I let the mask slip at work yesterday. Friday, three minutes away from going home and the frankly fuckwitted semi evolved attitudes of my work colleagues finally got to me and I fear I bared my fangs. To be fair I’ve coped day in day out for six long desperate years and rarely if ever have I given vent to my true feelings. Without wishing to be self indulgent about the blog for which I’m writing, I want to talk about why this place is so important to me. Hey – there’s bugger all football to talk about so we can chat about the peripherals, the blogs or newspaper columns or broadcast media we like or dislike, can’t we?

When so much of one’s existence both personal and professional is spent tolerating other people who’s opinions make you piss razor blades and who you could cheerfully eviscerate without a backwards glance it is vital to have safe places where you can go and let out the steam. I had a cycling buddy who put up with me about as well as I did he and we would burn off calories and excess rage as we tore up the countryside each Sunday morning. It did me good. I have similarly over the years found people who share my love of certain bands or comedians or, as in your case, football.

The arrival of the internet was like a beneficent God smiling down on his creation and saying “Here, you don’t have to wait to read about your team in the paper or hope they will be featured on Match Of The Day. You can pick and choose blogs dedicated to The Arsenal and read about the team every day. I support them too you know” and we could. Suddenly we could find people who liked not just the same sport but the same team. But as with other great ideas God took his eye off the ball and left a serpent in the garden. Or an apple. Or something. In any case the blogs went wrong and rather than being a place to be yourself and relax after wearing the disguise at work all day or pretending to care about whatever your neighbour was waffling about, they became combative. We went there to fight the malcontents or adopt a semi neutral peace keeping pose and attempt not to ruffle too many feathers.

This is why Positively Arsenal has become so important. I can be me here. I don’t water down the message or put up with people I’d rather poke with a sharpened stick. And one of the things PA has set its sights on is not disappearing down the path of so many other blogs. We won’t offer the manager tactical advice. We won’t ape the print media. And we won’t just repeat the Boss’s press conference when there’s nothing else to write about. We will be honest and tell it from the heart.

So now of course I’m in a quandary. Saturday morning and absolutely no football to talk about. What to do? It’s a little early for a Bayern preview and I’m buggered if I’ll talk about the FA Cup when we’re not even in it. I could write about Bristol Rovers six pointer away to Chesterfield. Like many of you I have a second or ‘local’ team and regularly watched Rovers when they lost their stadium in Bristol and played down the road in Twerton Park. But this is Positively Arsenal and so I doubt you’d give a monkeys. The fact is that blogs, whilst seeming like a gift from God at first, are actually a part of the malaise of the modern sports fan. There used to be such a break from football every summer that you had the most incredible sense of anticipation and excitement when the season began anew every autumn. There were minor withdrawal symptoms for the first couple of weeks but really by the time the FA cup had been lifted you were ready for a break. Now we discuss the team, their prospects, the season past, the players the endless bloody pointless transfer speculation right through the summer and watch the pre season and never ever let the thing rest and I believe it is sucking the life out of the game.

And yet here we are like junkies gathering around an empty crack pipe because that’s the closest we can get to a fix. Any blog will die without daily postings. People need to know it’s there and that they can meet up and chat. Like a pub that opens and closes sporadically and will soon find people drink somewhere they can actually rely upon being open, a blog needs to be fresh and new and filled with stuff every single day. Even when there’s actually next to nothing to talk about. What do we do folks? This is your blog, how can we meet your voracious appetites for Arsenal related verbiage and yet not end up in a dead horse / flogging scenario? Because I need this place to be open for business. I need a retreat from the daily panto into a world of reality and I don’t want this golden egg laying goose to be found dead one day.

OK OK sorry, I promised not to be self indulgent and then look what happened. So for those who want a proper blog with up to date news and opinions here’s both.

NEWS: They arrested and charged the banana guy. You might say we need to stamp out any missile throwing from the crowd and you might say, it was a bloody piece of fruit for Christ’s sake.

OPINION: I can see both sides.

NEWS: Benik Afobe has torn his cruciate. Which is such a bastard of a thing to happen. Twenty years old and a very promising player.

OPINION: I neither blame Millwall, the loan system nor the Arsenal medical staff.

NEWS: Our chairman, when asked about the media story of a takeover is quoted as saying “It all seems a bit of a waste of time,”.

OPINION: It all seems a bit of a waste of time.

NEWS: Grandson of Arsenal footballer Denis Compton scores first test century against New Zealand while everyone but Mel was asleep.

OPINION: I thought he was South African?

NEWS: My Mikel Arteta sticker fell off my PC earlier and it stuck to my jumper and I don’t understand the significance. If there is any significance:

OPINION: A 49 year old man shouldn’t be collecting stickers.

NEWS: A military force from an alien planet has landed in the Emirates car park and is resupplying its beachhead with big flashy light covered spaceships.

OPINION: That’s enough news now.

George Rodger seeks out the road best traveled in today’s route map to footballing happiness.

