WISHING ON A (SHOOTING) star

BY RICHEY ESTCOURT

I was 20 years old in 1997, and hadn't been going to that many Arsenal games in the previous few seasons, as I was only earning pin money from lousy jobs, if at all. By the summer of 1997, I'd settled into a job in an insurance office, which was incredibly boring, but a regular payday at least.

As I was working in London anyway, I took myself to Highbury for the first time in three years to see Arsene Wenger's new-look team play their first home game of the season against Coventry City.

It wasn't a spectacular game. Arsenal had yet to find the right balance of players in the team, and a few of the new players hadn't yet established themselves in the squad. The centre-half we'd signed (Emmanuel Petit) was being tested in midfield, with Gilles Grimandi filling in at centre-half.

The 2-0 victory was decently won, but in all fairness, Coventry weren't a match even for an Arsenal team in second gear. Their squad consisted of seasoned journeymen and long-standing professionals who had spent years playing against less talented players than Dennis Bergkamp and Patrick Vieira.

In many ways, it marked out a threshold between the 'old' Arsenal, and the 'new'. It was the beginning of the end of household names like Ian Wright (despite his two goals on the night) and David Platt, and their replacements had come from Wenger's old networks in France.

My most vivid memory of the night however, was outside Highbury Stadium after the match, in the queue for Arsenal tube station. I don't know why, but I looked up at the sky (what was visible of it in the urban lighting), and I saw a shooting star fly straight over Highbury Stadium. I don't think anyone else saw it, and I'm pretty sure I didn't imagine it. In all likelihood it was just a piece of space-debris meeting its fiery end, but I felt a slight superstition when I saw its trajectory directly over the stadium, from the North Bank to the Clock End.

Just as I was pondering whether or not this was 'a sign', I heard a fellow 'supporter' grumbling to his mates behind me. "If Wenger buys one more foreigner, that's it for me.  I'm going down to the Dons in future.  You don't win nothing with bloody foreigners!"

At the end of the season, when I was stood in the same spot watching the team parade their double trophies on an open-topped bus, I thought about that shooting star, and wondered if that guy did go to the Dons after all...

CHECKING OUT THE LIBRARY

BY LUCY CROSSLEY

After learning on Twitter that Carl Jenkinson's MySpace profile had been uncovered from the deepest darkest corners of the internet I was prompted to log into my own (long-forgotten) page - mostly to make sure that any embarrassing photographs had been well and truly hidden.

Scrolling through the blog section I came across a piece I had written about the last ever game at Highbury, way back in May 2006. I was still at university at the time, and my writing style left a lot to be desired, but reading through I couldn't help but grin at moments from the day I had long since forgotten.

Here it is, six and a half years on. (Warning - may contain hopes for the Champions League final...)

________________________

Current mood: contemplative. At around 4.45pm yesterday the final whistle blew at Highbury for the last time. From next season all us Gooners will be taking our new seats at Ashburton Grove and will be leaving behind 93 years of memories.

My dad, my sister and I were lucky enough to get tickets in the North Bank and to make sure that the day went smoothly we had to make sure that we did ALL of our little superstitions before the game.

Lunch in the noodle bar at Kings Cross, drinks in the Highbury Barn (where we were in the queue behind Alan Davies, aka Jonathan Creek, wearing the infamous "bruised banana" vintage away shirt) and buying fizzy sweets and jelly beans from the bloke near to the North Bank entrance.

You might think all that these rituals are rather sad but believe me, things can go badly wrong otherwise! Last season's home game against Manchester United is a case in point.

As we walked down Highbury Hill there was a carnival atmosphere. The giant Wenger, Henry, Bergkamp and Adams heads kept everyone entertained as fans tried to catch a glimpse inside the Marble Halls for the last time.

When we got to our seats we put on our special "I was there" shirts that had been left for every supporter. Normally on the last game of the season you have to hold up cards to "turn the stadium red and white", but the effect from the t-shirts was much more impressive as it lasted for the whole game instead of just 10 minutes at the start. 

The game itself was secondary to the occasion really. Arsenal's shoddy defending skills made the game a bit more balanced and even gave Wigan the lead, albeit for two minutes. Lets hope Barcelona don't get any free kicks in Paris eh? 

Referee Uriah Rennie obviously wanted to get his name in the history books as the last referee not to have a clue what he was doing at Highbury, although we ultimately benefitted from the penalty that allowed Thierry to become the final player to score a hat trick at the ground. I can't imagine what the events following the game would have been like had we lost, or if Spurs had beaten West Ham.

I think it was the perfect end to the season and the perfect farewell to Highbury. You might think "What’s the big deal? It's just a building", but those of you who have ever been to THOF will know that the ground has an atmosphere about it that just cant be matched. 

There's something about the art deco stands, the bowling green pitch, even the fact that it's like looking through a letter box if you're sitting at the back of the East or West Stand lower tier.  In Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch he sums up how the fans feel about the ground, when he compares the pitch to "our garden". 

