I am indebted to Yankee Gooner, one of the people I follow on Twitter, who reminded me of this little gem from Fever Pitch:

How could Nick Hornby suggest that back in the dim and distant anyone could possibly devote so much time and obsession to supporting a team that on the face of things they clearly hated?

It seems contrary to any logical behaviour and surely no one feels like this now, especially as there are so many choices of teams to watch on the TV, so many different forms of entertainment; if you think your team are rubbish, then either change your team, or your pastime. I suppose back then there wasn’t that much choice, live football didn’t happen on TV, so if you wanted to follow a team you were pretty much chained to the local club. If you were lucky in the Post Code lottery, you grew up close to Liverpool, or Arsenal, or Manchester United: unfortunate and you were left irrevocably chained to Oldham, Millwall or Portsmouth.

For on the face of things there is nothing rational about such behaviour, about hating so passionately the thing you are meant to love, and it beggars belief that anyone should behave like this nowadays in an era where quite frankly we have never had it so good (and I speak with some authority as I remember the three day week, the power cuts, the football specials and those pitches, shorts and haircuts – particularly the Baseball Ground and Charlie George for some reason). Perhaps however this masochistic impulse is deeply ingrained in the football fan, and looking at the responses on the various Arsenal Twitter feeds, and listening to some of the crowd reactions at the Emirates it would certainly seem to be alive and well in 2014. As far as I can tell, some sections of The Arsenal’s support are exactly like Fan 1: we have been top of the league most of the season, and they still think we are rubbish. How odd to be like that, and how agonisingly self-defeating, but the answer, I think, lies in his last line: to live in hope is all well and good I suppose, but it tends to have a terrible effect on your experience of the present, as almost by definition its suggestion that things must be better in the future also confirms that things ain’t great right now.

Especially so, of course, if your present existence isn’t all beer and skittles – and for so many that is the unfortunate situation. Few of us are true masters of our own destiny. Instead we are forced to work for others in jobs we do not enjoy, if we are lucky enough to have jobs at all. The daily grind eats into the soul, each repetitive task taking us further and further away from all that we thought we were promised in childhood, when everything seemed so rosy and full of possibility. Small wonder then that the fame and fortune as offered by a lottery win or X-Factor success looms so large in the hopeless dreams of the rank and file. And that is where the football club comes in, for each week it also offers an escape from reality and the illusion of success – but actually a much more tangible one. Each match is keenly anticipated and planned for, teams are picked, tactics debated. Those of a certain age believe they are the manager, younger ones the players.  Briefly, the football fan owns the team, for his ticket or his TV subscription (items often dearly bought and involving sacrifice elsewhere) means he has invested in the club just as surely as the millionaire owner or the board of directors have done. All is set fair – let the good times roll! Momentarily we are invincible. The stadium is full of glamour, the latest top signing a beyond-human thoroughbred, the sense of belonging as the anthemic hymns belted out palpable. This is indeed the Promised Land, and giddy with anticipation the cares of our lives fade away, for we are by far the greatest team the world has ever seen.

Except most times they don’t of course. A bad decision, a moment of brilliance from the other team, an all too human error from our champion reminds us that actually everything is shit. We are, after all only mortal, our champions have feet of clay, and if work wasn’t bad enough already we know that on Monday every other fan in the world will be mocking us, buoyed and fed as they are by the sensationalist headlines that await every reverse, and extra-especially every failure to be outstanding from The Arsenal. It doesn’t matter that overall we are doing really rather well, that we are infinitely better off than every other club in the UK bar possibly two financially doped, but oh so beatable rivals; the fact remains that our dreams (however unrealistically) have been shattered. If you are lucky enough (and I can’t believe I am just writing this, because that is the weirdest definition of lucky you will ever see) to know that everything is terrible anyway, you will think something along the lines of “oh well, never mind, how foolish of me to think we might beat Barcelona or Bayern” and just get on with your real life: if however all of your hopes are pinned on the team, and if you were foolish enough to believe that one day that team would unload all good into your life, then of course you will be beyond angry, for your sense of betrayal will be absolute.

And so you resort to saying that they are rubbish, that they were last year, and that they will be next year too. If you are old-fashioned you will share this view with yourself and maybe a mate or two. If you are modern you will broadcast this betrayal of these fancy pants to the wide world you imagine will be listening on your various social platforms.  For a moment you will hate your club and its players (especially the fancy ones that promised so much), because they have just reminded you of how much you hate yourself. But hatred is surprisingly close to love, and, as they say, hope springs eternal, and there is already the next game to look forward to….