If football is like a religion, then it’s little wonder that people are losing their belief, their faith and ultimately, their way.

Now I am not a religious man.  I am no theologian.  In fact Doctor Sheldon Cooper likely has more faith than me.  But I am pretty sure that the idea is not that you expect your God to make you happy and provide you with an existence that suits you expectations.  Sadly though that appears to be exactly what your average Arsenal fan expects from the club.

They buy tickets, wear the latest replica shirts and maintain subscriptions to Arsenal Player.  Surely that means the club has a duty to make them happy?  I mean this is a big investment we fans have here.  A great deal of time and money is spent supporting the club.

It’s a huge commitment on our part.

Where are the returns on our personal investments?  We don’t invest like this so as some cheeky Chav from the King’s Road can snigger at us in the pub and make us feel like second-class fans.

Oh no!

We deserve much better than that after all we have done for Arsenal.

But ask yourself.

What exactly have you done for Arsenal?

By “Arsenal” I don’t mean the stadium, team or board.  I mean the institution.  The whole package.  Everything and everyone connected  to the club.

But some people blame the club for their unhappiness.  For them, their unhappiness is the fault of Arsene, Stan or even, this week or maybe last week, some poor Ivorians.  And they should bloody well know how they are not meeting our expectations.

Well here is the thing – it is actually your own fault.

Everyone should look to themselves.  Instead of demanding that the club makes your life better, try making your own life better.

You can do this by simply enjoying the football.   And helping others to enjoy it.

It must be better if, as human beings, we channel our efforts into making life happier for those people at the club rather than trying to make them miserable.  If you are concentrating on bringing misery to others, booing at the ground, making banners designed to hurt people, or ‘just’ abusing other fans who only want to enjoy the team and the game, what does that say about you as a human being?

We should attempt to be positive with our efforts, and make those around us and at the club happier.  Not try to bring them to their knees because we want more for ourselves.  The easier we make it for the manager, players and club to do their jobs to the best of their ability, the more we will all benefit.

So why not try being responsible for the happiness of others rather than demanding that they meet your individual needs?  Life is what you make of it, but presently it seems to me that some are determined to make it miserable for others.

Lets help the club – and each other – by supporting the club rather than trying to destabilize it.

Take a trip along Happy Street and choose the ‘high’ road rather than the ‘my’ road.

See where you end up; you might just surprise yourself.

You can catch George in the fast lane on Twitter @Blackburngeorge

Many Arsenal fans allowed themselves a brief moment of schadenfreude at Old Red Nose and the karmic nature of his exit from the European Cup. Or whatever they call it these days. OK so some people went beyond the briefest moment of schadenfreude and into a full orgy of delight. Given their history of benefiting from atrocious refereeing decisions and the Purple Veined One’s reaction to a shopping list of favourable, erm, ‘mistakes’, who can really blame anyone for at least a smirk? Anybody need a particularly pertinent example? How about when Eboue got sent off for bumping into Patrice Evra. Seems that the old fart thought that was a perfectly acceptable decision at the time, so he can’t really complain about what happened on Tuesday night can he? Obviously he was disappointed at being beaten and Maureen seemed disappointed at beating him if his post match comments are to be believed but there wasn’t anything to play for after Sunday anyway.

Surely both managers were aware that the result last night ceased to matter once The Spuds had been crowned kings of the solar system in perpetuity. Hanging on by your fingernails for an undeserved home win by the odd goal has by universal acclaim become reason enough to proclaim them The Lords of the North London, England, The World and all galaxies known and unknown to man and woman kind. They have a player who only Messi is the equal of and the balance of power has now firmly shifted in their favour. Yep, after only one result decades of football history can now be consigned to the dustbin.

It has been a comical week to sample the sports media in this country. And bear in mind that the Spud love in isn’t merely an Arsenal fan obsession, I’ve read similar complaints from supporters of other clubs without our specific axe to grind. “Why “one Liverpool fan asked on twitter “do we all have to love Spurs now?” Why indeed ? Beats the shit out of me. Also why, when I drove back on Tuesday night after thankfully missing the football, did I make the mistake of turning on the car radio? BBC 5 live had all the characteristics of one of those communist television stations playing sombre music 24 hours a day on all channels because the great dictator had just died. The outrage and grief was still pouring out when I hopped in behind the wheel the following morning. Have they been up all night, I wondered? Whining and wringing their hands over Real Madrid’s dastardly impudence in getting the last great British representative knocked out of Europe. Forget that once more we are still in the competition and they are out of it. That didn’t merit a mention. No, it was as if ManUnited TV had taken over the BBC. I know we moan about perceived injustices against our great club, but we’re fans, a one eyed bias is entirely natural and in fact precisely how things should be. But why was Nicky Campbell so terribly distressed that the team from the land of Corrie got beaten? Again, it beats me.

