. And for a kid from the estate in 1990’s — Life’s proper good

PopsideFanatics's tweet photo. We are in the 1990’s.
You’re a pub kid from the estate.

You’ve been dragged along so Dad can have “just the couple” before the game
(which is never just a couple).
Mum said, “Keep an eye on ’em.”
So now you’re part of the pub furniture.

You’re not on pints.
You’re on a pint glass of Coke that’s 90% ice.

Orange juice if they’re feeling flush.
Or a glass bottle of Panda Pop if the bar’s got some in.

You’re allowed near the pool table,
but only to “mind the cues”
and definitely not to touch the felt with sticky hands.

You build towers out of beer mats.
Little estates of your own.
Tower blocks.
Flats.
Entire communities that won’t make it past closing time.

There’s always snacks.
Scampi Fries.
Cheese & Onion crisps in blue packets.
Dry roasted nuts that make you cough but you pretend you like.

You drift about.
In and out of conversations.
Through clouds of smoke so thick you could chew it.

You start collecting empty glasses.
Two at a time if you’re feeling strong.
The bar staff call you “treacle” or “love”
and slide you a packet of crisps for your hard work.

The pub smells like stale lager, Embassy cigarettes, and someone’s overpowering aftershave they got for Christmas.
Big green ashtrays on every table.
All overflowing like tiny volcanoes.

The fruit machine is your PlayStation.
You stare at the lights.
The symbols.
The sounds.
Certain if you watch long enough, you’ll crack the code and become rich.

You get the shout from your Dad, ‘we’re going’.
On the way to the ground you have your starting 11 in mind.

On arriving the Dads get some beers in and tell you to bugger off to the seats/area or you begin to play football in the concourse with paper, plastic cups or other just to have a kick around.

The game goes by, win, lose or draw you have lost your voice from shouting, singing, calling the ref a wanker. You make your way back to the pub with the Dads and their sons. After a while you’re left with your Dad while the rest of the kids go home.

The dads are roaring.
Proper belly laughs.
Arguing about football like it’s politics.
Talking absolute nonsense with full confidence.

You hear words you’re not allowed to say.
Stories you’re not meant to know.
You don’t get all of it —
but you get the rhythm of it.
The warmth in it.

No one asks who you belong to.
They already know.
You’re our kid.

You get slipped a quid for crisps.
50p for the machine (that you’re not allowed to use… but do anyway).
Some old fella does a coin-behind-your-ear trick
while his cigarette ash hangs on for dear life.

It gets late.
Your eyes go heavy.

You curl up in the booth under Dad’s coat.
Sticky table.
Warm jacket.
Muffled laughter around you.

And everyone respects it.

They still shout across the pub like they’re hailing a bus,
but near you, voices drop.
Footsteps soften.

No one moves you.
No one complains.

You’re safe.
You’re known.
You belong to the room, and the room belongs to you.

And for a kid from the estate in 1990’s —

Life’s proper good

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

6 months ago

@MrNicoMole @BibleBaggins46 @james7190 Jim don’t need £5 on it to play like that

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

6 months ago

Krakow airport passport control on the go slow today 😴

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

6 months ago

@chrislarge01 Bring your boots. You’re on the bench

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

6 months ago

@WhyteleafeEagle Take no notice of that cage. Home and away fans walk in together. They’ll also be tickets available in every shop you go into.

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

6 months ago

@MrNicoMole @FootyCentralX @james7190 Lille away ole ole

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

7 months ago

@paddypower 194

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

8 months ago

Happy anniversary

Ben @OcBen

8 months ago

20 years and counting btw

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Adam Gamble @adamgamble91

8 months ago

@condev_ @bet365 @OptaJoe Serves you right betting 30 on the Mickey Mouse league

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adamgamble91 retweeted

Mahyar Tousi

@MahyarTousi

9 months ago

They are not the far-right. They are ordinary Aston Villa fans who went to the stadium to watch their team and not get lectured by smelly Islamists. They were always gonna be there. Palestinian mob were the ones invading the area.

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