Hello and how are you?
As we digest the Christmas gluttony and head into the last game of the 2024 calendar, the Mighty Cannon will play host to the easterly Ipswich Town at Ashburton Grove for a late 8.15pm (western European time) kick off, on the 27th of December.
The 21st of August dawned bright and sunny. For one kid in the world, life would never be the same again. Time couldn’t go quickly enough that day, and the strange and eccentric events that filled much of the space of those daylight hours seemed to float by. The kid went to his friends house, it was his birthday or thereabouts. For the first time that day the grey clouds crept in and it started to rain. They then piled into the car and started to leave, but there was a commotion; the friends Dad had run over the cat, which had been hiding from the rain. The kid got out and had to be mature, his friend was in tears and the Dad was upset but pragmatic. “Is it dead?”. “Yes”.
Much of the journey was in silence but the rain stopped and they headed into north London. Destination : The Arsenal Stadium, Highbury. Yes, built by Archibald Leitch.
For the kid, Highbury was some holy place, never visited before, but hallowed and beloved, albeit through the television and the pouring over endless football magazines, endlessly. They parked the car somewhere nearby and made their way into the throng. Everywhere were masses of people, the odours of tobacco and alcohol that seemed strangely beguiling floated on the wind. Sporadic singing and chanting broke out here and there as they wended their way through the crowd, programme sellers and merchandise vendors. More people than the kid had ever seen in one place. Everyone taller, everyone stronger. Everything seemed bigger and very masculine and with an atmosphere that was electric, beyond all expectations, beyond all anticipations. There it was in front of them: the stadium itself, towering above, a place of history, of architectural class, that had soaked up both ecstasy and agony over many years, and many generations. The Arsenal.
They handed over their tickets in the creepy, dark Scylla and Charybdis trap of the turnstile and got into the East Stand, and after the Dad bought some refill, they found their way down to their seats.
The kid would never forget that moment, walking down into that arena, at first, at the back of the stand most of the pitch was obscured but taking more steps down the vista opened more and more; there was Pat Jennings in the goal at the North Bank, “its Pat Jennings!”. To see your team, stars, mates, heroes suddenly in the flesh before you was incredible. Like posters come down from the wall. Nothing like that which you’d seen on television. It took the kids breath away.
They were sitting a few rows up from the managers boxes (never again would the kid enjoy such privileged seats). This was the first game of the season, and it was against Ipswich Town. The memories of the hopeless 1978 final were still strong and a sore point. But The Arsenal had won the cup the season before in an unforgettable and utterly euphoric manner. And then to the kid and his friends amazement before the kick-off, the FA cup was paraded around the stadium by a marching band with the cup carried before them by two drum majors. “our cup!”.
The game started. 1-0 down at HT. “Butcher and Thijssen are big blokes” said the friend, the kid nodded in agreement. Not long before HT the kid shouted at Liam Brady, his ultimate hero, who was only a few meters away and must of heard him. The kid blushed in total embarrassment. “I’m not fit to shout even ‘come on’ at Brady, this man, this left foot, the left foot that scored the amazing goal against Tottenham, thought the kid. And didn’t do it again.
0-2 at FT. A loss, first home game of the season. The third match of what was to be seventy games played in 1979/80, a season that ended in the bitter tears of losing two finals in a week.
There’s a strike at ITV which means the highlights of this game will never be shown or seen. None of this mattered, it was still the best experience ever, to be there in that stadium, to have seen the Arsenal. The sights and sounds of the crowd (now I see it was only somewhat over 33,000 people there that night, which was way below capacity), the atmospheres, the anticipation and eventual abandonment of hope in winning were so overwhelming that this first time couldn’t ever be forgotten. It just didn’t matter that the Arsenal had lost. The kid had won.
At home in bed that night the kid thought only of Arsenal and Highbury, sifting through the memories and reading and re-reading the programme. First. Always? Life’s always changing so ‘always’ is a tough thing to make a contract with. But it seems that way. What else is there?
Last? Yes, last game of 2024, a year full of memories both good and bad and sometimes indifferent? We all know we should be leading the league but somehow keep stuttering like Roger Daltrey in the Who’s My Generation. But that’s where we are. But who knows where we are going?
Stat HQ says: The Arsenal have 84.2% chance of winning, and Ipswich a mere 5%. I haven’t seen the East Anglians play once this season so I don’t know how they look, set up or even play, I’m sure you guys do, and any insights would be great. They rest in 19th place which I’m sure is horrible, but life in the Premier League is unforgiving, both at the top and bottom.
That’s it, and so to everyone at PA: “Guten Rutsch!” into 2025, but hope the Mighty Cannon doesn’t slip and instead we see some crafty one-touch football and score five goals. COYG!
Well that’s it, lots of bits and pieces that I’m sure have made you feel like going off and counting the nano-seconds until Christmas instead of reading this.
Even so, here’s to a great game for us and lucky horses!
COYG and keep on keepin’ on!
Mills
Positively Arsenal 