One Manure fan said yesterday that we as Arsenal fans have a collective screw loose because we always try to make every issue about us. I pondered on this comment for a while, wondering if maybe there was a grain of truth to the accusation. “Same old Arsenal” as the terrace chant goes, “always appropriating events more properly pertaining to supporters of other clubs and seeing them through the prism of an Arsenal perspective” Doesn’t really scan that, but it is interesting to hear a different complaint about us as supporters. We always make everything about us. The point was swiftly made that for them to complain about poor refereeing after all the help they’ve had against us in the past is certain to make Arsenal fans at the very least blow a raspberry. But it’s more than that. It’s more than the old ‘We’re all affected by poor decisions and as such all have a vested interest when officials get it wrong’ line.

When you really think about it the simple unvarnished truth is we are absolutely 100% bound to make it all about us. I only care about Arsenal football club. When you boil it down if there is a sporting story and it cannot be in some way made relevant to AFC, well, frankly my dear,  I don’t give a hoot. This how the thought process goes:  Lance Armstrong? I’m pretty confident Arsene wouldn’t tolerate drug taking in fact didn’t he just call for mandatory blood tests? See? It’s that simple. Bloke breaks world diving record ? Yeah right just like that fat cheat Rooney when he dived to rob us in match #50.

Think for a minute of the hideous alternative to us making it all about us. We would have to sit and discuss the relative merits of players from other clubs. To do that with the slightest degree of accuracy we’d have to build a foundation of knowledge about them and to do that we’d have to watch them play. A lot. I wouldn’t want to trot out media fed clichés about a club, its manager or playing staff and so would need to really study them in order to form valid opinions. Well I don’t know about you but I have enough of a problem keeping up with the Arsenal first team squad, not to mention maintaining tabs on the upcoming youngsters, to have the time or energy to start compiling dossiers on footballers from elsewhere on the off chance that they might make the news. Talking of youngsters what about Nico Yennaris interception dribble and volleyed goal in the Next Gen yesterday. That was all the more incredible considering he was wading waist deep against the tide when he did it. We’ve not seen much of Nico since his brief flurry of appearances in the first team but I still think we have a great young player on our hands there.

Which kind of ties in with my main point. It’s like when the transfer tittle tattle starts up and I’m left adrift bobbing on the speculation ocean. It’s partly because I don’t care until a deal is done, can’t be wasting time speculating on speculation. But it’s also partly because I’m far more interested in watching the development of our own youngsters, about whom I actually know a little bit, than I am in discussing players from other clubs who I only see when we play against them. I’m always bewildered how people know so much about this transfer target or that brilliant young championship player. Unless or until they play for Arsenal they don’t actually exist in any real sense. They’re just a scattering of pantomime villains, gits and vaguely remembered faces for the most part.

You see it’s simple for me.  I don’t need to make the news about us. It really is, and really always has been, all about Arsenal.

This is the final post and conclusion to a series of posts on Arsenal’s ownership by Akash (@Gooner_optimist). If you missed them, do take a look at Part 1 and Part 2 as they both lead up to this post.

To answer the MAIN question that I’ve been coming to in my series of posts, why not Usmanov? Why is the board so against his appointment to the executive board and takeover of the club?

At the moment, Usmanov has portrayed himself as some kind of savior to the Arsenal fans with his well or ill timed (depending on your view) public statements questioning the board’s ambition and stating what fans want to hear about “winning” “best players” “trophies”. He portrays himself as the hero, the one who is making the fans widely believe that he alone can put us on an equal platform along with Chelsea and man city.

A superficial view of these statements would make it seem like he’s just another well -wisher who only wants what we want and without explicitly stating it, promises to give it. But these also make me wary of him as these promises come from a position where he doesn’t have to keep them. It seems like a long winded political manifesto that gets someone elected but never really gets executed. Before I say anything further about that though, who exactly is Alisher Usmanov?  What is his back ground?

For that I would like to dig deep into his history and the link I provide here has VITAL information on the Oligarch.. But to just put it in brief, the article exposes the murky history including doing time for non-political reasons (though he claims otherwise and managed to get his record expunged with the aid of friendly leadership). The article also exposes his strong connections with certain unsavoury types. Now we haven’t declared anything outright here because for one we can’t really compete with his fancy PR and legal team who have a reputation of going after any site daring to say anything against him which to this author just lends more credence to the veracity of such claims. His PR team has even allegedly gone to the extent of having his Wikipedia entry modified to remove information about his murky past and freedom of speech related issues and replace it with his philanthropic deeds. But even the Times, who uncovered this change haven’t been spared considering their web article on this is “subject of a legal complaint”. You can access a clipping of it here though on @AngryofN5’s blog. Noble indeed.

Now is this the kind of person you would want to run your club?  Well you can counter me by telling that his personal life is of no concern and we shouldn’t really bother about that, when he is more than willing to invest in the club. Well here is the twist in the tale. This man who claims that he wants to take Arsenal to the next level clearly has cast doubts in my mind about his intentions.