Arsenal is like a family, and we're moving home.  The post-match party provided an excellent chance to say goodbye. Ian Wright stole the show at the Legends Parade by dancing around the pitch wearing his t-shirt just like all of the fans. I'm sure you could see Charlie George, the King of Highbury, shed a tear and Paul Davies had his video camera out to capture the day. 

The return of the marching band provided a sense of occasion and it was great to see Police tenor Alex Morgan make his return, note perfect, 30 odd years after he last graced the ground.  It was also reassuring to see that the Arsenal Supporters Club bloke who was supposed to be at every Saturday game throughout the season hadn't died after he unexpectedly stopped being a matchday feature earlier in the year. 

Perhaps the most moving part of the day was the period of reflection. For many people Highbury provided a chance to keep the memories of loved ones who used to attend matches alive.  Rather than have a period of silence, the fans burst into a spontaneous applause when images of departed friends were shown on the plasma screens. It was a celebration of everyone who'd had the chance to leave their mark on the ground, and on the Club, however small.

After Roger Daltry (who walked onto the pitch to cheers of 'who are ya?!) had, rather embarrassingly, tried to lead the crowd in a specially commissioned song, it was time to say goodbye. Peter Hill-Wood, Wenger and TH14 lead us all in the countdown, the fireworks started and the time at Highbury was over.

As each of the players were returning to the tunnel, Thierry Henry sat with Giberto in the middle of the pitch. Wouldn't you have loved to hear that conversation? I really hope it was along the lines of 'Ow could I leave arsenal? Zee fans they have the va va voom!'

A CHANCE ENCOUNTER

BY RICHEY ESTCOURT

My first visit to Highbury was August 15th 1987 for the first game of the new season. Arsenal had just won the Littlewoods Cup, and Liverpool, despite having missed out in a trophy the previous season, were very much the best team of the age. I was 10-years-old.

The first thing that struck me upon emerging from Arsenal tube station in Gillespie Road with my Dad was the shock of the colour and the noise. EVERYTHING was red and white and everyone was making a glorious racket.

In the mid-summer sunshine, the grass of Highbury was a bright green, which was so vivid compared to the images I'd only seen on TV (this is a generation before LCD or plasma, remember!), or in the monochrome action shots in the newspapers. 

On all four sides of the stadium was a solid wall of bright red and white flags, scarves, banners and t-shirts. This of course, was prior to the Taylor Report, so the goal ends of the stadium were entirely standing, swaying and swelling on the terraces.

Liverpool had two high-profile debutants in the game - England internationals John Barnes and Peter Beardsley, to complement their existing team made up from household names such as Bruce Grobbelaar, Alan Hansen and John Aldridge.

Arsenal's team had a young average age, with the likes of David Rocastle, Michael Thomas and Tony Adams still learning their trade alongside Kenny Sansom, David O'Leary and the mercurial Charlie Nicholas. For a 10-year-old in 1987, I thought it was like having a Panini sticker book come to life in front of me!

As it turned out, Liverpool won the game. Paul Davis cancelled out John Aldridge's opener, but shortly before full-time, Steve Nicol scored with a header from outside the box - something I'd not seen before, and I don't think I have since...

After the match, we loitered outside the East Stand entrance to the marble halls, watching the Liverpool players board their bus. They were all in understandably high spirits.  Peter Beardsley, for some reason, didn't join the Liverpool team on the bus - he strolled out into Avenell Road, chatted to me and my Dad for a bit, and signed my match programme, before heading off somewhere by himself.

The result wasn't important. The whole experience of the day was beyond anything I'd imagined. The trouble is, I then assumed that I'd get to meet players after every match at Highbury, and was mildly disappointed when I didn't!

Despite the hooliganism, they were great days. Tickets were fairly priced. Footballers were accessible, and ordinary people. Some compromise between those days and the safety of today's fan experience would be ideal, but sadly, it won't happen anytime soon.

THE MAGIC OF A HIGHBURY DEBUT

BY PAL-DIDRIK HOFF ROLAND

One of the gifts I received after finishing six months of compulsory training at a hospital pharmacy was cash to buy an Arsenal ticket. It was a kind gesture from friends and colleagues who, being Norwegian, had no idea how to actually get a ticket. At the time neither did I. All the same, to celebrate the completion of my training and to honour the gift, I travelled to London, never having been there before, with a friend (a Liverpool fan).

On match day we got on the tube and got off at the Arsenal station, naturally, where we rather quickly were offered tickets at an inflated price. It all went rather quickly for two newbies, as we ended up paying £45 a piece for two tickets together on the lower tier of The North Bank. Face value was £18. The name on the ticket (pictured above) has nothing to do with me or my friend, it just identifies my first seat at Highbury.

