Category: Blog

Crazies On The North Bank

Well, wow. It’s taken me this long to get my sense of perspective back, but you know what? Sod it. I don’t want any perspective.

Yesterday, on my personal twitter account (i.e, not my AllTheSkill one), I posted the following tweet:

Beautiful day for sport, today. A day for beautiful sport, too.

I accept that beauty is subjective, but for the red half of North London, and all those neutrals partial to the occasional goalfest, what a truly epic day at the Emirates. I’d lost my head before leaving the house. Convinced that the KO was 13:00, I forewent the agreed few pints at the Tolington, hotfooting it to a strangely subdued Emirates to find food and reacquaint myself with my seat.

I couldn’t believe how quiet it was, until it was revealed I’d got the ground a full, 90 minutes before the game was due to start. Rather early than late, I sat brooding over the recent results. It wasn’t good, it really wasn’t. With the lads about me arriving in ones and twos we greeted each other with a knowing look. This was a big day.

A habitual look over my left shoulder revealed the North Bank Boomer was absent. Dear, dear, where would the chants spark from? And a stand-in Emirates announcer? Oh my word, do I not like change. Not on days like this. Le Boss went with Rosícky and Yossi from the start, and although I’m a huge fan of both I dreaded a turn of luck that would see them befall a calamitous OG. Each. In both halves.

By five past two, I was crumpled, bitter and cursing in an upper tier awash with anger. We were wallowing in self-pity, painted a pale shade of dismay. We looked decent going forward but were all at sea at the back. At one point Gareth Bale had enough room to stand 100 clones of himself on the flank, and still manage a free run at Wojciech. Groans seemed to eek from the very seats as we all shuffled uneasily.

A shot deflected wide from RVP, Super Tom was close with a glanced header from a corner and RVP hit the post. It was just then that despite the great sound the Emirates faithful continued to produce in the Boomer’s absence (on days like that, it seems many to take up song), I was readying myself for resignation. And it was at that moment Mr Consistent, Bacary Sagna, caught a left-footed cross plum on his head and fizzed it past Friedel.

Pumped fists, and shouts of “COME ON LADS” abound. Sagna, seeminlgly similarly encouraged grabbed the ball, allowed himself an outpouring and ran back down the pitch. A flash of football and between the bobbing heads of half-standers in the row in front of me RVP had the ball on the edge of the box. Twisting and turning, I waited to see the net ripple and then went absolutely barmy!

The Bear, sat next to me rather than but one as usual, grabbed me in joint celebration. We butted heads in the madness, but spoke nothing of it. This was sheer, unadulterated joy and we, The Arsenal, had pulled ourselves back from the brink. We were back in it and chants rang out.

Some had already left their seats for half-time sustenance, but they needn’t have feared they’d missed the best action (just the best goal). Still, the perceived wisdom was that Theo was having a shocker. AOC might be preferred for the second half.

Three more goals to come, and three more completely crazy sets of scenes. Rosicky, having an absolute stormer for me picked the ball up and proceeded to run at the Spurs defence. Sagna overlapped, the ball came back, and I had to double check the goalscorer. But before I had the chance all around was jumping men, women and children.

The Bear slapped me on the back, but he and his guest celebrated so hard they both fell into the aisle at the exact time I launched a jumping fist pump. Magic unfolding before us, except it wasn’t. It was very real, and the very Arsenal team was turning Spurs over. SuperTom, I was told, had scored it, and as one of my favourite Arsenal players, I thought to myself, “You deserved that, sir. You bloody deserved it.

The celebrations for Theo’s first I can’t recall, but for after a breathless, jigging bliss, I said rather louder than I meant to:

“Wenger! Get Chamberlain on!” and the few about me that weren’t deaf with joy laughed.

When the fifth went in I’d jumped to my feet, but stood dumb at what had come before us. We were in party mode and the the blues had well and truly vanished to the clear sky above. A beautiful day for those who enjoyed it, and five goals without reply…

Just. Wow.

 

Still For a far better visualisation of the days events than my humble words can muster, check out this vid. A special day, and deserving on a slot in the long-term memeory banks methinks!

OOH TO, OOH TO BE!

