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February 1999 17.2.99 Manchester United 1 Arsenal 1
West Ham 0 Arsenal 4 We were unable to get a ticket for Upton Park (the bloke in the ticket office told us we would have needed to have gone to the previous twenty one away games to qualify for a ticket. Mental. ) If it carries on at this rate, they’ll be saying that you need to have your ticket stub from the 1971 cup final to go to an away game at Coventry, or something. So, three blokes, no money for touty tickets and a whole afternoon stretching out in front of us, we decided to cram into the North Bank and watch the big telly made up of dodgy osrams. Some ponce in the Arsenal marketing department has also taken to calling these dubious overpriced events ‘a live beam back.’ Snazzy eh? A crap spotty picture that looks like it was painted by some dodgy impressionist (Mike Yarwood, probably) and sound pumped through some minicab firms walkie-talkie. And they want a tenner. The only one who was impressed with this was my mate’s four year old; he went around telling everybody that his dad was going to see a ‘live bean bag.’ Bet he had nightmares that night. It was good to see that the team was finally at full strength, even if it’s only for this week. West Ham, however, have been undergoing massive reconstructive surgery lately and quite frankly some of the wounds are still weeping. Fitting in De Canio, Kitson, Foe, Berkovic and the human foreskin, Julian Dicks looks to be a job of Frankenstien proportions. For the first fifteen minutes the Hammers pushed the ball around with quite a lot of authority. Sinclair, in particular, was terrific. But you started to get the feeling, in a typical East end way that they could start, but couldn’t finish. What they needed, funnily enough, was John Hartson. Arsenal soaked up the pressure and seemed content to watch west Ham tie themselves up in knots. There were a few flurries and sorties, but nothing really looked positive until Bergkamp latched onto a ball well outside the area and just kind of stroked it along the ground. It hardly picked up speed but it’s pace was deceptive enough to fool Hislop. It crept in by the post and buried it’s little white face in the netting. Weird goal, but it looked brilliant on the replay. West Ham looked a bit stunned; it was their ball, their ground and they were doing all the running, but they were the ones picking the ball out of the net. Hardly seemed fair. Tough. A matter of minutes later, Overmars made one of his bandy accelerating runs, smacked the ball at Hislop and tucked the parry away with a cheeky flick. Two nil. In the second half, old Harry Redknapp made a few changes, that made sense to me, but the Arsenal just laughed into their sleeves and decided that they were going to rub it in a bit. Anelka, who we weren’t even sure was playing in the first half (‘Sorry, Nicko can’t play today. He has a bad case of the invisibles. Love, Mrs Anelka’) caught a fearsome hoofed ball from Keown, ran straight into two defenders, stopped, thought about France, checked, went around the flailing claret and blue men, checked again, had another gallic pause and then bent the ball around Hislop. Absolutely stonking goal. You can keep Man Utd’s eight thin goals, I’ll settle for one fat one. Meaty. Meaty. West Ham then ran around like Robbie the Robot in ‘Lost in Space’, waving this, waving that, falling over everywhere. Arsenal replied with a soft Overmars shot that somehow came back out to an ebullient Ray Parlour who duly obliged with his goal for this season (dig, dig.) 4-0 and all over bar the considerable shouting. The next two weeks are going to be interesting. Bergkamp’s out for the Man United game, as is Petit. But the good news is that Kanu’s got his work permit so he should play. As we’ve probably got more chance of getting tickets to watch the Queen apply Anusol to Philip’s ring piece, than getting tickets for Old Trafford, it looks like we’re back at Highbury to watch us tonk the mankies on the terrible telly. Can’t wait. Man of the Match: Ray Parlour. Interesting Ray Parlour Story This one’s been doing the rounds this week. Apparently, when Ray was on the verge of Hoddle’s England squad, mystic Glen thought it would be a good idea for Ray to go and visit the old wise woman, Eileen Drewery, who lived in the gingerbread cottage on the edge of the big wood. Ray went along, more in the hope of keeping Hoddle happy; not expecting to receive the benediction of a miracle. (‘Whammo. Your hair is now straight.’) Well, Ray turned up and Eileen sat him down (‘Not there, Raymond, that’s General Custer’s chair.’) She then walked around him several times, each time laying her hands on his head and muttering. At this point Ray was getting the giggles. Eileen was still touching his head. She finally stops and says, ‘what can I do for you?’ Ray thinks and replies, ‘just trim the top, but leave it long on the sides.’ No wonder he didn’t make the World Cup.
