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SEPTEMBER 1999 11.9.99 Arsenal 3 Aston Villa 1 18.9.99 Southampton 0 Arsenal 1
Arsenal 3 Aston Villa 1 There’s something eminently smackable about John Gregory, the Villa manager. I’m not sure if it’s the way he patrols the touchline like a pumped up dad at a primary school kickabout, his interview technique, an oily mixture of smarm and aggression or the oily mixture of snot and goose grease that he dollops all over his hair. I reckon it might be the last one; anyone over the age of 35 who thinks hair gel represents some kind of fashion statement deserves to be shipped off to Nuremburg, tried and hung by the neck until they can no longer offend people. Gregory also has a disgusting penchant for talking to anyone as if they were 12 and trying to sum up the whole complicated business of football and life in lacklustre clichés. Ron Atkinson comes over like bleedin’ Proust compared to the discharge headed one. He’s a wassock, pure and simple. We weren’t fooled by the arrival of Aston Villa. In many ways this season is exactly like the previous one. A good start for them, mainly off the back of looking sharp against teams that wouldn’t look out of place dangling off of some animals’ arse. We knew they would be cack, but had no real inkling just what a steaming dollop they really were. Arsenal, for the first time in ages managed to field Dixon, Winterburn, Keown and Adams. Seaman, who still has problems with a floppy fringe or something, was absent for another week or two. Vieira once again held the middle, abetted by Parlour and the frightening aspect of Gilles Grimandi as a roving midfield ambassador in place of the crocked Ljungberg. Actually, he did rather well, which ultimately means we know as much about football as the sputum headed Gregory. Overmars made a welcome return. We saw him in the week against West Ham reserves and the two goals that he put away were done with considerable aplomb. (Incidentally, West Ham have a reserve player called, wait for it, ‘Ryan Briggs’. Poor sod.) Up front was a hesitant Bergkamp (obviously relishing that short drive to Florence) and there was a first start for Davor Suker. On paper the team didn’t look that bad, but on grass it was a different matter. The first twenty minutes were nervous and the team looked like it couldn’t pass water. Villa, obviously down for the draw, instead of capitalising on Arsenal’s uncertainty, merely plodded around in the sunshine and began to emit a powerful odour that grew as the afternoon heated up. Midway through the first half, just as Arsenal were beginning to recover from the Anfield/International duty hangover, Paul Merson received the ball on the right wing. He hefted it, juggled it, took it through the entire Arsenal defence and slipped it to Joachim who sliced it past the ball watching Manninger. A pure class moment from a player we should have never, ever have sold. Most of the people in Highbury apart from the carbon monoxide brain damaged Brummies couldn’t believe the Villa goal; they had done sod all for so long that we forgot that they were even playing. Blimey, even Bradford were better than this lot. The Arsenal looked like someone had just slapped them with a wet fish. Straight from the off there was an urgency in their play that was previous lacking. In a matter of minutes, Arsenal had the ball on the right. It was played in early. Bergkamp had one of those fabulous telepathic moments and fed the ball through the Villa defence. Suker, quick as you like, was onto it. Tracked by Villa defenders and always on the verge of being unbalanced, he had a window of a nanosecond to hit the ball perfectly before it all went pear shaped. His strike was top of the range international class. A brilliant moment taken brilliantly. Stunning goal. Half time soon followed. The second half was all one way traffic. David James, who had been obviously carrying some kind of injury that stopped him kicking the ball was judged by the referee to be taking the piss a bit in the time wasting department. Arsenal were given an in indirect free kick about three feet in front of the goal line. The usual 18 man wall lined up on the goal line and we all laughed and waited to see whose bollocks or head was going to get a 400mph leather spheroid rearrangement. The slightest of touches to the right was met by Suker, who hit the ball harder than I’ve seen anybody hit anything. Low and rising, it hit the top of the net and nearly demolished half of the North Bank. Powerful goal. After that Arsenal turned on the style. Parlour could have had a couple, Silvinho had a screamer tipped over and Kanu, who came on later, had a simple tap in for his goal, highly reminiscent of his glorious goal against the hapless Sheffield last season. Terry Henry also came on and caused Villa all sorts of palpitations. Alas, once again Mr Henry went away from Highbury clutching the John Jenson scoring trophy. Still, don’t listen to the gloom merchants; it’s only a matter of time. Villa, according to the post match stats had one more shot on target, but we didn’t see it. Arsenal still aren’t at their peak; there’s too much of a hole in the middle without Petit, though Grimandi did a credible job against a Villa team who were as mobile as Stonehenge. With League matches against Southampton and Watford coming up, Arsenal are in a good position to climb up the league. However, Tuesday in Florence will be a different ball game entirely. Man of the Match: Davor Suker. Tossy Blokes. No 1 in a depressing series. Regular readers of this drivel will know that the three blokes who sit behind us, all in their late forties, know absolutely nothing about football or indeed anything else. The fact that they are drawn from those underachieving professions of education (teachers) and social engineering (social workers) begins to explain their place in the food chain ie. just above the mollusc and a little below bivalve pond life (Robin Cook.) This is an occasional series that will highlight some of their more entertaining inanities. The series will end, no doubt, when either myself or one of my mates finally cracks and attempts to make one of these fuckwits eat the programme and several clenched fists. So, here are a couple of gems. "Bergkamp and Overmars are finished. I never rated that Bergkamp anyway." "What we need out there is someone like Stephen Hughes." I’m not making this up. Doubtless, there will be more to come.