Q: When Is A Penalty Not A Penalty? (Or, ‘How To Judge A Ref And The Role Of The Flops’)

Q: When is a penalty not a penalty? A: When it doesn’t look like one.

In these crazy, mixed-up times, even Joey Barton is calling for video technology to be introduced into the English top flight. I agree {shudder}, I’m all for it. But in its absence officials still need to make decisions based upon what they see.

Used to be that what was a freekick outside the box was a penalty inside it. But a combination of the heightened importance of such a decision in providing an unchallenged attempt on goal, changing a game and/or reducing the number of players on a team has completely altered that. These days officials seem unwilling to give penalties unless there is little doubt in their minds. But even when they do, and even with the backing of second, third, fourth (and perhaps not) fifth or sixth match officials they still get things wrong.

Human error has a part to play, but there’s another thing going on here. A cold, hard, case of The Flops. That is attempting to make and official give a penalty by overacting, going down too lightly or just absolutely cheating.

Now I don’t wish to call into question the integrity of many of the football players I watch and some of whom I dearly support, but it’s hardly a revelation to suggest that sometimes some players go down a bit easy. Afterall, if the Lehmann vs Drogba pantomime spectacular told us anything, it was that our professional players have more than an inkling of how to make the most of a bit of contact. They’re not alone either. A couple of years ago, when I still actively played Saturday League, some players actively practised (albeit in jest) dives in training. Equally, type “Gerrard/Rooney/Walcott/Lampard dive” into YouTube and see what you get.

It might be suggested that The Flops goes on quite a lot. And it might be equally refuted. Sitting at home, and even in the stands, it can be hard to have a full appreciation of the sheer speed, and therefore, colliding forces, impact, centres of balance and  – even – the intentions to fall to the ground of our top, top players. Be that as it may, our officials still need to make decisions. Even when not in the best position, and at times further from the incident in question than some fans.

After the defeat against Fulham on Monday, Arsene Wenger responded to whether he agreed if the claim by Gervinho of being fouled by Phillipe Senderos was a penalty:

200%…anyway, we know we don’t get penalties. We had one against…err, at home in the last game against QPR, we had one today and [they’re] never given anyway.

But we (Arsenal) do get penalties. Walcott earned and van Persie converted one against Aston Villa on 21st December. But it was obvious Theo was fouled. Tugged back plain as day, and he didn’t need to hit the deck to make his point. Gervinho was clipped by Senderos, yes. And van Persie was bundled by Senderos…yes. But while in the second situation it’s feasible the referee Lee Probert was unsighted, in the first he may have been “turned off” by Gervinho’s fall.

And can we blame him, his officials or colleagues if that’s ever the case? Surely it’s far easier to forgive them for such missed decisions if  they’re not 100% certain a player is impeded or an indiscretion occurred. Even if a foul is committed, overacting it might achieve the reverse of what was hoped for. And even when decisions are given it’s not always clean cut.

Just last night, Man City won 3-0 against Liverpool and were awarded a penalty. Have a look. Can you tell me with 100% certainty that it is or isn’t one? You could argue that a 6’2″ man of about 14st (I’m estimating here, as City’s player page omits Toure’s weight) shouldn’t go down that easy. This might also be called “The Drogba Offence”. You may even speculate that having sprinted the length of the half to get there, Yaya felt it better to go down under any contact and get a penalty to potentially kill off Liverpool.

The alternative is to stay up and shoot from an awkward angle under pressure. With 17 minutes left to play, and his team just down to 10 men. You might equally argue that there was enough – even untintentional – contact from Skrtel at the speed Yaya Toure was travelling to send him tumbling. But you’d have to have a higher grasp of the physics behind such collisions than I.

What you can’t possibly argue is that the referee (who is nowhere near as quick as Yaya Toure, and so further down the pitch), or even the nearest assistant referee, can say with absolute certainty that it was or wasn’t the correct decision. But at full speed, and from a bit of a distance it looks like one. Doesn’t it?

And this is the point. For I think the tide should be changing in Premier League football: In the absence of absolute certainty, or even the degrees of certainty to which video technology would allow us to reach (and which I hope very quickly makes my following comment irrelevant) penalty decisions are all down to whether they appear to be one. In the past players could play to this a little with The Flops: ‘making the best of it’, exaggerating and ‘simulation’. But these days it might be best to try something slightly different. You know, players may actually benefit – like Theo did – from attempting to stay on their feet. And as a result we may lose the terror of The Flops, while maintaining a modicum of sanity.

