Gf60 concludes his series of Arsenal League triumphs with a look at the 26^th May 1989;

When the South African Broadcasting Corporation decided to suspend normal Friday night TV programming to bring us the match live, some magic just had to be afoot. Football in the then rugby dominated, white supremacist South Africa? Take off Afrikaans programmes for Pommy football? Pull the other leg!

But the rumour was true. My friend Mike and I made up one of the smallest contingents of Gooners watching the game. We were, still are fanatics. Moving to South Africa had never dimmed the anticipation of reading a favourable match report, or watching an occasional pirated copy of Match of the Day and, total bliss, a full showing of Cup Finals. (OK so we forgot Ipswich and West Ham)

Our wives were banished to the kitchen to natter. This was serious men’s business. We settled back, six packs of Castle lager, crisps and biltong ready at our sides. And the game started.

I can remember but one Liverpool shot in the first half, from Rush, which had it been a foot either side of John Lukic would have taken the net with it. Suffice to say it was a mean enough shot to empty the fifth of the Castles and open the last. Our normal intake was four for the whole game.

Replenishments were hastily summoned; the wives poor Annie and Sheila were still discussing knitting or whatever women talk about at times of great husbandly stress. We weren’t very communicative. 2 goals in less than an hour? Our external composure was brave. Internally we were cotton wool and Castle.

We looked at each other and smiled. What else but faith kept Arsenal supporters supporting through the barren years? And, prior to both the double in 1971 and today, there had been many years of despondency and unrewarded faith.

Why were the beers having so little effect? A sympathetic comment or an involuntary movement of the feet accompanied every pass. McMahon was roundly cursed on many an occasion. He was covering every blade of grass and putting in crucial tackles, single handedly taking away OUR League title.

And then Nigel swings in a left footed free kick from the right. Tony goes sprawling. Smudger gets the faintest touch with his head. Pandemonium. We didn’t quite kiss and cuddle but it must have been close. But, what’s this? The ref is chatting to the linesman, both looking very serious. They chat forever. What did they say to each other? I’ve watched a replay many times and the only thing I know for certain is that lip reading ain’t my forte.

The finger points to the centre circle. 1-0 to the Arsenal. And the time ticks on. One not enough but sufficient for some silly sod on the commentary to mutter words to the effect that Arsenal may take some consolation from the win but they won’t win the league. Kevin Richardson goes down injured. We go past 90 minutes. Rueful looks at each other.

And then…Lee to Smudge to Micky….

Collectively the two of us have covered more grass and kicked more balls and made more tackles and drunk more Castle than any player on the pitch. We try to stand but someone or something had cut our legs off at the knee. We just collapse and cry. We’d done it.

(This was originally published in an anthology of Arsenal supporters and players/officials thoughts “It’s up for grabs now”, compiler Greg Mitchell 2005)

And on behalf of all PA posters, commenters and the hundreds of daily lurkers out there I wish you a very happy 75^th birthday for June 29^th – have a virtual cake on us –

By popular demand Gf60 writes;

I’d not really come down from winning the league at WHL but already a panic.Having tried during my 4 week break with no joy, HOW to get a ticket for the Cup final? I finally conceded that tomorrow I’d be a box watcher. But, my luck continued. Late that evening, my uncle Ken, who’d been a ball boy for Arsenal in the 1936 final, came up with a ticket. Happiness was. I’d only been to one final before, Everton beating Sheffield 3-2, courtesy of the FA donating tickets to lower leagues and whilst that was exciting for a neutral, there was no passion. And passion was going to be on tap today.

So off to Wembley. But how did I get there? A lift; bus; train? Sadly that memory vanished as has the journey back.  I do remember though that a) it was bloody hot and b) there was no nonsense with either sets of supporters, indeed warm congratulations from the Scousers walking back up Wembley Way.

This was our side (courtesy of Wikipedia)

Biased as usual, I remember thinking when full time came around scoreless that we’d deserved to win but the cross bar, goal line clearances and good keeping from Ray Clemence had kept us out.

Extra time was going to be painful……..it had stayed hot and must have been agony for the players. Even greater agony and a note on my seat. I realised early on that there was a reason for the late ticket. It had to be just about the worst seat for viewing in the ground. Right in the corner, virtually pitch level and Steve Heighway’s shot past Bob Wilson early in the first half of extra time, would have hit me in the face had the net not got in the way. Bloody hell, I got a really good view of that. Frank McLintock ran around to us supporters asking us for more, keep up the noise level. Difficult Frankie,  we’d not stopped.