Thanks to  @foreverheady for today’s article.

I was about to rack my brains and come up with an article about yesterdays game, full in the knowledge that most will have seen it and read about it already. However, I saw the post by Zim Paul and thought “that’s what I should be writing” So here it is .

“Sometimes a game is truly decided by a goal, bigger than the game as it were, and so deserves such accolade. This was not one of those. It was of course a goal of the season contender. But it was a defensive performance of heroic proportions against a Spurs side that needed this win, and whatever it took to do it. Make no mistake this was Spurs actual cup final, a do or die affair and they played accordingly; we have a few more, oh 11 more “cup finals” all told, I believe.

The Arsenal team itself (if the Ox interview is any reflection, and he is such a straight talking bloke I think it was) was disappointed with the level they played and mistakes they made, but did not find the result lucky or incongruous. Now that’s worth everything! Because that says more about this team than anything else.

Last time we had a “definitive” run of matches, which was like yesterday (Feb), we started badly, had some outrageous bad luck, then picked ourselves up, then stumbled. This time we have a definitive tricky run, now half way through, we remain unbeaten (H A A and have conjured 6 for and 2 against). As Frank says, everyone and their dog under-estimates our side and its combination of crisp creativity and bloody resilience, and that’s exactly the way we like it. Look at Liverpool! Look at City! And everyone’s money is on Chelsea anyway. This is a very, very good sign. Hope it continues.”

I would just like to add that its beyond annoying that when other teams play as we did yesterday , we are told “when you can play like that and win ,it means you can win the title”

Yet when Arsenal do just that its “you cant play like that and win the title”.

Odd, very odd.

Today we revisit a classic tale where Frank looks back, more in sorrow than in anger, to re-tell a chilling tale of a long-lost summer of love, terrible betrayal and lots of super furry animals. 

Today’s page turner …

I was mugged in Seven Sisters.

To be accurate I was attacked in Seven Sisters since nothing was stolen.

Cold bloodedly gratuitously attacked.  A summer afternoon several decades ago spent with a friend and I was heading home to Tufnell Park.  It was an early evening in July but I could hardly see as I turned into the tunnel heading for the tube, eating sausage and chips.  Out of nowhere something hit me on the back of the head and just as I turned, a fist hit me in the mouth.  I fell to the ground in a daze and the protagonists proceeded to kick the living shit out of me.

There was a lot a ‘fackin’ this’ and ‘kantin that’ as the boots went in and afterwards just the sound of nasal snickering.  Before I passed out I caught a glimpse of two of them.  One in white trousers and a bowler hat with ‘Tottenham Droogies’ written across the back.  The other had calf-length faded jeans, docs, white tee shirt, braces …. and a tattoo on his forearm.

A tattoo of a cock and ball.

I must have been out for a while because when I woke up, the ends of the tunnel were dark.  The reek of urine and unwashed bodies was only just bearable.  I was surrounded by squashed chips and, nestling in the gutter by the wall with not a bite out of it, was my sausage.  My head hurt like hell, split lip, bumps and bruises all over but I seemed to be OK.

I’d got away with it.

Could have been killed.  Could have been maimed or paralyzed for life.  Thankfully I had done what most blokes who are being kicked in the head do, I protected my privates.  Death is preferable to castration.

I had survived.

Slowly I got up.  I just wanted to get home.  Brushed off the fag ends, chewing gum, dog shit.  Stretched out my arms and then my legs, moved my head from side to side.  Tested my aching bones.  Nothing broken.  Lets go home, Frank.  Then someone behind me coughed.

I spun round afraid that they had come back to finish me off.

But there standing in front of me was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.  She had on an ankle length yellow dress and sandals.  She had long, long tresses of red hair and her smile was extraordinary; it could fill a room, or, in this case, a tunnel.  Her smell was intoxicating and as she touched my face with her hand I just knew that she was an angel.

I was dead and on my way to heaven.

She asked me if I was okay.  She asked me if I was in pain.  She asked if there was anything she could do for me … and before I could answer she passed me her guinea pig and started mopping my brow.

Guinea pig?

What the feck?

She gave me a guinea pig?  Well yes she did.  She handed me her guinea pig.  Cleaned me up.  Took her guinea pig back.  Held my hand and took me to Tufnell Park.

That is how I met Maude.

Oh Maude, Maude, Maude – you were perfect.  She took me home to my apartment and stayed for three weeks.  What a three weeks!

Idyllic.