One of the fears often expressed by most that are against the board is that they’re taking a share of the profits. Oddly enough, there is evidence to the contrary in several regards. Usmanov was the first and last person to demand that the shareholders take dividends from the profits generated, so basically a share of profits go to the shareholders instead of being directly invested back into the club like it does now (though Kroenke hasn’t committed verbally regarding how long this would continue). This proposal was shot down by the board at the time and before we can throw accusations about the current board taking in the profits, we can be assured that the profits generated by the club are invested directly back into the club. The club’s annual accounts (that are audited multiple times) clearly indicate that the board doesn’t take a penny out of the profits (beyond a nominal salary for being on the board)

Now my question is why is it that a man who claims to have so much desire to take Arsenal to the next level claiming to invest from his own pocket, request that board take dividends from profits generated? If his intentions are ONLY to help take the club to the next level, why is he looking to make money out of it? Also, if he really was so well meaning, as a shareholder with nearly 30% in the club why does he not already start keeping his promises of offering the investment he promises?

From the above points I’ve pretty much made it clear that on sheer appearance and PR work Usmanov may look like the savior to cure all our ills, but on the long run, this guy will take Arsenal to the cleaners. It’s pretty obvious with how the board is steering clear of his way (and has done so for a while now). And I would never want a person with such murky history to ever take over my beloved club. And despite the above points, if there are still doubts lingering over the credibility of the information then I direct you to the following links. One is a site owned by CRAIG MURRAY, a former British Ambassador to Uzbekistan who personally took up Usmanov’s case and came up with the information .  and another link that shows what exactly did usmanov do and why he needs to be feared over taking over our club.

With this I think I have managed to burst a few if not all myths surrounding  Usmanov. It has never been my motive, to take personal digs at the Uzbek. But after doing a comprehensive research on the billionaire who looks like the savior on the short run, but could be our slide to doom and gloom, I would never want to see this man running the affairs of the grandest and most English of all clubs.

Thanks for the guest post @Gooner_Optimist and I’m sure this might help open eyes of several people who were unaware of all this. I (@positivegunner) would also like to add this that as unpopular as Kroenke is, he is definitely preferable as an owner at the moment, if for nothing else but to keep away a man who clearly is against every principle and virtue that the club has ever stood for, especially that of integrity and class.

Stan might not seem even half decent for us at present and some people even despise the man, but what exactly has he himself changed in the way the club is run? If you look back at history, he is continuing a plan set in motion from a time even before he was involved with the club by people like Ken Friar, Peter Hill-Wood and Danny Fiszman and he hasn’t really altered that one bit. Now if people were expecting a billionaire owner to come in and pump money into the club, they can justifiably be disappointed, however, would the same disappointment and anger exist if this policy was continued under the old board with no majority owner? If Fiszman’s health hadn’t taken a downturn for the worse, forcing such a sale, and if the old board had continued these past two years with the same policy, would the complaints be as bad as they are now against “the Yank”? Would accusations of owning shares just to profit from them be made if the old board, the one that has been around for many successful seasons, stuck by the club’s self sustaining principles? Kroenke’s owned us for two years and it does seem like we’re stagnating under him but how much of the current situation is down to him? Did the two captains force their way out and force us into a rebuild because of him? Or did the ticket prices go up in the last 2 years that he’s actually owned us? Or was he in charge of the old commercial deals that hampered us until now?

He is definitely an easy target to go after but not all ills are his fault when the club is sticking to traditions of trying to achieve success while being self-sustaining that were established before his time here. It might seem like we’re swimming against the tide and it might seem easier to abandon it all for instant success that we’ve all craved for so long but I personally see this easy way out as less ambitious than trying to achieve greatness through sweat rather than oil. As clichéd as it is, the saying “it’s always darkest before the dawn” holds true. The next two years are going to see a dramatic change in our commercial income and this coincides with the introduction of Financial Fair Play Measures. This gives us spending power we have lacked and helps level the playing field to an extent thus ensuring that we will be able to genuinely compete without needing an external benefactor. If anything, Kroenke, Usmanov or the new consortium allegedly interested in buying us for a huge sum knows this well and they know that they won’t have to put in a penny. It has been a long, tiring, painful journey and there were bound to be hiccups along the way but should we really give up now after working so hard against the odds for the past decade?

Early in the week, leaked photos forced Arsenal to reveal that Dennis Bergkamp will be honoured with a statue outside the stadium. This will force Arsenal into a more prompt revealing of the statue but it’s unlikely to rush Arsene Wenger who will be out panic-buying any rusty figurine he can find in a French antique shop. The Flying Dutchman will be joining Arsenal legends Tony Adams, Thierry Henry and Herbert Chapman in being immortalised in bronze. The whole thing is slightly cheapened by the fact that Phil Brown achieved this years ago.