And then, our equalizer. “George took that chance so calmly” I said to a neighbour. Everyone saw “George Graham’s equalizer” only for subsequent showings to prove it was Eddie Kelly’s goal. Maybe George had taken Clemence’s eye off the ball but Eddie as he had against Stoke 2 weeks back, scored the all important goal.  And then the great finale, Charlie stepping on to Big Raddie’s pass and scoring a 20 yarder. Will his celebration ever be forgotten? It must have been screened hundreds of times since.

Gf60 provides the second  leg of his League trophy journey;

To this day, I wonder what made me think that I could go the flicks, watch a lunch time screening of “Get Carter” in Muswell Hill and get to the spuds in good time for the game? With some 40 000 locked out, the Gods were looking after me……I strolled in happily with about an hour to go. Only the following day did I realise my luck.

This was a game of more than a little import…if we won or drew 0-0 we would be Champions. A score draw meant that Leeds would take it…on goal average (no goal difference in 1971). No room for stress then.

Though the spuds were in 3^rd place, there was no doubt that we wanted it more but would goals come? Pulse rate  soaring but as long as it stayed goal-less we were OK. Only 3 minutes to go.

And then Ray Kennedy sored with a fine header from Geordie Armstrong’s cross that gave Pat Jennings (soon to be a gooner) no chance.

But now real fear. The spuds would do anything not to get beaten. One goal and we’d blown our first title since 1953. Ooh, those minutes were painful.

But at last, the final whistle. Like hundreds of other gooners go celebrate on their pitch. On my way I heard someone say “Look at those bastards. Dancing on our grave” I should have thought to say “that’s for fkin up my Christmas 21 years ago” but the chance was lost. What wasn’t lost though was the chance to take home a lump of the ground. Where to put this ultimate souvenir?

Was there any better place to plant it than where the dogs did their business? Haven’t thought of one yet and so it remains.

Gf60 writes;

Friday May 1^st 1953, 2 months short of my 11th birthday and I’m allowed to go unaccompanied to my first night game.

It is the last game of the season…… Burnley. A win makes us League champions. A draw or loss makes for tears. Burnley had feelings for their near neighbours *(Preston and scared the pants off us. Jimmy McIlroy, one of the best)* post war players, pulled back a goal with 15 minutes to go

I have the official entrance fee of 6d in the pocket, but split it 3d of the gate keeper, (and more importantly) 3d left in mine for a thing is to find another youngster and through we go.

Not a full house by any means, it was an early’ish kick off, maybe 5.30 (6.30) so many still many working.

Arsenal’s line up – no subs in 1953.
Goalkeeper; George Swindin

Right back Lionel Smith

Left back Joe Wade

Centre half Ray Daniel

Midfielder Ben Marden

Wing half Alex Forbes

Wing half Joe Mercer and captain

Centre Forward/Wing half Peter Goring

Winger Don Roper

Inside right Doug Lishman

Inside left Jimmy Logie

Tears not far away; the game had hardly started but on 8 minutes Joe Mercer of all people sliced a cross cum shot and it is tapped in by Stephenson for the visitors (0-1) but two minutes later Alex Forbes had a go from some 30 yards. I’m probably biased but am sure that ball was still rising. Doug Lishman edged up ahead on 15 minutes, Jimmy Logie sent us all doolally and half  time arrived with us having a 2 goal cushion.

Surely more to come? No, that’s not the Arsenal way. Burnley had feelings for their near neighbours post war players, pulled back a goal with 15 minutes to go and we started clock watching. That bloody clock. If we were needed to equalise, it sped up. I kid you not. But if we were under pressure, as sure as God made that night, it felt like it had stopped. One minute felt like 10. Joe and Alex working like Trojans, George relief and an oh so happy cry of “Champions” at the final whistle.

I thought it was about time, in keeping with other blogs, that Positively Arsenal released a manifesto with a clear plan of how Arsene Wenger and the club should proceed, in order to meet our requirements. I’ve brought all of my knowledge of football and running a billion pound company to bear. Of course this, like all the other bloggers, amounts to zero. But I won’t let that minor detail stop me from pontificating like an expert on all matters.

1. Formation.

We should use the “in vogue” formation of the season. So basically, whoever is winning the league, that is the formation Arsene should adopt. Last season we should have been playing  3 4 3 and the previous season 4 4 2.  I understand it will be difficult to copy this until a clear leader is established, but for now I’ll accept the 3 4 2 1 we ended the season with.

2. Tactics.

We should sit back and use our formation to hit them on the counter with pace and power. In order to best do this we should allow the opposition to control the game with possession, and lull them into a false sense of security. I accept that might be a problem with teams that don’t want the ball either, and have set up to sit back, but we can play out a nil-nil, and no damage done. If we are playing a top team and go a goal down, in no circumstances should we go on the offensive. We must bring on more defenders and make sure we don’t get “embarrassed” as our delicate fans can’t cope with this.

