Ashley Ward, Sheffield United icon
Player Strange Love or: How I Will Never Be Able To Not Love Ashley Ward
Paul Kemp
Differences in opinion on Sheffield United are not a new thing amongst us Blades. You only have to see the divisiveness on various socials when looking at any new signing, managerial shake-up or even the announcement of a new kit to see this. However, there are certain things we are, well, united over. Those dyed-in-the-wool opinions that even the pro and anti-Wilder brigade can find common ground over: Billy Sharp is a legend; the Kop toilets are awful; Wednesday fans are obsessed with attendances; Munchies on Shoreham Street closing (with the loss of match day roast pork cobs and roast potatoes) is a travesty are a few such examples.
We also tend to come together as a fan base when discussing absolutely awful players. From Dean Hammond to Lee Baxter with a smattering of Jonathan Hunt in between, we have had some universally-accepted dross over the years. One such player, though, is the basis of my unpopular opinion, a sole voice going into bat for none other than Mr Ashley Stuart Ward. A player that fans of Barnsley, Norwich and Derby may hold fond memories of, but one who was past his best and frankly terrible for us. Alas, despite this undisputed fact, it will always raise a smile when I think about him in a Blades shirt.
For my rationale behind this, let me take you back down ‘Memory Lane’ (podcast plug) to the night of 2nd March 2004, when Neil Warnock’s United took on a Millwall side that was undefeated in the calendar year. An unremarkable mid-week game for most in attendance, apart from someone attending not only his first Sheffield United match but his first ever football match. That someone was my work friend’s 20-something year old cousin Rashid, over from Punjab for a couple of weeks on his first trip to the UK and desperate to watch a football game as an avid sports fan. My colleague knew I was a Blade and asked if I could take him along: they’d invite me to a family party with lots of amazing food the day after to say thank you. I naturally jumped at the chance.
Rashid was a lovely chap from Mohali, and was excited to see something other than the one-day international cricket he had previously attended back home. If you’ve ever seen a cricket international in the sub-continent, you will know the crowd is a crescendo of noise from horns and whistles as the locals dance in between wickets and runs. So, with this in mind, I managed his expectations about the atmosphere he would experience inside a three-quarters full Bramall Lane for a dour Tuesday night league game.
Despite it not being the most thrilling of encounters, for the first 50 minutes of goalless tussling Rashid was really enjoying the experience. He liked the Greasy Chip Butty and particularly liked how nice and comfortable the seats in the stands were. Given we were on the Kop, this probably says more about the state of the old PCA Cricket Stadium in Mohali than it does about our cheap seats.
The game was meandering to nothingness when it all suddenly changed in the 58th minute. Jagielka played a one-two with Tonge and whipped in a cross that Ashley Ward managed to somehow bundle ungainly over the line. At this point of extreme excitement, my hitherto cricket supporting first-timer not only jumped up to cheer spontaneously with the rest of us but let out a piercing, blood curdling scream which was half Hammer House of Horror and half teenage fan at a One Direction gig.
I will always remember the moment, as everyone in a nearby radius on the Kop suddenly stopped celebrating and looked at my wonderful guest supporter out of a mix of concern and curiosity. At this point, as the crowd becalmed and before Gary Sinclair had even started to announce the unremarkable goalscorer, Rashid proceeded to pull one of those cheap, extendable party streamers out of his pocket (presumably from supplies for the aforementioned family party) and gave it a good four or five blows with the gusto of someone who had just seen Sachin Tendulkar score a century against Pakistan. This coming together of two supporting, sporting cultures caused much mirth and merriment amongst the regulars near the goal on Row J and it remains the best celebration of a goal I’ve ever seen and heard at Bramall Lane – you can keep your limbs!
By the time, five minutes later, that Andy Gray scored the second, I had given him a bit of feedback and Rashid toned it down somewhat to a good old guttural cheer. His first (and presumably only) Sheffield United game ended in a 2-1 victory after a certain Paul Ifill had pulled one back with a stunner. Rashid celebrated the full time whistle with another blow of his horn, and now, whenever I hear the name Ashley Ward, rather than hate him for being a useless, immobile, constantly-injured has-been, I can’t help but smile with fond memories of the time my friend’s cousin brought his own mini vuvuzela to BDTBL. Ashley Ward – a legend to this particular Blade forever.