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May 1999 16.5.99 Arsenal 1 Aston Villa 0
Arsenal 1 Derby 0 A few more white knuckle rides like this one and we’ll pack in football completely and watch something more relaxing like open heart surgery with a bent spoon or our collection of ‘bloke running his fingernails down a blackboard’ videos. Tense, horrible stuff, this was. It was altogether a much better Derby side than we’ve played previous this season; well marshalled at the back, a good defence, built around the impressive Poom, a midfield led by swaggering Eranio, that ran the Arsenal ragged, and the irritating Wanchope upfront, who ran and tackled for everything; and nearly got it. Arsenal were nearly at full strength; Uncle Bouldy in for the suspended Keown and Bergkamp on the bench nursing one of his mysterious ‘Bergy Special’ injuries. You know the sort, the ones that only thoroughbred horses usually get. In the week, the sinister, Stimac had issued an edict saying the ‘Arsenal will not crush us, they will not destroy us, etc, etc’ and to be honest we believed him. One goal was always going to decide this one. The only question was, ‘which way?’ It was weird, but the pattern for this game consisted of one Arsenal player getting injured after another. By the end of the game, Petit, Vieira and Overmars all looked like they were carrying injuries. I just hope that it was just our over-fevered imaginations. Arsenal began with a few long range pot-shots from Petit and Vieira. Languid stuff, but not much good at putting points on the table. Derby blocked and parried with great efficiency and Arsenal with the exception of Kanu doing party pieces and a diligent Ray Parlour looked a bit average; a bit like Spurs on top of their form. Anelka’s goal came out of nothing. Parlour unlocked Derby with a simple ball that Nico latched onto, just avoiding the offside line by inches. Hitting it low and hard, he razored it past Poom and into the inside of the side netting. Quick, clinical and we all looked at the linesman while our arseholes pumped vast quantities of doo doo through a tiny hole. It was a good goal, though and demonstrated that Anelka can remain onside when he’s arsed. The rest of the game was watched through the gaps in our hands on our faces. Derby had a couple of chances: a disallowed handled goal and a Wanchope outside netter. Arsenal just got worse. In fact, the game nearly went to pieces when Wenger pulled Kanu off. Kanu, the first ball holder we’ve had since Alan Smith, was crucial for the Arsenal. When he went, most of Arsenal’s balls just disappeared. The last ten minutes were terrifying. Derby looked good and then began to look even better. Seaman made a stunning block, running out to the edge of the area and throwing himself in the way of a Derby strike, Adams executed an overhead kick to keep out the Rams and we all prayed to any gods that were listening. (St Newcastle, the patron saint of good teams that fall apart like wet paper bags; he’s a good’un to pray to.) Right at the death, Ray Parlour beat about fifteen blokes with a dribble and forced a credible save from Poom; Derby lashed the ball upfield and nearly got a result. When the whistle came we tried to jump up, but the little old, drained husks that we had become barely twitched. If this one is tense, what’s the Spurs game going to be like? I think I’ll go down the quacks and get something to knock me out for the next two weeks. Wake me up when Tone shows the silver pot the clouds, will you? Man of the Match: Ray Parlour. Gunnerificent performance.
