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APRIL 1997
Chelsea 0 Arsenal 3 It’s great that we can hate Chelsea again. For years they have been so bad, that we were dangerously close to feeling sorry for them. But now with moany Gullit and their cadre of overpaid, over the hill foreigners we can get back to doing what we enjoy doing the most; reviving all those great Chelsea music hall jokes. Who can forget the wonderful, ‘What’s blue and slides down tables?’ and ‘I heard Chelsea went to Fantasy Island and lost.’ A word about Gullit. He makes Alex Ferguson look like one of the ever optimistic Walton’s (But see the postscript). He called the Chelsea performance ‘embarrassing’ and said about Vialli, ‘Everytime he plays, we lose.’ Well, you signed him, you mug. Buying well past it players who are paid more than the GNP of some small countries and ensconcing them in 15 room houses in the Royal Borough of Kensington, then dropping them, strikes me as a particularly stupid form of man management. Perhaps, Rudd, not content with sleeping with the emperor’s niece, is also wearing his new clothes. Time will tell. Chelsea were awful; one eye on next week’s semi final and the other on Ruddy. Vialli, in particular looked nervous. Rumour had it that Gullit intended to sub him with a giant M&M. What about the Arsenal? They were breathtaking at times. Even without the backbone of Adams and the skills of Merson, I must say we looked very comfortable. Seaman, well over his Scally nerves, made a couple of good early stops. Bergkamp seemed to playing a game that had very little to do with football. The only people I’ve ever seen play this game were Pele, Cruyff and Maradona. He was absolutely magnificent. His pass to Wright that led to the first goal was one of those moments that made the whole season worthwhile. Out on the byline, somehow he spotted Wright making a run through the Chelsea line a good forty yards away on the other side of the pitch. He turned lofted it over the thin blue line straight into the path of the rampaging Wright. Wrighty one on one with the ‘keeper put the ball under him with a sweet shot. 1-0 us. Not long after, Bergkamp did it again. He switched it across the pitch, Wrighty ran on to it, took it forward and finally squared it to the arriving David Platt. A vintage Platt goal. We don’t see enough of them. Chelsea did bugger all. Zola’s volley was strictly for the birds and anything else they did looked naïve. Come the break and Ruddy, the master tactician, took off all his defence (an old Paul Parker and some other bits of gristle) and brought on his new defence which mainly consisted of underachievers from Cambridge United’s reserves. Tactical masterpiece. Vialli somehow managed to hit the bar and then it was night, night Chelsea. Arsenal carried on exactly where they left off and Den who’d been running the show all afternoon got his fair reward with a late goal, running around the ‘keeper and slotting it home. 3-0 and Arsenal go second on goal difference. What a sad bunch of nobodies Chelsea are. Let’s hope that Wimbledon consign them to the FA Cup dustbin. The only thing that’ll save them in next week’s Semi is a coded warning from the IRA.. Man of the Match: C’mon you’re joking, right? I’ll give to a clue. He’s Dutch and never appeared in an advertisement where he was outshone by two chocolate buttons. Mr Wright on eight and counting. Postscript Any Gooner bright enough to tape Match of the Day so they could watch it after the pub would have been amazed at Alex Ferguson’s outburst aimed at Arsene Wenger. Wenger had been saying a couple of days earlier that it was wrong for the league programme to be extended just so Man Utd could rest up and win everything in sight. Fair comment, I thought. Ferguson said that Wenger was a no-nothing who had spent most of his career in Japan (hence, that makes him an idiot. Dangerous piece of veiled racism there, Alex) and that Arsene was better off keeping his mouth shut and concentrating on the state of Ian Wright’s tackling. The fact that this interview took place just after Man Utd had been tonked 3-2 by Derby might have something to do with it. Well, Mr Ferguson, I may not be as eloquent as Mr Wenger but I put to you two things: 1. I never noticed you opening up your big Scottish gob a couple of weeks ago when Wimbledon were faced with something like 7 games in 12 days. Yeah, fuck them, they’re not a national institution like your lot, are they? 2. Why can’t Man Utd and their fucking fans get it into their thick heads that the rest of England doesn’t give a toss how Utd are doing. Football is a partisan sport. Nobody is cheering for Utd in Europe apart from Moan Utd fans. We don’t care. We don’t like you. We’d rather the Germans’ won. Can you honestly believe that all the Scallies, Geordies and Cockneys are rooting for you? Leave it out. We’re all playing by the same rules, Mr Ferguson, so stop trying to bend them. Blimey. Got a bit carried away there. I’m off to see the film of ‘Fever Pitch’. Later. Leicester.
