A whole summer of this?

If you believed even 10 per cent of the Arsenal-related transfer speculation flying around at the moment, this summer would see more people signing on at the Emirates than at the Bootle branch of the Jobcentre Plus on benefits day.

While I refuse to get excited about anyone we’re linked with until Arsene Wenger or the board come out to say it’s done and dusted, I do – like many supporters – keep half an eye on the transfer rumours, if only to keep the spirits up.

The general consensus is we’re interested in Benzema (although he doesn’t want to move), that Wenger wants to add some steel (possibly in the form of Samba from Blackburn), and that the last thing we need is another small, flimsy, ‘play-anywhere-across-the-middle’ versatile midfielder who will only score a few goals a season, may or may not make the grade but will, in any case, need a couple of years on the bench before he steps up because he’s not yet the finished article and, when he does, there may be some problems with his passport because he was born in the Americas but has European grandparents… or something.

Imagine my disappointment, then, when I logged on the find the following awaiting me the other morning.

From (the ever-so-reliable ‘Football Talk’ website): Arsenal have made their first signing of the summer with the bosman transfer of Ricardo Alvarez from the Argentinean club Vélez Sársfield, according to reports.

The 23 year old was born in Argentina, but has an Italian passport, and the left footed attacking midfielder has been likened to Barcelona's star player and probably the best footballer in the world, Lionel Messi.

According to FoxSports, the player has signed a pre-contract agreement with Arsenal, allowing the player to join in June.

He has only scored 4 goals in 36 appearances, but it his versatility that has attracted Arsenal's eye. Apparently he can play in any position in the midfield, and although not an immediate starter would add depth to the Arsenal squad.

Now I know the chances of this being true are about the same as the chances of Gerard Houllier climbing Kilimanjaro right now, but still… give us something to cling to, Arsene.

I bet he’s just like Messi

Buy us the spirit of 26 May 1989, Arsene

Twenty-two years ago today, 11 players and a sub set off to Anfield to attempt the near-impossible.

After 37 games each, Liverpool and Arsenal both still had a chance to take the league title. But Liverpool stood top by three points and had a superior goal difference, home advantage and were playing, in accordance with the mantra they had created after the death of 96 of their supporters at Hillsborough a month before, 'for the dead'.

Arsenal faced other challenges too. So dominant were Liverpool throughout the 80s they had not lost by two goals at Anfield for over a decade. Arsenal’s requirement to take the title back to London for the first time in 18 years: ‘Win 2-0’.

All the hype before had claimed the title was destined for Anfield, and that Arsenal didn’t have a chance. Arsenal had, after all, thrown away a big lead in the title race and Liverpool had won 5-1 against West Ham in the days before. “Not a prayer” was the famous headline on the day of the game.

The Arsenal responded in accordance with their own history – with class and pride. George Graham pinned said headline on the wall of the dressing room and his team talk was done. The players took to the field with bouquets of flowers in memory of the Hillsborough dead. And none of them spoke of the team’s chances. Talking would be done on the pitch.

And so it was. And in the most dramatic fashion. Alan Smith headed the goal that gave Arsenal a chance on 53 minutes, and what followed is football folklore – the stuff dreams are made of and which kids kicking balls around the streets couldn’t think up.

With 89 minutes gone, Steve McMahon of Liverpool took word from the Kop that in 60 seconds the title would be theirs again. He didn’t know how resilient that Arsenal side was.

In the 92^nd minute – and in the days before injury time regularly exceeded 93 minutes – Michael Thomas broke through the midfield, lifted the ball over the advancing ‘keeper and wrote himself, the class of ’89, and the words “It’s up for grabs now” into football history.

So why am I telling you all this? Obviously, you all know it.

Well it’s because of this: I will always argue that today’s footballers, in a head to head with those of yesteryear, will triumph comfortably. It would be athletes vs members of the Tuesday Club; and the speed, power and strength of today’s thoroughbreds wuold simply shine through.

Yet despite their superior ability, I don’t believe today’s current Arsenal team would have come even close to winning 2-0 on the night of Friday 26 May 1989.

Because although today’s team have more ability, they do not have one ounce of the determination, willpower or affiliation with the fans that the class of ’89 had.

Sagna, Clilchy, Koscielny and Djourou cannot match the passion of Dixon, Winterburn, Adams, Bould and O’Leary. Fabgregas, Walcott, Nasri, Arsharvan, Rosicky and Denilson do not have the determionation to win that Richardson, Thomas and Rocastle had. Chammakh, Bendtner and even van Persie do not have the guile of Smith, Hayes and even Groves.

I know which set of players I would choose to take into a one-game battle for silverware.

When Arsene Wenger gets his chequebook out this summer, let’s hope he realizes that what we lack is not a match winner or a speedy, tricky little flair player. But some passion, determination and fight.

Then we have a prayer.

Sometimes, all that's left is to laugh...

There are so many jokes flying around in football at the moment.

There’s the one that goes: “Now King Kenny has returned to Liverpool, the odds on them winning the league next season have been slashed to 14/1. If you don’t understand how betting works, it means if you put £10 on, you’ll lose £10.”

Then there’s the one about the ballot for the Olympic tickets. “My credit card has now been debited. I didn’t get the events I wanted in the Olympic Stadium but there were 45,000 tickets available to watch West Ham.”

And then there’s the one about Ryan Giggs. What?

What’s worrying me though, is that beyond all this tomfoolery, the true laughing stocks of the Premier League this season have been us.

The media already take every opportunity they can get to have a dig at the Arsenal. This week’s double-page spread explaining we’re in disarray because Denilson – who has played about five games this year and is shit – wants to leave, was a classic example. Especially when you consider it was bang next to an inch-long story about Tevez, Man City’s actual best player, wanting to leave.

