Ally
Active Member
I went to install AOL Instant Messenger the other day, due to Linux-enforced nonsense at the other end meaning MSN wasn't working. This was, of course, just to while away a few minutes of my otherwise meagre and meandering existence you understand. Films, football, Internet. The ability to depress when this is given actual conscious thought is quite staggering, really, and given the choice between sitting on the sofa all evening, watching the loop of Sky Sports News until 2 in the morning (sorry, but even the appeal Kelly Dalgliesh can wear off over the kind of time scale we're dealing with here), or sitting in the same room but actually communicating with another human being (In an arguably tenuous but still entirely and surprisingly genuine fashion) whilst having that loop on as background noise, I'm not going to choose the former. You might be “fooling yourself when you say you love me, and then you do it again”, but sod it, I'm used to it. It's a routine. A rather pleasant one at that. Because that's all a lot of my time is. Sorry. All of my time.
I had to pick a username. In keeping with my method of putting two completely random words together (the MSN selection process resulted in 'carbondragon', and I could not tell you exactly why to this day), I came up with something along those lines. A slogan had been running through my head – genuine t-shirt material, but I saw it on a poster in the World of Sport in summer 02 and have never seen it again in any form since – for when the new badge was introduced. “This isn't revolution. It's evolution”, or some such variation, give or take. I then cast an eye over my video shelves, again I have no idea why, and settled on Shallow Grave. Now, I've always regarded this film with the kind of astonished rapture usually reserved for usage in a patronising manner when Hibs win a game. Truth is, I'm a slave to Boyle (In an utterly non-suggestive way, before you start). His visual style – right up there with everyone from Tourneur to Hitchcock to Fincher - his deployment of actors, his use of music, his natural instinct as to where to distribute the delivery of spine tingling lines of dialogue. I once argued that Shallow Grave was better than Trainspotting, and to be honest still can't decide how to rank them in relative terms. Whatever, the first-placed picture, in chronological order, remains an all time favourite of mine. Chris Eccleston's performance is now, justifiably, so legendary that it was parodied in Malcolm in the Middle, for god's sake. The impact of this film was small scale, sure, but it has a legacy as far as British cinema goes. Not on the same level as Blow Up, The Wicker Man, Withnail, et al, but it left a substantial reverberation relative to the size of the project.
Out of this came ShallowEvolution as a handle. Which, if nothing else, has a slightly nifty ring to it. And seeing as the likelihood of my engaging in cavalier use of AIM in the future was microscopic, it would mean it's one less cool username for all the 12 year olds operating from behind the parental filter to choose from.
And then, yesterday, I said some extremely rash things about being shallow, genuinely not giving any thought at all to the connection made about 48 hours before, operating way up on the moral high ground for reasons I don't quite understand and had to issue hasty and awkward apologies for later. By lecturing on shallowness, I was being exactly that myself. Not to mention an utter prat. My point was then, and is now, that everyone is shallow. To whatever extent isn't important.
The last thing I want is to be seen as here is operating from that high ground here. Lest I should be seen as some sort of modern rip-off of Chaucer's pilgrim, sitting and making jolly and ill-informed remarks whilst an omnsiciently-represented person (In this instance, real people, fancy that!) above him know/s better, I should say right here that each time I point out an instance of fanboy shallowness, it's because I have fallen for it hook and line myself. If I was going to describe certain people in this ramble as 'gentil', though, I would mean it. A Knight rather than a Pardoner.
When Wenger first arrived (and wasn't that a smooth link between paragraphs?), it's not a matter that's up for debate that he revolutionised our game. Not necessarily 'our' game as in the English league, he was just one part of that. The way Arsenal operated in 95/96 was a game of progression. Slight progression. From 12th the previous season, to 5th, from a decent run at the start of the new campaign to a period of indifference at the end of October that in turn led on to a spell of one win in eight league games. The mildly exciting run to the Coca Cola Cup Semis (Remember Wrighty's first goal against Newcastle?) failed to disguise that we were at base, an average team. A defeat by Sheffield United in the FA Cup after a replay only confirmed this. There really wasn't anything to differentiate us and Sp**s, except Chris Armstrong's winner at the Lane in the game that had a conclusive outcome.
