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September 2000
Chelsea 2 Arsenal 2 Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Well it’s good to get that off my chest. Anyone who watched Chelsea stroll around tonight like they were the kings elect to London football would have a good belly laugh at their expense. It’s true they ran the game in the first half, spreading the ball wide and exposing the great Arsenal midfield that seemed to consist solely of Ray Parlour and a surly, ‘I’m not part of the French side, so I hate you strutting top of the food chain arrogant first team French bastards’ Gilles Grimandi. But the thing is Chelsea did what they always do; ie. prove that ultimately they have the depth and holding power of your average airline sick bag.They look like it can do the job, but when things get thick, they leaks like an old whore. Vialli’s team is never going to achieve anything that goes down in capital letters in the record book. Mr steroid flanked by his disgusting kiddy fiddling sidekick Rix (shit Arsenal player in a former life, so don’t worry) still puts his faith in any player whose name in ends in a vowel. It’ll be a big shock to him when he realises that ‘Wise’ is actually an English name. It’s true that Chelsea bossed the first half. So what. A gifted goal to the annoying Hasselbaink and an early second half bobbler to that grinning organ monkey Zola just about had Arsenal dead and buried. Kanu hit the bar with a dug out swivel shot and Henry, using his knowledge of French defenders, made Desailly look foolish, but still Chelsea clung onto an increasingly looking dodgy lead. Arsenal, 2-0 down were definitely looking for a repeat of last year. Of course, I was in the pub toilet when Henry scored. All I heard was a wall defused organ rippling roar, the geezer next to me in the trough shout out ‘Bollocks’ and the plashing sound of his mobile phone as it hit the flowing piss stream at his feet. I didn’t stay to see him fish it out, but I did catch the replay as Henry received a defence splitting ball and curl a sweet one around the goalkeeper (Cucine? I think that’s Italian for ‘kitchen’) Brilliant. By now the pub was electric. People were jumping up, touching the screens, behaving like two year olds full of all the worse e numbers in the world. It was manic. And then Silvinho got a ball on the left. He didn’t run, he didn’t cut inside; he just did something Brazilian with it. And did it ever go in. Did it ever. A top drawer screamer that was still making a noise ten minutes after it went in. Fabulous. And that was your lot. In all this melee was Wiltord’s first Arsenal kicks and an X certificate tackle on Dixon by the revolting Le Saux, but ultimately it was the score that had us all singing. Strangers were kissed and ugly babies complimented. Smart night. The season’s young and sprightly. Enjoy. Man of the Match: Thierry Henry. Stellar class.
Bradford 1 Arsenal 1 So, Arsenal’s bad luck away form continues. Henry hit a post, Parlour had a point blank stunner saved on the line and Pires inched ever nearer to his first Arsenal goal- and still Bradford could have had a hatful if Carbone had only put his boots on the right feet. Seaman made us eat our rather unpalatable remarks concerning his form with a stunning one handed tip over from a marauding Carbone and Dixon had us reaching for our thesauruses searching for all the synonyms for the word ‘clod’. On the other side of the park, Silvinho was nursing a twanged thigh and doubtless was waiting at Heathrow’s Terminal 4 for Edu to finish colouring in his passport or something, so young, home-grown, non-French, Ashley Cole had his first team debut. Ask any Crystal Palace supporter about what they think of young Cole and their eyes will glaze over and they will start to drool. His period on loan to them last season was the most exciting thing to happen in Selhurst since the old king died. But all those watery eyes and slack jaws might just have something to do with all the inbreeding that goes on in Norberry. Who knows. Cole was fast, intelligent and looked a treat coming forward. In front of him was Pires, Henry and Wiltord, behind him Luzhny and Grimandi. No wonder he preferred going forward to staying back. Bradford’s goal was a another of those mighty strikes from outside the area; we’ve seen about twenty of those this season. The new, wobbly ball is obviously making its presence felt. After the Bradford goal Arsenal did everything except find the net. Another frustrating afternoon in the footballing backwaters. Where Bradford in the week meekly surrendered to a none too special Man United side, here on their own turf, they played like demons. Same old story, people would rather watch Man United than actually dig them out and play them. Arsenal’s goal came from Henry beating the offside trap, running down the right and just at that point where he usually shoots from an impossible angle, he squared the ball and Cole, the debutante, had the easiest of finishes to claim his first red and white goal. I seem to remember that we used to have another nippy little bloke called Cole. What ever happened to him? Not the best game in the world, but it’s hard to go to Bradford and come back with anything. Eh, Mr Bates? Man of the Match: Thierry Henry.