The following day’s story that Arsenal use GPS to track their footballers’ whereabouts, quoting Robin van Persie as saying “We don’t have private lives anymore”, was also classic ‘papers stirring it up’. Because the actual story was that Arsenal fit their players with GPS in training to monitor movement and patterns and, one day, a player had to pop home and forgot to take it off.

So we could really do without giving them extra ammunition to attack us with – namely being spineless, falling away at the end of the title race, never spending any money and all those other terribly predictable things this season has produced.

I didn’t used to care about this stuff. In fact, I quite liked that we were hated by the media. As long as we were winning, it just added to our ‘backs-to-the-wall’ battling mentality, and it made us stronger. I enjoyed sticking two fingers up at them.

But now it’s got a bit embarrassing and I’m tired of Keys and Gray and Collymore and The Sun and the Mail pointing out our frailties, our weaknesses and our softness.

Even Gary Lineker chipped in with a little dig at the end of Match of the Day last night, saying “Try spending some cash, Arsene”.

So when Wenger sits down later this week to consider whether he needs to add some steel and strength to this team, he might do well to observe that this team simply isn’t good enough to recover our reputation on its own next season – and that this club’s fans won’t enjoy being a laughing stock again next year.

It’s bad enough that this year we managed to come fourth in a two-horse race...

Difference of opinion...

When I started this blog at the beginning of the season, my stance on the major issues at the club were clear: Wenger was the right man for the job; I agreed with our cautious approach to spending; I accepted we were in a period where we had to sacrifice massive investment in the team – and possibly trophies – to secure the long-term future of the club at a time when we had a stadium to pay for; and I genuinely believed that when the media said most fans ‘just want silverware’ that they were wrong.

In ten months, things have changed a lot.

Bob Wilson came out today very much echoing the things I said in August. He reminded the fans that they are lucky to have been in the top four – and the Champions League – for the past 14 seasons, at a time of having little cash to spend. “You’d miss it if it was gone,” he said. “Just ask Spurs fans.”

He is right on that, of course. It only takes one season to lose your place in the top four and the demise can be rapid.

But maybe football fans don’t think that way, and maybe I don’t either anymore.

I didn’t particularly agree with the black-scarf demo at the weekend because I’m not sure they are right that the board is being greedy. It’s not like they are taking massive dividends out of the club, it’s just that they’re not spending the money the club has.

However, I did agree with the chorus of “6 per cent – you’re having a laugh” throughout the second half of the game, because I think the club has a cheek asking us for more money if that additional money is not to be spent strengthening the team.

However, what I think has changed my mind on investing in the team the most is not really a desire to buy the players to win trophies – although that would be nice – but a genuinely concerne that if we don’t spend, we may not be anywhere near the top four next year.

While the general consensus among the football fraternity is that, now the title has gone, we’re simply going through the motions in our last few game, the stats are a bit more damning.

Two wins in our last ten league games and just three in our last 12 games in all competitions (that’s equivalent to a quarter of a season), shows this team has gone stale. Too many players have lost form, desire and the ability to win regularly, home and away.

What’s more, I haven’t seen much in recent performances to suggest that next season this team will turn those things around and, if Man City invest as many suspect they will, Liverpool continue their resurgence and Spurs retain their big-name players, we could be in for a pretty big shock come August.

Five years ago today, on 17 May 2006, our team walked out on the biggest stage of all – the Champions League Final.

Fail to spend some of that 6 per cent on new players this summer, and we may not even be in it the year after next. And who knows where we go from there.

Putting things right...

As our season winds towards an end as predictable as trouble flaring up at a Glaswegian nightspot or a Jägermeister hangover, so a few other anomalies are also correcting themselves and helping re-establish the equilibrium.

Spurs – after a one-year foray into the Champions League – have returned to their rightful position outside the top four, and possibly Europe altogether. After we went out of this year’s competition and they were still in, the ‘Arsenal – watching Eastenders’ chants were annoying. Well, as it turned out, it was just the one episode for us. Dot went out to the launderette to wash Jim’s clothes, in case any of you missed it. In the 15 years they’ve been watching Eastenders as we toured Europe’s finest venues, they’ve seen every plotline from rape to murder to incest and divorce. So they didn’t really have much to shout about did they. Still, it’s good that things have been put back as they should be. All that remains now is for the Redknapp-induced bankruptcy and firesale of their best players to take place, leaving the fans to lament how they chased the ‘Champions League dream’ by putting players on huge wages and contracts that allow them to leave if they don’t have European Cup football the following year. If van der Vaart and Modric, at least, don’t have Champions League get-out clauses in their contracts I’ll don a ‘Neil Lennon is God’ t-shirt and take a stroll round Glasgow G51.

Elsewhere, Blackpool are back in their own rightful place - among the relegation fodder, which means we no longer have to listen to the idiot-talk of how they have been a breathe of fresh air to the Premier League and how they prove that you don’t need to be defensively strong to survive in this league. Well it turns out you do.

Stoke fans are another group to have returned to their rightful place – this time among football’s most distasteful fans - by abusing Aaaron Ramsey through last Sunday’s game because, presumably, he had the cheek to allow his leg to be broken by one of Stoke’s idiot thug players last year, nearly ending his career. As it’s unlikely there will be some bizarre cup final stampede that results in all of Stoke’s fans receiving broken limbs tomorrow, I’ll just have to settle for them getting battered on the pitch. Then that prick Pulis and his mouthy Chairman can crawl back to the Potteries and prepare for next season’s relegation battle. No-one will be watching anyway. The move to schedule the Cup Final for the same day as a round of Premier League games means, together with the fact that recent finalists include Portsmouth, Millwall and now Stoke, the Cup Final is about as prestigious as, well, the League Cup Final.

Finally, Niklas Bendtner has returned to his rightful place too - as the club clown (having wrenched it away from Manuel Almunia, presumably). Bendtner came out with this week with this classic line about where he would like to go when he leaves The Arsenal in the summer: “If it’s a free choice, I choose Barcelona. I’ve never had any idols in the football world but if I had a dream player to play with then it would be Xavi and Iniesta.”

