Going Out on a Highbury high
For us Gooners it was a window onto the Schadenfreude world of the masochistic Spurs fan. I’ve enjoyed taking the mickey in recent seasons, over the way their own team’s miserable efforts have left them supporting the likes of Man Utd and even Chelsea, relying on the Arsenal’s opponents for the vicarious thrill of a rare humbling of their most hated enemy.
So it was that I sat here on Sunday with my mobile phone in hand, anxiously awaiting that moment when I might be able to tap out a text message, pointing out to my pals that the goal they’d just conceded was a direct consequence of Carrick’s bad karma, following his failure to put the ball into touch against us. However all this is water under the bridge and I’m more than a little surprised that such a gentleman as le Gaffer hasn’t found a means of recapturing his customary pitch upon the moral high ground, by issuing some semblance of an apology for his uncharacteristic attack on Jol. This might only have required a typically cute, backhanded reference to his remorse.
Perhaps le Prof believes it unnecessary, in a week when his little faux-pas has been buried under a media mountain of meshugana headlines. Although by remaining schtum, Arsène leaves himself open to accusations that he’s neglecting his responsibility to avoid any additional cause for antagonism between the fans. Especially at a time when the slightest little thing could literally set us at each other’s throats.
Alan Whiley certainly isn’t a Gooner and after Bolton had failed to capitalise on all their early pressure, when this incompetent ref then ignored Stelios’ penalty shout, I wouldn’t be surprised if my caterwauling could be heard a couple of miles away, at the wrong end of the Seven Sisters Road.
Following the final whistle at White Hart Lane on Sunday, I was surprised to find myself feeling quite philosophical about the prospect of falling short on the domestic front. In fact, considering the season on season suffering of my close Spurs pals, if we can actually achieve European glory, I’d almost feel happy about throwing them our Premiership crumbs.
For the first time in more than a decade the Lilywhites are likely to achieve a higher league finish than their most hated rivals. Yet they find themselves having to temper their celebrations, with the knowledge that they’re about to endure a long couple of weeks, waiting for the game which might ultimately decide their fate. Despite the prospect of their long awaited and decidedly limited success, once again Spurs fans’ entire season is going to come down to 90 agonising minutes spent in front of the box, enduring yet another glamorous encounter for the Gunners, whilst praying for the Arsenal’s demise.
The further fourth place falls from our own grasp, Arsène is going to feel that much more inclined to give the lads a breather, instead of exhausting them with a futile battle. In which case we should arrive at the Stade de Paris feeling well rested and refreshed, rather than the leg-weary lot that left the field at El Madrigal.
Yet while I might advocate this argument to wind up any Spurs fans, with a 10 day gap between our last league game and ‘the Big One’, we might be better served by at least starting with our best XI (always my preferred option) and only rotating players once we’ve secured a lead. In this way we might arrive in Paris on the back of three confidence boosting wins with everyone up to speed, flushed with success, as opposed to the sort of indifferent displays where players could go off the boil and perhaps end up fatally struggling for form when it matters most. With fearless youngsters like Fabregas and Eboué in the Arsenal squad, as we’ve already demonstrated in the earlier rounds, I’m convinced we won’t be the least bit intimidated by the fact that Barca are the bookies favourites. Whatever transpires, I’ve great faith that we won’t suffer from the sort of inferiority complex, or big stage nerves, which might prevent us from doing ourselves justice on the night.
However before thoughts turn to Barca, it will be time to dig out my most inconspicuous screwdriver and assorted other tools. If I should end up absent without leave next week, no doubt it’ll be due to me having had my collar felt, whilst failing to surreptitiously save my own souvenir of The Home of Football from the extortionate auction that’s bound to marginalise all but the most affluent Gooners.
It would appear that every possible step has been taken to ensure that the last game ever at Highbury has been organised to the ‘nth’ degree, in order that we should enjoy the occasion, but only in a civilised and orderly fashion. I don’t know whether they’re expecting the Arsenal’s sedate crowd to start ripping out the seats (which are also being sold online!) but I’m already afraid that the unsympathetic, shekel-obsessed suits at the club are expecting me to pay tribute to an entire lifetime of extremely sentimental memories with a polite round of applause, before passively heading for the exit. I should coco!