Then came the news that goal line technology would be introduced to the Premier League for the start of next season. Le Boss welcomed the news in his press conference but is he ignoring the beauty that the confusion can bring? Remember Frank Lampard’s big, sad moon face? Are we sure we want to change something that brought us that moment?

It was never my intention to mention Lampard but I couldn’t resist the perfect segue to the elephant in the room.

Arsenal were away this week and lost, two goals to one. It was a gripping encounter for thirty five minutes where Arsenal were the better of two good sides. The Arsenal defence then proceeded to shit itself in two minutes of utter chaos. It was grim. The game was more even in the second half as the home team grew into the lead which must have shocked them as much as it did us. When we got a free kick in the corner, there was a feeling that it could bring a goal but nobody was guessing at which end it might come. Per headed it home and we were back in it. There were a couple of chances but it finished that way and typing about it is annoying.

And finally! An Arsenal fan is alleged to have thrown a banana at Gareth Bale and some newspapers are reporting that the perpetrator will be banned for life by Arsenal. It was first believed to have particularly enraged Tom Huddlestone as he was seen roaring at the infamous fruit flinger, but close up angles now show Huddlestone clearly ordering a “pie and chips with extra gravy”.

That is the round-up for this week. Thank you for reading.

Up the Arsenal!

With over a quarter of the season left and his glass still half-full, Blackburn George reflects on yesterday’s game.

Well that was another bitter pill to swallow.

Anyone who failed to see us dominating play can only do so by being blind to the events on the field.  Particularly for the first 35 minutes. We were in complete control for that period.  Their midfield simply had no answer to our play.

Sadly in the space of two minutes or so, two decisive plays from them, combined with two defensive lapses from us, left us an uphill struggle that in the end proved to be a little too much.

None of us can be happy with the result, but we should at least take some comfort from the performance.

There is no getting away from the fact that we lose too many games that we should not.  But to simply point the finger at any one person or reason is far too simplistic. 

The team needs to grow as a unit, defend as a unit and attack as a unit. This takes time and patience.  And we fans should accept this and understand how hard it is to achieve. 

We have six midfielders, Jack, Santi, Mikel, Abou, Thomas and Aaron.  A combination of any three of them are better than anything else I see in the league. 

Personally I have no idea which is our best three.  So add Le Coq and AOC and we are well set for years to come.

I believe we would benefit from a quick centre forward and another centre back.  But even without additions I am convinced we will be much stronger next season.

There are thirty points still to play for. 

All is not lost by any means. But even if it was, nothing is to be gained by withdrawing our support for the team.  Every week I see a team of huge potential.  We simply must give them to time to fulfill that potential.  I honestly don’t see why people can’t relish the challenge.  Rather than throw their arms up and ask for change. 

Change may come all to soon, I fear, unless the majority of fans don’t quickly see sense. 

You can share a glass of positivity with George on Twitter @Blackburngeorge

We haven’t heard from our dear friend Frank for quite a while now.He is most likely to the Grand Tour of Europe on Lady Nina,but wherever he is,he has my best wishes and I hope he knows how much we miss him.

Anyway,here is an old post from him that reminds us of his genius.

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

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 fuck?

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 FUCKING SPUD” that gave it away.  Her beautiful face contorted into an ugly grimace and in a vicious whisper she spat “Arsenal.  You are a fucking 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”

Remember when Kevin Keegan showed how cross he was at something Old Red Nose said? He was wearing a pair of seventies headphones and started to echo the thoughts of most football supporters in the land by saying he would love to beat the red Mancs, love it. Nothing particularly exciting about that, at the time we would have loved it if anyone beat them. I in fact still enjoy seeing or hearing that they have been defeated, it’s one of life’s little joys.

Sadly for all people with a scintilla of sense and decency the media took that moment as their cue to start praising the purple veined old coot for his deft employment of psychology to unsettle his managerial opponents. Or in their lazy shorthand, mind games. In fact Keegan’s little show of passion was only notable because someone in football had just told the unvarnished truth, and had done so in a way that made it transparently apparent that they in fact meant what they were saying. I don’t think it had much impact on the outcome of the title. We all know that in a tight race the more experienced, settled team (with the weight of the football establishment behind them) will often succeed and Keegan’s Newcastle just didn’t quite have enough to stave off the vested interests and the red mancs.

What’s always struck me is the way we have since been told to view Keegan’s barely suppressed anger as an outburst or a rant. Who really used mind games here? I suggest it was the media. Repeat a lie often enough and everyone will accept it. The interview is passionate, honest and relatively mild by any reasonable measure. And yet the media felt the need to over react and do everything possible to destabilise the rival to their favourite. It’s not much to me, a meh moment really, they have an agenda, big deal, so what? That’s not news. But last week they were at it again.

