February 05 Newsletter

The major event of the month however was the Arsenal v Man United match. I have seen football teams for performance motivation at the Arts Clinic but I have never experienced being a football fan before. My son on the other hand has been an ardent Gunners supporter since he was seven. As a post Christmas treat he bought us tickets for the match.

I wanted the full-on fan experience. So he took me out to dinner the week before and gave me team names, photos and performance records to study as my homework. I was surprised how much I already knew, probably picked up on the Portugal visit. Then began a series of texts where he tested my knowledge and gave me instructions as to what I should or should not do at the match so as not to embarrass him or draw attention. I bought all the rubbish newspapers to read the sports pages in preparation. Finally I rummaged through my wardrobe for some appropriate attire. I found a scarlet jumper and white puffa jacket and then I took an old Junior Gunners hat from Jack’s bedroom to top it off.

I think the family was a bit concerned for my safety. My son Jack is a very quiet, cool dude. However he is six foot six inches tall and everyone naturally moves out of his way. I always feel really safe and protected with him. We met at the tube where he gave me an Arsenal shirt to wear for the journey as identification. As we approached the Arsenal station the tube was crammed to overflowing with keyed up Gunners fans, and the streets leading to the entrances were a sea of red and white, streaming off into the stands like seething rivers of DNA.

We had alternate cards of red and white on our seats, which we all held up as our team came on the pitch. It must have looked fantastic to the players. There was only a one block of Man United supporters but they made up for number with volume and enthusiasm. Almost everyone was male: all ages and generations, all races and colors, but all blokes. I never experienced such a testosterone-based atmosphere before, and much more full blooded than a Smiths concert!

The first half of the game was fantastic. Our team slammed in two goals and the anticipation in the arena was almost tangible. The Arsenal fans were daring to hope that after a run of poor match performances that their team might win this one. Suddenly I lost all composure. I jumped up and down and shouted and booed and hugged Jack so tight he almost stopped breathing. When Man United came near the goal I buried my head in his parka screaming at the top of my lungs. The language around us was unbelievable, including an old lady and a little boy who were worse than the blokes. Jack kept saying "sorry" as if I had never heard it before.

Football chants can be very personal. Whenever Wayne Rooney gets the ball everyone shouts, "you fat bastard!" They can also be imaginative as for Arsenal’s Captain; to the tune of Volare the crowd sing "Vieira ohhh. He comes from Senegal. He plays for Arsenal." I learned that there were all different kinds of w**kers. French ones, Welsh ones, for instance Alex Ferguson is a Scottish w**ker, and the referee is an effin w**ker! I found myself joining in, happy to lose myself in the crowd, drown in the moment.

Suddenly, like a variation on a theme, to our right someone shouted "Manker!" (Man United fan apparently) and then scuffling broke out as the "Manker" was seized upon and then a full-scale punch up ensued. Jack stood in front with his arms wide apart shielding me from any harm. I kept jumping up to take a look over his shoulder at the fracas. Stewards were there in a jiff, quickly followed by police, the offending "Manker" was removed and put in his own block and it was all over as quickly as it started.

This was a welcome deviation from the game as by this time in the second half Arsenal were playing so badly with a defense so abysmal that they could just as well have cleared a space around the goal and guided the Manchester ball in for them. (This is the first symptom of football mania - you become an expert on things you know nothing about). All the excitement and hope disappeared and the morale of the Arsenal crowd and team just sank like a soufflé.

We lost the match big time. Jack was gutted at the result and ashamed because his team had played so naff for me. But I had had the most amazing time. Even the sad walk back to the tube with forlorn fans shuffling silently homewards, flanked by mounted police, was stunningly atmospheric. I can still smell the onions frying in the hamburger bars. I thought it was brilliant that they opened the turnstiles to the platforms and allowed everyone to travel free to keep the crowd moving.

The next day I was hoarse and my body ached. I reckon going to a football match is far more effective than a weekend at a health farm and much more fun. Can’t wait for the next big match. Mind you, the Gunners had better get their s**t together if they want to keep me as a fan. Come on Arsene!