Hmm… I suspect Nik may be heading for a touch of disappointment over the summer.

Tottenham... watching TV on Tuesdays and Wednesdays again

Fine lines and clutching at straws

I have to confess that Sunday’s win over Man U surprised me a lot. It wasn’t quite the surprise of waking up in a multi-million-pound Pakistani compound at 3am to find some US Seal standing at the end of my bed dispatching the contents of his AK47 into my temple. But I did expect us to lose, and lose with a whimper.

Afterwards it just added to the disappointment of our season – a season when we finally learnt how to beat Man U and Chelsea again but forgot how to close out games and get on a winning run in the easiest of finishes we’ve had to a season in years.

A win over Man U, stood in the sun outside the boozer with the day off work the next day, should have been accompanied by the celebrations of eeking towards the title. Instead it was just all a bit flat – and it feels like we lost the title ages ago now.

Imagine my surprise then, when I stumbled across what the league would look like now if every time the woodwork had been hit in all Premier League games this season, the ball had instead gone in [I’m not sure who the man is that calculates these things, but I imagine he gets out about us much as the Fritzl children c1990-2008].

Now I know football is all about ifs and buts, and that statistics can generally paint any picture you want. And I know that it’s no use bemoaning these things because they’re all part of the game etc etc.

But I also know that the width of a post or crossbar is pretty small. So the fact that we would have been an incredible 12 points clear – and Champions - had all teams’ woodwork strikes been goals, is pretty amazing.

Clutching at straws? Me? Whatever…

Fighting spirit

Great mental attitude, good sprit, fight, real determination, a genuine desire to win: if I had a pound for every time I’d heard Arsene Wenger roll out any combination of these phrases about the current Arsenal team, I’d be able to embark on a flower-buying spree the like that Elton John has never seen.

While I understand Wenger’s attempts to convince himself, the fans and, most of all the players themselves, that they do indeed have all of these attributes, the problem is… they don’t.

If they did, and with one of the easiest run-ins we’ve had in years, we would be on the brink of being crowned Champions this weekend. If they had an ounce of good mental attitude, spirit, determination and fight, they would have been able to defend a lead. And not just a slim lead – a 4-0 lead, a 2-0 lead at home, a 1-0 lead with 10 seconds to go.

Instead, all we can do is look back and wonder how we didn’t take:

2 extra points from Sunderland away when 1-0 up with injury time expired

3 extra points from Spurs at home when 2-0 at half time

2 extra points from Wigan away when 2-1 up with ten to go, conceding an own goal to give them a draw

2 extra points from Newcastle away when 4-0 (four fucking nil) up in the middle of the second half.

2 extra points from Liverpool at home when 1-0 up with 10 seconds to go.

2 extra points from spurs away when 3-1 up after 43 minutes.

1 extra point from Bolton away when drawing with one minute to go.

Now I know there will always be a game or two in a season when you are pegged back. But that’s 14 points conceded from good positions at the end of games. And it’s in addition to terrible defeats at home to West Brom and Newcastle, and equally frustrating 0-0 draws at home to Birmingham and Sunderland.

Spirit my arse.

Should I stay or should I or go...?

Yesterday’s blog provoked a fair amount of debate (two responses is exactly double the number of responses of any previous post) about who is and who isn’t good enough in the current Arsenal squad.

While I’ll admit I was a bit provocative to include Chamakh and maybe Sagna as ones who should go, the point is this team simply doesn’t have what’s required to make the very top level. Our first 11 is strong, but what comes in when we get injuries – and we get injuries about as often as Premiership footballers get super-injunctions - isn't good enough.

Wenger surely now has to admit that his masterplan will not achieve the desired results. What’s required is a shipping out of those not good enough, replacing them players who have the attributes we lack: leadership, strength and the ability to see out a game.

So who should he keep and who should he sell?

Manuel Almunia

When Almunia retires he will have a lengthy career working kids’ parties. Demand for clowns is much higher there than in football grounds so, although the money isn’t as good, he’ll at least be busy. Far too many errors and the defence no longer has confidence in him – which is the last thing our defence needs.

Sell.

Lukasz Fabianski

Also error prone but, more worryingly, he is small, lacks presence in the box and appears to have wrists about as strong as Ashley Cole’s willpower in a lapdancing bar offering buy-one-get-one-free. May make a decent enough number two ‘keeper. But as for number one…

Sell.

Woijciech Szczesney

Commentators’ nightmare, but our best ‘keeper by some distance. Although he’s prone to the occasional error of judgement – like last night’s penalty, for example – he is still young and already looks like a strong presence in goal. He’s a bit like Miley Cyrus: At the moment, it’s not quite right. But in a few years it will be fine.

Stay.

Laurent Koscielny

Koscielny is quick, which is a good attribute in a centre back, and has excellent games on occasion. However, he also dives in too much and makes bad decisions, meaning he gets booked a lot. Good enough to be at the club, but you’d like to think when all the centrebacks are fit he’d be the one on the bench.

Stay.

Bacary Sagna

With our style of play, you can forgive our fullbacks not being the greatest defenders on the basis that they are good going forward. Sagna used to be a classic example of this. But of late, he’s been too negative going forward – and his defending has deteriorated too. He’s a bit like former-Christian-vocalist-turned-slutty-pop-princess Katy Perry: used to be very good but is now very bad. That said, I accept he has the quality to turn things around.

Stay.

Gael Clichy

When Ashley Cole turned out to be the world’s biggest prick, we all revelled in the fact we could sell him and simply bring through a ready-made replacement. Sadly, Clichy took a dip in form – which has lasted for two-and-a-half fucking years. Clichy will, at least twice in a game, mess around with the ball in his own half to the point that he loses it and gives up a chance.

Sell.

Sebastien Squillaci

Cheap stop-gap buy. Not good enough.

Sell.

