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 



The difference between one and seven

What a difference a few manic minutes make.

Having responded rapidly to going a goal down in the Carling Cup Final, and having spent 30 minutes bombarding Birmingham’s goal, in the blink of an eye our season took a distinct turn for the negative.

Although Sczezney and Koscielny were responsible for the goal – having, as one of you put it in a text to me after the game, “defended like deaf and dumb c****” – Arshavin and Rosicky are the real villains who should be hanging their heads in the wake of Arsenal’s defeat. Their performance had a huge influence on a game we should, let’s face it, win comfortably on a pitch that big and slick.

It all helped add to what’s becoming a fairly familiar story – and what happens next will determine a whole lot about our season.

Because all of a sudden, from being on the brink of winning our first trophy for a while and looking forward to Man U facing difficult successive games against Chelsea and Liverpool - we’re now in a situation where the press will bang on and on forever about how we haven’t won a trophy for six years and how we have a psychological issue; van Persie is out for three weeks; we go to Barcelona without van Persie, Walcott and possibly Fabregas; Man U away now stands between us and advancing in the FA Cup; and Chelsea are in such disarray following the Ashley Cole shooting incident – [there’s a really easy joke there about Cole being in trouble for shooting… not for the first ime etc etc] - that Man U could well be seven points clear by tonight.

If it is seven rather than one, you do have to wonder if this team has the ability to bounce back.

Still, Orient at Home tomorrow. Surely we’ll win that… won’t we?