Walking on the Heath.  Drinking in The Flask in Highgate.  Strolling through Waterlow Park.  Saying “hello” to Karl Marx.  Wearing each others’ clothes.

Actually she wore mine, I didn’t wear hers, I really didn’t.  Getting drunk together on Grand Marnier and sick together afterwards.  Listening to a friend play folk songs outside the Admiral Mann.  I even started to read poetry, although it didn’t last.  Mostly though, we just made love.  Anywhere and everywhere.

In that time I was treated to a parade of animals.

Guinea pigs, rats, hamsters, geckos, turtles, tortoises, parrots, budgies, kittens, puppies, fish, snakes, you name it.

Every day she would disappear for a few hours and return with different animals.  Only on Sundays would she return without an animal and on Sunday evenings she was always very tired.  The explanation turned out to be a bit crazy but I could deal with it.  She let on that she was into animal liberation and spent much of her time nicking animals from pet shops and domestic animal stockists.

Her aim in life was to free them all.

Create an animal utopia where they could all live free from human bondage.  How she managed to get plastic bags of tropical fish and a twelve foot python out of a shop without anyone noticing I have no idea.  But she did it.  Insane of course, and I loved her all the more for it.  We were madly, stupidly, giddily happy.

Until that fateful day in early August.

So far we had lived in my flat.  It was OK.  But I was getting more and more curious.  Where did she live?  How long?  What was it like?  Was she sure that she was not using the animals as a cover for her sneaking back to a long time live-in partner or husband?

Joke, sort of.  What was she hiding?

After much cajoling on my part she finally agreed that we could stay at her place.  She lived in a flat on the first floor of a Victorian house on the A10 near to the junction with Clapton Common.  She had been on her way home when she found me in the tunnel.

So off we went.

We spent a pleasant few hours in the Spaniards’ Inn and went to a party with friends in Stoke Newington.  Caught a taxi to hers.  Let ourselves in.

Her living room was full of no-longer-soon-to-be-pets.

It was smelly and it was noisy, but she cleared a space  and we sat and drank tea and chatted amongst the boxes, cages, baskets and tanks.  Finally we fell into bed exhausted.  The following day was Monday and neither of us needed to get up early.  We were very soon fast asleep in each others arms.

We awoke on Monday morning refreshed.  She made cups of tea and brought them back to bed.  Gradually we began to get interested, the way you do.

We kissed and cuddled …

Then Maude whispered that she would like to make love in daylight amongst the trees and birdsong.  Her garden was beautiful at this time of year, she said.  She asked me to open the curtains and open the window.

Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes.

About as excited as I have ever been in my life I leapt out of bed, hopped to the almost full-length sash window and threw open the red velvet curtains to let the sun in …

The No 149 bus route has been transporting the residents of that area to the City for many years and I believe that it still does to this day.

In the days of the old Routemasters, in the rush hour the bottom deck was crammed full of people, many standing and some dangling from the platform at the back.  Upstairs was calmer and those fortunate enough to get a seat were able to read the paper or a book, do the crossword, do the Pools, knit, or in most cases just sit and watch the world go by.  There are a number of points on that journey where the bus comes to a standstill for quite a while as the traffic gets well and truly jammed.

One particular point is just outside Maude’s flat.

The floor of the top deck on those buses is roughly about the level of the first floor of that particular block of houses, and the windows of the bus are about six feet from the residents’ windows.  You can see awful lot from the top of that bus and on that day passengers had a real treat.

As the curtains opened they were greeted with … think of Leonardo’s Study of Human Proportions according to Vitruvius. 

But weedier and in a state of arousal.

For my own part I just remember seeing an endless stream of tickets coming out of the Clippie’s machine and thinking thank goodness they can’t see my feet because I’ve still got my socks on.  I turned to shout at Maude for setting me up, and as I did so I noticed something.  Something very serious indeed.  Something which caused me to shut out the embarrassment of the last few seconds completely.  I couldn’t believe it.  I froze.  The blood drained from my face and obviously from other places.

The bottom fell completely out of my world.

In the lower right hand corner of the window was a sticker.  Not a very big one, about the size of a bob-a-job sticker.  But this particular sticker had a motif on it.  A dreadful symbol.

A cock and ball.

We just hadn’t discussed football.  People had the summer off in those days.  No transfer activity.  I turned to her and just shouted “TOTTENHAM” at her at the top of my voice.  At first she completely misunderstood and she laughed and shouted:  “YES. YOU TOO …?”.

But before she could finish, she realised.