Thomas Vermaelan

Vermaelan is the best defender at our club by a mile and scores a few going forward too. However, he gets inured about as often as Gazza wakes up concerned about where his keys and wallet are and wondering why his Hush Puppies are covered in puke. That said, he is the best we have and I look forward to seeing him and Jourou partnering our central defence.

Stay

Johan Durou

See Thomas Vermaelen almost word-for-word.

Stay.

Kieren Gibbs

Yet another injury-prone Arsenal defender, but also another good talent. Got to play more, and should be in the side ahead of Clichy.

Stay.

Emannuel Eboue

Sell. Or give away for free. Or put him down. Or something. But he must not play for this club again.

Sell.

Abou Diaby

One of my more contentious victims yesterday. Diaby had a good game at Spurs, and showed what he can do. The problem is he only does it about one game in five. He’s a bit like Kerry Katona: on paper, it’s all good (blonde, busty pop star). But in reality it’s just all wrong.

Sell.

Cesc Fabregas

Fabregas is, and showed again for 70 minutes against Spurs, the most talented player at Arsenal. Sometimes when he’s out and Wilshere is freed up, I think we don’t miss him that much. Then he comes back, plays passes like he did last night, changes games and shows he is a world-class talent. That’s why it makes this verdict so hard to make. The issue of Fabregas’s future has become a circus bigger than the club. He has become bigger than the club. He could have stopped it, he chose not to, and for that reason…

Sell.

Tomas Rosicky

I feel sorry for Rosicky because like Eduardo and hopefully not Ramsey, he has never been the same player since a horrific year-long injury. No longer makes any kind of impact.

Sell.

Samir Nasri

When Fabregas goes, Nasri will be the big star of this team. He has the potential to be our current-day Robert Pires.

Stay.

Denilson

So fucking bad I forgot to put him down as one we should sell yesterday. His nickname should be ‘The Crab’, because he only ever goes fucking sideways. Had a strong year after Flamini left, and would probably benefit from a run in the team. But he isn’t going to get one…

Sell.

Aaron Ramsey

May never be the same, but hopefully will pick up where he left off. Captain of Wales, but that’s no reason to sell him.

Stay.

Alex Song

Song has improved no end and is a decent enough midfielder. But he always slows the game down when we are moving forward. Wenger should tell him to stay behind the halfway line and only get involved when there’s a tackle to be made. He’s a bit like Cheryl Cole: sometimes it all looks perfect and I can see a long, rosy future for us. While other times I want to rip his fucking throat out and scream in his face until he sees sense.

Stay.

Jack Wilshere

Wislhere is going to be one of England’s greatest ever… chavs. Frequently involved in bust-ups, knocked up his ex-chick at 19 and unable to string a sentence together, Wenger says he is “an intelligent boy”. He is certainly a fucking good footballer and, although he is likely to bring the occasional dark day to the club’s front door via some dodgy front pages, we will have to learn to live with it and appreciate his ability on the field.

Stay.

Andrey Arshaavin

Tricky. A genuine match winner who hasn’t won a match for us in over a year. One more season to prove he can be what he shows too rarely.

Stay.

Rob van Persie

The thing that scares me the most about Robin van Persie is that we will grow impatient of his injuries, sell him, and watch on as he becomes one of the greatest strikers in the world. He is just so, so good on his day, which is pretty frequent when he is fit (which is pretty not frequent).

Stay.

Theo Walcott

It’s not easy playing a game of football after you’ve just driven a Formula One racing car around a track for two hours, which is why Theo probably only ever gives us 45 good minutes in a game. But they are pretty shit hot minutes when he does do it. He is, what they call it on Sky, a great “impact player”.

Stay.

Marouame Chamakh

Had a great first few months at the club, albeit scoring mainly against shit teams at home, and showed real potential. However, we only put high balls in the box when he’s not on the pitch, and he’s gone right off the boil. Doesn’t really look like he can come back from it either.

Sell.

Niklas Bendtner

Now this is tricky too. I think Bendtner is arrogant and sometimes abysmal. But sometimes we need a bit of arrogance, and he’s not always abysmal. Wouldn’t make anyone’s first choice of strikers, but decent enough at mixing things up when he comes on. I’d keep him.
Stay.

Carlos Vela

Never quite made it – and now he’s gone out on loan, he’s probably gone for good.

Sell.

So there you have it. That’s eleven I’d sell (in addition to Lehmann who will retire, Mannone who will never play and Frimpong et al who are just reserves). What that tells me is we have a pretty decent back bone of a side and, by shipping out these players – many of who will generate quite a bit of cash – we have the chance to add some genuinely quality players while staying within our spending principles. Simple enough.

We won't though.

Tucker’s luck

I’ve never booed an Arsenal player. Not in nearly 30 years of watching games. I may occasionally voice disapproval, comment to someone stood beside me that a player’s having a ‘mare’, or even call for Wenger to get someone off. But I would never boo them. Because any player wearing the shirt is representing Arsenal, and booing them isn’t going to do anything to make them play better – only worse.

I’m also one of the more tolerant fans – giving players a second chance, forgiving their shortcomings, realising that football is a game of confidence and that players have dips in form or make ill-judged decisions.

What I saw on Sunday, however, was nothing short of unacceptable. What Emmanuelle Eboue did when he pushed a player – who was running away from goal – to the ground wasn’t just a bad decision, miss-timed, the result of being beaten by a better player or due to a dip in form. It was completely unprofessional. And it cost us any hope we had of winning the league.

This isn’t some personal vendetta against Eboue. At a time when Eboue was, to paraphrase Malcolm Tucker from ‘The Thick of It’: “As popular as the man who fucked the monkey that gave us all AIDS”, I defended him. I stood up for him and thought the treatment he received was too harsh. On occasion when he’s been out of the team I’ve even said we’ve lacked his marauding runs forward and his willingness to run on the overlap. I’ve called for him to play above others. But to play at the top level requires at least a basic level of intelligence, which he clearly doesn’t have – and in my opinion he is not fit to wear the shirt again.