Mother Hen

Quick blog as the day’s got a bit away from me. Still, as long as it’s longer than a tweet I can justify writing this here, I suppose. So:

But for some resolute defending and an international-worthy display by Wayne Hen(nessey) refusing to let us count goal(den egg)s pinched from his much guarded ne(s)t, we’d have taken the three points yesterday. Frustrating as it is we didn’t. But hay.

What we did do was pretty much dominate possession, but fail to get any reward from plenty of shots and fistfuls of corn(ers). Okay I’ll stop.

In all seriousness though it’s hard to be too critical. Against eleven men we created chances and against ten we just couldn’t find the second. I can’t say too much about Fletcher’s equaliser. It was lucky. From a deflected assist, he was onside and he put it in the only place Szczesny couldn’t have got to it.  I feel a bit silly because before the goal I was about to bemoan the Nervous Ned in front of me who was cursing every mistake (and player making one) like he’d a made a pact to piss me off. But it turns out he was right. That time.

Still, him calling Mertesacker a “pussy” was hard to swallow.

The positives are that Yossi did well in Theo’s position (and was probably knackered when he came off), while Rosicky, The Little Mozart, conducted himself well and hardly played a bum note.

It was his driving run, cut back and pass to Benayoun which enabled Gervinho to look the most assured he did all afternoon and put us one up. It was also Rosicky who – a couple of times – used his trademark feint turn (keep an eye out for that one) to get away form markers in the midfield before driving forward. And he also played some midfield and defence splitting passes before almost, almost, setting up the big German for a headed goal with a beautiful out side of the right boot flicked cross.

Super Tom could be on his way back, and I think Rambo’s got a fight on.

Having said that, the Welsh captain did well when he came on, and added that enthusiasm from the bench that I’ve mentioned we certainly need. More starting with effective, older and more experienced players would be a good thing I think. Let’s make the younger guns work to impress.

Random thoughts on a couple of other players:

Chamakh – I think that was Mauro’s eighth appearance of the season. Scoring one in every four, he now owes us a goal…

Arshavin – Was a pass, pass, passer when he appeared lacking the edge and guile we needed…although his little backlift, snap-shot was a reminder of the ability in those feet. Oh, how I wish it had gone in.

Anyway, what with all the teams around us (bar Spurs) dropping two points, we’ve missed a chance to sneak up the table. But it’s done. Onto QPR, and here’s hoping Paddock Kenny is unable to keep our ball game off of his grass.

COYG!

 
 

All for Toll (And Toll For All)

Well that was absolutely fantastic.

I spent yesterday evening in the Tollington in Holloway, and what an Arsenalsome night. I came out of Finsbury Park underground, my usual exit from all things Gunner-related, and took a stroll towards Holloway and into the unknown.

I’d not been to The Tollington before, but was reliably informed it was a fine place to drink, chat and be a total Gooner. I wasn’t to be disappointed.

Obviously I was there for the So Paddy Got Up book launch and, arriving quite early, asked one of the members of security personnel where said launch would be. Following instructions, I tentatively tiptoed my tall frame to the rear of the pub and (somehow) found myself at the front of two simultaneous queues that would last for a good three and a half hours.

Arseblogger was unmistakable in tone, and was looking relaxed before he gave a fine welcome and introduced his wife (Happy Belated Birthday, Mrs Blogs), and his brother the Mugsmasher. I was lucky to get my copy of the book sorted early, which handily left the rest of the evening for beer and random chats. Unfortunately, my planned strike partner for the evening couldn’t make it, and so I was on my own in playing forward.

But you’re never really on your own in an Arsenal pub as a Gooner…and certainly not with hundreds of others patiently waiting in line and/or drinking, and/or watching Man U and City exit the Champions League. So very soon I was talking and drinking with two regular away fans; Mark and Joseph.

Once I had established they weren’t contributors to So Paddy got Up (and they that I wasn’t either), I took a seat and we proceeded to watch the confusion in the eyes of people who weren’t sure whether they should ask for our signatures.