The match was Arsenal-Bolton, September 13th 1997. Having been a Gooner for 18 years, I finally stepped on to the terraces of Highbury for the first time. The sanctity I felt at that moment cannot be put into words; you simply have to experience it. It is one of those things you really only get to do once – and usually you have built it up in your mind for quite a while.

Arsenal were kind enough to mark the occasion by serving up a comfortable 4-1 win, with Ian Wright going the extra mile by scoring a hat-trick and in the process becoming Arsenal’s all-time top scorer flashing us his “179 Just Done It”-shirt. He did it twice in fact, he was a bit too eager after the first goal and displayed it when he’d only equaled Cliff Bastin’s record of 178. It’s fair to say that this first time didn’t mind too much! Another vivid, and weirdly fond, memory from goal 179 is of a Gooner at least twice my age in the next seat bear hugging me and taking me for a pirouette there on the terraces. I never got his name…

Since then a lot has happened on the ticketing front. Not only have Arsenal moved to a new and bigger stadium, but we also have the most expensive tickets in football. What we paid to the touts in 1997 would be considered cheap today. I would not encourage anyone to buy tickets outside the official channels, or for more than face value. I know a lot of you still would, and I would myself, especially considering that for me travels and accommodation would far outweigh the ticket cost anyway. The only thing I can say is that if you have to sell a ticket to a fellow fan, do not charge more than the actual cost to you. For the match below, we got our tickets through Arsenal Norway.

Seven and a half years later, I extended Dennis’ career by a year! That isn’t a lie, but as the night later proved Dennis did, I too had a trick up my sleeve: I brought two of my closest friends as Highbury debutants to what was very much assumed to be Dennis’ last Arsenal match at Highbury against Everton May 11th 2005.

One of my three-man army wasn’t a man at all, but my wife to be. She’d heard stories (not to mention being forced to sit through a whole “Centurions” DVD) about this man called Dennis since we had met some three years earlier. She missed him at her first Arsenal match which was in our home town (Trondheim, Norway) seven and a half months earlier, on which I have written another memory. She might have added some skepticism/realism to my rants, but was well aware that this man was something special. My other friend was very much aware of both The Arsenal and Dennis, having been a Gooner for decades.

As the tickets said, we were seated in the uppermost row on the upper tier of The North Bank. One might think that were bad seats, but as Gooners we all know: they were seats at Highbury, how much better can seats get? They were all the more appreciated given all three of us lived abroad and that Arsenal coverage was limited to a couple of hours on Pay TV and a basic match report, usually copied from an English tabloid, in the newspaper…thankfully the world, and more specifically the internet, has moved forward since 2005.

I probably don’t have to remind most of you, but in this match ALL my ranting about Dennis, was underlined – and vindicated, as if it needed vindication! Personally I don’t think I have ever seen a game so dictated by one player. It’s almost as if he knew this was his “interview” for his last one year extension. We sang “One more year!” with the Highbury crowd throughout the match, and Dennis showed us (not to mention Wenger) why. I’d have given him five years. Six if he’d wanted it.

Allow me to summarize:

8’: 1-0 van Persie (assist by Dennis)
12’: 2-0 Pires (attack started by a brilliant Dennis pass to Reyes)
37’: 3-0 Vieira (assist by Dennis)
Henry played through by Dennis, fouled for a penalty – not given.
50’: 4-0 Pires (Henry assist, from pass by Dennis)
70’: 5-0 Edu (penalty for Henry’s lob-to-hand)
77’: 6-0 Dennis
85’: 7-0 Flamini (Reyes assist).

As this list shows us, everyone involved in the goals from that match have since hung up their boots or left for pastures new. Actually that goes for the whole Arsenal team that night, including the substitutes. There was one player on the pitch who currently wears the red and white – Arteta was playing for Everton that evening!

Anyway, in keeping with the examples above, I’d heartily recommend that all Arsenal fans encourage supporters coming to their first match. Perhaps all the more so if they are coming from a good bit away...

WHAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG?

BY MARK WHITE

London: Sunday, 26 February, 2012 - 1:15pm

“Marcia is on Twitter…she tweets I believe. I’m not sure about the whole thing. Too much ‘look at me’ for my liking. Seems a bit odd…”

It was whilst drinking in the build-up to last season’s North London derby that I overheard these words.

There I was soaking up the atmosphere on the walk from the Holloway Road to the Emirates Stadium excited at the prospect of watching Arsenal in the flesh for the first time. Up to this point I’d not seen them play on anything other than Australian television.

I felt compelled to reply to the woman walking the same path as me:

"It’s funny you should say that, there was a time when I thought the same way and yet, without joining Twitter I quite simply wouldn’t be here today.

“I met my travelling companion and now good friend through Twitter. I met a whole connection of Arsenal fans that were incredibly generous with their time and advice as to how I might get tickets to this match through Twitter.

“I finally, truly, became connected with the club I’ve loved for a long, long time through Twitter. It’s a tool for a lot of good as well you know.”