Of course, the collapse of our season and the death of our title hopes – anyone who thinks last night’s result will re-open the title door is deluded – aren’t solely down to Emmanuelle Eboue. In Malcolm Tucker’s words, it was a case of ‘Tucker’s Law’: “If some c*nt can fuck something up, that c*nt’s going to pick the worst possible time to fucking fuck it up because that c*nt’s a c*nt.” But there are plenty of other players who have failed to step up to the plate in recent weeks, including plenty who should be leading but aren’t.

What’s more, the fact we look more nervous than Graeme Rix at a playground every time a ball goes into the box and look about as likely to score at home as Fernando Torres when we go forward, means we have drawn four of our last five (and five of our last nine) league games.

That’s what’s really killed our title, and what we need now is a clearout of the players that just aren’t good enough anymore (Sagna, Clichy, Diaby, Squillaci, Almunia, Fabianski, Rosicky, Chamakh, Vela), the players who are always injured (although not RVP), and the players who don’t want to be there (Fabregas?). It is, as Malcolm Tucker once said, “Time to wake up and smell the cock”.

Only once we have done so will we again begin to show the kind of commitment, ability, desire, passion and, crucially, basic responsibility to win at Man U again, win at Tottenham again, win at Chelsea again and win the league again.

If not, next season is going to be, to paraphrase Malcolm Tucker, obviously: “Like the Shawshank Redemption… except more crawling through shit and no fucking redemption.”

Win the league...?



The end of the world as we know it...

So, that’s it then. After 125 years (almost to the day), Arsenal, the “Bank of England Club”, founded in 1886 by ordinary factory workers of the Royal Arsenal in Woolwich, steeped in history and tradition and controlled by committee for more than a century, is now owned by an individual. An American individual. With a moustache.

I’ve spent the past couple of days wondering what it all means and why it matters. I’ve asked myself who or what I actually support. In the past nine years the club badge, the stadium, the board of directors, the backroom staff, the physio and all of the players (except Gael Clichy) have changed. So who or what exactly do I support other than a name and some memories? Maybe it’s Gael Clilchy. I doubt it. But that’s a discussion for another day.

What has surprised me the most so far is the general air of positivity and acceptance around the whole takeover. Don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing any of us can do about it – if the directors decide to sell their shares they have every right to and a takeover by Stan Kroenke has been inevitable for some time now.

But whether it’s the frustration of not winning a trophy for six years or just a great piece of PR work by Kroenke and his team, everyone seems pretty happy about the whole thing.

I’m not. It’s true that Kroenke has said he will respect the traditions of the club, that he won’t place any debt on it and that he’ll stick with Wenger and the road we have been treading. He’s also a man with good sporting credentials – owning a number of sports teams in the US without placing debt on them. And he’s been very accessible to the fans, with Tim’s Arsenal Supporters Trust enjoying a good dialogue over various matters, including the fanshare scheme.

But Kroenke is a businessman. Businessmen buy businesses to make money. Football doesn’t make a lot of money from simply winning trophies. It makes money either through debt being lumped on to clubs for the owner’s personal gain, through clubs selling their best assets or by these investments being sold on at a profit. This takeover means all of these things are a threat to us now.

What’s also a threat is that if Kroenke pumps his own money into the club for transfers – effectively throwing out our sustainable-living blueprint – we become dependant on him. I’ve said many times in this blog that the day Abramovich calls in his £750m “loan” from Chelsea and walks away is the day they go out of business. I don’t want us to face that same situation five years from now. But it’s now possible.

And while pumping cash into a club for success can bring the greatest stars to your team and plenty of trophies, doesn’t it also remove the romanticism a little? A team’s success used to be the culmination of putting a calculated long-term plan into place so you rose over time to conquer those around you. Where’s the romance and the achievement in buying a trophy by calling on the bottomless pockets of billionaire businessman who sees you as his plaything?

Of course, single ownership also means Kroenke can do what he wants with this club’s history. Our history has, effectively, been sold. The asking price was £730m. Because if Kroenke decides tomorrow to erase all that has gone before him in the famous Marble Halls and that we should be called the Arsenal Nuggets, the Ashburton Rapids or the Go-Go-Gunners, he can do it. Just like that. It’s true the fans have never really had much in the way of power at any club, but while there was a board of major shareholders there was at least a layer of protection against the idiotic. Not anymore.

Kroenke may yet prove to be a force for good at The Arsenal. Single ownership - and foreign single ownership at that - was inevitable, and all we can really do now is hope that in Kroenke we will have an owner who genuinely wants to protect our history and the things we have stood for over 125 years. He’s certainly more likely to do so than a Russian steel magnate. But if doesn’t, I won’t be getting my cheque book out to line our new owner’s pockets.

I'll be on the next Greyhound outta here.

Stars and stripes: Arsenal's new home kit?



David Rocastle remembered

Most kids of today – those who haven’t been tempted in to petty theft, holding up their local Post Office with a sawn-off, or dealing wraps of Class A in Stockwell – will no doubt have a football idol. The player they imagine they are when they’re running down the road with a 99p fly-away football at their feet. The player whose name they have on the back of their £100 kit. The player whose poster they have on their wall. I imagine the players of choice today are Tevez, Torres, Drogba, Rooney.

Twenty years ago and more mine was David Rocastle. In the days before we were treated to the influx of tricky and technical foreign stars that dominate the game today, ‘Rocky’ stood out for his skills, his confidence on the ball and his ability to take people on. He was both fast and strong, had an eye for a pass, and ran defenders ragged.

When Rocky got the ball, you would hear the crowd lift. He was the man who could do something special, change a game, make a difference. He frequently did. He scored important goals that took us to Wembley - and at Tottenham, too - he was an integral part of that famous night at Anfield on 26 May 1989, and he scored wonder goals – including the lob at Old Trafford that I was stood right behind.