And then, Rioch was chucked. And then Houston walked too. And then some random by the name of Arsène Wenger was drafted in, under no proper fan endorsment of this course of action, when Johan Cruyff was being banded about as a more appealing option, or so it seemed then. We didn't stop to think that his turn could be incorporated into another style of play. That his participation in total football could be adapted, used as an influence or simply disregarded altogether if it suited us. What is, though, important to remember is that we wanted world class names. Bergkamp had been a bolt from the blue when he had emerged, but Platt had, barring a few cracking goals at the start of the campaign, been a disappointment. Practically the last kick of the season was Dennis' hair-raising strike against Bolton that had clinched a UEFA Cup place at the death, and we wanted more.
Wenger is a patient man. Very probably the least shallow football manager ever to work in this country. Rare are the times he chooses a player on name or reputation. A more eager and sensationalist top brass would have been straight in there in the summer waving a contract at Rustu when he was quite clearly the best option to fill a vacancy. Free, too. Instead, refusing to be lured in (Even to the point of making comments in regard to an apparent medical problem that so 'offended' the player that it ultimately led to him taking the huff and going to Barca. Where he doesn't play), he widened his options and evaluated a German keeper who appeared to be a bit dodgy. My notes for the news roundup I did at the time, on the basis of comments by a German sports journalist, read “Nervous and insecure in the face of challenging Kahn. Unsure and prone to mistakes. Move to Milan in 1999 fell down after 6 months – communication problems? Tempremantal. Often sent off. Other than that, a good keeper and worth fee.”
The first Wenger double was not evolutionary in any way. It was due to the impact of individual players. The teamwork was there, yes, because you don't take the kind of route that we did in the FA Cup, and still win out without it. The apparent dependency on Wright had been shown not to be the case, the striker becoming totally incidental after Christmas, nagging rumours of a move to Benfica creating a feeling on unease and conflict that was never resolved properly. Still, the immediate impression that was created by a badly needed young backup goalkeeper, a midfield enforcer to join Vieira and who could judge when to check his runs forward to create a kind of alternating hegemony in the middle of the park, an electric flyer down the wing, and a couple of bouncy new strikers who could chip in with a goal here and there, was one of pure confidence. Wenger had already shown he was not scared of footballing reform – the hasty elimination of target man football with the sale of Hartson, the French influx that transformed deeply rooted suspicion of any ball winner who didn't follow the Batty model, the dietary supplements, the immediate removal of the drinking culture.
And how does this relate to Arsenal today? Only Keown, Vieira, Parlour and Bergkamp now remain. Collectively they represent the Old Guard, those who have been there, done that, turned down Real Madrid. We trust these players implicitly (Three of them have been team captain this season alone – it can't be four out of four because you can't organise properly from the front). Why? Well, three of them are fighters. All of them have tremendous work ethic. More so, we are naturally at our ease with those who have proven they carry more than a novelty value. Take Anfield. Pre-game, Parlour was entrusted with filling Vieira's role by all on this website with no questions asked. Edu, in the background, stepped in and had a blinding game. Despite more or less mirrored performances in Moscow, these two are regarded differently. And it's not the 'Oooh, those dodgy foreigners' angle, either. Facts are, that Parlour had long ago risen above his obstacle of shallowness that we as fans place upon anyone stepping into the team. This can work both ways. Gilberto scored within 20 minutes of his debut and was more or less anonymous (because that is his natural way) for the rest of the season. As time went on, people began to criticise because they were not willing to see past his blocking and positional duties. What a change we've been through. As I said, at the end of 95/96 we were gagging for some flair. Now it seems that unless they're established, we will not tolerate for very long any play who isn't that way. That is quite simply evolution of the harshest kind, evolution to suit our circumstances. Which, of course, is good. As a side note, I see that despite basically uniform performances, the criticism of the Brazilian calmed down slightly after he got the goal against Newcastle.
The second double was much in the same mould, because everything finally clicked together gloriously. This had been coming – Henry had broken in, briefly threatening to precipitate a power shift in 99, then Ljungberg in 00, and now Bergkamp got himself together to dictate matters and eventually proved himself to be the catalyst that had been missing.
Right?