3. Rotation

Players should be rotated much more than previously. Better use of the squad should be made. This will never be a problem as no team has to play their best players and our fans never complain when the best players are rested. Should we lose a game that some of our best players have been rested for, that will clearly have been a mistake, but will never be used as a stick to beat the manager, because we fans would never do that. The simple solution is to have all backup players at the same standard as the best ones. I don’t understand why this isn’t the case. We are loaded as a club. Just buy more top players.

4. Injuries

Injuries are unacceptable, especially long term ones, and should not happen. In 2014 the club hired Shad Forsythe as the new head of athletic performance enhancement, I have noticed we are still getting injuries, this can only mean Wenger is interfering in some way. We hired the best man and yet we still get injuries. This can’t be allowed to continue.

5. Coaching Staff

I have no idea what any of the coaches do, but I’m convinced someone else could do it better. I mean what does Steve Bould do? We keep conceding goals so he must be crap ! Unless he isn’t being allowed  to do anything by a manager that insists on having 600 staff, but does everything himself. I suggest we bring in someone with a proven record, Tony Adams perhaps? His teams never concede goals.

6. Director of Football

We should hire a DoF immediately. He should be a “real football”man,  someone that knows better than the manager what players the manager wants to work with. He should be able to “get it done” even when up against clubs with greater resources. We are after all – The Arsenal.

7. Transfers

Transfers should be done quickly and efficiently, preferably before the transfer window actually opens on the 1st July. The club should publish a list of our targets, with details of fees and wages, so we can understand and approve them. If we have more than one target a Twitter poll should be run so as to help the club know who they should prioritise.

8. Deadwood Players.

When , through injury, loss of form or another player becoming 1st choice, a player should be deemed “deadwood” they should be sold. It doesn’t matter who wants to buy them, or what wages they are being offered, they should be somehow forced to leave. We can’t be paying wages to someone I’ve decided I don’t want anymore. And don’t give me any lame excuses like “he has a contract”. Get deadwood out of my club.

9. Ownership.

The majority shareholder should either spend his own money subsidising us, or sell his shares to someone that will.

10. Transfer Spending and players wages.

The accounts show that the club basically breaks even every year. So this would indicate that spending is in line with income. This is rubbish, we could and should spend more. Who cares if we are in debt? The club should be spending like drunken sailors because I don’t care about anything accept results on the pitch. A board full of football men with no idea about business would surely be better than the bunch of educated “conservatives” we have now.

Ok, that’s 10 to be going on with. I have no doubt you all thoroughly enjoyed my pearls of wisdom. Clearly I know my stuff, I’m a blogger after all.

Gf60 writes;

My most exciting game (outside of championship deciders and cup finals).

Isn’t it strange that when you cast your mind back over literally hundreds of games that really got you going, drenched with sweat, hoarse, really exhausted as though you’d covered every blade of grass on the pitch yourself, that a lost game is the most memorable?

After all there are 1-0 wins that were so against the run of play but so exciting (as we, the fans, literally tried to blow the ball away from our danger area) that they live in the mind far longer than eminently satisfactory but easy 6-2 wins. Even some 1-1 draws have done that.

So why choose a loss? Simple. It was a game that not only lives; it also showed what Gooners could do when they believed in themselves (something that our recent sides have done so well) and it also had me crying but a few days later.

There was a day in 1958 when “Manchester United” was simply that…..not MFU or any other other acronym for cheatin’, lucky, dirty bastards.

They were footballing Gods, blessed with skills so far from the norm that they resembled our Invincibles. (Even so they never managed a season unbeaten which goes to show just how good we were.)

We all knew that our side was just there to act as the sacrificial lamb, but in those days watching football played at such a level was no hardship. So they’ve put 14 goals past us in the last 3 games? And, they’ll put 3 or 4 past us again today, so what? Miss this game and you miss out on seeing real skill….and football as it can be played.

Whatever time the kick off, probably 1pm in those archaic days of no floodlights and no substitutes, you got to the ground a good 3 hours before hand for a game like this. Establish your viewing position, programme and a paper to read, big bag of peanuts to hand and then start the ‘how big a crowd?’ game; do the raffle for first person to score….”please let me pull Tommy Taylor!” No, get Denis Evans instead but at least that left you with a chance of just maybe the Arse will get a penalty….if of course we ever get into their area!

At last the game starts. Look at them strut. Colman, Edwards, Byrne…Charlton , a mere 3 years older than me and playing in this side. And the lucky raffle winner is….Duncan Edwards. They tore us apart, Charlton getting a goal of such frightening power that “maybe”, we thought, “he hits a ball as hard as big Cliff”, and, as we expected they were 3-0 up at half time. We started wondering what was the worst ever Arsenal defeat at Highbury. Horrible as the score was, we were watching a truly great side and there was a sigh almost of contentment as they trooped off. We were lucky enough to have seen greatness in action.

