So Paddy Got Up - an Arsenal anthology (15 page)

You feel comfortable saying all this; it feels like the truth. It will only be a matter of time before Abramovich calls in all those loans we found out he put on the Chelsea’s books or the banks call in the debts at Man United and Liverpool, and as soon as those three clubs collapse under the weight of their ‘financial doping’ the distorting effect of their funny money in the transfer market will be nothing more than a footnote in football history.

You can’t help but chuckle as you sip your beer. Adrian looks at you a bit strangely. The arguments are very familiar but you’ve crossed the line from casual supporter to fervent believer and you both know it. After a few sips of beer in silence you finally admit that it would be highly unlikely that a rich investor would turn down the opportunity to buy Manchester United.

“Another pint?” he asks. “No, you know I like to get to the stadium early.”

It’s been your tradition since Highbury to get to the stadium as early as possible and hit the stores. You only go once a year so you like to drink in the whole experience. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, and you have this really great feeling that everything is going to go well. When choosing matches to attend you look at the fixtures that seem most likely to produce a win. With all the money it costs to travel, you don’t want to risk the insult of a loss, so you pick teams that seem reasonable for Arsenal to beat. This year, though, you could only go to see Sunderland. Unfortunately, Sunderland is always a tough match because Steve Bruce likes to keep his teams well disciplined and likes to hit Arsenal with a quick counter. But we have a secret weapon; the eagerly awaited unveiling of Arsene Wenger’s latest multi-million pound signing; Andrei Arshavin, is rumoured to be playing today.

Everyone at the Arsenal store is in a buoyant mood, milling about and festooning each other with Arsenal swag. As you are having Eduardo’s name pressed into your shirt you ask the kid behind the counter when the last time he pressed an Eboue shirt? He laughs and says it was probably the time Eboue came in and bought a bunch of shirts with his own name on them. Emirates stadium is magnificent in its efficiency. Unlike the crowded old hallways of Highbury, the wide concourses at the Emirates allow people to move about freely from food stand to food stand. Sure, a line still forms for the urinal at half time and men stinking of hot piss and beer still stand impatiently in line to empty their bladders but filling those bladders is amazingly efficient. There are now dozens of beer stands all with several open lines each with its very own bored-looking cashier just waiting to serve you a nice cold beer or a £5 hot dog.

When Arshavin’s name is announced as a starter there is a huge roar from the crowd: the man who has come to save our season has finally arrived. Grinning from ear to ear you eagerly join in the chant of “There’s Only One Arsene Wenger,” and it helps push back that nagging feeling that Arsenal are fifth in the table and things are looking grim. The match is on, the sun is out in February, and Arsenal are going to wipe out the memory of two consecutive nil-nil draws. Unfortunately, you later learn, kick-off was the happiest part of the match.

The crowd is buzzing and Arshavin looks fantastic right off the bat but from there on in it’s all downhill. The first half moves from buzzing anticipation to utter frustration: Bendtner squanders a chance, Arshavin misses two, and even van Persie misses a shot. The team is moving the ball well but struggling in the final third, and fan unrest starts to build. At first it is directed at the ref, then towards the Sunderland players, and supporters; finally, by the end of the match, our own players.

If the first-half is bad, the second is immeasurably worse. The entire second-half is played at the other end of the pitch. And whether it is the booze or the boredom, the two guys from Ireland in front of you are passed out and sleeping quite peacefully. Sunderland have literally put Arsenal to sleep. Toward the end, Sunderland supporters are cheering every Arsenal pass with an “Olé!” and shushing us incessantly. Every part of your body wants so badly for Arsenal to score so that you can turn to the Sunderland fans and shush them right back. It doesn’t happen.

At the very end of the match a couple Arsenal fans and at least one Sunderland fan are ejected for giving each other the finger and yelling obscenities. This is the most excitement you feel for 80 minutes. The full time whistle blows and you stand in line waiting to shuffle out of the stadium. You steal a glance at the Sunderland supporters who are dancing, their arms raised in the air and fists pumping in a pantomime of what they would do if they could ever win the league. Instead it’s just a nil-nil jig.