Tottenham 1 Arsenal 3 Well, was it good for you? Did the Earth move? If you’ve ever been upstairs in the North Bank when the Arsenal score you’d know that the whole feckin’ stand moves about twelve inches in every direction when something exciting happens. Absolutely terrifying. Five minutes to go and Kanu scores the goal of the decade (more on it later) and the North Bank rippled. I’m not kidding. The highlight of the season so far and I’m about to be buried under thousands of tons of concrete and I just didn’t care. Take me now Jesus. However, a couple of hours before that we were standing in a living room I’ve never seen before watching a small cat lick its genitals. Feeling numb. Just standing there cradling a pint of fizzy lager with a bunch of lost looking gooners, looking at the cat, looking at Alex Ferguson on the telly, feeling like tepid poo, stomach knotted into a moebius strip, just thinking how shit life was. Seven fifteen and down the hill to Highbury to watch the wobbly bottle bottom telly; we all marched down to the ground like we were on our way to get root canal treatment from Stevie Wonder. Actually, I had a chance of going to White Hart Lane; but the drawback, apart from it being a deeply turdy ground, was that I would have to go in one of the Spurs ends. One of the pitfalls of being brought up in North London is that some of your best mates think that policeman blue is a really cool colour and that David Ginola isn’t a complete cheating cunt. Lot of interest in this game; there must have been 15,000 people in Highbury watching the two tellies. The atmosphere was buzzing; you could hear people’s nerves screaming. The match started at the usual 400mph. Spurs were playing with a well upholstered midfield; it looked like they had fifteen people in it. It also meant that Arsenal could get around it and indeed, Overmars, Spur’s chief torturer of the night, found himself in some terrific pressing positions. The first 20 minutes were all Arsenal. The boys carved out a few chances and squandered them; running into touchlines, by-lines and Ian Walker. Suddenly, though, Bergkamp picked up a ball in the middle, threaded it through a gaggle of milling Spurs muppets and Petit ran onto it. Walker came out and Petit lofted it over his head and into the net. We were only just getting over the wibbly wobbly North Bank when Anelka received a perfect ball, took it wide and lashed it past the only ‘keeper in the world who puts lard on his hair. 2-0. This time, the North Bank twanged. It was then that Ginola, the only French bloke I really hate apart from Marcel Marceaux, dived like a ponce who appears in hair ads only can and Sick Note stepped up and jammed the ball into the net from the kick, under the diving body of Seaman. Half time and unbelievably Spurs were in with a shout. The second half began with the disgusting Tim Sherwood stamping on Vieira and then taking the piss out the Arsenal players by pulling faces at them. Me, I’d like to see him thumped fucking hard. He does have an eminently smackable mush. After that little ruck Arsenal players seemed to get booked left right and centre. The referee had probably only learned to walk erect that morning; a complete trog. You wouldn’t believe the chances that fell Arsenal’s way after that. Bang, bang, bang and nothing went in. And then the word came from Anfield that Man Utd were two-up. And then Spurs thought they should have had a penalty. And with that ref I was surprised they didn’t get it. Not long to go and Wenger pulled off Bergkamp and brought on Kanu. It was then that several things happened. Graham pulled off the moany Ginola, brought on a couple of other beanies from Spurs’s midget collection and stuck Andy Sinton at left back. Same old George, taking the piss. What happened next will go into Highbury folklore. Kanu, well forward, received the ball, took two steps and with Young square in front of him, chipped the ball over his head, ran around him, got the ball back and thumped the fucker into the net. Oh my, oh my. The best goal I’ve seen since the last one and one to replay again and again until the next one. We nearly exploded. The North Bank stand thrashed about like a liquorice lace. I was laughing me head off and completely terrified at the same time. My mate reckons that it’s built to move, but then again when he fits anything structural it always moves and then fucking falls down. I don’t know, but I do know that the goal was sublime. Just after that, we heard that Liverpool had pulled one back and then incredibly, during a quiet Arsenal moment another rumour went around like a Herpes simplex virus: the Scousers had equalised a couple of minutes before the whistle (Paul Ince, we found out later- him of all people.) Pandemonium. A final whistle went somewhere and we all leapt up to give the North Bank one last structural kicking. What a night. Will Arsenal win the league? Probably not. The odds are still against us. But we do have this enormous psychological advantage and who knows, eh? Just to make the evening perfect Dennis Irwin got sent off for absolutely fuck nothing and will miss the cup final. Ha, ha. Me, I went home with a sore throat, stinging hands and a yearning for ground that didn’t move like a fairground ride. Man of the Match: Paul Ince. No, Kanu for that goal. Bergkamp for those passes and Adams just for being Big Tone.
Leeds 1 Arsenal 0 You want a report of this game? Well read the papers. We can’t give you one. This whole site was set up by fans to give the viewpoint of the fans. And we just feel sick. Arsenal had chances aplenty in the first half, Leeds had a penalty that they missed that rebounded to Hasselbank and Seaman saved. Arsenal had at least two shots kicked/headed off the line and generally that was that. Leeds had the best of the game. How the average Leeds fan feels about handing the League to Manchester, God knows. And now Arsenal have to rely on Blackburn. Fuck off. I’d put more faith in an open top Durex. No chance. Tonight is wretched, wretched, wretched. Pissed off, pissed up and sitting here after having the most bollock threatening row with the missus ever, life appears more than a little pointless and random. Sorry about the sense of humour/perspective failure, maybe by Sunday life will look a little less Manchester. Man of the Match: Absolutely nobody. But maybe a little bit Vieira.