It was probably me screaming “YOU ARE A FARKING SPUD” that gave it away.  Her beautiful face contorted into an ugly grimace and in a vicious whisper she spat “Arsenal.  You are a fecking Gunner?  You bastard”.

I couldn’t stay.

I needed air.  I grabbed my clothes, putting them on as I scrambled through the menagerie in the living room.  I got to the front door and slammed it to, shutting out the cacophony behind me.  I headed for a café on the corner of the block, ordered coffee and just sat in a window seat sipping and smoking.  I half expected her to follow and to be honest I half hoped that she would.

But I realised it was over.

I could take the pet rustling and I could even take being humiliated in front of a bus full of people but I could not take the fact that she was a SPUD.  That could never work.

But that was not quite the end of it.

As I sipped my third coffee, having smoked half a pack of cigarettes, two panda cars and a police van arrived at her flat.  Maude was led out in handcuffs and for the next hour policemen loaded the back of the van with her contraband, Noah’s Ark fashion.  I felt bad about that at the time as I watched her driven away in the back of the police car it seemed unjust that she should go down for stealing animals when she had such good if not misguided intentions.  It turned out in court about six weeks later though, that every Sunday she ran a pet stall on Club Row.

She had been nicking pets and flogging them on.  She also stole them to order.

I will always remember Maude though and if I ever meet her again, which is very unlikely, I know exactly what I will say to her……………

“CARMON ARSENAL CARMON ARSENAL CARMON ARSENAL

ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAL….ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAAAAL…ARSENAL, ARSENAL, ARSENAL….ARSENAL….ARSENAL”

Frank can occasionally be found on Twitter @ohdearaaah

Today’s post is by PA regular, Seebs.

It’s official.

It’s that time of year again when with ten premier league games to go it’s THE RUN IN.

On Sunday 16^th of March at 16.00 we kick off not just a game, but the beginning of our march to destiny, whatever that may be.

The fact that we have got here at all is remarkable considering the Yeovil type playing field we have been competing on. From the relegation battle with Villa at the start of the season to the run of games which see us at the top of the Premier League we have had reason to both laugh and cry, as always Arsenal is a roller-coaster that we hope finishes with us still screaming, laughing and with our hands in the air.

The recent run of games added to spuds, Chelski, Swansea, City, Toffees and Wigan is probably the hardest set of fixtures any European team has ever taken on.  Do well in these and then the only banana skins left are Irons,Tigers, Toon, Baggies and Canaries.  Oh and of course the semi final and hopefully final of the FA Cup. Finish the season by winning a cup final and the double will be safely in the bag.

In recent seasons we have finished strongly and with the strongest squad in years we should feel confident although at this time of the season no game is easy and results are often irrational.  With three derbies, four top of the table clashes, five away games (or five home games whichever you consider more difficult) the task is big. Throw in the rate at which the games come, the anti-Arsenal press putting pressure on us and highlighting negatives to the fans, incompetent refs, the perpetual injuries due to teams being allowed to kick us and our two biggest rivals having bigger squads and easier fixtures, then it becomes mountainous.

We also seem to be picking up injuries at a rate of knots and so picking a team for form or tactics may not even be an option.

Another strange anomaly is the effect the success the youth teams are having. With the youth teams progressing in the youth cup, the PL U21 cup and the UEFA youth CL and the injuries to the first team, there are youth players being chosen for first team games over important youth games and sometimes even the other way around. Isaac Hayden was on the bench in Munich and Semi Ajayi regularly trains with the first team and yet Gideon Zelalem played the youth cup game instead of traveling. It seems to be the youth players will play a vital part in 6/7 competitions between now and the end of the season. The fact we have players who can play quite comfortably in the U18 and PL competitions once again shows the quality of the club.

It is a reminder to any talented youngster that at Arsenal you can progress all the way, an option not available at Chelski or City.

I had originally included a possible Treble in the write up before the return Bayern game but like I say this has been an emotional roller-coaster. Before we all give up and go home this famous club has beaten the odds before and with our current manager one of the best mountain climbers around we are well placed and even if we don’t make it to the top first, the assent has been magical at times and a season earlier than many of us expected. We have won the league on goal difference in 1953 and although that looks against us this season a last game triumph is not beyond us.

http://www.arsenal.com/news/news-archive/winning-the-title-on-last-day-of-season and of course on that glorious night at Anfield in 89, coincidently both played on a Friday night. So there is no reason a last gasp winner should hold any fears for us.