Looking down at the steps you realize you’d never been to a match where Arsenal failed to win, much less one where they failed to score. It’s a raw feeling; Arsenal are 6 points behind Villa and Sunderland supporters are dancing a jig on our grave. In a daze you leave the stadium and wander the wrong way back to the tube station. As you stroll down Avenell Road, the East Stand draws you in. If you squint you can just see through the scaffolding’s cover and note that backhoes litter the old pitch. Highbury, the place where you fell in love with the Arsenal is being rebuilt as apartments for the wealthy. So that we have money to compete with Chelsea and Man U, you remind yourself.

Birmingham City – 27.02.2011

You join the main throng of Gooners leaving Wembley. Out of what must now be nervous habit, you look down at the steps. Wembley’s steps are fresher than Emirates Stadium you notice. You’re shocked out of contemplation when a man throws his programme so hard it seems as if it might break the chair in front of him. Another man slams his fist against the same chairs and you wonder if he broke his hand. The boy who had been in front of you for the full 90 minutes is being carried by his father, tears sting his eyes as he looks up to the score board before quickly burying his head back into his father’s shoulders.

The day starts perfectly. You seem to have a knack for picking beautiful days to watch Arsenal and this is no different. A beautiful day; Arsenal playing Birmingham in their first cup-final since the disaster against Chelsea and there’s a feeling of optimism in the air. You have sun block on, your Bergkamp shirt from the 2006 season, and you feel… well, you feel invincible. The Jubilee Line carriage you’re in has just five men in Arsenal shirts and one boy. There’s a lot of nervous laughter as both groups circle round each other and make chit-chat. Strangely, no one is talking about the game ahead. There are no predictions of first goal scorer, or final score. Instead they focus on small things going on in their lives. Whenever the occasional Birmingham supporter boards the train they smile at us politely and take a seat. They all look relaxed and ready for the day out; to a man we look nervous and excited.

The night before the match you go out with some friends for drinks and as the night wears on you notice some Birmingham supporters at the bar. One fellow must have had his fill of drinks because he’s talking very loudly to his friend about the game the next day. “I hate the arrogance of these Arsenal pricks,” he projects for all to hear. “They act so confident that they are going to win but ask one of them this: ‘Give me 50 to 1 odds and I’ll put a tenner on it,’ and watch their confidence fade.” The real odds are Birmingham 7-1 which is a far more realistic prospect than 50-1 but despite the hyperbole the point is decent enough: the thought that Arsenal would lose the next day makes you and your friends laugh.

Wembley has a single main walkway to and from the stadium ringed by various carts of foods you decide no person should eat. The sun is gone and the rain is pissing down now. Arsenal supporters mingle with Birmingham supporters as we all make our way down the promenade to Wembley proper. Red flags, blue flags, and chequered jester’s hats festoon both sets of fans. Someone near you starts singing, “Ooh to, Ooh to be, Ooh to be a GOONAH.” Dozens around him join in forming a small chorus of Arsenal fans. A group of Birmingham supporters with blue and white jester’s hats walk past the chorus and smile. Five folks parked next to a burger van are keeping dry by waving a giant Arsenal flag over their heads, singing “Na na na na na na na na na na na nasiri, na na nasiriii!” The Birmingham supporters remain silent, while us Gooners are whooping it up. It’s as if we are already celebrating.

“WHY CAN’T WE DEFEND A SIMPLE HEADER???” The action happens so quickly and your angle is so acute that you look up to the ‘Jumbotron’ to see Zigic score the opener. In real time the goal looks like something Birmingham had drawn up on the training ground. Arsenal are vulnerable, more so than any other team, to the second header. So when we get to the first header we don’t clear our lines well and teams will simply play it back in and keep us under pressure. But this header was special: we’ve all seen teams play a long corner, head it back across, and while our defenders are chasing ghosts, it’s a free for the opposition’s big man.

As soon as the ball ripples the opposition net we jump in joy. Pure jubilation spreads like wildfire through our end of the stadium. The Arsenal fans sing again now. “We love you Arsenal”, is the chant of the moment. The boy in front of you, draped in an Arsenal flag like a superhero’s cape, is in his father’s arms, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Tears of joy; relief, anguish, and worst of all, tears of belief. Robin van Persie scores the equalizer and there is suddenly real belief in both the fans and the players. The other end of the stadium simultaneously sits on their hands. There is still a whole second half to play but the flags are put away and as Arsenal attack the Birmingham goal relentlessly they seem resolved that the loss is coming.

