Three weeks ago we heard of the sudden passing of one of our stalwart bloggers. Dandan had been a regular contributor and minder on the site for four years. His sage words were often a pick-me-up when Arsenal news was a bit gloomy. This is the first post he wrote for ArsenalArsenal back in March 2010 which tells us much of the man he was. It was an honour to have known him and we send his family our very best wishes at this sad time.

Monday 3^rd May 1971.  Just one day in a 66 year long life. Five children, 10 grandchildren and a couple of wives ago. A working life, a happy life, a fulfilled life, yet in all that life, that day, that Monday 39 years ago stands out clearly, a milestone, a marker to excitement, expectation, pride and above all friendship, togetherness and achievement.

It began early, after working the morning and fidgeting away an hour of the afternoon it was time. I climbed into my car, picked up my mate, one of four of us that travelled to all Arsenal games together. The other two plus my brother were travelling in the Ford Escort that was our real communal football vehicle. Our plan was simple we would meet up inside the ground.

We travelled the back doubles avoiding main roads, but it was soon abundantly clear that something was up; mid afternoon and even the side roads were busy. Eventually at about  4 o’ clock we found a road full of parked cars, with a police no parking cone at the end, quickly we parked the car with it’s front against the cone, jumped out, moved the cone to the back of the car and walked off.

White Hart Lane was where all my family’s loyalties lay, only I was the rebel, a gooner among all those spuds. We were on enemy territory, god and what a sight a queue of people 5 or 6 deep all round the ground and into the distance. We knew immediately, absolutely no chance to get in there by normal means. What to do? We headed for the front of the queue, passing thousands of people, hundreds of coppers. A plan was needed this was serious. Finally the main iron gates into the ground were reached, luckily they were still closed, 50 yards beyond them the turnstiles stood mockingly empty, inviting, waiting for the hordes in the endless queue. A line of police stood turning away anyone trying to join the queue.

Right by the main gate stands the White Hart Pub from which the ground gets its name. It was open, we went in and got a couple of half’s (part of the plan –  couldn’t waste money) and then stood outside casually leaning against the pub wall right by the gates, sipping our beers. At 5.30 the gates are unlocked and pulled open inwards. Immediately the people at the front of the queue, who have waited there overnight, rush forward scattering the line of police. We drop our glasses literally, join the rush, and sprint to the turnstiles, pay our money and we are through and in. We must have been two of the first 50 in the ground, as the man says don’t you love it when a plan comes together.

Not only are we in the ground, but also in the enclosure, people were pouring in. We felt desperate for our mates, knowing they had no chance of getting in as they had intended leaving work a bit later.

Then amazingly there they were, pushing through the crowd to join us, I had reckoned they’d be without my brother, a spud, although he knew this ground like the back of his hand.  In those days there was a press gate in one of the side roads, he was a regular there, a few quid in the attendants hand and he and they were through. 52,000 thousand locked out and we had all made it. They had just abandoned the car in a traffic jam, if it got towed, tough. It wasn’t they found it after the match and drove home.

The game was a blur with chances at either end, gradually we got on top, a 0 – 0 draw would be enough to win the league. Then with 3 minutes to go, Geordie Armstrong centered, Ray Kennedy leaped and headed home. Pandemonium, the stadium muted with tension till then, erupted. White Hart became Red and White Hart, every Spud seemed to disappear under a sea of scarves, hats and frantic, cheering, hugging, jumping Gooners.  The Spurs team went berserk kicking all and sundry the intention seeming to be that we would not field a full team in Saturdays cup final to take their ‘double’ record away. The referee saw what was happening and sensibly blew the whistle early. Where and how all the spuds disappeared to has puzzled me over the years, but the stadium from the moment the goal went in belonged to The Arsenal.

We left deliriously happy, found the car. No ticket, moved the cone and moved off listening to the radio singing and laughing. The normal 1hr journey home took 2 hrs but we never really noticed, what a day, what a night and the cup final still to come just 5 days away.

I had intended to end this post right there, with the championship won and the first leg of the 1971 double secured. But the act of writing it down after all these years, set me to thinking just how immense the events surrounding The Arsenal of the double year and that week in particular were in my life. Enlightening me above all to the importance of friendship and loyalty in a changing world.

First some background, as I said earlier I came from a family of Spuds, my earliest football memories are of being taken to WHL by my father (I saw Stanley Mathews play there, for Stoke I think) and the cup finals on TV. In those far off days the Cup Final was the only game live on TV, although before that you could see short highlights of it on Pathe News at Saturday morning cinema.