Arsenal 2 Leicester 0 There was a vague hope before the game that Leicester might be a wee bit preoccupied by greater, bigger matches and so allow the Gunners a fairly easy afternoon. However, after about ten minutes, that hope was soon dispelled. Leicester’s utility team still managed to pack enough big, awkward blokes and nippy little wing players to cause Arsenal to have a few wobbly moments. Early on Wrighty went close with a header that shaved the post and Arsenal generally bustled and blustered to little effect. Leicester were well organised but lacked any real vital signs; it was a bit like trying to play the Civil Service. Tony Adams was back in the team after a longish, niggly ankle injury had sidelined him. Even though it was wonderful to see him, his comeback was spoiled by the sight of Tone’s new football boots; a truly appalling pair of white boots dotted with red bits. Those boots looked like a pair of suppurating leper’s feet. Still, they must have worked for him. Just before half time Bergkamp crossed sweetly across the goal and Tone, at full stretch, powered the ball into the net with a fine diving header. 1-0. The sun was out and rumour had it that Moan Utd were having a torrid time at Ewood Park. Marvellous. The second half was more of the same. It was obvious by now that Leicester’s game plan was just to grin and bear it; treat the visit to Highbury much as you would the dentist. Arsenal ran a bit, probed a bit and then there was the now inevitable moment when Bergkamp found himself surrounded by blue shrts. He passed the ball across the diagonal, switched it across the pitch to David Platt who drilled it low and hard across the face of the Leicester goal to make it 2-0. Leicester woke up a bit then, bringing on a couple of their better ball players: Izzet and Claridge. But Arsenal are on song now; not many teams could make up two goals at Highbury. Everybody relaxed. The Clock End were having a laugh with Seaman, singing things to him like, ‘Dodgy keeper’ and ‘You’re shhhhhhit’ and he was lapping it up. Then, blow me, if he didn’t fumble the ball onto the post nearly letting Leicester back in to it. All in all, good solid fare. A staple match. Bergkamp was sublime, Vieria solid, Hughes had his best game yet, Wrighty a bit off his best and David Platt has probably added half a million to his value. Expect him to take up a player manager role at Blackburn in the summer. Remember, you heard it here first. Sitting on the sides as we do, we spend an inordinate amount of time watching the fullbacks do their stuff. Today, Nigel Winterburn was outstanding. For a one legged man he was breathtaking at times. Bergkamp will get all the praise, but it was Nige who powered the Arsenal. In his testimonial year, he really is playing some of his finest football. Forget going to the flicks to see ‘Fever Pitch’ go down the vid shop and get ‘My Left Foot’ instead. Man of the Match: Nigel Winterburn.
