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SEPTEMBER 1998 26.9.98 Sheffield Wednesday 1 Arsenal 0
Chelsea 0 Arsenal 0 Another great 0-0 for the collection. Having decided to forego the pleasure of giving Ken Bates any more of our pennies (indeed, the last time we went to Stamford Bridge old beardy wanted sixty pennies for a tiny bag of crisps) so we all bombed down to the newly furnished Gunners for that special indoorsy Guinness fuelled mayhem that passes for TV footy watching nowadays. It’s funny but there seems to lots of ‘new’ Arsenal supporters around. Indeed, the pub was full of twelve year old skinheads all in new nylon replica shirts, all drinking cooking lager and all singing the songs wrong. (One peanut headed midget was singing, ‘we hate Hotspurs, and we hate Hotspurs.’ Pratt.) From the off both teams looked like those sleepy bluebottles that you find droning around the kitchen in the middle of December. Chelsea milled around a bit, all their expensive mannequins looking rather wooden. Keown jumped on Casiraghi in the first minute, managing to grab him around the throat and get away with it. Laudrup floated around like a dandelion head and looked suspiciously like Darren Anderton. Only Desailly looked fit and worth the dosh. He and LeBeouf dominated at the Chelsea back. And that was the problem. With the middle sewn up and Le Saux and Duberry running down the wings it made sense for the Gunners to go wide with Overmars and Parlour and run into the flank spaces vacated by the Chelsea wing backs. But no, Wenger who on his day can be as much route one as old George, stuck to his plan and so the middle of the park was more congested than the manager’s exit at White Hart Lane. Fast, furious and fuck all to do with football was the mantra for this game. A few high points: Zola (looking more like the missing link everyday. That’s a monkey’s jawbone if I’ve ever seen one,) curled a beauty from the edge of the area that beat Seaman and was heading for the top right corner until spunky waved an arm at it and tipped it around the post. Magic save. Anelka had a difficult chance just before half time, but put it wide. In the second half Bergkamp snapped a terrific shot at Ed De Hoey who stuck out a thin leg for a save that surprised even him. That was the footy. On the niggle front Le Saux conspired to get Dixon sent off (the first booking was for a retaliation against Le Saux, the second for a late challenge that had more to do with old father time than any intent). Chelsea, with just about a million forwards, still looked toothless. You spend all that dough and you still can’t get past Adams and Keown. So, the question is, when do Arsenal finally awake from the glory dream? Let’s hope it’s against Lens. Man of the Match: Martin Keown.
Leicester 0 Arsenal 0 Last week we had ‘boring’ Arsenal, this week ‘lucky’ Arsenal. With any luck maybe next week we’ll have ‘double winning’ Arsenal. It’s not all bad, though, there were signs today that the team is waking up from its collective dream of summer and beginning to apply itself to the long hard winter campaign ahead. Bergkamp looked a little bit more like Bergkamp and Overmars was denied several times today by a wayward breeze or a blade of grass pointing in the wrong direction. Petit was serving out his suspension which was handy considering that the ref was the ginger bladder, Durkin. Leicester obviously fancied this one, intent, no doubt, of tugging the tiger’s tail while it slept. Their goal had the whole of the Arsenal ball watching the gravitationally challenged Heskey as he shot through the Gunner’s defence like a well flicked malteser. A cracking shot and old Seaman, now modelling a ludicrous hairstyle straight out of the Lion King, had no chance as it rolled in, inches in front of his hand. Wenger didn’t like that much and actually leapt to his feet. Hard bastard. At one point Wreh had the ball in the net. But of course it was offside. A show of hands amongst the biased had him level. Well, we would say that, wouldn’t we? Arsenal prodded and poked for what seemed like aeons, but the bite was lacking and their limbs moved like the cut-outs on South Park. Ninety minutes up and our first defeat of the season at the hands of team whose mascot is called ‘Filbert the Fox’. Bet that took a whole five minutes to dream up in the advertising agency. Oh the ignominy. Well, Stephen Hughes picked up an anonymous ball in midfield and strode forward with that curious alert and erect style of his. Me, I was watching the second hand on my watch, thinking dark thoughts about all the crap matches of my youth. (Don Howe 1982 on a skull fucking boring 0-0 draw. "You won’t see a better game in Europe, this weekend." I swear he said that.) Yeah, yeah, yeah, then wallop. Hughes, about 30 yards out let fly. There was a bobble, maybe a deflection, maybe just a bluebottle hit and the ball soared beyond Keller and altered the shape of the Leicester net. Rather to late to play the ‘get out of jail free card,’ we thought. Me, when I play Monopoly prefer to build a big sodding hotel on Mayfair and bleed the bastards dry. A couple of Resolve and a big greasy breakfast usually gets rid of my hangovers. God knows how the Arsenal will cure theirs. Man of the Match: Stephen Hughes.