I read on the BBC news feed that Rafa Benitez had ‘ranted’ and been guilty of an ‘outburst’. The BBC. An organisation which used to be rightly famed for some degree of journalistic integrity. Not a tabloid, not a Fregie fawning satellite channel but Aunty Beeb herself. Intrigued despite myself, I looked up and found a video of this drooling, wild eyed, ill advised crazy harangue to which the poor unsuspecting journalists had been subjected. And surprise surprise, what did I find? A rather diffident, polite gentleman calmly and rationally explaining that he was working for a shamelessly non-supportive organisation and that football fans have a role and that role is to get behind their team. Their role was absolutely not to make defamatory banners nor to chant abuse at the club they purport to follow. I say the club and not the manager advisedly. These buffoons at Chelsea will always claim they have the long term good of their club at heart and are in fact merely ‘having a go’ at an inept manager.

Bollocks.

You shout abuse at your manager and you are shouting abuse at your club. As George would say, simples.

We of course at Arsenal are familiar with what is happening at Chelsea. Not the manager go round nor the ownership model, I don’t mean that, but rather the unrepresentative berks getting their names checked by an all too willing and complicit media and claiming to speak for all of the fans. The prats who think they know more about tactics and player selection than a man who clearly has more experience and professional acumen than they have acne blocked pores. I don’t have much sympathy for Rafa – he knew precisely what kind of horrible organisation he was walking into. But I do think he was absolutely 100% correct in everything he said. And more than that he did not rant and it wasn’t an outburst but the media have decided that we must all think it was.

Here’s my question. And I expect an answer so sit up straight at the back. What do the print journos, the radio and TV people gain from raising up these revolting little men (who I refuse to name here) that claim (wrongly) to represent fan unrest? Who benefits? Beats the hell out of me. A conspiracy needs a clear aim before it makes sense to simpletons like me. So maybe they just like stirring the shit. Maybe it makes life more interesting.

One thing watching Rafa reminded me is how wise Arsene is to treat the press with such gently smiling benign contempt. I am astounded when supporters think it is they who are on the end of his subtle dissembling, that he aims his careful political double speak at the humble football fan. It is a duel with the media and one he conducts with a cautious dignity, choosing when to swat them aside and when to dangle a tidbit. Mind games? Compared with the oafish clumsiness of the sot from the North Arsene is like the child of Gary Kasparov and Machiavelli. When he blithely states that he makes no plans for Gareth Bale on Sunday do people really seriously start screaming that he’s a fool and he’s lost it? Or do they think he ought to tell those press hounds all of his plans and just hope no one from the Lane gets wind of them.

Given the enormous task Arsene has faced over the last few years and the revolting way he is treated it is quite incredible that a genuine rant or outburst has never happened. He should be instantly forgiven it it did, but instead he tolerates the imbecility of the press pack with an avuncular patience and a patronising indifference which you nor I would have little hope of maintaining. Just one more thing he does rather well in my opinion.

And with that I’m off to try to fill a football free Saturday.

The conclusion of a two-part article from ArsenalAndrew

After the Russians tanks arrived in 2003, firing £50 notes, they were later joined in 2009 by the sandstorm from the desert and both Chelsea and Manchester City were free to wreak fully funded havoc in the EPL as the global economy seized up from the effects of the credit crunch.  The Arsenal Master Plan, if not in tatters was in serious danger of collapsing in on itself.

That the club, somewhat against all the odds, was able to repeatedly steady itself and push on through the maelstrom is thanks largely to two of the most mis-maligned and harshly judged men currently in world football.  Yet history will surely judge that the stability – if not the spending funds – latterly provided by Stanley Kroenke off the pitch from 2011, combined with the uniquely extraordinary abilities of Arsene Wenger on it, fused together to forge something future footballing generations will come to see as being little less than a sporting miracle.

Stability is what Kroenke has given to the club.  Joining the Board in September 2008, he did it at arguably during its most vulnerable point in its long history.

He gave Arsenal Football Club a space to play and to trade itself away from the edge of the abyss.

There is little doubt Kroenke’s investment will reap a very substantial reward for the American in return for having huge sums tied up in the club for an indeterminate period.  A return, incidentally, that was never a given.  Equally, it can hardly be denied that Arsene Wenger has been appropriately recompensed for living and breathing Arsenal for every waking minute of the last sixteen-plus years.

But were it not for these two individuals, Arsenal could be a very different place today.  And quite possibly playing a very different, and very likely, a far less joyously exciting brand of football. However, it wasn’t merely the style of football being played that was effectively safe-guarded at this point, but the very essence of the club itself.

Some say the club were the architects of their own problems when they chose to move away  from Highbury.

Yet not leaving Highbury was never an option.

Evidence of this is provided by the failure to develop Anfield and Stamford Bridge, and the impact of those lengthy delays over in Middlesex.  All are salutary reminders of the weaknesses and vulnerabilities some clubs are facing as they peer into an uncertain and, for one or two, a quite possibly unhappy future.

Yet the cost of leaving Highbury, whilst seemingly high given the short-term absence of trophies, could have been so much greater.

