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 DECEMBER 1996 4.12.96 Arsenal 3 Southampton 1 21.12.96 Nottm Forest 2 Arsenal 1 26.12.96 Sheffield Wednesday 0 Arsenal 0 28.12.96 Arsenal 2 Aston Villa 2
Arsenal 3 Southampton 1 After the 'Month of Death', December was meant to be easy. However, you can never be sure of a team like Southampton, they seem to operate on an on/off switch; they put six past Man Utd and let in seven against Everton. So, how do you play against that? Arsenal's answer was to play rather badly and hope for the best. Still missing Bergkamp, Seaman and now Keown, the Gunners looked jaded and a little distant; it was a bit like trying to talk to a bloke with a hangover. Not much happened, really. The main function of this match was to clear, for once and for all, the Curse of My Mate's Brother In Law. Every time he comes to Highbury, we get beat. He didn't look too happy as we kicked off; all the Southampton players seemed to smiling at him like the fucking Midwitch cuckoos. We sat tight, caressing rabbits' feet, kissing four leaf clovers and prayed for a floodlight failure. Bob's record is not impressive. The wait was longish and painful. The first goal came from a free kick. Merson (who had a blinder) went walkabout from the kick and managed to drill it wide of the pack, low and hard into the corner of the net. 1-0 the reds and I'm ashamed to say, against the run of play. Southampton aren't that bad. They switched the passing around well and had us running all over the gaff. One big playmaker and the Gunners would have been buried; but Le Tissier was off injured with Ugly Disease, or something, so we were safe. The second goal, Arsenal's now inevitable penalty, was only memorable for Wrighty's icy nerve and well placed kick. If he carries on like this, he'll blow Bastin's record, sometime about April. Southampton, meanwhile, showed a spirit we're only too familiar with at Highbury and managed to claw one back. however, we never really looked like chucking it away and when Paul Shaw came on, he managed to finish it off, with his first goal for the club from a rather bizarre Ray Parlour pass. 3-1 and on this showing the boys look like they need a rest. I don't think Derby on Saturday will be the catnap that's needed. Man of The Match: Paul Merson (Ian Wright. 14 to tie. 15 to be the Man).
Arsenal 2 Derby 2 Two things wound me up in the first two minutes 1. The complete Muppets who sit behind me. 2. The Linesmen. The geezers who sit behind us, who seem to be born again teachers and social workers, are complete fuckwits. Let's get that straight. They are also just the sort of plonkers who have internet access at work (but don't know how to use it). They're in their mid-forties and they sit in the East Upper Stand, Block A, Row D, Seats 8-12. I'm telling you this, so you can hate them too. From time to time I'll drop in a few of their nuggets (maybe give them a whole page). Today, just two gems from the vast accumulation of their football lore. 1. Bergkamp is a liability and Arsenal play better without him (!) 2. They're fed up hearing about George Weah, because, 'he isn't very good.' I'm speechless and I wish they were too. Anyway, back to the match. The linesmen were awful. In the first two minutes, Wright was judged offside. No way; me and thirty thousand others did not see it that way. A couple of minutes later there were two occasions when Arsenal were blatantly offside and the tosser with the flag didn't twitch. Where's the consistency? Derby, quite early on, showed that they were one of the better sides we've seen at Highbury this season. They were brilliantly organised at the back, with that old alky, McGrath; in the middle they were solid and inventive and up front they could run like the wind. Let's put it this way, it took us 37 minutes before we had a shot on goal. Hartson, who is turning into a bit of enigma, had a low shot saved. Before all this Ashley Ward had hit the bar for Derby. Oops. On the stroke of half time Merson caught the rebound from his on corner and floated in a sweet, high ball, over the Derby defence. In a rapidly dwindling yard of space Tony Adams dived full length and smacked the ball past the 'keeper with a missile like header. 1-0 half time and to be frank we were lucky. You didn't need to be Nostradamus to know that Derby were going to come back. Sturridge rode over Adams and hit a whopping thirty yarder that hit the bar before it went over the line. 1-1. Derby's second came after a great stop from Lukic. The ball came out to a Derby player who crashed it in. We all thought that about now that the Rams would tire a bit and allow us a bit more room in the middle of the park; if anything they got stronger. Wenger took off Linighan and brought on Shaw to give us a bit more of a chance in the middle. Wrighty, by his standards, had a quiet game; the Derby markers did a bang up job. The Gunners were getting there slowly. I looked up and there was nothing on the clock, well nothing you could do anything useful in. Oh well, losing 2-1 at home isn't that bad when a team play as well as Derby. Suddenly, there was a flurry in the Derby goalmouth. Through a forest of legs the ball comes out to Vieira, who was standing on the edge of the area. Now, Patrick, is rapidly becoming one of my favourite players and I full expected him to lay the ball off, like he usually does. I was looking right along the line of his spine as he whacked it into the crowded area, picking out the tiniest space to the left of the goalkeeper. What a sweet goal. Cue bedlam. Fantastic. Just after that we could have won the game 3-2, but the keeper saved. 2-2. Fair result all around. Liverpool lost at home to the Wednesday, so we're four points clear. And just to cap it all, the wallys who sit behind me left early and missed the equaliser. Bliss. Man of the Match: Tony Adams.
