Written by Paul Williams on Tuesday, October 5, 2004

For every winner, there is a loser ... as the new stadium sponsorship deal has been confirmed, the move away from our famous old stadium draws inexorably closer.

Nick Hornby speaks (writes) in Fever Pitch of wondering whether his relationship with Arsenal is more about the stadium than the team and having spent some time at Highbury on Saturday afternoon, it is easy to see why he felt like that.

For those who are lucky enough to experience it at an impressionable age, the first visit to Highbury is an assault on the senses, likely to never be forgotten, especially if you enter the stadium via Avenell Road having come up from Arsenal / Finsbury Park tube station.

I made my first journey at the age of 14, it was the first time my mum felt comfortable letting me go to North London with a friend and his older brother for company. Sitting on the tube, I got the same tightening in my stomach as I get now, 13 years later. Only then it felt more acute, more uncomfortable. But strangely pleasant at the same time!

The tube rolled on through West London, I sat, mentally ticking off stations one by one, unable to take my eyes off the map that informed me, little by little Arsenal was getting closer. I remember we got to Leicester Square and my friend, Chris, telling me he liked the journey to the next stop, Covent Garden, it only took nine seconds. Nine seconds! I marvelled at it. Anyone ever tried to walk it? It doesn't take nine seconds to walk, believe me.

Soon enough, what seemed like the whole tube stood up and we made our way up that deliciously windy tunnel - is there a passageway to rival it? - before coming out into the station concourse, bright sunlight, the "football" smell and ticket touts were all around us. We made our way past the gates to the North Bank and rounded the corner to Avenell Road, making our way through a throng of people outside the ground.

As we lined up in the queue outside the North Bank entrance, I looked up and literally, "WHAM!" it hit me in the face. The facade of the East Stand at Highbury, unexpectedly shooting out of the run of the mill North London brickwork, was as impressive as it was large. This 14 year old felt dwarfed by it, cowed by its sheer magnificence. Of course, I didn't have the words to articulate this back then, so I simply said, "Shiiiiiiit!"

We made our way in, and stood in the east corner of the North Bank as Arsenal smashed Sheffield United 5-2. 4-1 up after 30 minutes, a bloke behind me sung "You're just a bunch of wankers."

Welcome to the North Bank's sense of humour, Paul.

Little did I know then that Arsenal were gonna put the goalscoring on hold for a while after this season, but my first 3 visits to Highbury yielded 17 goals. 12 of them scored by Arsenal and including two goals in the last five minutes to snatch a 3-3 draw with Nottm Forest and a proto - Beckham goal, Anders Limpar lobbing Mike Hooper in the Liverpool goal from forty odd yards in a 4-0 rout.

But I was also at Highbury to see Aston Villa beat Arsenal 1-0 in a truly poor game of football in 1993. In 1994/95 I, along with two Everton supporting friends, and Chris took in a dismal 1-1 draw between the two sides. More bizarrely, I was present at another game against Nottm Forest. This time, the manager's programme notes made for odd reading. He'd been sacked not 12 hours previously!

Throughout the strange and dull times that George Graham's later years provided, my relationship with going to Arsenal never changed. I never got bored, though the 1-0 defeats, and poor 1-1 draws depressed me, it was enough that I was going to see my team. Or was it the stadium that thrilled me so? Gave me a sense of security as a child from a broken home, laden with all the attendant insecurities that this particular situation brings.

An intervening seven years in Leeds would distance my relationship with the stadium somewhat, however it intensified it, when I got the chance to go, I went. Though not frequently, and strangely given the success of the Wenger era, rarely winning. Always feeling that my journey now represented a pilgrimage, I was coming to worship at a footballing Mecca regardless.

Since coming back to Leeds, I have been able to go more often, and probably were it not for the success Arsène has brought about, would have managed a few more trips. As it is, I'm subject to the vagaries of Ticketmaster, and the "Can I be bothered?" mentality of some TRS members- or are they Silver now, who knows?

Whilst I am excited about the new stadium, and any living opposite the building site that the Grove currently is, yes that was me, running down the road, half naked swinging my home shirt above my head in the early evening rain on Saturday, I can't help feel that this progress we have made since 1995 is not without its drawbacks.

Maybe I'm stating the obvious here, but I liked being able to roll up on the day and get a ticket, I liked only having to pay £4 and then £8 and then £14 for a ticket - and even £14 seemed pricey back in 1993! Okay, I am stating the obvious here ..

More importantly though, I love our old stadium, I love walking around it, whether the team are at home or not. I love being there in the evening, when the team are not and soaking up the atmosphere that the deserted stadium lends an otherwise ordinary street. In the silence you can almost feel the ghosts of supporters past, the roars of the crowds saluting another victory for the home side.

As I sat on a wall opposite the East Stand on Saturday evening, it ocurred to me that when we say goodbye in 2006, we will lose something, something real and it will hurt us all. Amid the excitement of the new, the sadness of what is going to happen to an integral part of our history could be lost.

And maybe rightly so, after all, we've said goodbye to legend after legend recently - Adams, Dixon, Seaman and Keown bowing out in successive seasons. And we've survived in the same way we will if, as expected, we have to say a tearful goodbye to possibly the greatest legend to have graced the red and white next summer, Dennis.

But for me, the real pain will come when it's time to turn right out of Arsenal tube, away from the memories and into the future, the famous twelfth man no more.

There again, maybe I'll get to go more often ... Hmmm, the future's looking up already!

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