“Well I never,” she replied. “Maybe I have the whole thing wrong. I do hope the boys put on a show for you today.”

It was a hope shared by nearly all of the fans flocking to the stadium but as us Gooners well know, you never can tell what you are going to get from The Arsenal on any given day, and although we are all aware of the ending the story, clearly it did not start here…

*****

Monday, 2 May, 2011

“I know you asked if I’d go in a couple of years mate but it’s now or never. Life’s moving on for me and my opportunity is now.”

I had lived Arsenal’s ups and downs vicariously through the back and forth tweets of the "Aussie Gooner" a personality I’d discovered upon joining the social networking website. I was well aware that he wanted to make the trek to the Emirates in the coming few years. For me though, the time was now. His response?

“Of course I’ll go now mate, this will be amazing! I’m sure I could make it work.”

Nothing beats like-minded optimism.

“Awesome, what could possibly go wrong?” was my simple and effective reply.

It was on.

*****

Melbourne: Wednesday, 8 February,  2012

“I really hope you like what I’ve planned for our European trip mate, you’ve been very relaxed about it.”

Guiltily sipping my airport beer, fully aware of the fact I’d contributed little to any planning, and having put large faith in someone I’d met only occasionally to navigate our way around Europe I was perhaps more relaxed about the situation than I should have been.

“Don’t worry about it mate, what you’ve planned looks amazing and we’ll have nothing short of a ball. Look, something likely will go wrong at some stage but it’ll be no big drama, everything can always be sorted out. Besides, we’re off to see the Arsenal, can you believe it?”

*****

Berlin: Wednesday, 15 February,  2012

*BZZZZZZZZZZZZZ*

“Nobody’s answering mate, can you ring them?”

Trying to check in to our Berlin apartments on time was of the utmost importance. The Arsenal were about to kick-off against AC in Milan for the first leg of the Champions League round of 16 match and we simply had to find a pub to watch it in. Life or death stuff. Things going wrong stuff…

“I got onto her, she’ll be here in half an hour”.

“What will we do?”

“Pray to Dennis that it’s shown on German Terrestrial TV”.

Bergkamp be praised, it was. I needn’t remind Gooners of the score. Suddenly the club we had come halfway around the world to see were in disarray, practically removed from European competition and silverware altogether.

“I guess something had to go wrong eventually, such smooth sailing until now”.

“Not at all mate, don’t you see? Not many will want to go to the second leg, we’re practically guaranteed tickets to it now!”

There’s a lot to be said for blind optimism.

*****

London: Saturday, 25 February, 2012 - 2:00pm

Wherever we went in Europe I was left in awe and wonder of the many incredible churches and cathedrals. Naturally, when we happened upon one such religious landmark in N5 we gazed with a sombre silence, treating the moment with the reverence it deserved. I’m sure it would have been quite something to attend a game at Highbury…

There of course other historic landmarks to see so it was with heavy hearts we moved on…to a world of wonder, delight, and Guinness on tap – The Gunners Pub. This was our Christmas Eve, the autographed photos and playing cards adorning the walls were the presents under the tree we could see but not yet touch. One more sleep and the real thing would be ours. One more sleep.

*****

London, Sunday, 26 February, 2012 - 12:15pm

We arrived at the Tollington Hotel, but despite being surrounded by fellow guests draped in the same red and white uniform we still felt like strangers in a foreign land. That was until we met the man whom we had come to visit, prominent Arsenal fan and blogger Dave. We started with the small talk (you lot can keep the Ashes, Dave!) but simmering under the pleasantries was the knowledge of the importance of the day.

“Just what are the ramifications of a loss today Dave?”

“Well quite simply I believe it’s Arsene Wenger’s job. Losing today is conceding third to the Lilywhites and seriously endangering our participation in next season’s Champions’ League. It will be 30 million pounds of revenue gone. That is what is at stake today. It would be a disaster we would not soon recover from and I doubt Arsene would be the appropriate man to rectify the situation”.

They were strong words made all the stronger by the fact that Dave was an unashamed admirer and defender of Wenger on his blog to the point where he drew criticism. For him to say those things, well, you knew he meant them. So I steeled myself with a firm belief.

“Then we will win today Dave because I don’t fancy those consequences. We’ll win, and we’ll win well. Nothing’s going wrong on our watch, you can trust the Aussies!”

*****

London, Sunday 26 February, 2012 - 2:00pm

We’d survived incredibly dodgy budget Soviet airlines, gastroenteritis in tropical Bangkok and sub-zero temperatures in snowy Budapest. We’d even survived a visit to Auschwitz, albeit not without being haunted by the place.

At 2pm in sunny North London though we were suffering. Arsenal were 2-0 down to Tottenham Hotspur.

It didn’t matter that from our vantage point we’d played well; far better than them actually. It didn’t matter that one of their goals was the result of an ill-gotten gain. It didn’t matter that there was always the next match…for us, there wasn’t.