We then moved from London to Hertfordshire about a mile from what is now Beckingham Palace the home of David and Posh. So a trip into London for a carless family was an expensive undertaking and not taken often. For this reason as we got older the annual BBC Cup Final broadcast became a big event in our house. My 2 mates from school both Gooners would come along together with a gaggle of friends and family of the Spud variety.

Mum would move back and forth recharging cups and glasses and topping up the buffet she had provided, whilst we huddled around the TV. Then came the 1961 final when Dads dreams came true and Spurs did the double and the family partied long into the night. Us three Gooners of course the butt of every joke going. We were 17 at the time, apprentices or trainees, just able to afford to go to the home games at Highbury by train. Later I got a car and all games became available. But always the Cup Final at my parents home for my mates and I was mandatory.

Fast forward to 1971 double year, my parents have moved to Southampton, as Dads progression through the company required him to relocate. Then a week before Christmas the world changed, whilst travelling the dual carriageway that predated the M3 my dad’s car was hit by a lorry that came through the trees that lined the central reservation, he and his passenger died instantly.

I was devastated, my Dad and great mate gone. But my three Arsenal mates took over and made sure that I was accompanied to every Arsenal game that season and as they moved inexorably towards the double the sadness and realisation of the leg pulling and verbal I was missing with Dad grew.

Came that final week in May, Spurs on the Monday a euphoric, poignant day safely negotiated. Now because we had saved our programme vouchers, we also had our cup final tickets. But as the five days past I realised that I could not go to Wembley leaving my Mum alone down in Southampton, I needed to go and watch it with her. I gave my ticket to my mates and told them to give them to a Arsenal fan outside the ground.

They said nothing until Friday, our snooker night, when we met up they dropped the bombshell, they too had given their tickets away, and the faithful Escort all ballooned and ribboned up was parked outside and  bound for Southampton in the morning.

Needless to say it was a marvelous day tinged with sadness of course, Liverpool were overcome. Willow missed one on  the near post, Charlie lay on his back and waited his adulation, GG claimed a goal he never touched, whilst Eddy the real scorer couldn’t give a monkeys at the time, Frank at the final whistle, told the world we had xxxxxxx done it. Whilst we in the smart bungalow in Southampton watched it all on the big new colour Television that Dad had brought for my mum just 6 months previously.

It helped a lovely lady start to come to terms with her loss, but it taught me the meaning of true friends, enriching my life beyond belief and now all these years later as retirees, we still meet and greet and talk about our Arsenal days.

So I owe the Arsenal a great deal. Remarkably just that one word conjures up memories, of triumphs and disasters, but most of all it reminds me, that a common interest cemented four young men into lifetime friends.

Finally, may I say, as a newcomer, that as I read your posts, I sense that same feeling of comradeship, and respect for each other. Great game football, great club the Arsenal.

By dandan

There, I’ve said it.  I feel sick now, I shouldn’t have been forced to say such disgusting things.  But I blame the wonks at the Premier League, Sky and BT Sport.

The reason?  The Odious One was complaining about TV scheduling of this weekend’s big match against the scousers, which sees the Chavs having to play a massive league match on Sunday afternoon, ahead of the second leg of the CL semi final on Wednesday against Atlético Madrid.  Or as he put it:

“The fact that the match is on Sunday, I think that puts the problem not in my hands but in the hands of those who decide the game should be Sunday, not Saturday or Friday. We represent English football and are the only [English] team in European competition.

“Spain have four and give them all the conditions to try to have success. So I know what I would do. I would play the players who are not going to play on Wednesday. My priority is the Champions League. But I’m not the club. I have to speak to them.”

 And then he made the stunning suggestion that he might field a weak side against Liverpool in order to preserve legs for the Atlético match.  The match against Liverpool is anything but a dead rubber, with three sides genuinely still able to win the title.  Sky will have scheduled this match on the basis that it would be one of the games of the season, a battle of two of the giants at the top of the table.  So, the thought that Mourinho might sabotage the match, and potentially the run-in for the title, will have upset the TV bigwigs.  Of course, it would also cause blood pressure to rise at Man City and the PL headquarters, with the culmination of the season, and the whole sporting contest, potentially tainted.

 But Mourinho is right.  Why the hell are the TV companies able to screw up clubs’ preparations for massive midweek European games by their scheduling choices at the weekend?  The fact that competitors in other countries get sympathetic scheduling only underlines how obnoxious the situation is in England.