And he did all this despite being part of a George Graham side – built on defensive stability, tracking back and never taking risks.

Rocky wasn’t just a special player either. He was a good person. He never failed a drugs test, beat up his wife, drove his car into a wall or got caught on camera hurling abuse and swearwords in a linesman’s face. He was the archetypal role model footballers should be in return for the money they earn and for being able to do a job they love.

As a result of all of these things, throughout the mid-to-late 1980s, a yellow away shirt with blue sleeves and ‘Rocky 7’ emblazoned across the back was my out-of-school shirt of choice. If I was playing football, it was on. And if I wasn’t, it was usually on. Rocky was about as close as I have ever come to having a hero.

Ten years ago today, at the age of just 33, David Rocastle died of cancer. Those of us who followed the Arsenal throughout the 1980s will never forget him.

And so we shouldn’t…



Mad, mad, mad, mad world

Plenty of things in the world are a bit messed up: Emmanuel Eboue earning more in a week than a police officer, fireman or paramedic earns in a year; more people tuning in to watch Eastenders than bothered to go out and vote at the last local elections; Fulham erecting a statue of paedo pop prince Michael Jackson at their ground. All messed up.

Jens Lehmann is also mad. Mad as a bag of snakes. But Jens re-signing for The Arsenal – at the age of 41 – is really mad. In fact, the world has gone fucking bonkers.

Jens was a great keeper for us – the best we’ve had since Seaman by a mile. He made some incredible saves – and at crucial times. His penalty save in the closing minutes of the 2006 Champions League Semi Final took the club to the brink of European Cup glory for the first ever time. His stunning performance in the 2005 Cup Final brought us our last piece of Silverware. He was the first line of defence in a team that went a whole season unbeaten. There were plenty of other heroic performances too – and you don’t win the trophies he won, with the regularity that he did, unless you’re pretty special.

If Jens returns, I will undoubtedly enjoy seeing his mad pre kick-off head over heels again. I will enjoy his comical outbursts. And I believe he carries the kind of aggression and arrogance this team needs right now.

However, you also have to remember that for every piece of brilliance we saw from Jens, he usually provided two or three moments of pure madness too. Often these jeopardised results – and the last thing our shaky defence needs right now is a keeper who gives away penalties by pushing people over because they are standing next to him.

What’s more, Jens is 41 and hasn’t played at the top level for some time. Did we learn nothing from re-signing Campbell and bringing in Sylvestre? Put simply, old players are rubbish. Pires is rubbish at Villa. Vieira is rubbish at Man City.

Still, if Jens is coming back, we can at least expect a bit excitement, whether it be the good, the bad, or the ugly Jens.

The good:

Arsenal’s route to the 2006 Champions league Final was distinctly un-Arsenal in today’s terms. Cagey one-nil wins and nil-nil draws built around defensive stability were the key and, when that failed, Jens stepped up. An incredible double save in the closing stages of the quarter final set up a semi against Villareal and Jens again stole the show – this time with a dramatic 88th minute penalty save to send Arsenal through.

It wasn’t just in the Champions League that Jens was showing off his ‘good’ that season though, and this fine 86th minute save set up a memorable Old Trafford victory. The third replay towards the end of this clip is the one that really shows Lehmann’s quality.

Jens could certainly be good.

The bad:

Of course, Jens was plenty ‘bad’ as well. Occasionally his antics would prove amusing – seeing him roll over sixteen times holding his toe because someone had stood near him in the lead up to a corner or deliberately missing the ball when a ballboy threw it back to him to waste a bit of time was ok. But too often it turned sinister – the occasional elbow in the back of a striker’s head, arguing with his own defence or stamping on a forward’s foot caused problems many times, not least at WHL in 2004. Cruising to victory and the joy of securing the title at the home of our most bitter rivals, Jens took the law into his own hands and hauled Robbie Keane to the floor for no other reason than he’s an annoying little Irishman. Despite Jens being right about that, the ref awarded a penalty that made the game 2-2. Fortunately it wasn’t enough to stop us winning the title in Spurs’ back yard – but it made for an uncomfortable last few minutes.

And it wasn’t just Keane who felt Jens’ law-enforcement, as this Keystone Caper between him and Drogba demonstrates. What a pair of clowns:

The ugly:

Jens, like most Arsenal keepers, was prone to the occasional mistake, but most of what was ugly about Jens came out of his mouth. He didn’t hold back, and would regularly cause discontent in the camp with comments about his own team mates – once saying of Manuel Almunia: such as: "My coach confirmed to me my impression that he uses a different measuring stick to evaluate Almunia... when I see the performances on the field, I get angry and I have to clench my fist in my pocket."

Of course, something pretty ugly came out of his pants once or twice. This clip of him talking a piss mid-game for Stuttgart makes you glad you the camera wasn’t the other side, doesn’t it.

What a mad world.

Taking care of business

The worst thing about writing this blog is that you have to write something even during the bad times – otherwise it looks like you’re just avoiding them. This has been one shit week in football. I have not felt at all like reading a paper, watching a sports channel or listening to the radio. But, like a Jordan waking up on the morning after an Oscars party, it’s time to face the music.

Many areas for consideration:

Did the red card matter?

In terms of the outcome, probably not. Even the most rose-tinted bespectacled goonerite would have to admit that we were right royally battered for 90 minutes – and were definitely riding our luck at the point of the sending off. It’s true we will never know what difference it made. Barca needed two to knock us out at the time and it killed our chances of scoring a second, and conclusive goal. But they deserved the win overall. That’s not to say it doesn’t matter though. Sending a bloke off because he kicked a ball – having already shaped his body to do so – one second after you’ve blown a whistle is fucking mental. And it definitely draws curious glances towards the amount of decisions Barca get like this. Just ask any Chelsea fan.

Have you heard anything from Bendtner?