This was our one, our all, and our everything, and it appeared that something had indeed “possibly gone wrong”.

I could see it in my friend’s eyes, the tears welling with the emotion, distress and upset that this brought. All I could do was offer a pat on the thigh and a muffled: “Don’t worry mate, we’re going to win 3-2”.

It was a sentiment I offered with no conviction or belief whatsoever until moments later something quite wonderful happened.

Bacary Sagna scored.

The excellent Kieran Gibbs showed that the team wasn’t going to quietly accept their fate. He sprinted to retrieve a ball that had cannoned off the post from a van Persie strike, played it to Mikel Arteta who in turn curled a delightful ball to the man who epitomises what this club is about so he could twat it home with his head and send us into utter delirium.

All under our very noses.

Minutes later, Robin was to produce a truly special piece of skill that terrified would-be challengers before curling the ball beyond the despairing dive of Friedel and into the bottom corner of the net.

Again, under our noses. I have never experienced pandemonium like it. Ooh to be a Gooner indeed.

I needn’t bore you with the details of the second half; you were either watching it live or saw it afterwards. But just as we had no way of choosing to draw the curtain on a poor Arsenal performance had we desired to, we could neither have hoped in our wildest dreams to have attended that game, one that will be remembered as long as the Emirates hosts football. The game of the season no less. A game worth travelling halfway around the world for.

*****

We were due to return to London for the second leg of the AC Milan tie and a league game against Newcastle but funnily enough, I knew I had attended my one and only Arsenal game. I can’t explain it, a feeling in my bones I guess.

Sadly I was right. Something was always bound to go wrong eventually, I just didn’t anticipate it being floodwater through my pharmacy back home in Australia. I never did get to attend those games so I will leave all credit for the Aussies influencing further famous Arsenal victories to my good travel mate Scotty, yet I certainly don’t regret having to miss those wonderful matches.

You see, Arsene has long said he does not look at passports when it comes to Arsenal players, merely what they are capable of. So when I toured the Armoury and made a single purchase of a Gunnersaurus doll I did so safe in the knowledge that whether boy or girl, my baby that was due in September would one day play on the famous Emirates pitch if they were good enough. And if not? They could watch the games with their dad.

*****

Last week my baby boy was born and I'm full of all the excitement and joy that fatherhood brings. I may well never watch my child play for Arsenal, but I can always one day take them to the Emirates to watch our new heroes first hand. Fair consolation don’t you think?

It’s something to really look forward to in the next phase of my life because after all that came before and is yet to come I can still ask myself that one simple question.

What could possibly go wrong?

RESTORING BELIEF

BY GUDNI GUDJONSSON

A new season may have started, but memories of last year's highs and lows still linger fresh in the memory. 

As we all know, it didn't start well. After the sale of Fabregas and Nasri and the massacre at Old Trafford, it's fair to say I, like many Gooners, just wanted to shut my eyes and never open them again. I was repeatedly taunted by my mates, most of whom were United supporters.

It got to a point where my passion for football was so drained that when I sat down to watch a match the glorious sense of anticipation, which I usually enjoyed, had gone. It was a dark time in my life as an Arsenal fan. I can’t even imagine how you guys that live in England and have season tickets must have felt.

Anyways, enough of this, we all know that Arséne Wenger acted on the final day of the transfer window and the matches that followed clearly showed that we had a team after all.

After the final game of the season at against West Brom, and with a place in the Champions League secured, I began reminiscing about the best moments of the season. I narrowed it down to five, although at least ten sprung to mind…

29 October, 2011 – Van’s the Man at Stamford Bridge

Robin van Persie, what a player he is. Last season there were moments when I simply thought “How on earth did he do that?!?” He was simply amazing. His brace against Stoke at the Emirates, the free-kick against Sunderland, that marvelous goal against Everton on our 125th Anniversary and the goals against Liverpool at Anfield.

There is though one match where he really stood out for me…Chelsea vs Arsenal. I was in Norway visiting my sister-in-law at the time and not particularly optimistic ahead of kick-off. Our recent form at Stamford Bridge had not been good and I thought we had little chance of a draw, let alone three points.

When Frank Lampard put them one up I was even more pessimistic – thoughts of Old Trafford came flooding back. But then Aaron Ramsey put Gervinho through with a perfectly weighted pass. The Ivorian found himself one-on-one against Petr Cech and instead of scoring himself he found Robin van Persie on his left hand side for a simple tap in. It was a lovely goal and the pass from Ramsey was pure class.

Like the season as a whole, the match was a rollercoaster and just before half-time John Terry restored Chelsea’s advantage. We responded well, André Santos equalised soon after the break. He was the unlikeliest of scorers, he shouldn’t have been on the pitch after a terrible opening 45 minutes! Soon after, a fine goal from Theo Walcott saw us take the lead for the first time in the match. How he scored, I still don’t know.