So whatever happens between now and the summer recess COME ON YOU GLORIOUS GUNNERS

We can all join Seebs in the run in on twitter @arse_or_brain

London, New York, Paris, Munich – everyone’s talking about Pep’s music. Except of course, they’re not, or at least the UK papers who might, just might, be expected to get behind an English club playing in Europe, aren’t.  Are Bayern a good team, a world-class outfit: well yes, but not if they are playing against the Arsenal, partly because The Arsenal are also a very good team who give them a run for their money, but mainly because to praise Bayern extravagantly now would be also to give tacit praise to The Arsenal and the team so carefully assembled and prepared by Arsene Wenger.

So better by far to lambast The Arsenal for lack of imagination, for carelessness in preparation, for profligacy on the injury front. Better to seek out Mesut Ozil and slate him (and by extension Arsene Wenger) for an anonymous performance than make the obvious connection between serious hamstring injury and limping play. Better for the papers to gloat about the German fans’ booing and catcalling of young Mesut, than on the sinister and echoing reminder of previous Holocaustian witch-hunts of Turkish Muslims, the booming “Bayern, Bayern” rolling out across the packed Allianz stands reaching almost Nuremburg proportions, European domination  seemingly once more tantalisingly in sight. Better to criticise Arsene for pointing out before the game that the refereeing might be inconsistent and gullible, than to dwell on the cards not given for simulation.

I have just about had enough of the sneering Clive Tyldesley, of the ingratiating Neil Ashton, of the myopic Jim White. Oh how they love it when The Arsenal stumble, and oh how they rejoice in their little England agenda.  Almost, but not quite, because like a toxic sponge they soak up any disappointment I might feel, and allow me to vent anger at them rather than dwell on the shortcomings of my team. Because they are my team, and whilst in the privacy of my own mind (and shamefully occasionally out loud in front of the TV) I might conclude that x is the worst player ever after misplacing a pass or snatching a shot, woe betide anyone else who dares to voice such a view.

And I know that despite the sense of loss that accompanies any reverse, that this is a good team, that these are fine players, that this is a great club. Over two legs we came close – very close – to upsetting a fine Bayern Munich team.  We are going to Wembley this year, and might hopefully go twice. We have a Premier League run-in to savour, and this weekend a trip to our neighbours to endure and enjoy.

Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And then one fine morning—
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

Thank to  @foreverheady for today’s article. PA was intended as a forum for us all, and its a great help when someone steps up to the plate.

“Que, sera, sera, whatever will be, will be …”

I have to admit to feeling more than a little apprehensive before kick-off  and by half-time I was feeling no better.

Even when we scored after seven minutes I was worried.  I don’t know why, because we were clearly the better team.

Fabianski had nothing to do and it seemed like we spent the majority of the first half taking corners.

Yet Everton somehow managed to score.

Arteta took a shot from the edge of the box.  I am told he should not have been there because that constituted being “out of position for a holding midfielder.”  I’m still trying to come to terms with that opinion.

The ball was blocked and fell to Ross Barkley (Jack’s replacement as the saviour of England).  He ran the length of the field with Flamini, who despite catching him, allowed him to cross a low ball in to an undefended far post. Per should have seen the space but was attracted towards the ball.

1-1 at the break. Bollocks.

Anyway,  you all saw what happened in the second half, we were very good and very good value for a comfortable win.

There were some great performances from quite a few of our boys.

Ozil was simply majestic.  AOC was terrific in his directness.  Mikel commanding.  Santi was at his tricky best.

The skipper was very good considering how little he has played.

Rosicky was just something else when he came on.

Oh yes, and Giroud once again made a mockery of the idea that he can’t finish.

On to Wembley.

Great game, great tactics and great set up. It looked to me like Arsene had shuffled Mikel forward a little, less holding and more…….. well something else. Controlling is perhaps the word ?

I liked it.

If you liked it enough to Twitter with George he’s at @blackburngeorge

Arsenal’s brightest young star set to shine again

I read yesterday that Arsenal intend to offer Aaron Ramsey a double your money contract extension  ( http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/football/teams/arsenal/10676875/Arsenal-set-to-reward-Aaron-Ramsey-with-100000-a-week-deal.html ) .

Aaron is in the same position as Jack, AOC, Gibbs and Jenkinson in that he is about one year into his current deal.  So why would the club consider this move, at this time?

I saw a few people on twitter questioning both what he has done to deserve this, and is it right when he has so long remaining at a much reduced salary.

So lets consider the first part: “What he has done to deserve this?”

My answer to that would be: “Are you kidding? Are you mad?”