Manchester United 1 Arsenal 1 So what were we talking about as this one got underway? Well, number one was that how come Manchester United are the richest club in the world and yet they have a pitch that looks like large cud chewing animals have been having a rave on it? And you thought Barnet’s pitch was a sticky diarrhoeic pudding. Secondly, does Jap Stam have any body hair? What’s he shower in, Imac? And thirdly, was it possible to get odds and put a bet on Kanu scoring during the half time break? Yes, you guessed it, we were far down the road of Guinness fuelled bollocks when they finally kicked off. This one, however, needed all your concentration. Manure were at nearly full strength, only lacking the Welsh gypo, Giggs, who was bench warming. Arsenal were without Petit, Keown and Bergkamp. And it was probably the absences of Petit and Keown that were the most telling. In the past weeks United’s hyperactive attack has looked immaculate against teams, that to be frank, can count themselves lucky to be in the Premiership. Arsenal got going very early with a fine strike by Overmars that rednose saved. And that really was the last of Overmars. He faded quicker than a Ralph Lauren shirt bought at Chapel Market. In the middle, Vieira was trying to hold the whole thing together, not at all aided by Stephen Hughes who kept giving the ball away. Indeed, when Roy Keane kicked him in the head, Hughes looked his most useful; laying there with his eyes shut. It wasn’t until the second half when Garde came on for Gnu, that the midfield bit a bit harder. Things were going terrifically until United conned a penalty. A half challenge on the edge of the area and the cheating red man was already falling to the floor before Ray Parlour even touched him. The crossdressing, prossie porridge stirrer, Dwight Yorke, stepped up cautiously. We all thought he was shitting himself. There was a vague recollection that the last time he took a penalty against Seaman, he’d chipped him. Well, he ran up, moved his body one way, feinted and shot the other. Missed it completely. Six inches the wrong side of the post. Ha, ha. A quick word about Seaman. He was immaculate. Best performance of the season so far. With Uncle Bouldy feeling the pace (and really, Upson should be playing in these games) old Spunky really had his work cut out tonight. The second half was barely half a pint along when Kanu received a ball in United’s half. Quite languidly he poked it forward and with diligence he picked his way through a red and black clot of United players. He kept going and then released a ball to the parallel Anelka. A United player intercepted it, cleared it clumsily and it fell right at Anelka’s feet. He side footed it and gave it a bit of loft and stuck it firmly into the upper net, just below the crossbar. Superb. My only regret is that bloody Arsenal always score when I have something in my mouth or hands. The moment the goal went in I was trying to fish a leggy thing out of my pint froth. Went everywhere. Leggy thing, pissed and dripping, flew off and smacked into the pub wall. Oh well. United upped the tempo then and brought on the peculiar ginger lab rat, Paul Scholes, to bustle a bit in the middle. Wenger replied and took off Kanu and brought on the revelation of the season so far; Remi Garde. Do you really want to hear about United’s goal? Nah, thought not. An unmarked Cole got a free header that Gordon Banks on speed wouldn’t have got near. Mind you, if Keown had been playing, Cole wouldn’t have got a sniff. The rest of the game flowed nicely and it was fascinating to watch. Probably not the same intensity as the corresponding fixture last season, but still entertaining. Not much else happened; Roy Keane tried to remove all of Vieira’s clothes and then kick him black and blue. Of course, Vieira got booked. That was about it. A righteous point and a few riotous pints. We finished the night with doubles all round. Who knows, eh? Man of the Match: David Seaman. Outstanding.
Arsenal 5 Leicester 0 Anyone who has watched the Arsenal over the past few months knows that this result has been a long time coming. Without Winterburn, Petit and Keown, the formation that trudged out onto the Highbury turf was an odd one. Grimandi partnered Adams, Garde, Vieira and good old right sided Vivas filled in for Nigel monopod. Leicester, in a vivid blue strip with ‘Walkers’ splashed across the front looked like nothing less than a group of ambulatory crisp bags. It was only when they started to play that we realised they were more bin bag than crisp bag. Obviously, their win over Sunderland in midweek to put them into the Worthington cup final, had put them into cruise control. Quite simply, in forty five minutes, Arsenal ripped them apart. Bergkamp started the ball rolling by basically rolling a ball past the increasingly slapheaded Casey Keller. It was a lazy, turning ball that lacked precision and venom. We all thought we were in for one of those unfulfilled afternoons where we all go home talking about anything except football. We were all watching Bergkamp intently when he picked up a ball on the halfway line, looked up and side footed the ball into the low cloud that stretched weakly across the Highbury sky. It fell in a beautiful arc and there was Anelka, running gracefully, watching the ball drop. He controlled it with one deft movement and lashed it across the goal. There wasn’t a crisp bag in sight, just red and white Nic and a flapping American goalie. Lovely goal. A couple of minutes later Arsenal introduced their latest technical innovation: the action action replay. Anelka’s second goal was exactly the same as the first except that the pass from Bergkamp was a low precise incision that opened up the flabby blue belly of the foxes. Lovely, lovely goal. From here on, the football became something you rarely see; flowing, beautiful stuff, not seen anywhere outside of Brazil or a Sony Playstation. Bergkamp was sublime; finding holes, putting balls into them, controlling the impossible, extricating himself from the tightest scraps and finding his team mates unseen with the sort of ball that should be served up on a silver salver. And Anelka. What can we say? You could watch this match on the biggest screen in the world and you would never come close to comprehending his superb running. His use of space was breathtaking. It’s not often the East Stand rises as one and applauds a bit of running. You don’t get that on BShiteB. The
