Someone said to me earlier this week that either you leave football, or football leaves you. It’s a saying I’ve heard a few times before, but this time it rang true, because football has been leaving me for some time now.
Somewhere in amongst all the nation state ownership, the crooked World Cups, the VAR and its accompanying relentless focus on refereeing decisions, the beautiful game – my abiding obsession since I was old enough to kick a ball – began a slow, inexorable drift in a direction I wasn’t really prepared to follow.
The online discourse, the pundits seeking “engagement”, the data analysis and clockwork-precision coaching. The creeping sense that individual genius and expression should be supplanted by collective cohesion, that the emotion in the stands should be kept in check until properly vetted and approved by a team of experts in a van miles away from the stadium.
My favourite sports writer, Eduardo Galeano, once memorably wrote that “the history of soccer is a sad voyage from beauty to duty”, and over the last decade I’ve felt the weight of those words. Not in the playing of the game, which remains as much a joy as ever, but certainly in the watching. My interest has slowly ebbed away, tournament by tournament, until really all that’s been left has been the love of my own club.
I was 8 or 9 years old when a friend’s Dad first took me to Highbury, crouched in the back of his builder’s van. We arrived late – possibly deliberately, and I remember running along the terraced streets, bewildered that I could hear, but not yet see, the stadium, before turning a corner and being suddenly confronted by Highbury in full swing and under lights. One of the greatest sights in all of football. It was love at first glance – I don’t remember who we played or what the score was, I just remember how the stadium felt.
A couple of years later, Arsenal memorably won the title at Anfield. As the winner hit the net and Michael Thomas headspun on the turf, unable to physically express the explosion occurring within him, I staged my own impromptu celebration; dashing to the front door before my parents could stop me and sprinting, whooping, down the street in my pyjamas, detonating as I went. I can still remember how that run felt; my bare feet on the road, the incredible release of shouting at the top of my lungs, the sensation of cutting through the air as I went. Faster, faster. A ball of chain lightning unleashed.
And yet, as clear as the memory remains, I hadn’t thought about that moment in a long time, until earlier this evening.
I’ve lead a charmed life in football terms. I got to watch Diego Maradona with Argentinian blood in my veins, and then Wenger’s Arsenal side with Highbury in my heart. Beautiful football, played the right way. Poetry on turf. By the time the Invincibles won the title in 2004 it felt like this stuff was simply mine by birthright; as if I would always show up at just the right moment to enjoy the good stuff, because I was simply that blessed. A notion not always borne out by the years that followed.
Tonight, as you may be aware, Arsenal won the title. For the first time in 22 years. With a side that comprehensively has not played that beautiful football with which I once fell in love, but who have exhibited in spades other important characteristics; discipline, resilience, organisation and a defence that would make Franco Baresi weep.
As the final whistle blew at Bournemouth I was over in Old Street, playing dungeons and dragons with a bunch of mates who don’t care about football at all. All part of a hedge strategy to ensure that I wasn’t watching what I suspected would be the critical fixture (couldn’t risk the jinx) but that I was nonetheless close to the stadium, just in case.
Within fifteen minutes of the result coming in I was being dropped off by a taxi at Highbury Corner, and sprinting down Holloway Road as fast as my legs would carry me. Compelled to get to the Emirates as fast as humanly possible, a ball of lightning once again, taken back to that time when I first loved the game and when all my romantic misconceptions were still intact. Whooping and sprinting and this time joined by hundreds of others in a cacophony of car horns and chanting as the crowds made their way home.
As I ran, I passed the street my wife and I bought our first flat on. The venues where mates once held their birthday parties when we were all still young and free. The house share I used to live in, where I made some of my favourite mates. The pubs I’ve spent a hundred hours in with the pals I’ve made through Arsenal down the years. The roads I used to push my oldest round in a pram before we moved away in search of more suburban environs.