We perched on the end of what was to become the book’s contributor table, and managed to remain here throughout. We were asked if we should sign books once or twice but we declined, being honest folk, and went about our business of getting rounds in.

While all this was going on the Tolli was bubbling up nicely. As the United and City situations continued to look unfavourable for the Mancunians, I went in hunt of a few more established Arsenal bloggers so as to put names to faces and tweets to tones. I tracked down one half of Gingers4Limpar who was parched from a fair bit of signing, and then had a brief but enjoyable chat with Arse2mouse…and then Arse2mouse and Gingers4Limpar, and then Goodplaya, each of whom were top company. Then a little later on I introduced myself to the very finely-heeled (top shoes, I have to say) SianyMacalarny.

And, do you know, everyone was happy to chat and chew the fat. Meeting some of the people I regularly follow the blogs and tweets of was a very real treat. I’m not always the most forward of chaps, but in such friendly and relaxed surroundings a fine time was had, beer consumed and results and resulting songs enjoyed.

What’s more, I think I’ve found my new pre and post-match Arsenal pub. The Tolli staff were superb. Not content with having a pub rammed full of Gooners chanting “Thursday Night, Channel Five” at the Europa League bound Manchester clubs, the staff actually joined in! All the while delivering beer at the most impressive of speeds, and keeping smiles firmly on faces.

And actually, just thinking of yesterday evening puts the smile right back on mine. Last night it was good to be a Gooner, good to be at the Tolli, and good to enjoy the company of others just there to soak up the atmosphere.

Alas, I didn’t get to chat to many of the other fine people (bloggers or no) who were undoubtedly enjoying their own nights. But perhaps another time. And perhaps with a post-game pint or two.

They Came, They Sang, We Conquered

Staggering Dortmund Support

Having missed out on last season’s home tie against Barcelona in the Champions League, I think yesterday provided the briefest of hints of what a home European tie at the Emirates can be like. Of course Captain Vantastic did the business again, and we’re through to the knockout stage, with a job well done, but something else troubled me early on. And that was how the Dortmund fans out-sang us Gooners for much of the game.

I know away fans are usually loud, but the synchronised lake of yellow and black, was an incredible sight to behold, and more than once distracted me from an uninspiring start by Arsenal. A variety of co-ordinated sing-alongs, and hand claps – including a rendition of what sounded like Roll Out The Barrel – echoed from the corner of the Clock-End and East Bank, reaching us North Bank residents with little in the way of reply.

We tried our usual volume, but the Emirates wasn’t taking. Did the Dortmund game go to General Sale? I’m not sure. Perhaps people gave up trying to get to the game due to Underground delays, that accounted for the empty seats and so the lack of noise. Whatever it was, the Arsenal faithful were largely quiet.

Until we scored. Alex Song showed almost unbelievable (and somewhat uncharacteristic) style in passing three Dortmund players, and clipping a smart cross met by an RVP header that proved too powerful for Weidenfeller. And then the songs rang out, quite literally.

  • ONE SONG! We’ve only got ONE SONG!
  • 1-0 To The Arsenal!
  • Robin Van Persie! Robin Van Persie!
To which the Dortmund fans, quite rightly, responded with:
  • Sing When You’re Winning – You Only Sing When Your Winning!
I allowed myself a – perhaps, knowing – chuckle. Jimmy Nail’s hat on his head. Bang on.
Much of the Emirates last night only sang when we were winning. The support before was somewhat lacking, but afterwards you couldn’t shut us up. We went two up and the Dortmund fans kept singing. Then when Borussia pulled one back at the death, I could almost hear the collective gasp. The potential “Oh No” , and the fear we’d let another slip.
I don’t know what it is, but we seem to be progressing so quickly as a team that the fans on a match day (and I’m guilty too) are very quick to moan an complain, while fearing for our footballing sanity at the very slightest of slip ups. The team’s duty is to do its best on the pitch, but isn’t ours duty to do the best off it?
The one thing we need in 60,000 seater is atmosphere and support. Not everyone, but even half would be astonishing. After all, last night proved what 9,000 can do – even if they were wearing yellow and black.
Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started