Why the Gunners still get me fired up

IT WAS one of those rare perfect moments.

Leading 3-0 against Everton at Highbury, Arsenal were moments away from winning their first championship in seven years when Steve Bould, a defender known more for brawn than guile, lobbed an exquisite pass to his long-time defensive partner Tony Adams.

The Arsenal captain let the ball bounce before walloping home on the half volley and then lifting the arms aloft — an iconic celebration now commemorated by a statue outside the Emirates Stadium.

For me as a spotty 15-year-old Arsenal obsessive it felt fitting that it should be Adams who would put the seal on an unforgettable season. Five years earlier my interest in soccer had been piqued when I noticed a game on TV. It was an FA Cup semi-final between Arsenal and Tottenham at Wembley. 10 minutes from the end Arsenal got a free-kick and some guy called Paul Merson crossed to the far post where another player called Tony Adams headed to the net for the winner. That was it. I was hooked. Without the influence of an older brother to lead me on a righteous path Arsenal became my team, Adams my hero.

Later I would realise how badly I’d misplaced my first decade, missing out of on the drama of Anfield in 1989 — “It’s up for grabs now…” — and the emphatic title triumph of 1991. I’d also learn of the demons that plagued Adams, his battle with alcoholism and his time in prison after he was charged with drink driving having crashed into a wall. The incident prompted the classic joke: that he was just trying to get the wall back 10 yards.

Last month marked the 20th anniversary of that Cup semi-final, meaning I’ve spent — some might argue wasted — two decades roaring at TVs, arguing with people at college, work and pubs, and spending money I didn’t have on overpriced club merchandise and trips to London to watch the boys in red and white.

My first trip to Highbury was in February 1998 for a game against Crystal Palace. My aunt volunteered her husband for minding duty and, to his credit, he managed to muster enough enthusiasm to get through the day. A bruising league cup game against Chelsea the previous Wednesday meant it was a somewhat decimated Arsenal team that took the pitch that day but a rare second-half goal from Remi Garde was enough to send me home happy. I would only visit Highbury three more times before the move to the Emirates Stadium in 2006 but the sense of history and the intimate surroundings of the place will stay with me forever.

In truth, I probably only appreciated the place properly after the move to the Emirates where the atmosphere — with some exceptions, most notably the breathless 2-1 win over Barcelona two seasons ago — even now feels somewhat contrived.

As special as the 1998 title win was, it did not spark the era of dominance Gooners dreamed of. Arsenal would fall agonisingly short of the treble-winning Manchester United in 1998-99 before finishing a distant second to the Red Devils the next two seasons.

Arsenal would finally strike back in the 2001/02 season though; memorably winning the title at Old Trafford just days after beating Chelsea in the FA Cup final.

The years 2003 and 2005 would bring further FA Cup wins while, in between, Arsenal’s Invincibles would defy sporting logic by winning the championship without losing a single game.

These were the glory days of the Arsene Wenger era and the memory of being present at a joyous Highbury to watch captain Patrick Vieira lift the Premiership trophy after a 2-1 win over Leicester City on the final day of the 2003/04 season will never leave me. It was a special side of special talents with the likes of Vieira, Thierry Henry, Dennis Bergkamp, Freddie Ljungberg and Robert Pires turning the game into an art form.

Henry was particularly sensational during this spell. He was a great goalscorer and a scorer of great goals: a rare combination. He was also the king of the assists, contributing 24 in 2002/03 and 14 in 2003/04. To my admittedly somewhat biased eyes he was by a distance the best player in the world between 2002 and 2004 and the absence of world player of the year award is a glaring absence from his CV.

These days Henry is best remembered in these parts for his sleight of hand that sent France to the 2010 World Cup at the Republic of Ireland’s expense. As an Arsenal-supporting Irishman my feelings for Henry are somewhat conflicted. But, as much as his handball rankles, I cannot forget that the guy provided me with some of the most thrilling moments of my life.

Much has changed since the heady days when Henry and Co were in their pomp in the mid-Noughties. Owners of astonishing wealth transformed Chelsea and Manchester City from relative obscurity to superpowers almost overnight while the move to the Emirates limited Wenger’s ability to keep Arsenal competitive before the manager damagingly lost his touch in the transfer market.

The loss of Robin van Persie to bitter rivals Manchester United last summer painfully reflected just how far Arsenal have fallen. That Van Persie’s goals have fired United to the title while Arsenal have toiled has only added to the pain. Such a deal would have been unthinkable a decade ago.

Approaching 30, I was changing too. The realisation the club I loved unconditionally as a kid viewed its fans as a commodity they could bleed dry — ticket prices are particularly jaw-dropping — shattered my innocence, while the tolerance for mediocrity from those at the top infuriates me.

Arsenal may well secure Champions League football for a 16th season in succession when they play Newcastle tomorrow but I can’t but rail against Wenger’s assertion that a top-four spot qualifies as a trophy.

A combination of that disenchantment and financial issues mean this is the first season since the 2005/06 campaign that I have not made a trip to London.

For all that though, when games kick-off the cynicism and moaning (mostly) disappears and I revert to my former self — an obsessive fan with an unexplainable, unfathomable emotional attachment in something I can’t possibly influence.

And while I’ll be happy to see the back of this particular season I know that within weeks I’ll be pining for the start of the next campaign and dreaming of a return of the glory days. Here’s to the next 20 years.