It all seemed too good to be true. Of course, as the minutes ticked down Juan Mata stunned us with a great long-range goal to level the game again. I felt angry. Why couldn’t we hold onto a lead? Thankfully, there was a happy ending...

Watching John Terry fall on his arse as he went to control Florent Malouda’s back pass was hilarious, that it allowed Robin van Persie to skip through and score to put us 4-3 was even better! I screamed so loud, jumping around the living room as the ball went in. We’d done it, we were going to win…but there was more to come.

A good pass from Mikel Arteta to his left and a thunderous drive from Robin van Persie sealed the Dutchman’s hattrick. We'd scored five goals and had three points. This match showed the team’s desire and at the end you could see just what it meant to the boys. It was a great day and I never get tired of thinking about that match…especially the fourth goal.

9 January, 2012 – The Return of the King

In January we were treated to the return of a legend. Speculation had been rife for weeks before the club confirmed on 6 January that Thierry Henry had signed on a month long loan from New York Red Bulls. When I read the news I was so happy; my boyhood hero had returned! To see Thierry in Arsenal colours again was just amazing. We had seen Sol Campbell and Jens Lehmann return but this was something else. It was Thierry Henry, our record goalscorer and the best player to ever play in the Premier League.

His ‘debut’ was to be in the FA Cup against Leeds United at the Emirates. He started on the bench, but as the game wore on and we struggled to break down our stubborn visitors it became obvious we were going to need Henry’s help. 

He got his chance in the 68th minute. Marouane Chamakh, who’d been invisible, came off and our new No.12 came on. The Emirates rubbed its collective eyes in disbelief. The atmosphere was rocking. I watched this game at a pub here in Iceland and I had a funny feeling he’d score the moment he took to the field.

Within ten minutes the dream became a reality. Spotting an Henry run made behind the Leeds defence, Alex Song slipped a perfect pass into the box. In that moment everything stopped. Thierry took two touches, opened up his body and coolly slotted the ball into the far corner with his right foot. It was his trademark finish. The crowd exploded with joy. The King had announced his return.

I wish I could’ve been there that night. His celebration showed how much it meant to him and at the final whistle when he held his arms up in the air. He was at home. He was with the club that he loves so much. As he said afterwards: “It was my first goal as a supporter.”

4 February, 2012 – Seventh heaven against Rovers

Every season I try to make it to Arsenal at least once. I had been thinking about going to the North London derby in late February but when I discovered that Thierry Henry wouldn’t play that game, I decided that Arsenal’s match against Blackburn Rovers might be a better option. The next challenge was getting tickets.

I contacted one of my followers on Twitter, @Catsarse_, and asked him if he knew of any spares going. A few days later he reported that he’d got me two; one for me, one for my girlfriend. We decided to meet at The Arsenal Tavern two hours before kick off.

It was a great day. We arrived early at the stadium around 10am and I treated myself to an away shirt at the Armoury. After that it was off to The Tavern to meet this good lad. He handed over the tickets, we had a few drinks, chatted Arsenal and then it was time to take our seats in the North Bank upper. 

It didn’t take long before we were celebrating. Robin van Persie opened the scoring inside two minutes after a good run by Theo Walcott. We were all over Blackburn, but just past the half hour mark Morten Gamst Pedersen leveled with a great free-kick. This was not happening I said to myself.

We promptly took it up a gear. Another Theo assist saw Van Persie score his second of the game. Then Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, who was impressive from the start, bagged his first Premier League goal. Running onto a pass from his captain, he rounded the keeper and tucked the ball home to put the Gunners 3-1 up at half-time.

We didn’t let up in the second 45 minutes. Arteta converted after a Van Persie corner was cleared, then Oxlade-Chamberlain bagged his second. There was more. Robin van Persie completed his hattrick from a Coquelin assist to take the score to 6-1. Surely we weren’t the same team who days before had missed a hatful of chances at Bolton? 

Then in the last home game of his return Henry, on as a sub, got his chance to get on the scoresheet. There was barely seconds left in injury-time when Van Persie rolled the ball to the Frenchman inside the box. Via a deflection off Scott Dann the ball nestled in the back of the net. It has since been deemed an own goal, but at the time I didn’t care. In my mind it will always be Thierry’s. A 7-1 win and a wonderful day at the Emirates.

After the match I walked around the stadium to see the statues of Tony Adams, Herbert Chapman and Thierry Henry. The statue of Adams is my favourite. I was at Highbury when he scored that goal 14 years ago. You can read all about it in my previous entry. I don’t know what it is but every time I visit The Emirates Stadium...I get this feeling as if it is my first time. There’s something in the water or the beer, I don’t know. There’s a feeling that I can’t describe when I take my seat and see the pitch and watch the players warming up. The chants from the home crowd, the joy when we score and the happiness when we take all three points. It is just amazing.