Southampton 0 Arsenal 1 There’s a good lesson to be learnt here today and it’s called ‘How to play to the strengths of your pitch’. Southampton have always been awkward devils at the Dell. It’s a little pitch, the crowd almost breathing down the players’ necks (or gobbing) and it lends itself well to little mobile gangs of footballers roaming around in packs. In fact, Southampton, playing with a highly fluid midfield, had by far the better play in the first half. The point, though, is that they played to whatever strengths they had; you couldn’t see them giving up home advantage like Arsenal are about to do again at Wembley on Wednesday. Fiorentina have an even narrower pitch than Arsenal’s and play with three centre front blokes rather than wide players so Wembley might prove problematic for them. But Barcelona? Leave off. And Solna aren’t the mugs every has them down for. The smart money and mouths are thinking very seriously about another draw on Wednesday. And this brings us, ultimately, to the other problem about playing Southampton; nobody was really taking any notice of it, we were all talking Europe, Europe, Europe. Really, Southampton could have nicked this one. Despite their injuries and suspensions (no Pahars or Boa Morte) they did they old disgusting trick of putting Mark Hughes up front and packing the defence with the usual spare part surgery, cartilaginous golems so characteristic of the Saints. If we had to appoint a man of the match based on first half performances we would have gone with Manninger. A couple of let-offs and a couple of smart saves by the Austrian brought us all back to earth. Indeed, it wasn’t until the second half when Ljungberg, so impressive in midweek, was pulled off in favour of a well up for it Ray Parlour, that Arsenal suddenly realised that they were playing in a collection of allotment sheds rather than the Nou Camp. Bergkamp was the first to awaken and went close and then Kanu did all the hard work and dribbled through the Southampton defence only to dribble the ball wide of an open goal. Shortly after, the depressed Nigerian (his weird face screwed up like a squeezed lemon) was replaced by a sprightly Terry Henry. Arsenal by now were clawing their way back into the game. The news from elsewhere was marvellous; Chelsea one down to Watford and United only just equalising against Wimbledon’s blanket bombing. Great. If there was ever time to get a goal then this was it. Some of us were counting our fingers and toes and working out the league permutations based on us only getting one point when Tony Adams picked up a stray ball in the midfield. He arrowed forward and slide a side footed pass that found Henry perfectly. The only problem was that Tierry had his back to the goal and had two Southampton players on him. In one beautiful move he swivelled and let fly from just outside the area. The ball bent inwards and we watched its lovely parabolic flight bend and settle just inside the top right hand corner. We were sitting on the upper tier of the North Bank watching the whole sorry spectacle on the Big Spotty Telly © and when the ball went in you would have thought it was the winner in the last minute of the European Cup Final, such was the jubilation. An excellent goal sure to feature on Match of the Day credits for the rest of the season. Henry went close a couple of minutes later and generally Arsenal dominated the last twenty minutes. A great result but a bit of a poxy game. An amazing nick then. Let’s hope Wednesday’s the same. Man of the Match: Nigel Winterburn. A one man team. Weird Mates. No 1. (Another occasional series.) My mate Andy, who shall remain nameless, is completely adamant that Kanu looks like Private Walker out of Dads Army. Really. He points out that it is the features and the moustache. We all think he’s fucking barking. But he won’t have it. Private Walker and Kanu- separated at birth. Nah. More like Andy and brain.