 Of course, everyone involved in English football is complicit – the extravagant wages Mourinho receives and is able to offer to players comes in large part from the TV subscriptions we shell out.  As fans, we also enjoy the benefits, with the best players in the world considering our league as a place to play.  The PL revolution, that propelled English football to the elite level of the world game, is the creation of Sky.  So why shouldn’t they (or BT Sport) get to choose when such a big match is to be played?

 As Arsenal fans, we know why.  How many times have we lost out when crappy scheduling has seen us play at noon on a Saturday after an away game many miles away?  Or on Sunday before a CL game?  It has definitely affected our games, which is unacceptable, so it’s only right that Mourinho should complain when his team are affected too.

TV companies are entitled to make scheduling choices, that’s the deal, but there are limits and when it affects the sporting contest itself, it’s gone too far.  I hope Mourinho follows through on his threat this Sunday, perhaps the TV companies would realise they need to change their ways.

Written by 26may

It’s funny how players come in and out of favour among the faithful.

Long-time observers of all things Arsenal have said the fans always need to have someone to vent their frustration on.

Right now it seems that that someone is Mikel Arteta.

Our plastic-haired Spaniard has been written off more times recently than the Greek national debt.

He’s past it. He’s too slow. He’s not big enough to play defensive midfield. He slows down our game. He’s too conservative in his passing choices. He strangles kittens. You name it, Arteta is guilty of it.

Such short memories some people have.

Last season he was a close call for Player of the Season and was a vital component of the hard-to-beat outfit we became in the latter stages of the campaign.

This season too he has always been there to perform the duties expected of him by the manager and his team mates.

Yes, he has had some less effective games but he has also had plenty of excellent performances, controlling the transitions from defence into attack; snuffing out opposition attacks and more.

Perhaps it’s because supporters know he is not naturally a DM that – when the team generally is underperforming – some are so quick to get on his back.

If even the player himself says he doesn’t enjoy the role then surely he must be a fish out of water, a square peg in a round hole?

Well, maybe, but only up to a point. How many people reading this reckon they are good at their job? Quite a few I imagine. And how many of those would rather be doing something more exciting/well-paid/exotic for a living? All of them probably.

The point being, just because you would rather do something else does not mean you can’t be good at what you are currently doing.

In my life the Arteta-bashing is very close to home. My eldest son really has it in for him at the moment. Every time poor old Mikel does something wrong my grown-up lad is on him like a ton of bricks. Yet whenever he does something good it seems to go completely unnoticed. It’s like my son has a form of Mikel Myopia that only lets him see the bad stuff and never the good.

I’ve taken to vociferously praising the Spaniard’s positive contributions just to make the point, but my son pretends not to hear (so we have established that he’s deaf and blind… and as a 21-year-old it comes with the territory that he’s also dumb. Proper chip off the old block).

Clearly Mikel Arteta is not a Patrick Vieira – but then who is, apart from the sainted Paddy himself?

But the role Arsene asks him to play means that most of his important work is of the unspectacular kind: the dirty work – and often painful too (as his tooth-jarring exploits against Hull demonstrated).

He is not a big man so I am often surprised how effective he is at winning tackles and headers. If you look through his stats you’ll find he always wins the majority of his contested moments in games.

And when he has the ball he knows how to use it, unlike some of the more muscular defensive midfielders plying their trade in the Premier League.

We will need his experience, skill and composure if we are to end the season in the top four and with a trophy under our belt – so let’s all get behind him.

RockyLives

If only …. If only we hadn’t lost at Stoke, had taken more risks against United, been braver at home to Chelsea, been luckier with the bounce of the ball home to City, not hit the woodwork vs Everton etc etc it would be us as Champions elect.  Instead it is Liverpool who watch their challengers fall away.

Mourinho blames the referees association for his clubs inability to win the title, could there be any truth in his childish peeve? Synchronicity, coming as it did on the same day Arnie wrote a post about anti-Arsenal bias!

Sunderland’s superb week highlights the uncertainty I love about football. No-one, not even the most rabid Sunderland fan (and many are rabid) could have predicted their results.

My problem is that I love it when teams given little chance to win do so against very strong opposition – except – when they win against us 😀 Which, in a very roundabout way, brings us to this afternoon; I would not be surprised to see Hull scramble their way to an undeserved 3 points against The Arsenal, the team who represent all that is good and just in the world.

Oh, shape up Raddy – there is nothing to fear but fear itself (unless you are facing an angry grisly bear).

Hull are a mediocre side who have had an outstanding season punching well above their weight. Arsenal are the team who can ruin all their fine work. Two victories over Hull are essential to bring our season to a successful conclusion.

