1996/97

10.9.96 Arsenal 2 Borussia Monchengladbach 3

25.9.96 Borussia Monchengladbach 3 Arsenal 2

10.9.96

Arsenal 2 Borussia Monchengladbach 3

FIFA Directive 100054/7. 'The kick off will be arranged in such a way as to cause maximum traffic congestion and misery to the indigenous population. German Sky TV, mandated by the Murdoch FU Directive, will supersede the wishes of the entire population of Greater London.'

FIFA Directive 100054/8. 'Alcohol will not be sold in the ground. The yellow water passed as lager in the aforementioned ground is deemed to have inflammatory properties and therefore cannot be allowed to be sold.'

FIFA Directive 100054/9. 'Any German/Dutch/ Whatever supporter will be allowed to bring any musical instrument/philharmonic orchestra of whatever size and complexity into the ground. Tubas, drums, trumpets and double basses are particularly encouraged. Note. This rule does not apply to English supporters, who on the return leg, should be treated as leprous scum, have their shoelaces/flagpoles/Just Juice cartons confiscated and be generally regarded as practice fodder for any para-military arm of the local police.'

That was before the match started.

Having broken all speed records to get to the ground before 7.15, we all hung around for twenty minutes until the real kick-off of 7.35. It gave us a good chance to eye up the Borussia supporters. Having seen them earlier in the day carousing around the West End, wearing plastic bobby helmets and drinking cans of German furniture polish, I had hoped that the intricacies of the Piccadilly line might prove too complex for a bunch of pissed-up krauts. Alas, no. They turned up in force, all singing lustily and waving some peculiar green paper squares in unison. They seemed to do a lot of things in unison.

The little, green squares confused everybody. What could they possibly be? Had they brought 2000 bits of green paper all the way from Germany just so they could wave them about a bit in the English drizzle? Someone reckoned they were tiny beach towels that the Germans intended to place on the seats, thus annexing most of the Clock End.

The Hermans also spent a disproportionate amount of time singing, 'Roll Our The Barrel'. It was certainly better than Arsenal's latest musical accompaniment, Bryan Adams singing, '18 'til I die.' One of the lyrics goes, '...stuck in second gear'. A real omen for the season, if I've ever heard one.

Borussia took to the pitch looking good wearing black shorts and silky green training tops. after a kick-about they removed the tops and there was a collective double-take that you could hear around the ground. Not green tops, but black. The Germans were playing all in black. For one surreal second it looked like Arsenal were playing a team of referees. Someone finally sussed it out. Magically, the whole ground had been transported back to Paris 1943 and there we were, watching 'Escape to Victory.'

The game only started after the fussy Swiss ref made the necessary nanosecond adjustments on behalf of Sky TV. Finally, our first European game since The Great 1995 Nayim Fluke.

Looking at the line-up (Seaman (Ya!) Dixon, Winterburn, Keown, Linighan, Parlour, Platt, Merson, Bergkamp, Wright and Hartson) you could tell that Cone-Man was planning something fairly alien to Highbury; a bit of a footy adventure. We wanted things to click. And they did. Something clicked where it shouldn't in Bergkamp and he hobbled off after only 15 minutes. Looked like a hamstring. A sleepy Helder came on and Arsenal, looking exposed at the back, without the extra man and having lost our best playmaker, suddenly had a bit of a battle.

Wright went close with a header off the back of his bonce and a fierce shot that made the keeper earn his marks. Hartson hit the post (I thought it was in) and the Germans, big, skilful bastards to a man, began to tear up the middle of the park taking advantage of Ray Parlour, who ran around pointlessly like Dino in the Flintstones.

I thought the Germans' first goal was a mile offside. I told the linesman, I told the referee and I told the first ten rows of the East Upper. They probably heard me in Crouch End. Guess what? I was wrong. Seeing it on the box later, it was obvious that Juskowiak was just too fast. Seaman never had a prayer. The man was onside. The big pole just ran through the gap in the centre backs and slotted the ball past the advancing Seaman. 1-0. It didn't take them long to add a second. It was just after half time and Effenberg, who was awesome in an uncharacteristic position upfront, received an early ball, dummied Linighan, outstripped him, made him fall over and shot hard and straight at Seaman. Our boy parried and the ball spun away from him and back to Effenberg. Using the side of his foot, he even had the cheek to place it as he knocked it in. 2-0. We all looked daggers at Linighan. Honestly, fancy getting him to man mark Effenberg; its like trying to sink the Titanic with an ice cube. We were definitely missing Keown in his sweeper role.