Arsenal 1 Watford 0 Let’s get one thing straight; I hate Watford. I think it goes back to the early eighties when I was fired from work by a card carrying Watford die-hard, who just happens to be one of the largest sacks of ordure on the planet. This was the Watford of Blissett, Barnes, Elton John and sodding Graham Talyor; so no change there, then. They also stitched up the Arsenal in a cup game at Highbury, when an offside John Barnes ran the length of the pitch and whacked the ball past a completely stuck in the mud John Lukic. I also have no time for the bunch of inbreds who follow the team. They may make a lot of noise but they must be one of the biggest wit-free crowds in football. A bit like Chelsea fans but without the car coats. Seeing them waddle down Avenall Road after the game, you had the distinct impression that incest was the most socially acceptable habit in Watford after cat drowning. And don’t get me on the fucking one way systems of Watford, that make the place just about impenetrable. Hang on, that’s probably not a bad idea. So there I was hunched over, watching every move on and off the pitch, v-signing their ruminant supporters at every chance and getting barking mad looks from my mates who thought I was ready for the rubber room. No-one understands how much I hate Watford. The game was almost a re-run of the Southampton match. Watford defended well, in a stout yeoman, Hackney Marsh sort of way, seemingly happy to catch Arsenal on the break. Their new signing, the impressively named Nordin Wooter, an Edgar David lookalike, grafted up and down the wing, flicking the ball here and there and tackling back with some venom. I’ve rarely seen a bloke run about so much. He’s either on drugs or he’s had his one week in Watford and realised that he’s stuck in the absolute basement of the universe and he has to play like a cross between Ronaldo, Pele and Maradona to extricate himself from a terrible mistake. Wenger surprised us all by resting Winterburn and Dixon and pairing Silvinho with the impressive Luzhny. Bergkamp was also bench warming along with Suker and the actual starting line-up saw Henry lining up with Kanu. Ray Parlour was back and played alongside Vieira, whilst the wings belonged to Ljungberg and Overmars. Not much happened in the first half. Tone misdirected a meaty header wide and Overmars, who appears to have been taking shooting lessons from Lee Dixon, tried to knock out all the roosting pigeons from the underside rafters of the Clock End. And we all watched the referee, the hated Durkin, display all the symptoms of someone who had been released from a secure hospital unit that very morning, stomp around the pitch peeping and pointing at things no-one could see except him. The second half was much more blood and thunder. Arsenal plugged away diligently. Overmars tortured the people in row Z of the North Bank, Adams and Keown went close and Kanu managed to hit the post twice. The first time with a shot he bent around the entire Watford defence, the second with a glancing downward header. He also missed a spoon fed Henry sitter from about five inches that squirmed sideways and ended up almost braining a ball boy. Would the goal ever come? At some point Ljungberg and Henry went off and Bergkamp and Suker made an appearance and the job of mugging Watford continued. With news semaphored across the East Stand that Southampton were drawing 3-3 with Man United we were all staring at that most prestigious of Arsenal beasts; the 0-0 draw, when Luzhny took a quick throw-in deep in the Watford half. The ball was knocked down by Kanu, who squirmed to the by-line and raked a shot across the goal from the most acute of angles. For a split second there was a horrible moment where we were unsure of the angle and waited for the ball to finish its journey. Goal. And a good one too. Kanu’s sheer persistence was terrific. The game was over soon enough; Durkin finally getting one thing right. We all went home well happy, me in particular, knowing that my old boss was gnashing his teeth somewhere, always assuming, of course, that the git is still alive. But Watford fans, despite their thin genetic material, seem to live forever. I wish them well in the Nationwide next season. Man of the Match: Kanu. Never gave up hope.
Another David Beckham Story Manchester United boss Alex Ferguson is sat at home watching TV one morning when he receives a phone call, "Hello boss, it's David Beckham." "Yes David, what can I do for you?"
"Well
boss, Posh has gone out and bought me a jigsaw to do. The problem is,
though, none of the pieces fit together, it's impossible"
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