Nottm Forest 2 Arsenal 1 You knew that as soon as old lugubrious Frank jacked it in and Forest shoe horned in Psycho, that Arsenal were on a hiding to nothing. Frank Clarke, a decent bloke, who would make a blinding Droopy if they ever made a live action movie of the ‘toon dog, decided to do the decent thing and abandon Forest 48 hours before the Arsenal game. We all knew we’d get turned over. Stuart Pearce is no mug, he brought Cloughie junior back from Purgatory (Man City) rescued Roy and Jerkan from the Stiffs and played five across the middle, just leaving old Kevin Shamble upfront on his tod. With our last couple of league outings looking none too clever, this one was never going to be one to savour. We, meanwhile, had Dixon and Seaman injured and Adams and Vieira suspended. The only good news was the return of a strangely transparent Dennis Bergkamp, his first outing since he strained a hamstring celebrating his goal against the Scum. Remi Garde, looking like Nigel Winterburn’s Gallic brother, also had his first run out and we all had a little cheer, when The Terminator, Marty Keowneggar lopped onto the pitch. Keown, looked lean and mean, even if he should have been prosecuted for an appalling attempted beard, that was a cross between fuzzy felt and lichen. If you’ve ever been to Forest’s ground you’ll know how bloody cold it can be. Today was no exception; a full blown brass monkey, testicle loss scenario. It was also the shortest day of the year. So how come the first half seemed so soddin’ long? Merse went close, as did Wrighty. Forest seemed content to contain Arsenal and did it quite well, even though they looked a little shaky. Apparently, Pearce’s pre-match pep talk consisted of him snarling a bit and saying, ‘Don’t fuck me about.’ It appeared to be working. The players were obviously freezing their wotsits off and the second half was a lot more animated. There were a couple of splendid moments, particularly a staggering double return one two, between Bergkamp and Keown. Unfortunately, it was Keown who was on the end of it and Crossley saved easily. Meanwhile, Garde was making himself known; looking like a cross between Kevin Richardson and Stefan Scwartz, he was interesting to watch. It was his long centre that led to the goal. Remi pumped the ball in, Crossley fluffed, Keown tipped it on and Wrighty, holding his balance, whacked it in from about three yards. Inevitably,
Forest equalised within a couple of minutes and we miserably waited for
them to finish it off; after all we all knew the script of this one.
However, before Forest’s fairy tale could reach its ending, we had Ian
Wright sent off. Running down the wing, he was obstructed by the Croatian,
Jerkan. Arsenal gained a free kick. Wrighty then ran about 40 yards and
shoulder barged Jerkan to the ground. In the first half, Wrighty had done
the same thing to Merson after the Merse had had a go at him. However,
those Croatians must be wired up differently to us Northern Europeans; how
else can you explain whacking a geezer on the shoulder, yet he goes down
clutching his face? Wrighty was bang out of order and deserved a yellow
one, however, the ref, another in a long line of fools, decided to red
card Ian. Wrighty walked. Jerkan along with Shearer go on the Highbury
Shit List. Just you wait to the corresponding home fixture. I think I’ll
start hating them now. Next up, Wednesday and Villa. Both of them are going like a train at the moment. Typical. I think I’ll write to Santa and ask him for a nicely wrapped, fully functional, Paul Ince or baring that, maybe a Buzz Lightyear or one of the Borg. What a midfield. Man of the Match: Martin Keown. Wrighty closing.