Arsenal 1 Aston Villa 0 Well, we all know how this one turned out, don’t we? Spurs, invertebrates to a man, rolled over and let the mankies take them anyway they fancied. Come on, you didn’t really think that Spurs would pull this one off, did you? The title was lost on Tuesday. Everybody knew it. Trusting your destiny to a bunch of blue and white losers was somewhat akin to asking Michael Jackson in for a night’s baby sitting and trusting him not to engage in a bout of hide the salami with the rugrats. Really, did anyone out there think that Spurs even had the ability to beat United, let alone the wherewithal? If the boot had been on the other foot, Arsenal would have gone out there and taken United apart and then spent the next ten years ramming it down Spurs’ throats that we won them the league. No style, that Tottenham. The pressure was off today. After the white heat of the Leeds game, today the atmosphere was almost carnival. Thousands of red balloons and red and white cards and a welling noise that was so loud it made your soft organs vibrate. The fans were going out in style. The team, sans the busted beaked Winterburn, made their way slowly out to the centre circle. Vivas was in for Nigel and apart from that it was the same tired troops from Tuesday night. Of late Overmars, Bergkamp and Petit just look completely spaced; two months of tropical sun should see them OK, though. Or in the non flying Dutchman’s case, that week in Broadstairs should get him back on his feet. Arsenal had a nervous start. Loads of stupid long range shots that went nowhere and Bergkamp disappearing into the non moving chests of the dour Villa defenders. Vivas got crocked early; Ljungberg came on and Petit slotted into the left back position. Not exactly an auspicious start. The early pattern seemed to be Arsenal laboriously moving the ball upfield, Overmars shooting wide or at the keeper, or Vieira hitting long range shots that David Blunkett could have saved. Anelka had about ten minutes of being arsed and then decided that he wasn’t getting the right respect or something and then faded faster than a David Beckham erection. Listen, if he wants to go, then let him. Fourteen million for a geezer who doesn’t think that red can only ever go with white, is good business. If he thinks he can get more ‘respect’ in Spain or Italy, then fuck him. We’ll have him back when he’s 25 and he realises that Arsenal is the best club he’ll ever play for. In-between all this nail biting and moaning, something extraordinary happened. Spurs scored to go one up against United. The buzz as the news went around the ground was one of the most electrifying moments I’ve ever experienced. We’ve had these scares before. Me, I waited to the bloke in front of me, plugged into a Walkman, raised two arms in a stiff, broken armed salute and then went completely white. It was a moment that was pure essence of season. I get goose bumps just thinking about it. Meanwhile, we were faced with the little problem of seeing off a Villa team that were proving as tenacious as one of those sticky bogies that you can never manage to flick off you finger. You know the ones; they turn up two days later in your eyebrows or hair. Still, our little magic moment didn’t last too long; it was always on the cards that United would come back; we saw the goal later. A nauseating Beckham effort, all hip thrusts and pouting. Still, I suppose even the terminally thick are allowed their own form of self expression. One day he’ll get his comeuppance and we’ll be there to blow raspberries and laugh like hyenas. Arsenal took their time in bringing on the much shouted for Kanu. He made an immediate difference. Picking his way through the shuffling Villa droids, he picked up a stray ball from a corner and then from about five yards out, swivelled, shot and had the ball in the net before the ponderous Sky TV cameras could even focus. (Actually, one of the things that pissed us off more that anything was the totally unrepresentational TV coverage. We saw it later on the box and all you could see were Arsenal fans in floods of tears. Fuck off. Bit of sadness, but huge defiance also. Man United have had their fair share of luck this season. Most teams just roll over and play dead against them apart from us. Look for a bit more bite next season from the hoi polloi.) That was that really. Tottenham, as effective as a one finger wank, just lived up to what we’ve always known about them. United will find it more difficult playing teams that fancy a game and a battle rather than a ninety minute anal lickathon. Spurs are a complete disgrace and I look forward to taking six points off them next season. Not a bad season and better than our usual post championship offerings. Enjoy Newcastle and Bayern Munich. We’ll be back in August; tanned, invigorated and as small minded as ever. Man of the Match: Tony Adams.
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