That was about 10pm and I’ve only just got home now after several hours in a crowd of god knows how many people. Dancing, singing, beating drums, setting off flares. Fireworks overhead and smiles on every face – the old neighbourhood transformed into a rolling carnival. I hugged a hundred strangers. I bounced and yelled and shouted exultations to the heavens. I even had a little cry.
Somewhere along the way I managed to link up with mates who’d felt the same impulse – who’d jumped in cabs and beelined for the stadium before the city game had even ended. Them and half of North London – the city awash with people waving scarves and honking car horns. With the cry of “Arsenal” over and over again. The party it sometimes felt might never happen.
There’s a lot I could write here about what actually happened on the pitch. About the team and what’s worked and what hasn’t. About that one massive game still left to play.
But tonight’s not really the night for all that, because instead I’ve found myself thinking about all the people I’ve met through football. About all the hours shared talking bollocks and making jokes and trading daft conspiracy theories about that ref that clearly hates us.
About the way we all know we were a much better side to watch two years back, but that wasn’t our moment and this is. About my mate’s Dad loading me into that van, and the sight of that grand old stadium and the impact it had on me way back then. Of the joy of later living a stone’s throw from it, in that glorious community with a football club right at its centre. Of all those thousands of people tonight, so fucking happy.
And in the context of all that, the football itself seems far, far less important than the people. The destination so much less important than the fellow travellers.
So now I’m sat here. Just home, unable to sleep and knowing I have to be up and functional in a little over four hours time with the weekend some distance away. With all those 40 odd years of football memories swirling away in the background, and the sneaking sense that maybe the game is indeed leaving me, but I might still get to keep whatever it was that I took from it before the rift occurred.
Because the true beauty of football isn’t in the people who play it, or coach it, or explain it for a living. It isn’t in the newspaper columns or the podcasts, and it certainly isn’t to be found on Sky. It isn’t a well coached side and it isn’t a well implemented set piece. The true beauty of football is in the people who watch the game. Who live and breathe it, who give it its animus and all its slightly feral beauty. It’s the mates I’ve made and with whom I’ve shared all the ups and downs, and with whom I’ve celebrated this evening. It’s all those thousands of people dropping everything and rushing to that stadium to be together as one.
There was a moment this evening, stood amidst the madness, where I closed my eyes and just listened. And in that moment I heard the sound of old Highbury all over again, the same as the first time. That low rumble of many voices making one, pinging down those narrow streets. That old, beloved sound I’ve not heard in a quarter of a century. And goddammit if I didn’t fall in love a little, all over again.
27th February 2011 I remember getting the tube to Wembley sitting across from an Arsenal fan telling my son and I that we would be lucky to keep the score to 3-0. You may even have been that man. Sadly I never met him after the game to gloat about how badly his friendly banter was wrong. My beloved Birmingham City defied the odds, did the impossible and beat the stone cold favourites in a game of high drama. Even in last weekends FA cup final the commentator observed that Chelsea fans were nearly as loud as the Birmingham fans of that day – the loudest he had ever heard
A few years earlier I watched my son in tears as we were robbed by a dodgy referee in the League cup final played at Cardiff due to Wembley being rebuilt.
This time with the final whistle about to be blown there were more tears this time of joy. My son ordinarily is emotionless – not this time. A memory that will live forever even if like you our love of football wanes just a little because of corporate greed and interference.
I was pleased for Arsenal last night and if Birmingham ceased to exist they would be my team.
Anyone but the cheats of Manchester City. I have been watching Birmingham since 1967 and have had way more lows than highs but wouldnt swap them for that day in London in 2011.
Now for your victory in Europe.
I remember the day well, Steve.
Could never have been me saying we’d walk it – I had a bad feeling as soon as Cesc got injured the week before.
As was tradition in those days, we didn’t turn up and you lot were well worth your victory. I ended up sat alone on the steps of the Emirates, depressed out of my mind and wondering if we’d actually win anything ever again. Was only about 100m from the spot I was last night, but feels a lifetime ago.