Arsenal 1 Blackburn 1 It’s amazing how you can lose a game 1-1. But that’s exactly what the Arsenal did today. 1-0 up, absolutely nothing left on the clock and young Stephen Hughes is clogged in an off the ball incident by Tim Sherwood, that euphemistically the newspapers’ categorised as ‘cramp’. Vieira, seeing his distress, punted the ball into touch so the lad could receive treatment. Blackburn take the throw, heft it down the wing at about 70mph, causing Winterburn to go one on one with Sutton. Blackburn get the corner and Flitcroft scores. The crowd goes potty; the Blackburn lads because their team of dour cloggers may now be safe for another year and the Arsenal boys for yet another piece of Highbury injustice where we play the game and the other mob, without the slightest clue of pitch etiquette decide to do their own thing. Shades of Spurs, there. What is it about Lancashire sides that make them so mean spirited? Lack of vitamins? Sunlight? Or is it just living in an post industrial wasteland where your best years are behind you and all you have to look forward to is Corrie, chips with green muck on them, endless giros, a new shell suit every year and beer that tastes like some fat bastard has washed his fucking pants in it? If Blackburn hadn’t kicked everything that moved, I’d have reckoned that they deserved the draw. They held the midfield like a fist. Nothing moved through it without them squeezing it out. A legitimate tactic, if a bit limiting. Arsenal, finding no way through it, frequently resorted to the old high ball bombardment. Believe me, Hendry on Wright in absolutely no contest. But Blackburn, who have fouled, elbowed and moaned their way out of the relegation zone, ultimately deserved nothing. I reckon they’re good enough to do well without all the strong arm stuff. It’s a simple equation; if you kick the Arsenal, they’ll kick you back. As the game started, I had some sympathy for them. Sherwood was booked for absolutely nothing, whilst their number 25 (whose name escapes me) seemed hell bent on taking tissue samples from Bergkamp. It looked like a good game to me. I like a bit of a barney. However, the referee soon showed himself to be a righteous tosspot. What Arsene Wenger would call a complete ‘merde tete’. He booked this and he booked that, but did nothing to stamp out the very ugly stuff that 38,000 people could quite plainly see. The only thing we agreed with him on was booking Ian Wright for picking on Berg. Ian, it seemed was having one of his ‘peculiar’ afternoons. Arsenal’s goal when it came, inevitably started from a wonderful Bergkamp cross that found the solid noggin of Martin Keown, who crashed it onto the post. Tidy, Mr Platt, his third goal in three games, put it away easily. Just before the goal, Bergkamp saw his wonderful turning shot, brilliantly saved. Two more of our best chances, either side of the half, fell to Nigel Winterburn; both times he was denied by Flowers. (Interesting aside: according to a well known woman’s magazine that conducted a survey into what their readership thought of English goalkeepers; 85% of those polled preferred Flowers to Seaman. Amazing). Arsenal lost a lot of their shape in the second half. The old problem of a lack of a guileful midfield player was horribly evident. Stephen Hughes had one of his best games yet, but the help he received was woefully little. The one bright cloud lining was the impressive form of our defence; it’s fantastic to see Adams, Keown and Bould surging over the halfway line, bringing the ball into attack. Well done Arsene Wenger, for that. Coventry on Monday and another stab at securing that runners-up spot. Man of the Match: Stephen Hughes. An open letter to Chris Sutton If you’re so interested in hitting people and feigning injury, perhaps you’d like to come down the Bank of Friendship pub in Blackstock Road on a Saturday night where there will be plenty to people who would be only too glad to hit you back and help you experience real injury. You sad tosser.
Coventry 1 Arsenal 1 Believe it or not this was a cracking game. I know what you’re thinking, ‘That’s an oxymoron, ‘Coventry’ and ‘cracking’’. ‘Coventry’ you’re thinking, surely that means, intense cold, boring robotic play, a pitch like chocolate mousse and that inevitable 0-0 scoreline? Well, you’re wrong. Sitting in the Highbury Barn Tavern, waiting for the Guinness to settle down into a drinkable colour, we were most surprised to see the ball ricochet across the Arsenal centre backs and fall to a completely unmarked Dion Dublin. We then all experienced one of those blinding telepathic moments that transcends logic. You know there’s a flash of light accompanied by a intense religious insight and a voice like Charlton Heston says ‘Oh bollocks, there’s no way he’s going to miss that.’ And we were right. Barely two minutes on the clock and Coventry were one up. Dublin slotted it past Seaman giving him no chance. Well, we thought, that’s it; just watch Coventry shut up shop. And we were wrong. What followed was an absorbing game. Coventry treated it like the European Cup Final and Arsenal matched them, ball for ball. The pace might have been frantic but some of the action was a bit special. A brief recap: Winterburn cleared one off the line, Burrows did likewise at the other end, using his arse to keep Bergkamp out, Coventry missed a couple of sitters, as did Wrighty and we equalised before half time. Our goal was straightforward. Wright ran onto a ball, flowed into the area, had a poke, Oggie flapped at it and Wrighty ran on. Oggie, arms forward in some form of pray, managed to bring Ian down and we had our penalty. Everyone in the pub assumed that Wright would miss it. Wright had been having a bit of an argie bargie with the Highfield crowd all evening. They were on his back from the off; still, obviously none too happy at Wrighty’s attempt to rearrange Oggie potato head’s features into a well known face, in the corresponding fixture back at Highbury. Well, Mr Wright, cool as a whole Sainsbury’s full of cucumbers stepped up and hit it straight and low and it was 1-1. The rest of the game was absorbing, made all the more so, by meaty quantities of drink at our end. It was well good. Even the referee had a storming game and Wenger was up and down like a yo-yo, ranting, raving and generally forgetting his cool Gallic persona. Anelka came on for the last fifteen minutes or so, a replacement for the tired Merson. He is a lanky lad, but he proved devilishly difficult to shake off the ball. He put one superb ball through to Wrighty who saw his shot go wide and he had one stab at goal himself that reminded me of Shearer; saw a space as big as a cat and shot for it. Good stuff. The league position is still looking undecided. Three more points will definitely give us a UEFA Cup place, six might propel us into the Champions’ Cup. On tonight’s showing next season is going to be a belter. Man of the Match: Tony Adams. Wrighty’s getting there.
We get tons of abusive letters, a couple of nice ones and the odd review. Here's an odd review that's nice and abusive too, from Darren Adams. It also has a glimpse of a life that none of us has ever seen; the executive hospitiality suite. I now know how the term "being sent to Coventry" came about. The city is a nightmare of ring roads are poorly marked signs. The host from Coventry City F.C. later told us that every time they put up signs to Highfield Road, the city council deliver them back to the ground the next day. Nice football club / local authority relationship there. Having eventually reached the ground, I have to say that I was very impressed. It's certainly improved since the last time I saw Arsenal play there (although I have to confess it was about 12 years ago). The pitch was like a bowling green, and the CCFC host told us that was because the grass roots were 6 inches beneath the soil, etc, etc. Very interesting. After a slap up curry and a pre-match gambit from former Coventry and Chelsea legend John Sillett (perhaps my dad remembers him), we were herded to our seats in the director's box (so they called it) directly opposite the main Sky camera. A bit of celebrity spotting ensued, and while queuing to take my seat I had a quick word with ex-EastEnder and avid Gooner Tom Watt, pointing out that among the elite of the Coventry world of commerce and top brass there would be at least two people making a noise if Arsenal scored. Also present were Derby Manager Jim Smith (he wasn't making notes, but the bloke beside was) and Shadow Chancellor Gordon Brown. Before the match, the CCFC host explained that, due to the acoustics in the stand, the away supporters (i.e. Gooners), despite being heavily outnumbered, would actually create the most noise. As the game got underway and Arsenal pressed forward, this was certainly true. However, Coventry gained advantage, and after a deflection from an Arsenal defender, Hot Chocolate vocalist lookalike Dion Dublin was presented with an easy shot on goal, and the rest is history. The Arsenal supporters' acoustic advantage disappeared, and myself and presumably Tom Watt were left sitting among a cheering crowd of the midland's finest. Bugger. Coventry, to their credit, didn't look like a side going down. What they lacked in finesse, they made up for it grit. They reminded me of my 11 month old cocker spaniel - chasing the ball furiously in any part of the garden and bloody difficult to get the ball back from. If Coventry were a barmy spaniel, then Strachan was a little border terrier. The ginger shortarse was snapping at the Arsenal player's ankles and wouldn't let go of anything. He really did show why he has the gaul to choose himself above players half his age. After the initial shock, and having got over the expectation of a pigeon crapping on me big style - and thus equalling the worst 2 minutes of my life - Arsenal v Man Utd season 94 - 95 (I think) - Lee Sharpe puts Moan Utd 1-0 up, and a minute