JANUARY 2000

3.1.00 Sheffield Wednesday 1 Arsenal 1

15.1.00 Arsenal 4 Sunderland 1

24.1.00 Manchester United 1 Arsenal 1

3.1.00

Sheffield Wednesday 1 Arsenal 1

We can all hope that this is as bad as it gets. Arsenal, unrecognisable from the game against Leeds, strolled around the pitch with an air of doomed nonchalance not seen since the Edwardian age. The amount of fanny in the first 35 minutes was unbelievable. Instead of nailing and stomping on the little blue and white scurrying things, they ambled, yawned and pottered like sloths on mogadon. Only a terrific goal; a delightful feed from Henry to Petit, then a wonderful run through the Wednesday back four and a sharp bit of finishing from the blonde one livened up another tedious visit to Hillsborough. The rest of the match was just another annoyance. All those things that we've been pushing back into the darker recesses of our so-called minds came to the fore. Why do the French wear those poncy little black gloves? Why does Lunzhy run like the fucking Honey Monster? Which ex inmate of Broadmoor actually cuts Winterburn's hair? And why does Henry persist with that terrible facial hair? With no football to distract you, you feel yourself being dragged down by some of the more stupid Arsenal questions. And then Wednesday get a marshmallow goal back that we could all see coming a mile off. A soft cross that Seaman is probably still watching. This was an awful game; feeble, passionless, enlivened only by a goal that looked better than it should, against a defence that couldn't stop a one legged ant with a size 18 Doc Marten. If the season is going to settle into one good game, one bad, then we'll have to choose our games carefully.

Man of the Match. Petit. (But I bet he starts moaning about how many games he has to play any second now.)

15.1.00

Arsenal 4 Sunderland 1

Well, at least Sunderland came to Highbury with the pretence of playing a bit of football. Looking like a weird alternative dimension version of old Arsenal (Bould, Schwarz and Quinn) they were quite prepared to take the game to the Gunners and play like real men- even if their manager looks like he peels bananas with his feet.

The Arsenal side, missing Adams, Overmars, Bergkamp and Kanu looked a little sparse, but we rejoiced to see Ray Parlour, a Shirley Templed counterweight to the ever improving Ljungberg. At least the team looked like it could penetrate more than a wet paper bag. Luzhny partnered Keown, as Grimandi, who was clearly warming up with the team before kick-off, withdrew from the game owing to mysterious medical reasons.

Up front Sukor and Henry renewed their fledgling partnership and it paid dividends after only 20 seconds when Henry, clear through on goal, whacked the ball into the meaty stomach of Sorenson. Scant minutes later Henry did exactly the same again, with a surge like a whippet fed on vindaloo, and rolled the ball at the diving keeper. The ball caromed off him and fairly danced into the net.

Most of the game, at this point, was pure Arsenal; Sunderland tried a kind of offside led counter attack game that floundered on the sticky legs of Vieira and body charges of Petit. Sterling stuff to watch. It was Petit who released a ball to Sukor lurking on the right. The Croatian took it in one movement, saw the keeper was off his line and hit it on the half volley. The ball went up and nowhere then dipped like it was radio controlled and flew into the net from the most impossible of angles. Total world class goal; the sort of thing you could practice over Highbury Fields until the undertakers take you away in a pine suit and still not come anywhere near. The first goal of the millennium that begs you to own it forever on video.

The next goal precipitated a bit of a ruck with the spasmoid dumplings who sit behind us. A Sunderland defender (Makin?) tried to run the ball out for a goal kick. Henry, over the line, got a foot to it, whipped back in across the goal and Sukor had the easiest stroke he’ll ever have. 3-0. This is where it got interesting, as the blokes behind us, thought that the ball was out. Yes, they’re Arsenal supporters. Fiddlesticks, we said, rather somewhat loudly, surely you are joshing? Something like that. The ball was clearly in, and anyway it was decent goal, for pete’s sake. It did culminate in me saying that if I ever had kids and they turned out like the sacks of sputum who sit behind us that I would put a fucking bullet through their brains. Seemed to shut them up that as they gave me that look usually reserved for the bloke on the bus covered in dribble talking loudly to all the dead people speaking in his head. They went well quiet; and they left early. Excellent.

In the second half, Sunderland got their customary blood, sweat and tears Niall Quinn goal and for a few minutes the Arse were on the rack. But Arsenal smelt blood and Henry’s second goal was a near carbon copy of his first; he makes that speedy strike stuff look so damned elegant.

Later Vieira hit the post with a glorious soaring turned header and Arsenal brought on the kid who’ll probably play at Old Trafford in place of the suspended Sukor; Graham Barrett. Hard to tell, but he looked well overawed.

This was a terrific game, full of all the stuff missing from the last couple of run-outs. Henry looks sharp and Sukor is showing exactly what you can do with one foot. Great afternoon.

Man of the Match: Tierry Henry.

24.1.00

Manchester United 1 Arsenal 1

This one might be described as a bit of a tense bastard. Arsenal, deprived of the bulk of its first choice strike force against a Man Utd side, fat and bronzed by the Rio sun, looked like a pale, one-sided affair. We all suspected, however, that Arsene had something up his sleeve; we prayed it was a fit Dennis Bergkamp but at the death had to settle for a feisty Freddie Ljungberg. In fact, a malnourished Arsenal side, did enough to nick all three points at the death and must count the meagre single point as a bit of a failure. Playing the bulk of the ninety minutes with only ten men (Stephen Hughes, deputising for Overmars, had a game of atomic poo proportions- no wonder Fulham found him less than thrilling.) Arsenal did supremely well.

Arsenal carved out three thrilling chances; Henry outpacing the leaden Stam on two occasions only to be stopped by fatty Bosnich flinging out a limb and the goal from a heart stopping through ball that Ljungberg took off the foot of the Grey’s Anatomy Dutchman that he ran sweetly with and stuck under the body of the fleshy Antipodean for a terrific goal. United’s sole reply was a Seaman save. Until they brought on Teddy Shitteram for his customary swivel and poke; the luckiest of equalisers seeing as Dwight Yorke was as offside as you could possibly get.

This was our game. Petit and Vieira made the Manu midfield look grazing animals; this was a game that could be written up in textbooks. Keown made two or three interceptions that even made the biased slags of SKY pause in mid breath. Breathtaking. And the whole game was dominated by those massive cutaway shots of Arsene Wenger looking so intense he looked like he was trying to pass a pineapple. More than anything, this was a match that begged to be seen live; any reports reads like trying to explain a fly past of the Red Arrows to Stevie Wonder. Pointless.

Fair result? Bollocks. The mankys had a royal fright. Arsenal deserved so much better and so do you. This match report is absolute rubbish. It’s two in the morning, I’m pissed as pudding and I’ve got to get up for work in five hours. Great night. Could have been sweeter though.

Man of the Match: Patrick Vieira. Made Roy Keane look like a Republic of Ireland player.