  Enjoying the Fish Suppers at Hull

One has to be impressed with Steve Bruce’s work so far. Taking them up from the Championship and then establishing Hull as a PL side is fine work. And acting as mediator when the club has an “unusual” owner. How would you like it if Usmanov took over and wanted to re-name us The Arsenal Rockets”?

No need to write about the Hull team – 2 reasons – firstly, it is all in the media and secondly, I only know about a few of their players! The import of Jelavic and Long was inspired but once again raises the question about loan signings (more on that another day).

Are there any positive portents ahead of this game?

Well, the return of Ozil is huge. The return of Ramsey even bigger. The return of Flamini less so.  Podolski’s two goals on Tuesday should guarantee him a start but who gets dropped for Ozil and will Ramsey be allowed to play again so soon after a long term injury?

My team:

I know – no Ozil, but I would prefer to ease him back and give the young chap 30 minutes to bamboozle a tired Hull defence.

Kelsey has asked whether Cazorla and Ozil can play in the same team; I have similar concerns. And where can we fit Rosicky into this team? Or Jack and Theo?

I expect a difficult game but one which we can win. With Everton playing at home to a United team fighting for a Euro Cup place we have the chance to gain a significant advantage.

Let it be So.

written by Big Raddy

Morning Gooner’s,

As the title says, what tells us who is a good supporter? Many will say that a supporter who turns up for all of their teams home games is a real supporter, or the away supporter who travels. As the word states he pays for his ticket, whereby he supports. Would you say that that person is a better supporter than perhaps an oversea’s supporter, who can only get to games when and if he visits the country, but he still see’s his or her team on the paid for television.

Many supporters, or should I say fans, cannot afford to go to matches let alone travel huge distances, so how do we tell who is the most loyal of fans? Just recently because of some of our results many supporters are questioning the Owner, Manager, or the players, nothing unusual about that when results are not going our way, But some supporters are saying that they are not getting what they pay for, and they want change in the club.

Whether that change is for new players or a new manager or even to the extreme of a new owner has often baffled me. Just recently I read a supporter say that if we lose to Everton he will sell his Wembley tickets, I like to think that was a light hearted statement but why say it in the first place.

Many season ticket holders are fond of telling us, that they have held their tickets for many years, and in some cases even their Fathers or Grandfathers before them, Now that is what I call following in tradition, but if you are not happy with what you see, then why keep punishing yourself.

A football club boasts about how many supporters they have stretched all over the world, our tours have shown us that they are trying to enter the Asian Market and even the American Market, why do they do that, when they know they cannot get to games, because of sales of shirts and satellite television, computers all helps to boost income.

Looking over some of the blog world, I see a lot of supporters unhappy, many go as far as to write derogatory comments about the owner Manager or the players. Many are demanding change. Many’s the time I have read that supporters will not renew their season tickets, if change does not come about, while others will tell you how much they pay and for how long, as if that is how to judge a supporter in their eyes.

Supporting a football club should come from within, its just a feeling that the club you have supported all your life, runs through your veins, good or bad you just cannot get that out of your system, but if you go and complain every time you go, perhaps you should not go.

I have seen supporters with their black scarves on wielding placards depicting what changes they would like to see, Many will tell you that the owner or Manager doesn’t know what they are doing. Many will say how long they have held tickets for, and how much they are paying, and how they expect so much more.

I would say to some of these supporters, that no matter how many tickets they pay for, or however long they have held them, that those tickets are only rented, they are actually owned by the owner, and that he lets you rent them.

The man they are complaining to, is the man that owns the lot, and if they believe that the amount they pay makes them a better supporter than one that goes occasionally, means very little. It makes you no better or worse than an oversea’s supporter or somebody not allowed to go by finance or illness.

I would urge unhappy supporters to relinquish their rented tickets, pack your black scarves in the drawer, and allow the waiting list supporter to go and support in the right way, after all,  no one will miss you after a while, and others can support the team, club, Manager, or Owner in peace. At the end of the day if you have a really bad meal in a restaurant, you moan but you don’t go back.

xpectation is very high for an Arsenal supporter, many believe that Arsenal’s Position should be higher than it is, many believe that our empty cabinet should be over flowing, but how many other teams in this league feel the same, look at the scramble for a top 4 places.

Its my belief that 17 years in Champions league, and presently 4th in the league with 6 games to go is no reason for change at Arsenal, but many supporters ideals are very different to mine, what’s yours?

Written by Steve Palmer