26 February, 2012 – Sagna starts the comeback against Spurs

The sun was shining and there was everything to play for when Tottenham visited the Emirates for the second North London derby of the season. Our neighbours were 10 points ahead of us in the League and were happy to taunt us  with their “Mind the Gap” chants – you almost couldn’t blame them, for the first time since 1995 it looked like they might finish above us in the table.

Even though I was only watching on TV I could tell the Emirates was rocking and the boys were up for the challenge. Suddenly that all changed as Louis Saha put Spurs in the lead after five minutes. Having just lost to AC Milan and Sunderland away, it looked like it might be one of those days…all the more so when the referee awarded a penalty after the Saha was felled in the box. Adebayor (I hate saying his name) tucked the ball home to double the advantage. The Arsenal side looked like they were still in the dressing-room.

But then something happened. Robin’s equaliser was great, Rosicky’s effort clinical and Theo’s brace amazing. However, none of the above would have happened had Bacary “Mr. Consistent” Sagna not said, “enough is enough” and headed the home to start the comeback.

The team grew in confidence and took the bull by the horns – each player fighting for the other. Spurs couldn’t deal with Arsenal that afternoon. The midfield was ours, the defence that looked shaky at the start became rock solid, while the forwards were ruthless. We scored five! It was probably our best game since Chelsea away. What could’ve been a 13 points gap was instead just seven.

Sagna’s goal was not the best goal of the match but it was great to see how his efforts sparked life into the rest of the team. It was a great match on a great day and as Sagna himself later stated:“In our own stadium, against the enemy, we could not lose.”

8 April, 2012 – Arteta sinks City

Coming at a vital stage of the season this match was of great significance to both teams. Arsenal needed three points to widen the gap on Tottenham while Man City needed a win to maintain their title challenge. Pre-game, the focus was on Samir Nasri...hardly surprising.

From what I can remember we were largely in control in the first half, although chances were few and far between. Our best effort was a Van Persie header which was accidently blocked on the line by Thomas Vermaelen.

Mario Balotelli was wreaking havoc, but not up front. The Italian studded Alex Song on the knee in a challenge which was more akin to assault. The linesman was in a good position and the fourth official as well but somehow Mario wasn’t red carded. It was a disgrace. 

In the second half it was the same story. We continued to dominate proceedings, but still couldn’t break the deadlock. Robin had a goal disallowed for offside and it felt like we may have to settle for a point. It felt like ‘typical Arsenal’ – long periods of possession, but no penetration. Then, with only a few minutes left, Mikel Arteta pounced on a loose ball by David Pizarro. The Spaniard strolled forward ten yards and then struck a thunderous shot. It was past Joe Hart in the blink of an eye and was, in my mind, a candidate for goal of the season.

The stadium erupted with joy and I celebrated the goal like Iceland had won the World Cup or something. In injury-time things got worse for City with Balotelli finally getting his marching orders for another nasty challenge, this time on Sagna. When the whistle went, it was nice to reflect that in football, money isn't always everything!

______________

As I mentioned earlier this is my second entry for The Arsenal Collective. Last year when Arsenal hit a hard patch it was always nice to check in and read stories from fellow Gooners all around the world revelling in the glory days. Don’t worry I'm sure they will come again. In Arséne we trust, after all! I want to end this entry of mine with words that is so descriptive about our club. “Form is temporary class is permanent.”

Up the Gooners! Greetings from Iceland

MY PANACEA

BY ADENIYI LAWAL

I have had two near death experiences on account of supporting the Arsenal, and they both stem from goal celebrations. This write-up is the first of two parts…

Wednesday 17th May, 2006 – the day of the Champions League final and Arsenal’s chance to finally win Europe’s top honour. It was a day that was supposedly written in the stars. A team with French blood running through it playing in Paris on the same ground that eight years earlier had seen two Gunners win the World Cup. Surely it had to be our lucky ground? 

I started the day with my head hanging off the edge of my bed as I called work to tell them I wouldn’t be making it in on account of how rough I felt. Once I’d sorted myself a day off, I treated myself to a large breakfast and began watching the build-up to the match on Sky.

The wait was killing me. I was impatient to say the least. By noon, I couldn’t contain myself any longer and headed to my local. In a nutshell, I spent the afternoon nursing pint after pint of Guinness nervously anticipating the most glorious night in Arsenal’s history. As kick-off drew closer I was joined by a few of the lads from my five-a-side team – thankfully all Gooners.

The pub was heaving with supporters in red, redcurrant and blue and yellow shirts. Conversations were loud, songs louder and the atmosphere was thick with Gooner solidarity as the six screens in the former Bingo hall flickered.

Every Arsenal fan was aware of the quality side awaiting Arsene Wenger’s men. Boasting strikers Ronaldinho and Eto’o, Barcelona also boasted many of the side that would eventually buttress their superiority in world football. Still, we had reached the final on the merit of our talent, desire, and effective execution of the manager's game plan from the round of sixteen. We were entitled to our optimism, and optimistic we were.