Wrong. Shallowness again. Yes, it seems correct on first glance, but of course what really was behind the success was a critical adjustment in defence. If we had had pace at the back, we wouldn't have lost the cup final the year before. If we had had pace at the back, we might well have won the FAC Semi Replay in 99. What Sol gave us was an engine room that worked and had a little more than Graham's back line. Parlour was increasingly involved too (Though I'm not about to speculate about what he could have done in the defence season if he had been played more...), and again we have that idea of work ethic dictating attitudes, and transcending any pre-emptive judgement. It's the most honest way to play the game.
There has been discussion on here recently about whether Wengerball is in fact dead or not. The truth is that I don't really care any more. Sure, I did, and if it re-appears again such as when it was trundled out at the Riverside, I'll be happy. But this is just short term happiness. Fact is, to take an example, that while we can destroy Birmingham, winning the game within about ten minutes, with Henry scoring two glorious goals to take him up to his hundred, with Pires' drive-slash-volley that the keeper doesn't even see, the Mancs can go there and win 1-0 with a scrambled van Nistelrooy tap-in, despite being taken to the cleaners in the midfield for the majority of the game, being run ragged by Dugarry, with their woodwork hit at least once....the outcome is still the same. Away win. Three points.
Wengerball couldn't have been a fallacy – how could it have been when we were seeing football like that played every week. No, I couldn't agree with anyone who presented that argument. It was misleading, yes. Did we honestly think we were going to keep up the style of football all season long? Well, yes we did. Maybe the players did too, which would explain the pathetic reaction on the park to losing at Goodison. Four 2-1 defeats in a row (One of which, against Blackburn, was a farce of scarcely believable magnitude, but in the rest we got what was coming to us), the first losses since December the previous year, and suddenly the whole lot went balls up and we abruptly found ourselves being destroyed at Old Trafford by a team who simply wanted the win more than us. Still only three points, we said to ourselves at the time, floating on our cushion of a lead at the top of can't-remember-how-many-now-points.
I don't recall anyone ever saying 'it's only three points' after the game away at Leeds. As I said, this was in no way a false impression. We weren't being led on as to how good we were. Rather, we knew it oh-so-well. And that's why we didn't retain last season. That, everyone, is shallow. Because it wasn't actually evolution. As in the culmination of a few years of building up his team, Wenger had got everything spot on. However, because we hadn't ever been there before, we were naive as to what to do. And maybe that's a word I should use to sum Wengerball up.
Naive genius.
Because that's what it was.
Our collective shallowness came after we'd evolved into that slick unit for eleven players playing one touch passes, dragging the opposition all over the pitch before knocking in casually a goal or three. The lack of respect we showed Everton back on 19th October 2002 is perhaps symptomatic of that laid back, couldn't-give-a-****-aboutyou attitude.
And, in a way, that's why my confidence in Arsenal now reassures me more than it did back then. Back then, I didn't entertain thoughts of losing. Because there was no need to. Performances of the like of Anfield, Old Trafford and the City of Manchester Stadium, only make you stare the possibility of defeat straight on in the face. If we had lost against Liverpool on Saturday, I know I would have been less bothered than when we drew there last season. That we keep finding something more, something extra, something to break through and sneak a win, is so, so comforting. We're not even playing well. And we can only go uphill. What, you may be thinking, is uphill from six wins and two draws from the first eight games?
Simply, it would be beating Chelsea. If, if, if, we can get a win out of them, a team who's profligate use of resources would make Gordon Gecko blush, it would prove once and for all that our evolution hadn't stopped with Wengerball. It carried on, into a sector of football less spectacular and less crowd-pleasing, but simply with more gratifying and effective results. For a club with no money to beat or even draw with the Mafia in a few Saturday's time, would be a substantial achievement in itself, no matter what your previous or current status in the game is. And, without wanting to impose a jinx, if that does in fact happen, I think we've found a new team who have kidded themselves through shallowness into believing they're something that they're not.
It seems to me that bar a couple of freaks, you are either an ardent Wengerist, or a casual Wengerist. If you don't belong to either, well I feel sorry for you. That we're even in a position to talk about taking on a team who outspent us by over a hundred million pounds in the summer indicates a mastery of the managerial art. Something that Champ Manager probably can't teach you.
Before I retreat back to MSN to talk to people who are less shallow, less self-consumed than me, I'd like to say that the final line of Shallow Grave is “If one day you find you can't trust your friends...what then. What then....?” Given that the opening line is “This could be any city”, I'd rather suggest that the first utterance from McGregor is a non-materialist Macguffin, which sums us up quite well. We're not what we appear to be.