Much as it pained me, I still enjoyed seeing your fans celebrate. It means more when clubs haven’t won in a while. I come from a QPR family and before last night the most mad I’d ever seen an area go was about 20 years ago when the Rs won the second leg of the Division 1 play off semi final. Loftus Road was absolutely rocking that night. They went on to lose the final.
That’s a beatiful piece of writing, Bingo. Hats off to you.
Also, well done to your beloved Gunners, who should sign you up for their PR/communications team.
Congrats to Arsenal for doing it this season. I hope they can do it again against PSG.
A very big night for us expat Villa supporters tonight. I’ve managed to gather about 30 of us together for a bit of dinner and then we’ll be watching down the pub together later.
Enjoy every moment – I will be keeping fingers crossed for you lot. Glad to see Emery doing well too, he’s done an incredible job over there.
Football Crazy was I, followed not only my own teams but could tell you at any point how Stirling Albion or Aldershot were doing that year.
Whilst I still have the old passion re Norwich (used to have a season ticket with my now deceased son) and Aberdeen (where I was born) , the rest hold virtually no interest whatsoever.
Money, the absolute abomination that is VAR and, let’s say it out loud, Pepball (this old git for one watches YouTube clips from the seventies and eighties and thinks “That’s proper football”), the chance of one of the smaller clubs who don’t happen to have a sheikh as owner actually winning the league having all but disappeared, all have ruined the beautiful game for me.
As always Bingo, great writing but unless you are a supporter possibly the most boring team to win the league for a long time mostly depending on their ability to (illegally?) score from corners.
Maybe I’ll feel different next year when Norwich win the Championship by a record thirty points and Aberdeen with Alex Ferguson at the helm do the treble. Maybe not.
Lovely stuff, Bingo. Pleased for you, and everybody who was hoping it wouldn’t be Man City yet again. I’d be happier if Southend managed to make it out of the National League, mind you.
My family have been supporting The Arsenal since 1915 when my Grandfather moved from West Wales to Islington to start a dairy…one of his customers was Highbury Stadium and he started going to matches.
He took his three sons when each was old enough and one was my Dad. He took me and I saw the 1971 Double team win as the family had season tickets by that point ( we still have). I took my sons and my son takes his twin boys…Generations of The Evans Family watching The Arsenal home and away.
I drove from Hereford on Monday to go and watch the last home game of the season, was there to see the Team bus into the stadium along with thousands of others, the atmosphere was incredible, it’s not always been so.
I hoped Bournemouth would get a point last night, though I thought it unlikely, but it all unfolded as my sons and I , in different parts of the country, sent messages and eventually a group call to celebrate being Champions…I got a bit choked up I must say.
I’m off to Budapest next week for the CL Final with my youngest son, we were not lucky enough to get tickets in the ballot but will have a fantastic four days away together whatever happens.
It’s a game, it’s not as Shankley said Life & Death, but it’s a massive part of our shared family history for over 110 years.
This morning I woke up to a video from my extremely happy 9 year old Twin Grandsons in their Arsenal tops jumping around singing “Champions Ole Ole”…at this time, in this world, that is a priceless thing for me.
Loved reading this – fantastic stuff. Cheers.
By the way Bingo, that was a lovely post !
Last night you may have danced on a stone plaque on the floor outside The Armoury that has my name, my late Dad’s and my sons names on it that we got when The Emirates (awful commercial name) first opened.
We did the same! Both my kids have plaques and we visit them whenever we’re at the stadium.
Congrats to the Arse on that title. Hope the European Cup match ends the right way too.
On form PSG should smash them
Lovely piece Bingo. And I say that as a Tottenham fan.
From what I have seen Arsenal are indeed ‘boring boring Arsenal again’. The greed of modern football, the corrupt money and ownerships, and the ugly leviathan that is the Premiership do make it harder to care anymore. And we all want to see our team play glory glory sexy football. And yet, I know that if Spurs were ever to win the league (as if) I wouldn’t care a jot if they did it grinding out boring, industrial 1-0 wins and I would be cheering from the rafters to see them finally do it again after (stops to count) 65 years and counting.