Arsenal 2 Coventry 1 Arsenal’s predatory inability to finish off the sick wildebeest with the black country accent nearly cost them two points. Coventry, a team composed of the bitter dregs of the Premiership, managed, in the last thirty seconds to rattle the Arsenal crossbar with a shot of such ferocity, that the bar was still wobbling quarter of an hour later. A few minutes earlier, with Arsenal coasting to a deserved 2-0 victory, the man with the biggest chin in the northern hemisphere, Hadji, bent in a tame free kick from just outside the area. Old pikey Seaman didn’t move a muscle. The last five minutes were nervy moments indeed. If anything, the score flattered Coventry. A team composed of Carlton Palmer, some scruffy bits of footballing mince and a seventeen foot version of Dolph Lundgren in goal was never, on paper, about to bother the red and white army. Indeed, Coventry’s training regime seems to solely consist of watching the birdy song on video; I’ve never seen so many elbows in my life. So bad it must be to actually play for Coventry that most of their players spent the whole game trying to disguise themselves by ripping the shirts off the Arsenal players backs. The referee, a smiling bald man, was as laid-back as the Queen Mother on mogadon; nothing seemed to register on his addled brain. But enough of 2001’s Nationwide playoff finalists, what about the meat? Wenger rested Henry on the bench and preferred to play with Wiltord and Bergkamp up front. The midfield, sans Vieira, was its usual anaemic self. You couldn’t find Ray Parlour with an electron microscope. We actually saw more of Vieira, as he was sitting in the Clock End next to a little black bloke in a baseball cap, who looked amazingly like Ian Wright. It was a bit of a shock about an hour later to realise that it was Ian Wright. Got the biggest cheer of the day, that did. The other surprise in midfield was this bald bloke who nobody had the foggiest about. Why this lumpy looking skinhead was wearing Ljungberg’s shirt was a real mystery until using the piercing acumen of the very dense, we realised that Mr Romper Stomper was really dear old Fred with a foreign legion number one. Spooky, but effective hair cut. Mr Seaman, please take note. On the pitch, Tony was back alongside Martin. Oleg got a rare outing in his real position and Gilles, Ray and Fred bashed into one another like a red and white version of the three stooges. However, further up the pitch, Robert Pires had his best ever game; strong, focused and visionary. Bergkamp looked good and moved well (despite what the chump chops sitting behind us thought) and Wiltord, though a little one footed, brought a smile to your face every time he got the ball. Just before half time Wiltord found himself wide on the right, facing the Clock End. He had time to turn, juggle the ball onto his good foot and lash a long range shot between Hedman and post. Smart, classy goal. In the second half it was all gunner, gunner, gunner. Kanu and Henry came on as did Paulo Vernazza. And it was local boy Vernazza who was on the end of a squared pass to volley the ball into the Coventry net. This started a brief discussion about who was the last Islington born Arsenal player to score in the first team? We reckon it was Steve Williams. What do you think? Another three points; the best still to come, it didn’t rain and we got to wave at Ian Wright. If only we could finish off these sick puppies we keep playing. Man of the Match: He’s crap if you’ve got him as a Fantasy League player, but the reality is different. Robert Pires.
Ipswich 1 Arsenal 1 Not much to say about this one. Arsenal looked drained by the ups and downs of last Wednesday and Ipswich despite being everyone’s favourites for the Nationwide reunion party actually played some good stuff and looked a million times better than Coventry, Southampton or Derby. Arsenal left it bloody late again and it was Kanu, in his new surrogate midfield role who threaded a blinding ball through to Henry who saw his shot stopped by the keeper’s legs. Dennis Bergkamp did his contract negotiations a power of good by whacking in the rebound. One point in the bag. All we deserved really. Man of the Match: Dennis for the goal. All a bit forgettable really.
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