Nine minutes later, Merson, who was having a night with the Gods, received the ball inside the Borussia half and let fly. Blimey. The ball bent twice in the air, once around a German defender and once around the post. A stunning goal. 2-1.

Giving the Germans two away goals is a shocker, but the third, from a Borussia set piece was just sloppy defending. By that time Bouldy had come on, but the defence, playing so long on spirit and memory, lacked the mobility and time to adapt to the safer three centre back formation.

3-1 down and ten minutes to go. Hundreds of Arsenal 'supporters' were filing out the ground when Wrighty caught a header in the area, directed it at the 'keeper, who obliginly knocked it back to him. Wright buried the bastard. Now there was 89 minutes on the clock. In a frenzied final two minutes Arsenal went bonkers. Merson, shot from thirty yards and the keeper had to make a stunning save to turn it away. If that one had gone in, you'd be telling your grandchildren about it when you're 110. Incredible. Hartson also went close, having an acrobatic header turned around the post.

Mr Fussy finally blew up and that was that. The German's were still waving their little green things, still singing, 'Roll out the Barrel' and probably thinking that the second leg in Cologne will be a walk over. I'm not so sure. Play three at the back, work around the clock to get Tone fit (alas, Den's hamstring looks serious) and then push for the early goal. Simple. Anyway, didn't the English win in 'Escape to Victory'? I rest my case.

Man of the Match: Paul Merson.

25.9.96

Borussia Monchengladbach 3 Arsenal 2

I hate listening to football on the radio. It didn’t help that the bloke on Radio 5 didn’t have a clue where he was, ‘Welcome to Munich’ he breezily announced. His co-presenter in London mentioned that breezy bloke should be in Cologne. After a couple of moments of embarrassed rustling and looking out of the commentary box window, ‘breezy’ proclaimed that he ‘could see the spires of Cologne cathedral’. That sorted , they got down to some business.

I hate listening to football on the radio. If the drains in the flat had not exploded in a gout of grey filth (very Man Utd away strip) then I would have got into work earlier than midday and would have been able to bunk off at half four to watch the match down the pub on the hated SKY. So instead I was stuck with 5 Alive, or whatever the BBC call their non-whizzy footie coverage.

I hate listening to football on the radio. Well, do you know where the bloody ball is? Apparently in the twenties and thirties The Radio Times would publish a grid that the commentators were supposed to allude to during the match. You can imagine the sort of thing can’t you, ‘Mr Clifford Bastin has the ball in B15 and is proceeding with undue haste to the adjoining B16. God save the King.’ What a brilliant idea.

I hate listening to football on the radio. The commentator declared that Arsenal were playing ‘left to right’. Chummy, this is radio, I don’t fucking care what direction they play. Oh, and he mentioned, ‘it was an oval stadium’. Give me a break.

I hate listening to football on the radio. But I do like Brian Marwood. He was the co-commentator in Cologne. Apart from changing his mind every ten minutes, (‘uphill for Arsenal, Germans weakening, Arsenal in control, Germans on the ropes, Arsenal finished...’) he demonstrated that apart from being a blinding winger, he is a highly competent reader of the game. On second thoughts perhaps his changes of mind only represented what was a highly changeable game.

I hate listening to football on the radio. The mindless detail you get is numbing. You go one down. Wrighty changes his boots and promptly scores his 151st goal for the club. The Arsenal subs, you are informed, are sitting on ‘white plastic deck chairs.’ Merson scores a wonder goal and Wenger is wearing ‘a red golfing jacket’ that changes to ‘maroon’ in the second half.

I hate listening to football on the radio. 2-1 up at half time and I run down to the nearest hostelry to watch the rest of the game on the telly. The pub’s having a ‘bit of trouble with the ol’ box’ so I end up on the pavement clutching a warm pint, waving my arms about, standing on one leg and clutching large metal objects like lampposts. Yes, you guessed it, I lost the signal on the radio. The second half was a nightmare. I only caught every other word. Generally, they were; ‘German’, ‘goal’, ‘Parlour’, ‘German’, ‘goal’, ‘Helder’, ‘early’, ‘exit’ and about fifteen ‘maroons’.

That was it. We were out. The pictures in the papers’ the next day were heartbreaking, particularly the one of Merse, shirtless, head down and in tears. I eventually saw his goal and a beautiful thing it is too. He really is a must for an England shirt now.

We tried, but we got hammered. Post match? I slung the bloody radio in a bin and went inside the pub and did likewise.

Man of the Match: Paul Merson.