On the balance of probabilities, given the nature of football, it’s likely that most owners would have struggled to absorb the impact of successive trophy-less seasons. Yet this is exactly what Kroenke has done, albeit aided by the club’s remarkably consistent ability to qualify for Europe year after year.

The Abramovitch ‘model’ of football management HAS brought a measure of success at the Bridge.

Whether it was because of his model or in spite of it is a highly moot point given the vast sums expended on the playing side.  Yet regardless of those somewhat tarnished, if not quite devalued, trophy riches, one is nowadays hard-pressed to meet a happy fan of a club for whom an unofficial name change has come to symbolise for so many, so much of what is wrong with major aspects of the game today.

Chelski are now utterly reliant on the continued goodwill of one man.

To the extent that, in public at least, few fans of the club seem prepared to risk going beyond criticizing their manager despite their deep-seated concerns for the future of the club. The long-term sustainability of Chelsea’s success is today predicated on little more than a whim.

For Arsenal to have risked ending up with an owner like Roman would have been to risk the loss of all our integrity and respect, our heart and our credibility.  Our west London neighbours have now been reduced to being little more than a money-laundering operation with an outlook as short-term as their owner’s profile is high.

During the recent match against Bayern Munich, though Arsenal were clearly beaten by an excellent, more established and settled side, it would take a mean spirit to fault the endeavour of the Arsenal team.  Though we were the lesser of the two sides on the night, Arsenal were not a million miles off the German pace.  And whilst rightly acknowledging the achievements of Bayern Munich, it is pertinent to reflect on the absence in Germany of a Chelsea or Citeh equivalent of financially ‘advantaged’ sides in a league which now has more in common with the EPL of the 1990’s than today’s ‘top heavy’ version.

It is pertinent also to note that Arsenal today, with a little help from Financial Fair Play and our own commercial activities, are on the brink of effectively joining the financial powerhouses of Europe – the four clubs of Spain and Manchester, PSG and, for now, Chelsea.

But not just for one season.  Or for a temporary Liverpool-esque cash splurge of the kind squandered by ‘King’ Kenny.

But for all seasons.

This year has been another of dramatic ups and downs in a sequence of seasons that have provided a sporting white-knuckle ride for all followers of the club.  A ride of sufficient velocity and unpredictability to see more than a few previously firm hands loosen their grip on the bar of unwavering support.

Before the Bayern game, we had to endure the Blackburn encounter, against whom, for Arsenal, the goals just would not come.  We eventually lost to a break-out fluke of a strike to the audible anguish of all following the unfortunate home side.

The ‘backlash’ of an anticipated goal-fest against relegation threatened Villa then failed to materialise in front of another home crowd that was, largely thanks to the results of the two previous cup games, nervous and jittery and which, some would say, successfully transmitted that collective state of mind to the players working so hard below.

We were, however, watching our third league win in a row.  Though you would never have believed it from a glance of the next day’s cheap headlines or the intellectual vacuum of Twitter.

Regardless of the ups and downs, none of the results seen this season – the good, the bad or the ugly – in the overall context of Arsenal’s Emirates-era challenges, are legitimate grounds for turning on this club – its players, its staff or its owner.

And given the squad transformation seen since Cesc’s departure (which must render the place virtually unrecognizable to the recently benched one), Arsenal’s present position remains competitive, as we sit two points behind Chelsea in the league, and still, as of March,  fighting hard in Europe.   A squad teeming with talent, now populated with experience and youth in near-equal measure, an intriguing, growing English ‘core’, augmented by some of the most exciting young talent from Europe and beyond, is clearly and self-evidently beginning to flourish on a solid bedrock of management continuity and fiscal stability and growth.

Yet to still willfully ignore ALL of that in the context of the events of the last eight years or so, can only be politely described as lazy ignorance – or mischief making – of the lowest order.

So yes. If there is to be a backlash against all that has gone before, let it begin now.

Let us, as positive fans, hit the boo-boys, the doomers and the negativistas as hard as we can wherever we encounter them.  With our arguments and with our reason.  With our sense of history and with all our expectations for the future.

In print.

Online.

In pubs and bars, cafes and restaurants.

At our ground.

At any ground.

Wherever we are in the world.

And let the lads do their talking on the pitch.  And with our full uncompromising and unconditional support.

If the on-field backlash happens at White Hart Lane, so much the better.  But if it doesn’t, then, despite the obvious disappointment, as followers of the club we must derive solace from what we know will follow and what will be.

Take our understanding of the club’s recent history and appreciate just how close we are now to where we want to be.

And where the club deserves to be.

Understand all of that and help others to.

Understand Arsenal, and be a part of something.

Yesterday’s news that Arsenal is to unveil another statue at the Emirates is just another example of wasting fans money on players that simply aren’t good enough any more. (That OK Mr Usmanov? Usual fee in a brown envelope please.)

