Short video clips of violence raced through my mind. In one scenario, I was tapping through the gates at Liverpool Street, my Oyster card lodged inside my red leather Arsenal wallet. All of a sudden I hear this shrill cry: UNLUCKY ARSENAL, GO ON YOU SPURS! In a swift motion I spin around and kick the guy in the gut with the bottom of my boot, forcing him to stumble backwards before getting crushed between the closing barriers. I began planning further for Arsenal’s exit from the Champions League. What would I do in the event of a two on one? How could I get away with assaulting a kid? Was it ok to punch a female? And then it didn’t matter. The possibility of a rampage against anything and anyone Spurs faded when Theo Walcott scored. The anger inside me faded. What was all the fuss about?
Arsenal can turn even the most passive passer-by into a raging psychopath. The performance against Partizan had my knuckles turning white and my jaw clenched tight. On perhaps the most important night yet this season Arsenal played with the urgency familiar to a group of student stoners. At 1-1 it looked like the Serbian visitors were still fighting the Balkans war under Slobodan Milosovic and a victory against Arsene Wenger’s boys seemed more important to them than qualification did to Arsenal. Maybe the Europa League wasn’t such a bad idea. At least we could put right the heartache of 2000.
Something Charlie Nicholas said a few weeks back popped into my head: “Arsenal players hide behind stats.” Denilson was making the usual safe passes. Andrey Arshavin appeared to be living off the glory of his goal at Villa Park, and all I saw was Samir Nasri taking on the styling of an Eddie Murphy film, energetically jumping between characters. I’m thinking of the barbershop scene in Coming to America. Nasri was the opinionated hairdresser, the argumentative Jew, and most suitably, Prince Akeem, the hero. The rest of the team were happy with their cameos, while Nasri, not content on drawing, explored all corners of the pitch, rehearsing different roles and playing them all superbly, the only difference being he wasn’t joking.
The Partizan test was a reminder as to why this team worry me. Did they realise how close it came to spending the New Year watching William Gallas salivate over the CL knockouts, while they travel to some remote place on a low-key Thursday night? For all their talent I sometimes wonder if this team is a little stupid. Against Partizan they didn’t seem to see the danger, like a fat kid who walks to close to the cliff edge. I could picture the final whistle going and the Arsenal players strolling off thinking it was enough to definitely secure a place in the next round, and then being told it wasn’t. “What, you mean we’re out? Shit, I thought we were through?” The flipside is that Arsenal were calm and sure of what they were doing. Either way, it still worries me.
All said and done though, today I’m a less angry man. Every morning I board the bus paying like a decent citizen while the same sneaky low-lives tap the Oyster card machine, look the other way and pretend the light flashed green when they know full well it flashed red for insufficient funds. The driver doesn’t care and those same scenarios go through your head, instead this time a boot to the gut sends your victim flying through the middle doors and out onto the pavement. Today however it was fine because Arsenal are through to the CL last 16, in the semi-finals of the Carling Cup, and top of the Premier League. On another day Robin van Persie might have celebrated like that and broken a bone, but he didn’t, so really, what was all the fuss about?
THE ARSENAL
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