No. The self-proclaimed soon-to-be-best-player-in-the-world has been distinctly quiet this week and is no doubt rubbing his hands with glee that Wenger and Nasri are getting all the headlines. Because if he could control a fucking football we wouldn’t be talking about any of this. You have to wonder what the outcome might have been if van Persie had been on the end of that chance to send us through with two minutes to go.

Is Fabio Cappello an idiot?

Yes. This week Cappello came out to say Gareth Bale is the best footballer in the world right now. Fabio Cappello – despite being entrusted with the national team’s fortunes – has obviously never seen Lionel Messi play. A bloke who is scared to come on against a bloke who has scored 45 goals in 42 games this season. Hmm… tough choice.

Should Wenger resign?

If I was Wenger I’d be tempted to stick two fingers up to everyone who ever questioned me and just fuck off. What do people want? Chelsea have spent £500m trying to win the Champions League and haven’t got any closer than us. Just because we are out of this year’s Champions League does not mean we need to change a manager who has secured Champions League football for 15 years running. Get a grip.

Is Wenger a bad loser?

Very much so. But he should be. I don’t want one of these managers who comes out and says the best team won every time we lose. I want someone who fights for his players and the club.

Have the wheels come off our season?

Maybe. But these things are drawn on fine lines and we could still walk away with the Premier League and FA Cup this season. I remember in 1999, when the Mancs won the treble, how they came close to losing out on all three trophies. Dennis Bergkamp was a penalty kick away from knocking them out of the FA Cup, they were one down in the final minute of the European Cup Final, and had we not lost one-nil at Leeds in the penultimate league game we would have won the title. By the same token, you could argue that had we not defended like David Blunkett and Stevie Wonder against Birmingham and had Bendtner had more control than Richard Hammond on a race track against Barcelona, we’d still be on course for a quadruple. Only time will tell where we go from here.

Where were the fifth and sixth officials?

Against Barca. Where were the two behind-the-goal ones that they had at the Emirates and have had in all Champions League games this season? I’m not sure if there was one behind Barcelona’s goal because the camera wasn’t on it very often… but there wasn’t one behind ourse.

What is Diaby for?

Still don’t know. He’s neither an attacking nor a tackling midfielder.

Did Wenger get it wrong against Barca?

Yes. I think playing Rosicky against Barca – or against anyone – was wrong. And Denilson should have played instead of Diaby. Barca aren’t a big team and Denilson, despite his faults, is much better at chasing a football than Diaby.

Is Jez Moxey annoying?

Yes. If you’re Chairman of Wolves, you should shut up and get on with fighting a relegation battle. Moxey, who recently laid into Wenger, came out his week to say the big clubs target refs and get away with pushing them around. That from a man whose manager has said plenty himself about refereeing decisions. Also, is Moxey really entitled to take a moral high ground when his club dropped the entire first team for the away game at Man U last year – effectively meaning Man U’s season was a game shorter than everyone else’s? No.

Done. Let’s move on…

Silence is golden

Every Monday morning, some prick who never ever goes to football matches, who gets his entire knowledge of the game from the back page of The Sun, and who only ever wants to talk to me about football when Arsenal have dropped points, will come up to my desk and say: “Suppose that Wenger didn’t see it.”

The whole thing is the result of Wenger refusing to criticise or judge his players in public. But what do the press expect him to do? Come out and slate his players for a bad performance? Say they should be banned for a bad tackle? Say they’re not good enough to win the league? It’s his job to protect them and he chooses to do so by saying he didn’t see the occasional incident.

So Wenger may not always say something insightful. He may not always be totally honest. And he will never come out and say: “My player has missed an absolute sitter, my missus could have scored it,” like Redknapp did of Bent. But at least he comes out. Win, lose or draw, Wenger fronts the media – all of the media. Sometimes he is ‘disgusted’ or ‘frustrated’. Sometimes he is ‘disappointed’. But he’s always there. He is responsible for the team and he is prepared to be held to account.

It’s well documented that one man who doesn’t adhere to this is Alex Ferguson. Ferguson regularly refuses to face the cameras after a defeat. He failed to do any media at all this weekend, after the Mancs lost to Liverpool and after he was caught slating the referee on TV the week before. More than that though, Ferguson hasn’t spoken to the BBC at all since 2004, because they dared to run a programme suggesting his son, an agent at the time, had been involved with some dodgy dealings. He’s also known to have once had Jonathan Pearce up against the Old Trafford tunnel wall and Geoff Shreeves by the throat because they asked questions he didn’t want to hear. And he has banned many a journalist from his pre-match press conferences because they have written negative stories about his team in the past.

That’s pretty bad behaviour from the man who is the country’s longest-serving manager and supposed to be setting an example to the rest.

But what’s worse is that, despite Ferguson being obliged (under the Premier League’s rights agreement) to speak after every game to the BBC and SKY as the leading TV carriers and to TalkSport as the leading radio carrier – no media organisation has ever once made a complaint to the Premier League about this.

Not once. In seven years of Ferguson refusing to speak to them, the BBC hasn’t bothered to do anything about it.

Who says standing up for your rights and quality journalism are dead?

In defence of the defence

To coin a cliché, it’s been an emotional rollercoaster of a week. My mood’s been up and down more times than the sights on Ashley Cole’s .22 at a gathering of work experiences kids.

From Sunday’s ignorant pre-match enjoyment scoffing Sherlock Burgers with friends, to the anger and frustration of our latest Cup Final disaster, to the pleasure of watching whisky nose get a taste of his own medicine and seeing Chelsea turn over Man U – we’ve experienced it all.

Contrary to the headlines, beating Orient at home doesn’t make up for losing to Birmingham.

However, there are reasons to be cheerful. One is that we are mightily close to the top of the league with just 11 games to go. Another is that I haven’t seen anything in Man U that tells me they should get more out of the next ten games than us. And a third is that we go to Barcelona feeling a bit like Charlie Sheen – still alive despite most people saying we’ll soon be dead, with two good ones already in the bag, and with a (potentially) very rewarding night ahead.