Aaron was, prior to his recent injury,  by a clear margin, the best midfielder in England this season and the last part of the previous one.

He gives balance to the team in a way that perhaps only Diaby could match. We just have not looked the same team without him.

He is a magnificent player who quite literally has it all. Pace unrivaled over the course of a game; heart, skill, composure, stamina, assists and goals.  On top of that he is a charming young man who epitomises class.  And still only 23 years old. It’s frightening to think how good he will end up.

Coming back from having his leg smashed beyond recognition by the Captain of the Orks to be able to play to any decent standard is achievement enough, but to a level the allowed him to win Arsenal Player Of The Month  on five consecutive occasions is little short of monumental.

If there is truth in this revised contract story then it is clear that the club see him as our most valuable youngster.

Personally I have always seen him as being easily the brightest young star at the club.  And by a distance.  That’s not to say we don’t have other great prospects, but simply that I think he is the best.  Others may disagree with me and that’s fine, but none have come near to the standards he has set this season, ever.

By giving him this improved deal what are the club saying?

Well for a start they’re saying that they are fair. Perform well and you will be rewarded and appreciated.

Also they are telling other clubs that they can’t come along and tempt him away because they will double his money.  Too late, we’ve already done it.

They are displaying to Players, agents, clubs and our own fans that our financial clout is real and being put to use.

I see no downside to giving this wonderful player a better deal,  and I hope its true.

George can be found on Twitter @Blackburngeorge

Why do we torture ourselves with things we know deep down do not make logical sense? After every draw or loss, there is a deluge of anger and melancholy on social media about things we would either know to be mendacious statements if we took the time to examine it obdurately or things we do not have any clarity on.

 For example; the Luis Suarez situation. What do we truly know about it? We have read some reports and heard some statements from people on the outskirts of the issue but what do we know to be true? To be verifiable fact? I’ll get into that in a minute but first let me explore the phenomena we torture ourselves with – argumentum ad populum or argumentum ad numerum.

 Argumentum ad populum or ad numerum is Latin for “appeal to the people” and “appeal to the number” and is possibly more familiar to you as communal reinforcement. It basically means believing an opinion* to be true because it is repeated by the masses. Twitter is a breeding ground for this. In the aftermath of a poor result, anger takes over, opinions are espoused and they gain traction. Papers then write articles that deliberately and ignominiously enforce these opinions because they know people will click on the article, either to nod themselves into a stupor in fervent agreement or spread the word by taking to social media and shouting “look at what this bullshit rag full of hacks has published” in outrage. And we all fall for this calculated hit-seeking garbage every time.

 These articles are essentially an accelerant to the argumentum ad populum fire and retrospectively “validate” the opinion. It then has us arguing over facts and opinions and then after we’ve thrown personal insults at one another, and had our friends weigh into the debate, we have the token level-headed person who says “come on guys, we all want the same thing and we’re all entitled to our opinion”. This is where it gets grammatically murky because most of what we are arguing about is actually belief or prejudice (not the really negative and vile type of prejudice I should clarify).

 What do I mean by this? Well, in debate/opinion etc there are four components to what we are saying – Fact. Opinion. Belief. Prejudice.

 A fact is verifiable. A fact is beyond argument, such as “mainland Britain is an island”. Facts, however, only have meaning when given context. Facts are the antithesis of argumentum ad populum in construct.

 *Opinion, something we all think we are expressing in these arguments, is a conclusion drawn from a fact. For example, ‘Man City spend a lot of money (fact), and they win trophies (fact), so I think we need to spend more money to win a trophy (opinion)’.

 Belief is a conviction or viewpoint based on faith or in some cases personal morals. For example, ‘aliens exist’ (faith) or ‘meat is murder’ (morals) . A belief is not based on fact or evidence. Some people may choose to believe there is evidence based on hearsay, conjecture, lack of evidence to the contrary or media “reports”.

 Prejudice is a “half-opinion” based on insufficient evidence or evidence that has not been scrutinised. For example, ‘Wenger doesn’t want to spend money’.  How do you know that? Because he hasn’t spent as much as others? Spending less than others is not a fact that means he doesn’t want to spend. Such prejudices are presented as fact or opinion. They are neither. We all do this.

 We all accept the prejudice of others if it matches with our own and it perpetuates into argumentum ad populum. Prejudices like this aren’t to be confused or banded with “isms” (sexism, racism etc). These types of prejudices are just carelessly simplified views but they are dangerous when they are communally reinforced.