What may have gone into the Gooners tea at half time is a matter of conjecture….within about 10 minutes the crowd was ecstatic. Not only had we scored against these non- mortals, we’d equalised and had them on the run. David Herd and Jimmy Bloomfield (twice) had done the, what seemed, impossible. Our side was level.

Even a crowd as passionate as that can only keep up such a noise level for so long. An injury, treated as usual with a sponge loaded with iced water, two wild clearances into the stands and a bit of other time wasting, left all of us, players and supporters, shorn of adrenaline and realising that there wasn’t much left in the tank.

Had we shot our collective bolts? It would seem so. Another 10 minutes and we were 2 goals behind again. Violett and Taylor for the second time doing the damage. But the lads had realised by now that they could also play. Up went the sleeves, up again went the tempo and Derek Tapscott got our fourth. We were all berserk as the equaliser refused to come, but we were watching a game where the Arse was taking a better side almost to the cleaners. Almost but not quite and, as usual, the clock decided enough is enough.

We had lost but lost gloriously. Any fan having a voice left, even those up in the directors’ box, might be assumed to be sub normal. Mine for sure was some 3 days getting back to normal…..in time to wail “Oh shit” as I saw the headline of the first newspaper I was supposed to deliver on my 6a.m. morning paper delivery round.

It was the first and only time I ever cried for Manchester United.

GF60 writes;

This was written some 6 years ago and at last we have to concede that St. Tott’s can have a break. But at least we have a pot to show for it and can claim that we’ve won the league, cup and shield on their home ground!

There are no games in the season that fill me with more terror than the Spuds. It’s 90 minutes of having a pulse rate way too high for an old fart, bitten fingernails, and nervous twitches…and that’s when we’re a few goals up.

Yes it has been 10 years almost to the week since the scrawny chickens raised more than a croak in the league against us. Our record since 1999…10 wins, 8 draws 0 defeats. But every year the tension gets higher. Every year, the thought that they could fluke a winning goal against us, or even worse a winning own goal, with their supporters carrying on as though they’ve just won the World Cup, the European Cup and Aunt Gladys’ tea cup, is sufficient to give any Gooner the horrors.

And that’s the biggest problem. Their supporters just have no class. It’s not a question of 3 points…or the loss thereof that fills me with terror. It’s the spuds rattling on ad nauseum that they are North London’s finest.

They do that regardless without even beating us; St Totteringham’s day being an  unfortunate fluke; the absence of a Championship at the slough of despond for 48 years, a mere oversight. Of course we know it’s all bollocks but they still believe that wishing it to happen will make it happen. They are so pathetic.

They still get more pleasure from us being beaten by anybody in preference to their side actually winning a game. Which probably explains why they’re such a miserable shower…they get little in the way of happiness.

My first exposure to a derby probably explains my antipathy to most spud supporters (although many old friends are spuds!). Funny I’ve never disliked the side as such and used to visit regularly when we were away and they were playing some good football back in the 50s and 60s.

It was 1950, I was 8 years old. My gran, a spud I fear to say, had lost the battle for my allegiance 2 years earlier when I was taken to see my first game at Highbury, and decided that my Christmas present should be a seat next to her on the 23rd December.

Equipped with rattle and scarf I was in my element up until the moment that I realised that we’d lost 1-0. Then the tears came. As did the whispered comment from the spiv type sitting next to me, “That’s yer Christmas present yer little Arsenal shit.”

Now I’d never heard the word before and gran hadn’t heard the comment so nothing was said until I got home and asked Mum what a “shit” was. I got a clip around the ear and the warning that I’d get no Christmas presents this year or any other year if I ever said that word again. And the final blow…”no more watching football for you if that’s the sort of language you learn.”

That spud took out about 10 months out of my supporting programme and might explain partly my ethos that “If it’s bad for the spuds, it’s good for Gooners”

Having said that there is a big BUT. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I for one object to the fact that the Chel$kis and Manchester F***** United have taken the spuds previous pride of place in the jeering/taunting stakes. It’s not really our fault, the spuds have been more deserving of sympathy, a pat on the head and “There, there, there” than a good gloat.

They are the real oppo, always have been, always should be. Please may they never screw up another season like 1977/78 and get relegated… because a season without “the terror”, is so terribly boring. But it goes without saying that should the impossible ever happen… we screw up, St Tott’s day does not occur and we’ve been beaten by the spuds… it will be next century already so I can just roll in my grave.

Gf60

(Not quite the right one)