Still we might have a shot at winning the Championship next season.
Cheers, Blue Boy – that’s very kind. I have to say that I’m actually hoping your lot stay up; would be a strange sort of top flight without you.
I do still believe that football should be played with a bit of style and attacking intent. A bit of elan. But it seems to me that the lack of excitement is more a feature of the top flight in general this season than Arsenal in particular – the only domestic side who seem reliably entertaining every time I watch them are Bournemouth.
Regardless, I certainly don’t intend to let any qualms over playing style detract from the moment – god knows we had plenty of seasons where we played beautiful football and were pilloried for not winning, so maybe this is just cosmic justice.
Lifelong Everton can here. I’m so pleased for Arteta and I’m pleased for you, Bingo. I’m also glad City and Chelsea did not win, the two sides I associate most with buying trophies. There is no shame in defensive resilience either – I always enjoyed the 1-0 the Arsenal attitude.
Sadly, Piers Morgan, default position insufferably smug, will be even more horrendous.
Cheers, Tigger. We certainly have some of the most insufferable supporters in the entire country, Morgan among them.
Roger Waters, I believe?
Ugh. I didn’t realise that – a new low.
I’ll see your Roger Waters and raise you Osama bin Laden.
Lovely writing as always and well done to Arsenal of course, and fingers crossed for the CL final.
I have to confess I haven’t watched a single Premier League game this season. For me, VAR has sucked all the joy out of it – they seem to spend every match desperately looking for a way to get involved, and seem to have completely lost sight of its original remit.
I find the Championship offers a much more exciting and enjoyable experience, good games, no second guessing every decision and incredibly competitive.
The Championship is reliably a more exciting league. Enjoy it while it lasts – I’m sure some genius will decide VAR is required eventually.
Lovely writing and well done the Arsenal.
I agree with the others. That was a lovely piece, Bingo.
I was going to tell you my two Arsenal-related anecdotes, one about seeing the Panini stickers of the whole of the 1978 Arsenal team (Brady, Stapleton, Young, Rice, Jennings et al) on the inside of my school locker door every day for three years and the other about how the only First Division/Premier League match I have ever been to was at Highbury (Arsenal vs Sheffield Wednesday); my friend lived in one of those terraced streets you remember running along, Bingo, but I bored myself silly writing a longer version of my post so I decided not to inflict it on you all.
Anyway, as a mere Arsenal follower, I too am pleased that they have won the PL this year. Too long in coming.
I enjoyed reading that. I have always had a fondness for Arsenal. I used to stand at the clock end for Leeds games in the 90’s (and we seemed to get Arsenal in the cup every year) with my Gooner mate. We would meet up with his mates in The Hope and Anchor and I was introduced as his Leeds supporting friend. I don’t recall ever being allowed to pay for my own drinks. Highbury was a wondeful stadium to watch football.
Am very pleased for Arsenal – there is a lot of quality in that team and, most of all, they play like a team. Which I think is the difference this season.
Highbury was a magical place, still much missed.
When they converted it to flats a mate of mine bought one. When he and his wife had their first kid, he had to be prevented from ordering one of the plaques outside the new stadium with the legend “[Name of child]: conceived, North Bank, Highbury”.
My brother in law (a fellow Leeds supporter – it made family life simpler) very nearly got away with calling his first born, a daughter, Ellen Rose. He got rumbled though.
Haha – that’s excellent!
As a Gooner, this has been the most stressful season you could imagine. But the joyful scenes at the Emirates on Tuesday night were wonderful. Many tears were shed.
And great congratulations to Aston Villa. What a great achievement! Unai Emery didn’t work out at Arsenal, probably because he came after Wenger much the same as David Moyes didn’t make it at Man Utd after following Ferguson, but he’s an excellent manager.