 Back to Suarez. There is no doubt that for whatever reason the pursuit of Suarez was totally cocked up in the summer. Was the +£1 so contemptible to Liverpool they decided to flip us off? Possibly. Did they indeed ignore the buy-out clause as was suggested by John W. Henry recently and take the calculated risk neither Arsenal nor Suarez would pursue it? Was the PFA correct in the summer when they claimed it was not a buy-out clause at all?

 Certainly the PFA’s statement can retrospectively be claimed as a cause for argumentum ad populum because JWH’s statement contradicts it. Which is fact and which is opinion? Who is more likely to know the details of Suarez’s contract? His club owner or the PFA? That is where belief and prejudice come into play because the ‘facts’ are not verifiable to us mere mortals. Only those in the halls of power of football can clarify the facts and I can’t see them doing that just so Arsenal supporters will stop arguing amongst themselves.

 The two worst cases of argumentum ad populum from the Suarez situation relates to Higuain and Sanogo.

 The communal reinforcement surrounding Higuain is the prejudiced argument “we missed out”. This “opinion” as people would call it is based on personal interpretation of “facts” and because it has gained traction people take it as fact because of argumentum ad populum.

 What we know is Arsenal abandoned their pursuit of Higuain to chase Suarez. Whilst doing so Higuain joined Napoli. The argument is we should have gone back for Higuain once the Suarez deal was dead. How can you miss out on a player who has been sold?

 A fair criticism would be saying Arsenal should never have chased Suarez but to say that would mean you cannot complain about Arsenal not signing better players because Suarez is a better player than Higuain and based on information available to the club they believed it was possible to secure the better player. Ignoring the fiasco that followed can you genuinely say you feel the club was wrong to target the better player?

 You could also say Arsenal should have gone back for Higuain the moment Liverpool wouldn’t play ball instead of dragging it out. This would be a fair opinion because it would be based on the fact we switched targets and attempted to negotiate with Liverpool. So that would make the opinion/belief “Arsenal missed out on the opportunity to sign Higuain by putting all their eggs in the Suarez basket”. This is quite different. Wording is important. It explains that Arsenal missed something by doing something – the road not taken if you will, which is a fact. The road was not taken. The current argument suggests gross incompetence and negligence which is a prejudice not a fact.

 The Sanogo argument ad populum says Arsenal deliberately did not buy a world-class striker in favour of signing Sanogo. This is “enforced” by the fact he has played some games.

 Here is a very crude analogy. Complaining about Sanogo is akin to complaining about buying toilet paper instead of sauce to go on your pasta. First consider if the shop had any sauce or if they did, did they have the one you wanted, or a something equally as good? Second, consider what will happen to your pasta if you don’t get sauce. Will it still be edible? Yes. Will it fill you up? Yes but maybe not to the degree it would with sauce and it might not be as tasty. Third, consider what will happen after you have eaten that pasta. Eventually you will need the toilet paper. It is forward planning.

 Sanogo, forgive me, is toilet paper. He was not bought instead of sauce; he was bought with the future in mind. Try not to over-analyse that analogy – I realise it isn’t perfect but it makes the point.

 He has played because he was needed to, not because Wenger didn’t need or want Suarez. Remember, Sanogo was signed before we bid for Suarez. Believing we don’t buy strikers because we signed Sanogo is buying into argumentum ad populum. It is not a fact and is not an opinion, it is a belief.

 And it is these argumentum ad populum’s that we torture ourselves with. We get angry, we scream at the team, we complain about the manager and the board and use these false facts as reasons for doing so. We have righteous anger but we express it in unrighteous ways or use an argumentum ad populum as a reason for the thing that led to the anger.

 We were absolutely shocking at Stoke and that is something to be righteously annoyed about and something we have every right to question but false facts do not explain the performance.

 It cannot be proven that buying a striker would have changed that result or made the other ten players perform better or stopped the referee from giving Stoke a free pass to stamp on Giroud or give an incredibly harsh penalty. So why use argumentum ad populum to say it would have?

 Some people say we should play Podolski more often because he is the best finisher and whilst we lack a world-class striker we should make more use of him instead of playing Giroud but what did Podolski do against Stoke? Not much is the answer. And why was that? Many reasons but one is we didn’t give him enough chances. A striker’s job isn’t to give the left-forward chances all game so a new striker may not have benefited him at all. The midfield needs to take responsibility for that. But that would not fit the popular theory.