As time wore on, I kept downing the black stuff and by kick-off I was on my eighth pint.

We all know how it started: fast-paced, competitive, both sides seeking a breakthrough quickly. Within the first three minutes, Henry had conjured two goal chances.  One tested Valdes from close range; should he have lobbed it over the keeper? The second from distance was easily saved by a keeper I generally rate as a six out of ten. His sharpness on that day was closer to a nine.

Soon after Eto’o went through on goal from a Ronaldinho pass. Big Jens Lehmann reacted swiftly but he wasn’t quick enough as the Cameroon hitman nipped the ball past him before getting clattered. The ball rolled free and was passed into the back of the net only for play to be called back. A free-kick was awarded and our mercurial man between the sticks was sent off. Only 19 minutes had passed.

Wenger had a quick decision to make. An outfield player had to be sacrificed for Manuel Almunia to come on; Robert Pires was that man and he trudged off disgruntled in what turned out to be his final appearance as a Gunner. Our new keeper survived the ensuing set piece.

A tough job had just got even more difficult. The players knew they were going to have to dig deep to achieve the result we all wanted. They rose to the task, buoyed by Henry's relentless harrying of the opposition back four, and we were encouraged by their fortitude.

Attack being the best form of defence, Eboue surged forward on the right flank and was brought down for a free-kick. The ball was played into the box by Henry and Sol Campbell towered high to power the ball home with his head. There was nothing Valdes could do about that one. 

I went crazy. I’m sure every Gooner on the planet did in that moment. A shower of alcohol drenched me as pints were thrown in the air. I jumped up and down like a lunatic, and I didn't stop. I carried on in a frenzy until...

…until I could hear my heart pounding in my head. It was racing so fast I dared not tempt fate!

A voice in my head called me to order, urgently telling me to slow down. I stopped for a few seconds, calmed myself down and had a surreal moment where I reflected on how close I’d just come to being wheeled off in an ambulance.

It took a while to refocus, but as the rain poured down in Paris I watched us ride our luck until the end of the first half.

The second half commenced, and 45 minutes to glory beckoned. Barca were as desperate for parity as we were to prevent it. We were soaking up the pressure and relying on the counter attack. Ronaldinho was being frustrated, and whilst Henry was having better success skipping past their back line, Valdes was equal to the task.

There was a poignant moment late in the 73rd minute, when Henry earned a corner and he was so spent that he had to squat and take a breather before playing it. 17 minutes plus added time until glory. Nail-biting stuff...yet we were to be undone by a substitution that saw Henrik Larsson come on and deftly assist Eto'o for a heart-breaking 78th minute equaliser.

We were running out of gas, our optimism was melting away quicker than a dropped ice-lolly on a sunny pavement. I was keeping my fingers crossed, hoping that we would ride the game out 'til extra time.

In my desperation, I remembered my little nephew wearing the Arsenal shirt I bought him on the day we put seven past Everton in the previous season. I found myself ringing my sister and urging her to make him put the shirt on, for luck.

I had barely hung up when Larsson produced another assist for Belletti's near-post strike that gave Barcelona the lead and eventual victory. Our team was deflated. We were crushed.

I was not in a good place and nearly took my anger and frustration out on the solitary Chelsea fan present there and then. How dare he punch the air in celebration at the final whistle.

I rallied departing Gooners and we waited outside the pub for the imposter. I paced back and forth at the exit, drawing hard on a cigarette that someone had offered me as if I were a gang leader; I don't even smoke. The harsh realisation that I was about to instigate an assault suddenly dawned on me. It was totally out of character for me and not something I’d seen at Arsenal – on the whole our fans had a decent track record of good behaviour.

I felt my mobile go off in my pocket and I automatically took the call. It was my girlfriend offering me a shoulder to cry on. Crossing the road as a I spoke to her I took up a vantage point opposite the pub where I could see my huddle of angry mates ready to vent their fury. I knew I had to put a stop to what potentially could unfold.

I crossed back to the front of the pub and addressed ‘my’ troops. “Let’s go home. We let our football do the talking and we live to fight another day.” With those words I walked off, not looking back until I was about 25 yards away.

I turned around to observe that the lads were already dispersing, and I breathed a drunken sigh of relief, finally laughing at the sequence of the day's events and the hollow reality of my disappointment. I walked on for another 45 minutes to my girlfriend's; she was there at the door, and we said little as we embraced for a long moment.

She was my panacea that night, like no-one else on earth could ever be. I finally kicked my shoes and clothes off and blacked out until morning.

Fast forward fourteen months, I am standing at the altar in a small Devonian church, in a grey pinstriped suit, silver satin tie and silver wristwatch.  As I pledged myself to my wife-to-be, my pride was in the sterling silver Arsenal cuff links she had bought me.

We have lived together in harmony ever since. This is why for me; Arsenal will always and forever be Victoria Concordia Crescit.