third goal, quite boringly, was set up again by Dennis Bergkamp. What a
waste of money he’s turning out to be. (For the benefit of any
Americans reading, I’ve just employed an ironic device). However, for
once, his perfectly weighted ball found, not Anelka, but the exuberant
Ray Parlour who banged the ball across the goal, just shaving Keller’s
fingertips. The ball, smacked about and quite dizzy, lodged in the very
same corner as the other two goals. Half time and Martin O Neill finally brought on a couple of defenders and pushed the beefy Elliot up the field. It made a bit of difference, but before they could reshape, Bergkamp pushed a ball into a blue clump of geezers, Anelka helped it on its way and Ray Parlour picked it up, skipping forward like a demonic version of Shirley Temple. Ray cut through the tissue thin Leicester defence, got side on to the goal and just let rip. 5-0. Up and down, up and down, hands stinging through all the clapping, voices shredded so we all sounded like Lee Marvin had just drunk a bottle of Brobat; I can tell you we were happy. Of course, by now Arsenal just took their foot off the peddle. Leicester finally dug themselves a trench so they could sit out the bombardment and Arsenal just faffed about and took the piss. At one point Lee Dixon got hold of a ball, incredibly beat a couple of players, got clear on goal and put his shot so wide that it ended up on the back of a lorry on the Holloway Road. Everybody just pissed themselves. The Clock End sang, ‘what the fucking hell was that?’ and Dixon just laughed his head off. Later, both Kanu and Diawara came on, but by then the shape of the game had altered; the sun had gone behind the clouds. Kanu, considered and languid and Diawara, running diagonally, turning players that weren’t even there, looked like they belonged in another game. It’ll come. When the final whistle went, Leicester’s Steve Walsh asked Bergkamp for his shirt. We could be churlish and say that his asking makes a change from spending ninety minutes try to pull it off his back but that would be petty. It was a peculiar, affecting gesture; maybe Walsh just wanted a little piece of the afternoon so he could remember it in his old age. I know we will. Man of the Match: Dennis Bergkamp.
Newcastle 1 Arsenal 1 I suppose that the few sad people who actually read this rubbish were wondering where the match report had got to. Well at the moment we are engaged in expensive litigation with Sky TV concerning the phenomena of ‘passive drinking’. Like its nastier bigger brother ‘passive smoking’ ‘passive drinking’ comes about by watching lots of footy on Sky and getting absolutely bladdered. It’s a side effect, you see. Put it this way, it’s not our fault that we stayed in the pub to watch the Kilmarnock/Rangers game, got home at some ungodly hour and then woke up in the middle of the night with a large ball of undigested Sunday dinner pressed flat on the side of our heads, is it? Sky TV, you’ll be hearing from our lawyers or at least the disgusted irate women we live with. However, before the Guinness mists descended and obliterated anything sensible from our tiny noodles we watched a rather even handed encounter between the Arse and the newest exponents of sexless football; Newcastle. Or Newcastle Brown as they’re sometimes known. Gullitt’s learned a few lessons over the years (dodgy offside traps mainly) and his latest little maneuver was to string four geezers in front of the centre backs and filter everything through them. Horrible, game killing tactic, but it worked a treat. Most of the game consisted of clouds of players chasing the ball haplessly. At one point both teams looked like they had about sixty players each; mad, pointless stuff. Apart from a snappish Bergkamp shot and an hilarious point blank Shearer miss, the first half had very little to show for itself apart from a long line of empty glasses. We were just about to start the half time pissing exodus when Bergkamp laid on an exquisite ball that split the black and white tramlines right down the middle. Anelka, in the blink of an eye, turned, beat the offside trap, ran clear of the defence, rounded the keeper and shot into an empty net. Smart goal from nothing. The second half was more attritional stuff as Newcastle slowly got their act together. Stephen Hughes, who came on for the crocked Remi Garde, gave the ball away regularly and Vieira was swamped by the Newky hordes. The newly mended Keown and the new hairy, Caprice friendly Adams had their work cut out just to keep pace with the game. Only Winterburn of all the Arsenal players appeared to want to take the game by the scruff of the neck and dictate the pace to the Magpies. Their goal came from a one in a million pass, that found a Newky player (some squarehead called Hamann, who looks exactly like a life size model of Teddy Sherringham assembled by a blind man). He jinked and juggled the ball, extricated himself beautifully from a gaggle of red shirts, found a gap of about six inches and let rip. Good goal, but you only get one of them a season. The rest of the game was old style muck and bullets. Even Wenger conceded the draw by bringing on Upson as a third centre back. Arsenal are still looking good and there’s still quite a way to go. Something must collapse in the next month. Chelsea? United? Or the Arsenal supporters’ livers? Who knows. Man of the Match: Nigel Winterburn.
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