 We lost to Stoke because we were toothless, because our passing was poor, because we miss Ramsey and Theo, because of bad decision making in the box and because we didn’t create enough chances. These are mostly facts. The chances we did create were poorly executed. Sanogo skied a ball to equalise but that is not proof we don’t want to buy a striker. Cazorla made an arguably bigger error.

 As the more experienced player it can be argued that Santi not passing to Podolski or Giroud, who were both in clear scoring positions, was worse than an inexperienced player rushing his shot. But this article is not about blame.

 What I am try to get at, in a very long-winded manner, is we shouldn’t make ourselves angry over non-facts masquerading as facts because of communal reinforcement and should recognise them for what they are. We should form opinions on fact, as it always has been not dress up prejudice or belief as fact without verifiable fact.

 There is plenty for us to be angry about without adding falsities and unsubstantiated claims to the list.

 Maybe impending fatherhood is making me more serene and I’m not saying you are not entitled to such beliefs but I do think presenting them as fact and encouraging others to believe the same through, possibly innocent, regular espousal is causing much unrest. Argument ad populum is for fools and we’re not fools, are we?

Thank you to George and the guys at Positively Arsenal for sharing this post. I’m Daniel Cowan and you can catch me and my insipid views on www.northlondonisred.co.uk or the @GoonerspherePod

“If you can keep your head …”

It’s 9 am Sunday morning and I am just starting to write about the events that began to unfold some 18 hours ago.  I haven’t been able to eat or sleep and I feel like shit.

That’s what football can do.

Perhaps I would feel better if I had spent last night attacking the team, the manager and everyone else I could find in order to transfer my disappointment onto them. It seems to work for many, I might give it a go next time.

It doesn’t get much worse than yesterday.  The team played poorly and we lost.

If only it was that simple, but it’s not.

We started off slowly and one of our normally most dependable players – Tomas Rosicky – decided he would pick this match to have a ‘mare.  He chose to ignore his team mates and pass the ball to Stoke players instead.  Jack and Santi seemed to think that was a good idea too, and joined in.

Podolski  thought he would reinvent himself as a midfielder and took up some deep lying duties, leaving Giroud isolated and ineffective.  That’s when he wasn’t lying on the pitch complaining about being fouled.

Which he inevitably had been, by the way.

There was no fluency, no speed of foot or thought from our attacking players.  In short, they were piss-poor.  Of course the defence were sound, Arteta was doing a decent job of shielding them and frankly they didn’t look like scoring until the referee decided to gift them a penalty kick.

It was a shocking decision, by a man who had a shocking game.

The disappointment of fans turned to anger and all the old clichés were rolled out and scapegoats duly sought.

The team selected was wrong, blame the manager.

That’s always a good one, eh ?

This was basically the same team that put Sunderland to the sword last week, better if you rate Gibbs over Monreal.

People then claim that it was because Sunderland had their eye on the COC final and were shit.  Of course it was! So despite the sheer beauty of our play that day, we can write off that elevens’ performance and claim they can’t play together?

What happened to never change a winning team?

The referee sanctioned Stoke in their attempts to stop us playing by foul means.

Some of the attacks on Jack and Giroud were outrageous.  The lack of yellow (or even red card, some were that bad) allowed them to stop our lads ever finding a rhythm.

Now people then say we should have taken the referee out of the game by playing better.  The team lacked the character to do that. Well ok, in that case The Invincables were a bunch of lightweights as well because they didn’t man up against Man United on Game 50 and take Mike Dean out of the match! Did they?

The disappointment is magnified because we hoped that days like yesterday were a thing of the past. Yes indeed, we were never again going to have an off-day, that was the hope.  Good luck with that.

When a team relies on technical excellence it takes only a couple of players to have a bad day and there is a huge spanner in the works. The more technical your play, the more you need all of the components to perform up to a level. I think we have to accept that that’s the way it is. And please don’t come with the old “We need a plan B “ or I will come after you and poke you with a big shit-covered stick.

I am of a mind that we are now more likely to finish 4th than 1st.

Disappointing as that is, I can cope and I can cope because the curve is upwards. With the addition of one or two top players and the progression of our core, I believe next year we will be better, and the year after that, better still.

Now that’s not to say that we can’t win something this year.

We can, but it’s getting more difficult. Fans should understand that moaning, crying and attacking everyone they can find does not make them as fans more passionate. It just makes them sad, needy people who have  to blame someone else because their team was not able to provide the success in life that they are unable to provide for themselves.

Life’s losers, calling other losers is irony gone mad.

You can be ironic with George (whilst not giving up) on Twitter @Blackburngeorge