The sound of Martins’ goal reaches our end of the stadium like a sonic boom. We watch the collision of Koscielny and Szczesny,  see the net ripple. You look over at the linesman in desperation but he’s not waving his flag. Mike Dean signals a goal; the sound of Birmingham fans celebrating the winner washes over us. Our end of the stadium is knocked back a bit. There is time left on the clock but we know that it is over: the singing is done, and we look around at each other helpless to do anything but stand there and wallow in frustration.

As we approach the first of several ramps out of Wembley people voice that frustration. “If anyone here thinks Bendtner is a striker raise your hand.” No one replies. “Why can’t we just buy a £20m centre-half and defend set pieces?” says another. On it goes; outbursts of anger like little firecrackers erupting all over the crowd.

Then someone starts to sing in sotto voce “Number 1 is Perry Groves… Number 2 is Perry Groves… Number 3 is Perry Groves…” and one by one, others join. After that song dies down, the next song picks up “There’s only one Tony Adams.” Clearly Gooners want those old days back. And who can blame them? Here was the chance to get Arsenal back on a winning track and to prove the Emirates project could pay dividends in the trophy cabinet. But the dream slipped away into the dark, cold, night.

The next day, you decide you have enough time before heading home to stop at Highbury and see what the club has done to the old Lady. It’s been a year, but Arsenal station is still the same: the same cattle-walk to allow people who aren’t going to a game to pass the crowds quickly; the same North London row houses right outside the station. Even the “Allez Arsenal” that you first noticed three years ago is still scrawled into the concrete as you approach the East stand.

You have seen all the brochures and know what Highbury is being redesigned into, but the full shock of the gleaming condos and imperious black gate is unexpected. You stand outside the gate and look inside, it dawns on you that you’ll never set foot in there again. You’ll never walk up those old stairs ever again. The old songs sung by the crowds will never echo from stand to stand. The ground where you and countless others fell in love with Arsenal has been fenced off and made into a rich man’s private garden.

***

Tim Bostelle is paid to do something other than write about Arsenal at 7amkickoff.com but he finds a way to do it every day regardless.

14 – ARSENAL’S STANDING IN THE MODERN GAME - Stuart Stratford

As football changes, the standing of a club in the modern game becomes more obscured. There is a proliferation of information with the global, and seemingly endless, reach of the Internet. Any club can be deemed to be the biggest in the world using one yardstick or another. Life was not always this complicated. Rewind a century and Arsenal were on the cusp of “negotiating” their way into English football’s top flight, a place they still occupy. The arrival of Herbert Chapman would take the club to another level altogether.

By the time the 1930’s had finished and the world was at war, Arsenal had become The Establishment Club. The rise had been prolific. The club were crowned Champions in 1953 for the seventh time, then a record. As well as the titles, there were three victorious FA Cup Finals. Not bad for a club whose first major honour came with a 2-0 victory over Huddersfield Town in the 1930 FA Cup final. Since those times, success and failure have been equal bedfellows. If the period 1955 – 1967 was the nadir, the reign of Arsène Wenger has been the peak. In between, glory and fallow periods were close cousins. Football is a cyclical sport; few other clubs have a history as illustrious or which proves that as emphatically as Arsenal’s.

Before the 1950’s, it was easy to measure a club’s standing in the game. Parochial administrators ensured that their personal fiefdoms were unchallenged and uncomplicated by journeys to foreign shores, save for pre-season tours. How good was your team? Where did they finish in the league last season? Did they win the FA Cup? How many times have they won both competitions? Answer those questions and you found out how ‘big’ your club was.

But football is changing. Records created have become ghosts of a game that has taken to discarding the past with relative ease and a total lack of conscience.  Many records have been created in the club’s 125 year existence. Some, such as The Invincibles, still stand, as does the near century tenure in the top-flight of English football. Others, such as becoming the first team to win 7 league titles back in 1950s, have been surpassed and ground into the dust of football’s past.