Nick Takes It lying down

By Boris Mellor
January 11 2009

I can't remember the last time I was late for a match, certainly never at the Grove. I had cut it fine by entering Lancaster Gate station at about 2.25pm. I wasn't the only Gooner, to drop off from the massive demonstration against the bombing of Gaza in the carriage, but I appeared to be the only one who was heading to the match.

 By the time I got to Holborn and the Piccadilly Line I was expecting to see the train packed with latecomers, but no there was only a few others. So how do those irritating latecomers get to the ground? Alighting at Arsenal station was a luxury, a clear run to the exit (actually I strolled) with a few other latecomers. I began to see the attraction, it was so pleasant not to be squashed up and shuffling like a chain gang making its way to the morning shift.

 

Very few of the latecomers ambling towards the ground made any attempt to hurry, they were confident that there was no chance of a missing a goal. How right they were, but surely the early leavers cannot have the same confidence. The sellers of sweets and scarves were still doing a gentle trade as some clinched beyond the last minute sales. I stopped to get two bags of sweets for a pound, the price hasn't changed in years, but the size of the bags certainly has. I could swear there were no more than ten lemon sherbets in the bag, but no time to count there was a match to be seen.

The programme sellers were packing up, but I was fortunate to get change for a tenner from the Babushka, and a programme, as she tried to stow the unsold goods away. I felt guilty for keeping her outside a minute longer on one of the coldest days for a very long time.

My heart sank as I saw the queue to get in, it was only 3 pm but Turnstile E was mobbed, however D was clear. That surprised me, I would have expected the upper tier to be under more pressure, but no it was the lower orders that were the worst offenders. I seemed to be the only one letting the upper orders down. It seems to destroy the myth that it those who pay most that care least.

 I could hear the team names being called out by the crowd, including the ridiculous, "Son", response to the announcer shouting, "Denil".

Up on the upper tier concourse one or two were finishing off fast food watching the match on the screens. I could understand if they were at Club Level in the warm with tables and chairs, but this is just a cold concourse, no seating or heating with counters and bins jostling for the same space. It makes Wimpey look like the Ritz. Tumbleweed gently rolled through the almost empty circulating area.  

A quick visit to the loo, luxury no jostling or crowding, no queuing for the hand dryer. Visit over it was off to block 100, Arsenal were actually attacking as I finally entered the ground at 3.05pm. I tried to watch the game as I made my way up to the very top of the North Stand. The steward was having none of it and I had to fix my eyes firmly ahead as I made my way up the North Col. Ascent over I finally collapsed into my seat. Praises to Herbert Chapman, who had the foresight to place the club next to the Piccadilly line, thirty minutes door to seat from the far West End, it could have been even quicker if they sorted out Holloway Station.

The Match

Although I was late the team didn't turn up until after the break, so I hadn't missed anything. Indeed at half time I discussed with friends who had irritated us most. At least RvP was exempt from any charge of malingering. Bolton had offered very little, and Arsenal did very little about it. There is a deliberate conservatism about the team these days, they are more concerned with keeping possession than scoring, someone should tell Diaby who managed neither.

In the second half the crowd, who were aware that Villa had won their game, tried to create a sense of urgency in the team. For about 15 minutes the team bombarded the Bolton half, but it appeared it would be one of those days when the Gunners couldn't score. The storm began to die down, but Wenger wasn't prepared to let that happen. The first injection of energy was Vela for Diaby on 63 minutes, having an extra player pass to his own team mates was a big improvement.

Things got better, more chances were created, but even RvP who had an excellent game, was unable to find the spot. Wenger decided to step it up another gear, on came Bendtner for Eboue. The crowd politely applauded Eboue, and some ironically cheered the supersub. However the return to good old 4-2-4 did the trick, Bolton were overwhelmed.

Nick Takes It Lying Down

Nick took a few minutes to find his feet, missed a few passes and chances, but on 84 minutes made a brilliant run in to finish off RvP's chip. RvP had provided a cross for a four foot dwarf to head in, but Nick is always prepared to improvise and waited for the ball to lose height and velocity so that he could stab it in whilst lying on his back. Brilliant, the crowd erupted, RvP ran to the other end of the pitch, and then sheepishly had to run back to join his celebrating team mates.

Grown Men Tremble 

The crowd around me began to tremble, but it wasn't the team's inability to keep a lead that was the cause this time. The cause was one of the coldest Saturday afternoon's in a very longtime.

Back to the Future

Just in case Vela practiced running the ball into the corner. The crowd sang one nil to the Arsenal. George Graham would have been proud of them, three points in the bag. It might only be bangers and mash but would you swap places with Chelsea, Liverpool, or Tottenham supporters this weekend?

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