Sunderland tomorrow is our biggest game of the season so far. The pressure a win would put on Man U – as they head to Liverpool having won only four away games all season – could be a turning point. There’ll be a lot of focus on our damaged and bruised defence.

So, in their defence, I have compiled my list of five Arsenal defenders that make you glad we have the ones we have.

It is, of course, subjective. And, while there are plenty to choose from, here’s my top five…

Hail Caesar

If Laurent Koscielny thinks he had a bad League Cup Final for Arsenal, he should get himself a video of the 1988 final. The game made Gus Caesar, until then a peripheral defender, a household name… for all the wrong reasons. With seven minutes to go Arsenal were two-one up against massive underdogs Luton. Then, with the ball at his feet in his own area, and about to launch a simple clearance into just about where I was sitting, Gus kicked thin air and fell over – allowing Luton to fumble over the line. Revitalised, a last-minute Luton winner followed, and Gus became so notorious he was immortalised in Fever Pitch as an analogy for ‘so near yet so far’.

Including Gus in this list on the basis of one disastrous outing is a bit harsh. He had, after all, made an impressive start to his Arsenal career – debuting in a one-nil away win at Man U – and later revealed he played the cup final with a hernia injury because his chances had been so limited as David O’Leary’s understudy. Regardless, the game signalled the end of his Arsenal career – he played only five more times. Airdrie, Colchester and Cambridge followed before he moved to Hong Kong to sell insurance - because, presumably, it doesn’t require you to be able to kick a ball while standing up.

Gus recently said that he retired from the professional game because he was shocked and scared following the death of the Colombian defender who was murdered by his own people for scoring an own goal. He needn’t have worried. To score an own goal you actually have to kick the fucking thing.

Igor Stepanovs, tra-la-la-la-la…

Picture the scene: the club’s scout for Eastern Europe, no matter how trusted, phones up and says: “I’ve found the answer to your defensive problems.”

“Is he experienced,” comes the reply from the manager?

“No.”

“Oh. Who has he played for?”

“Skonto Riga, then Interskonto, then Skonto Riga again.”

“We’ll take him.”

Igor Stepanovs arrived at Arsenal at the age of 19, made as many appearances and departed for a career back at the Skonkos of this world. It was time enough, however, for him to leave his mark on Arsenal’s modern history. It’s certainly true that, to lose 6-1 anywhere, against anyone, the entire team has to play shit, and Arsenal weren’t helped on their 2001 visit to Man U by fielding a completely patched-up defence of Stepanovs partnering Grimandi.

However, it was Stepanovs who took the brunt of criticism – unable to get a grip of Dwight Yorke who bagged a hat-trick in helping the Mancs to a 5-1 half-time lead.

So bad was the performance that Wenger apparently crushed a polystyrene cup in the changing room at half time. Such was Stepanovs’ mark on the English game that, while reviewing the paper’s poll of the 50 worst Premier League players of all time, Times journalist Nick Szczepanik wrote: “If Igor Stepanovs does not make it into the top three, I hope the 47 previous players all sue The Times for slander, for even daring to suggest that they were worse than him.”

The other two might have been pretty pissed too.

Miss Cygan

On paper, Pascal Cygan looks alright. He cost £2 million, featured in some of our most important fixtures in the invincibles season, picked up a Premier League winners' medal in 2003–04, and played as an emergency left back in 05-06 - even being named in the Opta team of the week – when Arsenal won 12 of the 20 matches he played in and kept 11 clean sheets.

The trouble was he was slow. Very slow. Pretty much any ball over the top meant the striker was in on goal and, when he got found, out everyone took advantage. Of course, in reality, Cygan was no worse than, say, Senderos. But his ability to make frequent errors, and his lack of pace stopping him from recovering, signalled the end. He moved to Spain where, hopefully, he stocked up well on the sun cream to protect his cueball head.

Andy Linighan

Every dog has its day. Andy Linighan certainly had his - by scoring Arsenal’s winner in the 1993 Cup Final. The archetypal ‘Unlikely hero’. In the 119th minute of the replay, he leapt above Mark Bright – who had earlier busted Linighan’s nose with his elbow – to head the winner from a corner. Two minutes later, Arsenal lifted the cup.

However, those two minutes aside, Linighan’s Arsenal career was pretty non-eventful. In fairness, he had always been reluctant to leave Norwich but was forced to move because the Chairman wanted to sell. But when he did arrive he was mainly second-fiddle to Adams and Keown and was clumsy at best.

After leaving Arsenal he did have a second moment of glory – knocking out Palace Chairman Simon Jordan in a training ground bust up that earned him the sack.

He now spends his days working as a plumber somewhere in the north and, according to Ray Parlour, has a sign on his van that says: “Andy Linighan: Professional Footballer. Even Better Plumber.”

I’d have to concur.

Mikael Silvestre

Wenger is rightly lauded for unearthing many stars of tomorrow. But his judgment has certainly had moments of hideous cloudedness, and signing Man U reject Mikael Silvestre was one. Wenger actually paid money for the 34-year-old and, against all of his reasoning for releasing the likes of Pires, Ljungberg and Lehmann, gave him a contract longer than one year.

His response was that he was bringing in an old head to support a young defence. The trouble is Silvestre had old legs too. He was slower than a Libyan revolution (when will that sort itself out?).

The result was pretty harrowing. Although he scored against Tottenham and played in a win against Man U, he also scored an own goal in his first Champions League game for Arsenal, was criticised by Wenger and fans alike for allowing Tottenham to get a 4-4 from 4-2 down at the Emirates, and was at fault for Barcelona’s first goal when Wenger elected to play him ahead of Song in the absence of Sol Campbell.

Silvestre left. But not before he had taken our title and Champions League aspirations with him.

Best part of Sunday... Sherlock burgers