Arsenal 3 Man Utd 0 We all know what a table looks like: four legs, flat bit on top. You can make them out of wood, metal or papier mache. Been that way for thousands of years- works a treat. Alex Ferguson, however, a man with no concept of classic design, obviously thinks differently. How else do you explain playing Giggs down the middle and the overrated Blomquist on the wing? We love it when people come to Highbury look at our dinky pitch and start rearranging their furniture to fit. Lovely, plays right into our hands. Quite bluntly, Ferguson never had a clue. Weird formations, a team snarling like newly sprung mink and wearing this week’s strip; a funereal black that some dicks actually think look cool. This team is worth £650 million? Arsenal bigger, more confident and proudly red, just laughed at them. And you should too. After the disappointment of Euro Wednesday against Lens, a bit of style was called for. From the off United tried it on and Arsenal, imperiously swatted them like little black flies. It wasn’t long before Adams dived in-between Stam and old red nose and bulleted the ball into the back of the net. United then tried that great tactic of theirs: petulance. Keane should have walked for a shocking tackle and Butt later did for an upend on Vieira. Patrick, by the way, had a stunning game. Everything he did against United just reeked of taking the piss. Lovely. Even Overmars got in on the act by putting the ball cheekily through Giggs’ legs. Giggs, being a surly gypo, hacked down the Dutch master in a fit of pique. Meanwhile, Anelka was running past Stam who stood there looking like the world’s most expensive bin liner. He whacked the ball at Schmeichel who parried it out. Nick smacked the rebound into a part of the net that didn’t reek of Danish bacon. 2-0 and our first real party since May. Smart. What about United? Well, what about them? Beckham hit the woodwork and everyone else hit Beckham. That is the natural way of the world. Who are we to question it? The second half was all red and white. Anelka, who was having one of his ‘on’ games, burnt himself out and was replaced by the new signing, the Swede, Frederick Ljungberg. It’s amazing how Arsenal slip these new blokes in. For weeks and weeks you get an unbroken diet of DeBoers, Salas, Kluivet, Neil Shipperley (just kidding) and then they sign someone who sounds like a Scandinavian ferry line. Can he play? What about lobbing Schmeichel from 20 yards? What about smacking Beckham and not giving a toss? What about all that was only fifteen minutes? Anyone who wears the magic number 8 shirt has to be special. And he just might be that. What a fine afternoon; Arsenal in colour, Man United in black and white. Team Sky brought down to earth by some heavenly football. Man of the Match: Patrick Vieira.
Sheffield Wednesday 1 Arsenal 0 Good game this one, apart from the mardy goal one minute from time. But even that we grudgingly admit was a good ‘un; a terrific chip that beat the unlucky Manninger from the edge of the area. However, what most people will remember about this game was the incredible Paul Alcock, stunt referee extraordinaire: weebles wobble but we don’t fall down, indeed. When DiCanio shoved the referee over, time stopped as if somebody had thrown the magic boomerang, and the four stone referee took about eight steps backward and then fell on his scrawny arse. Everybody in the ground just pissed themselves laughing. It was just a shame that he got up again and DiCanio didn’t use his head. Yeah, he should’ve butted him. Truly, he is the worst referee I‘ve ever seen. At one point Anelka, through on goal, was blatantly brought down by Thome. Yellow card. Unbelievable. Keown tries to break up a ruck, gets studded and nearly has his eyes removed by a clawing Italian and gets a red card. After that it all went to rack and ruin. Both teams down to ten men and Overmars is pulled off for Uncle Bouldy. Both ‘keepers had splendid games. Anelka looked good and Adams looked magnificent. Vieira, who had to deal with some of the vilest racial abuse I’ve ever heard, foolishly got involved with the crowd and gave them the finger. A bobby ran over, obviously trying to safeguard the public morals, grabbed the retreating Vieira who not knowing who was giving him a tug, lashed out and dislodged the copper’s helmet. Somewhere along the line Wenger got involved too and it all got a mite ugly. Now we have the South Yorkshire Police Force getting all uppity and heavy, all because they didn’t do their job in the first place in keeping down the racial stuff. But then again, what do you expect from the police force that were on duty that terrible day in 1989? Enough of the serious stuff. Despite the fact that we’re still short of an away win and the various hits and misses this was a pukka game. Parlour blasted wide as did Vieira and Manninger deputised brilliantly for the Lion King. Some of this commitment against Panty Nike House on Wednesday and we’ll be laughing. Man of the Match: Tony Adams.
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