From a secret location somewhere in Libya, Colonel Gaddafi gave a televised speech about anti-government protesters being greasy rats and cats. “Muammar Gaddafi is the leader of the revolution … You men and women who love Gaddafi get out of your homes and fill the streets.” It sounded familiar. As if I had heard these words only days before. Yes, I had: “Barry Hearn is the leader of the revolution … You men and women who love Hearn get out of your homes and fill the streets.”
It had been one of those weeks where football elevates you to the heavens and then drops you to earth. Arsenal had beaten Barcelona and the scenes around North London were something out of war time Britain. Bus horns were the cry for people holding plastic cups of beer to leave the pubs and the fill the streets. In England, one way to handle an awkward situation is to completely ignore it. An ostrich buries its head in the ground. Passengers on those busses plugged in their iPods and pretended not to hear the Arsenal fans banging on the windows in fits of celebration.
But still, the fear etched across their faces was no mask and couldn’t hide the fact they were scared for their lives, especially when one Arsenal insurgent boarded through the middle doors and made some sort of frenzied gorilla stamp before fleeing when police showed up. “ARE YOU TOTT’NAM IN DISGUISE,” sang the home front. “ARE YOU TOTT’NAM IN DIS-GUISE?” Four days later and it was Leyton Orient’s turn to rejoice.
Aside from the unbelievers of football carrying their shopping home on the number 29, it seemed like most of the world had dropped their plans to make sure they watched Arsenal host Barcelona. There was some noise made about Arsenal’s FA Cup encounter with the League One side but it only seemed to be coming from East London. In the papers and on the news the build up had been paltry. When Orient pulled off a last minute draw, Hearn neurotically began his revolutionary speech which warned Prime Minister David Cameron not to rubber-stamp West Ham’s proposed takeover of the Olympic Stadium.
Champagne at Brisbane Road and promises of trips to Las Vegas showed off Hearn’s new financial clout for a legal battle. It was all a little bombastic from a club that can’t get rid of the dust in-between the creaky wooden seats of its stadium. Yet before completely pitying Orient’s whimsical FA Cup ride, there might be more similarities than first thought. Like Orient, it became clear that the only noise about Arsenal is coming from Arsenal.
Right now, Arsenal find themselves in this strange cul-de-sac. At one end is the street and the city where Champions League games against Barcelona can be found. Over the shoulder there is an unwanted pull that keeps dragging Arsenal back into the dark corner of the alley to take a look. They are playing some of the best football across Europe through a brilliant doctrine of technical speed which Arsene Wenger has rediscovered. Arsenal are almost hitting their unstoppable consistency. So what is this biting voice calling Arsenal, playing on their conscience?
Last Wednesday was a memorable feature in the clubs history and one that upstaged Spurs’ victory in Milan the night before, like an MC battle where Peter Crouch had gone first, and by all means it wasn’t bad, only for Andrey Arshavin to pick up the mic and have football’s audience truly ripped, scratched and cut. The next day, amid the revolving replays of Arshavin’s winner, came the hum: ‘Look how many passes Xavi completed’ … ‘Wait until the Nou Camp’ … Not how impressive it was that Barcelona had been beaten after taking the lead, home, away, neutral ground, whatever.
This hum is the pull which draws Arsenal back into the cul-de-sac. Doubters are ever present because to some great football is nothing if it doesn’t own a trophy. Pacifying the hummers with a fix of silverware might even bring them over to Arsenal’s side. Jack Wilshere appears to have reached that height already, looking like knows how to win a league as if he’s had the experience in a past life.
Bouncing between the mid-week revelry of Barcelona and domestic stocking-fillers against Ipswich Town is also a funny one, although it’s Arsenal’s way of elevating themselves. Having beaten Barcelona and reached the level of football which should leave thoughts about the Carling Cup a hollow triviality is just amusing timing, like a catch-22 with hidden advantages. Past that treacherous hum, in the corner of the alley, is the Carling Cup, and the sooner Cesc Fabregas lifts it up and gets the hell out, might greatness follow.
Football is a reactionary process. The fans reacted well to Arsenal’s second half pressure on Barcelona and Robin van Persie reacted well to the fans. At one stage the camera panned to Wenger unzipping his training jacket and the innocent reaction to Wednesday night drama designed it to look as if Wenger was brining himself on. Colonel Gaddafi reacted with anger. Barry Hearn reacted irrationally. My Arsenal friend reacted with pent-up tolerance on the underground when he was squashed up against a Spurs fans wearing a woolly hat reading ‘Kings of North London’. And there is a reaction to be had by winning the Carling Cup. With the shackles off the Gunners could become an unruly movement and the sooner Cesc Fabregas lifts the cup and gets the hell out, might greatness follow.
THE ARSENAL
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