Sheffield Wednesday 0 Arsenal 0 I feel sorry for all those poor sods who travelled up the M1 to watch this thin Yule fare. There really wasn’t much to report. Wrighty went close and Platt missed the kind of sitter that Helen Keller could have put away. Only Bergkamp seemed to be operating in his own football planet; no-one else was within a light year of him. The Daily Express had described David Pleat as ‘the Premiership’s Footballing Strategist Supreme’. One League Cup win does not make you Winston Churchill, but then again being stopped twice for kerb crawling doesn’t make you Peter Sutcliffe either. Que sera, que sera. Wednesday are the bog standard team of average journeymen that pass for a top flight team nowadays and elevating their already grossly overestimated manager to a mythic status leaves a nasty taste in the mouth. This really was no different from any other Boxing Day match. You always have the big turkey on Christmas Day. On Boxing Day it’s usually the scraggy bits that no-one wants; this year was no exception. Man of the Match: Dennis Bergkamp.
Arsenal 2 Aston Villa 2 There once was a time when if the temperature at Highbury dipped below zero, then the score would do likewise. Most of the black winter months of my life seem to be populated with 0-0 draws against Coventry, Leicester or someone nominal like Stoke. However, in the Brave New World of Euro Arse, 2-2 draws are becoming the norm. Let’s get one thing straight; we were robbed. I’ve no beef with Villa. They have demonstrated under Brian Little that they are tenacious bastards that take a lot of beating. They re-organised well in the second half and really exploited Ray Parlour’s dubious qualifications as a flying right wing back. However, between the referee and a linesman of such ineptitude that in the real world he can only be either a social worker or a bus inspector, they contrived to stitch up the Arsenal like kippers. The ref (Jeff Winter of Stockton-On-Tees) was one of those refs who believe that people like Dennis Bergkamp are obviously dodgy foreigners who don’t understand the robust English way of doing business. Dennis was kicked all over the park. At one point even the linesman (or ‘Assistant Referees’ as they are now tackily known) flagged for a brutal foul that the ref thought Den should shrug off and regard as character building. Mr Winter (apt name) was also determined that he wouldn’t be influenced by the crowd. Can’t see him getting many games at Anfield. As for
the linesmen, well, one of them probably cost us the game. Villa played a
fairly iffy, but basic offside trap, reminiscent of a mid eighties Arsenal
side and yet the linesman with the red and yellow flag constantly
misjudged what was happening. One day we will have a big war crime trial
and the first face I’ll look for will be that smug bloke with flag. The second half was completely different. Arsenal, tired of making runs only to be pulled up by Goebbals the linesman, sat back a bit. Villa livened up no end and once they got their equaliser, we were definitely on the wrong foot. However, in one glorious moment Merson, who had run about fifty yards, called for the ball, ran across the pitch, weaved in and out the Villa like they were cones, found a spot that couldn’t be sweeter and smacked the ball between Bosnich and the post. 2-1. One minute later it was 2-2. That hole on the right, left by the injured Dixon, was filled by Dwight Yorke, who left Lukic with his finger up his arse and us wondering how long a bloody rib takes to heal. The pig ugly Brummie sitting behind me went potty. Looking at his long bovine mush I had the overwhelming urge to hit him hard with the flat of a shovel and finish off what nature had started. The fucker looked like he’d just come to London on an awayday from the island of Dr Moreau. Still, 2-2 on paper, against a Villa side who are prime European contenders, doesn’t look bad, but I rue the day that Winter came to Highbury. Man of the Match: Dennis Bergkamp. Go Ian.
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