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April 2001 11.4.01 Manchester City 0 Arsenal 4 14.4.01 Arsenal 0 Middlesbrough 3
Manchester City 0 Arsenal 4 14.4.01 Arsenal 0 Middlesbrough 3 Well, here’s two results which amply demonstrate the fevered, surreal times that mark the end of the season. Firstly, a staggering rout of City that saw them four down inside half an hour and secondly a game marked by two own goals (Edu and a blinding Silvinho shot) that wouldn’t be out of place in a Norman Wisdom film. Both matches, though at either end of the spectrum were similar because, basically, the Arse had one eye on the ball and the other on Valencia. So instead of real games you get these peculiar footballing parentheses that mean absolutely nothing in the form books. Which is why you’re getting a report that also means bugger all. Strange times. Normal service resumed after the inevitable Champions’ League exit.
Arsenal 4 Everton 1 Anyone looking at this result would probably think that this was a highly charged game full of great goals, memorable incidents and the very stuff of treasured long-term memories. Anyone who was at the game knows that apart from the shirts it was bloody difficult to work out exactly which team out of the two were called ‘Arsenal’. The problem with the game was that the boys were actually playing for next season rather than this one. And, as you know, footballers are notoriously bad at operating in anything except the immediate present; a bit like dogs and cats really. So, trying to get a toehold on the ladder that they had only just been shook off, had as much appeal as a DIY enema. To be frank, the first half was nine hours long, arid as the Gobi and as interesting as Phil Collins. Ljungberg, the only player in red and white along with Vieira, who hadn’t left his brains, spirit and spine at Valencia airport duly opened the scoring after about twenty minutes with a low, inside post sneaking drive from Henry’s cleverly slid pass. Everton promptly equalised from a Kevin Campbell shot that battered Seaman a couple of times before old Shambles thumped it in. Half time, and you could taste the discontent in the air; somewhere between faecal matter, boiled cabbage and utter tedium, all added to that low moaning drone that Arsenal supporters seem to do so well. Me, I can do it in my sleep. That’s training, that is. Hope springs eternal. Which either means what I think it does or the bouncy coiled things inside Bob Hope’s mattress are guaranteed forever. And, to be fair, the Arsenal did look marginally more focused in the second half. A Pires corner was met by the uncombed copse that Gilles Grimandi calls hair, a head flicked, and the ball whipped into the net sweetly. There’s something you don’t see everyday of the week. The third goal, the best of the bunch, came from one of those armour piercing runs that Vieira specialises in. The ball was slid to Wiltord, who turned on a half circle found the narrowest of gaps and filed the ball under ‘G’ for goal in a tiny corridor between the keeper and the post. It was then that the most memorable incident of the afternoon happened. An enormous scouser climbed out of the Clock End, stripped to the waist, ran over to Nyarko and attempted to swap shirts with him. The thrust of it being, ‘You’re not that good. I could do better. Let’s exchange shirts and I’ll play for a bit. You can be a fat, ignorant Northerner for a while and I’ll have a go at being a deeply smelly midfield player who earns more in a week that the entire economy of Bora Bora generates in a year.’ Something like that. Nyarko was so narked by all this that he ran weeping to the touchline and demanded to be subbed. A sensitive soul. Later, after the game, he announced that he was retiring from football. The way he’s played all season he’s never looked like that he was actively engaged in the football industry in the first place. Still, Everton’s problem, not ours. Shortly after this, blond headed, black skinned and silly bearded Xavier was sent off for looking like one of the three wise men in primary school production of the nativity- or maybe it was for booting people off the ball. Arsenal’s fourth goal was a bit of Thierry Henry opportunism, a simple goal in the end that had more to do with balance and poise than power. He still looks as miserable as sin, though. Just before the goal the crowd were chanting his name and Thierry was making signs for them to stop- he obviously didn’t think he deserved it. There’s something weird going on in his head, let’s just hope that he hasn’t got two older brothers who enjoy hanging around Madrid football grounds. A strange game; more of a spectacle on how to disengage the mind from the body. An auto-pilot outing only enlivened by the side-shows. Roll on May 12th. Man of the Match: Freddie Ljungberg.
Derby 1 Arsenal 2 It’s weird, but nobody likes Derby. The long memory merchants, be they Forest, Fulham or Palace supporters all took turns to sidle up to me on the Friday before the game and whisper somewhat theatrically, ‘Stuff the bastards.’ I gave them all a half hearted ‘right on’ clenched fist salute, luxuriating in my new found popularity. And did we stuff them? Well, not exactly. One-one at half time after Kanu’s goal was matched by Eranio, and Derby were well content to noodle about the second half, grazing in their bit of the field in that peculiar ovine way that mimics their well earned nickname. Arsenal, of course, were content, like a lot of matches this season, to bang theirs heads against a wall until their craniums burst asunder. Seen this game before, I thought. And then Pires and Henry came on and poor old Jim Smith’s capacious pants filled with brown waves and the by the look on his face he looked only seconds away from blubbering. Basically, Pires scored with his first touch. Wiltord did all the donkeying; running, shooting and Poom did all the heroic goalkeeping bit and Pires just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Bye, bye Derby. And young Ashley could have nicked a late one. So, the nemesis of yesteryear takes another dodgy step towards the Nationwide League. Arsenal, half powered, half a kip are a snug fit behind the Red Menace. Bring on the Leeds. Man of the Match: Again, excelling against a crap side: Wiltord.
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