Returning to the real world, Dennis is set to take his rightful place alongside Herbert Chapman, Tony Adams and Thierry Henry, commemorated as one of the true greats of Arsenal’s recent history. Dennis described himself as honoured and proud and told us that he loves us, which is just peachy because, guess what DB – we all love you too. He was a little circumspect about the unveiling sounding like Nick Clegg talking about the cabinet following the next election, saying he’d do everything he could to be there which when you put it like that sounds like he might very well not be there.

I don’t know about you but Dennis holds a particular spell on me. I have been known to watch Ajax matches just hoping for a glimpse of him on the bench looking suave, casual smart in a chic suit and open necked shirt – no tie. Like many of you (I suspect) I harbour a secret vision of him winning Dutch and European trophies before taking over from an eighty year old Arsene Wenger who, having won his third consecutive unbeaten league title, decides to step aside. Dennis then goes on to be as good a manager as he was a player. And I die a happy man.

We all have our favourite DB10 moments of course. There were so many crazy good goals, such strength and control, such vision and precision that if you had to choose one as an all time best you’d become a gibbering wreck. How do you separate the turn one way send the ball the other against Newcastle from the solo dribble and thunderbolt against Southampton or the “I’m going away from goal no I’m not I’m turning leaving you behind and chipping the keeper from outside the box” against Leverkeusen? How do you separate any of them from the right foot, left foot, left foot, right foot hat trick goal against Leicester? Better not to even try.

Oddly enough my favourite isn’t a even a goal. The moment of DB magic that had me screaming at the screen and still gives me chills is a simple assist. Simple for a football God that is. It was another great European night (we all have so many to thank Mr Wenger for don’t we?) Arsenal versus Juventus December 4th 2001 at Highbury. You remember it? 2 – 1 to Arsenal with the end of the match in sight, Dennis receives the ball on the far corner of their area does some Riverdance shit for the fun of it then turns two Juve defenders inside out like pillowcases. In the meantime he has mesmerised every other player in their team which allows Freddie to skip through undetected but unfortunately on Dennis’ wrong side. No problem for the maestro. He just turns it around the corner with the outside of his boot to deliver the perfect pass, perfect assist which Freddie banged home with glee. I love that moment for it’s audacity and invention, for his strength and vision and above all his team play. For a ruthless goal scorer Dennis was always a team player first and foremost. I would imagine Ian Wright, Davor Suker, Nicolas Anelka, Marc Overmars, Thierry Henry would all agree that they shone that little bit brighter for basking in his reflected light.

I read some fatuous baloney from people bemoaning the fact that we don’t sign players of his calibre any more. I’m not going to explain why here, we all know the reasons we can’t afford the most expensive talents in world football right now but that isn’t the point. The real issue is that there is only one Dennis Bergkamp with his unique skill set and icy calm in front of goal. These guys don’t come along very often so rather than make negative comparison with players we have today why not just revel in the memories he gave us. Oh yes and tease yourself a little about his future managerial career. Why not, it can’t hurt to fantasise can it?

Returning from the warm nostalgic glow of Bergkampian memory to the present day and I have just begun to take an interest in the league table. The reason was brilliantly summed up by Zimpaul the other day with his 800 metres analogy. In that particular discipline, he tells us, it is the final bend before the home straight that makes or breaks the runners. It is there that you win or lose the race and to his way of thinking we are approaching that bend now. As a consequence I have to begin to consider the importance of other teams and their results. Usually these days we see the two moneyed Mancs, Chelsea and one plucky outsider in contention with us for the much prioritized top four finish. Sometimes Everton show promise sometimes Aston Villa, Spurs or Newcastle have a season beyond their wildest expectations and come close to the holy grail of Champions League football, and of course usually they fail to make it over the line.

This time around those plucky little cocks from the Lane are actually having, by their standards, a pretty good season. No point in allowing our silly rivalry get in the way of the facts, they have shown bottle, not least to come back against a pretty average Bolton Ham United on Monday in a game which, had Fat Sam’s men put away their chances, they really could have lost. St Bale the Chimp Boy Of Nazareth and media darling is finding his shooting range and looks determined to finish his Spurs career on a high. For the first time in an unimaginably long time we are actually going to have to work really hard to overhaul them. I shan’t easily forget wasting my Monday evening watching that tripe but as ZP says this is where the race is won or lost and so our rivals’ matches become ever more important. For all the heroics from their talismanic if under-evolved simian striker, our near neighbours still have many problems. A poor West Ham found holes in their creaky defence and an over reliance on one player, well, lets just say we know how that can sometimes hurt you. Don’t discount the possibility of both us and them making the top four at the expense of the Chavs; stranger things have happened. And don’t expect anyone to suddenly turn into Dennis Bergkamp and ride to our rescue. We have many top quality players but the important thing is the team not the individuals. When we’ve destroyed people this season we’ve done it as a beautiful free flowing single entity not as scattering of shining stars.

The most important derby for a long time draws near. We’re on the shoulders of some of the early pace setters. Time to hold our nerve and get into the right place for that final sprint to the line.