later, an ostrich opens it's bowels from the roof of the East Stand - the game settles down and Arsenal begin to look like they might come back into it. Amazingly, Oggie, who normally plays a blinder against us, fumbles and brings down Wrighty. In goes the penalty and the record looms a bit closer. I stifle my loudest possible cheer (remembering where I was) and presumably Tom Watt does too. Jim Smith continues to look unconcerned about the game on the 11th May. After that it was end to end stuff for the rest of the half, but neither goal keeper really had a lot to do. We had a few good chances, but so did they. Coventry produced some really tight marking, and it was left to Bergkamp to jink his way through the Coventry defence. My colleague had joked before the game about Arsenal's flat back 10 - at times it was Coventry who had adopted this strategy. The lead singer out of Hot Chocolate went off after straining a boot lace, and Huckerby came on. This to me looked ominous he's quick and for some time has looked like the only Coventry player bothered about staying up. I needn't have worried - although he produced a couple of worrying moments, above all he proved that a visit to the optician is long over due. I was more worried about him hitting my car than the back of the net. Half time, and a visit to the corporate hospitality lavvy seemed prudent. We were warned of long queues, and they were right. More celeb spotting - this time in the form of Paul Shaw and Ian Selley waiting to empty their bladders. Of course, seeing Ian Selley is no big deal - he's a local boy from Chertsey, and I've seen him in his car, in Staines high street, and he also chose the same night as me to see Groundhog Day at Staines cinema. The second half was more of the same - end to end but not a lot created. I was left to marvel how easy it was to knock over a Coventry player - the mere act of running past them was enough to leave them in a crumpled heap. City players continued to use Arsenal players as climbing frames to win headers, yet the same action in reverse always seemed to produce a free kick. Strachan went off, Richardson came on, thus reducing the average age of Coventry by about 7 months. Merson went off, and Annelka came on - almost immediately his running with the ball produced one of our finest moments, but Coventry's admirable defending cut out the attack. Dixon off, Parlour on, but by then it had 1-1 written all over it. Vieira was lucky to stay after a bad foul on Paul Williams (I think), but the ref was dealing with another offence at the time. The linesman (sorry, assistant tosser) spotted the incident and flagged, but by the time the ref has finished with the first offence, it came to pass that the linesman just couldn't be bothered with the Vieira incident. And so it ended, and even as biased as I am. I think it was the right result. Full marks to Coventry - at time they looked very good, and when we did get the upper hand they defended well. For the gunners, Vieira, Keown and Winterburn were outstanding, and Bergkamp played well in what space he was given. No Arsenal player had a bad game, but it just didn't come together. After the game, the Coventry fans booed Wrighty off the pitch, and he was just lapping it up. Keown seemed to have some sort of rapport going with our supporters in the away section, and they spent ages applauding each other - good for him, he was excellent. Back in hospitality, we had a chance to vote for a Man of the Match. My one vote for Vieira was rather overshadowed by the multitude of votes for Strachan and Williams. The vote went for the jocko dwarf, but our host couldn't get him ion, so Williams came in to accept the Man of the Match award. John Sillett presented him with a bit of glassware, and proceeded to do a mini mock interview which Williams treated as an opportunity to use every football cliché every invented (although because it was a draw, "sick as a parrot" and "over the moon" were thankfully avoided - but that was the sort of level). Sky commentator Alan Parry made a brief entrance, got a pint of lager at our host's expense, and then pissed off again. The championship is now a distant dream, and second place is now looking a little hopeful. Still, we could do some major damage in the UEFA cup. Darren Adams
An interesting postscript to this is a story I heard the other day. A bloke we know got involved in a charity bash at the Arsenal. He paid over the odds for a seat and the dosh went to a good cause. Appartently a fair sprinkling of celebs were there including Nick Hornby and Cherie Blair. Nobody was the blind bit interested in the game apart from our bloke and Nick Hornby. Everyone else just talked with their backs to the game and drunk vast quantities of pissy wine. At one point Cherie Blair turned around, pointed at the Arsenal and said, 'Don't they wear nice socks?' This
is what we voted the Chelsea supporter out of number 10 for?
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