I WARN you from the outset that this Yuletide scribe is striking a particularly curmudgeonly tone this week and the source of my chagrin and dark disposition lays very close to home.

There is a distinct lack of spirit, Christmas or otherwise, emanating from Villa Park in recent times.

The imposing arena has the capability to be the most vibrant and potentially daunting of bear pits yet it is bathed in an almost funereal calm, a muttering, murmuring mausoleum of apathy with little to set the pulses racing or the adrenalin flooding.

The players, apparently, are zapped by a confidence-sapping virus as they leave the dressing room and then audition as living statues when defending dead-ball situations.

They offer inflated respect for the top teams instead of pressing, harassing and getting in the faces of their opponents.

For die-hard fans the most damming statistic from Sunday was Villa only conceding five free-kicks against 15 by Liverpool, who clearly showed far greater commitment.

The neutral observer could well have thought it to be a Dalglish Testmonial as the claret and blues stood off admiringly and let Liverpool play through almost at will.

Everyone tells me what a nice man Alex McLeish is and what a pleasure he is to work with.

I would far rather hear “respect”, “fear” and even “nasty” among any appraisal and a burning necessity to install drive and passion among his players.