Who can we trust then?
He, simply, knows.
Ally Winford
I had to pick a username. In keeping with my method of putting two completely random words together (the MSN selection process resulted in 'carbondragon', and I could not tell you exactly why to this day), I came up with something along those lines. A slogan had been running through my head – genuine t-shirt material, but I saw it on a poster in the World of Sport in summer 02 and have never seen it again in any form since – for when the new badge was introduced. “This isn't revolution. It's evolution”, or some such variation, give or take. I then cast an eye over my video shelves, again I have no idea why, and settled on Shallow Grave. Now, I've always regarded this film with the kind of astonished rapture usually reserved for usage in a patronising manner when Hibs win a game. Truth is, I'm a slave to Boyle (In an utterly non-suggestive way, before you start). His visual style – right up there with everyone from Tourneur to Hitchcock to Fincher - his deployment of actors, his use of music, his natural instinct as to where to distribute the delivery of spine tingling lines of dialogue. I once argued that Shallow Grave was better than Trainspotting, and to be honest still can't decide how to rank them in relative terms. Whatever, the first-placed picture, in chronological order, remains an all time favourite of mine. Chris Eccleston's performance is now, justifiably, so legendary that it was parodied in Malcolm in the Middle, for god's sake. The impact of this film was small scale, sure, but it has a legacy as far as British cinema goes. Not on the same level as Blow Up, The Wicker Man, Withnail, et al, but it left a substantial reverberation relative to the size of the project.
Out of this came ShallowEvolution as a handle. Which, if nothing else, has a slightly nifty ring to it. And seeing as the likelihood of my engaging in cavalier use of AIM in the future was microscopic, it would mean it's one less cool username for all the 12 year olds operating from behind the parental filter to choose from.
And then, yesterday, I said some extremely rash things about being shallow, genuinely not giving any thought at all to the connection made about 48 hours before, operating way up on the moral high ground for reasons I don't quite understand and had to issue hasty and awkward apologies for later. By lecturing on shallowness, I was being exactly that myself. Not to mention an utter prat. My point was then, and is now, that everyone is shallow. To whatever extent isn't important.
The last thing I want is to be seen as here is operating from that high ground here. Lest I should be seen as some sort of modern rip-off of Chaucer's pilgrim, sitting and making jolly and ill-informed remarks whilst an omnsiciently-represented person (In this instance, real people, fancy that!) above him know/s better, I should say right here that each time I point out an instance of fanboy shallowness, it's because I have fallen for it hook and line myself. If I was going to describe certain people in this ramble as 'gentil', though, I would mean it. A Knight rather than a Pardoner.
When Wenger first arrived (and wasn't that a smooth link between paragraphs?), it's not a matter that's up for debate that he revolutionised our game. Not necessarily 'our' game as in the English league, he was just one part of that. The way Arsenal operated in 95/96 was a game of progression. Slight progression. From 12th the previous season, to 5th, from a decent run at the start of the new campaign to a period of indifference at the end of October that in turn led on to a spell of one win in eight league games. The mildly exciting run to the Coca Cola Cup Semis (Remember Wrighty's first goal against Newcastle?) failed to disguise that we were at base, an average team. A defeat by Sheffield United in the FA Cup after a replay only confirmed this. There really wasn't anything to differentiate us and Sp**s, except Chris Armstrong's winner at the Lane in the game that had a conclusive outcome.
And then, Rioch was chucked. And then Houston walked too. And then some random by the name of Arsène Wenger was drafted in, under no proper fan endorsment of this course of action, when Johan Cruyff was being banded about as a more appealing option, or so it seemed then. We didn't stop to think that his turn could be incorporated into another style of play. That his participation in total football could be adapted, used as an influence or simply disregarded altogether if it suited us. What is, though, important to remember is that we wanted world class names. Bergkamp had been a bolt from the blue when he had emerged, but Platt had, barring a few cracking goals at the start of the campaign, been a disappointment. Practically the last kick of the season was Dennis' hair-raising strike against Bolton that had clinched a UEFA Cup place at the death, and we wanted more.
Wenger is a patient man. Very probably the least shallow football manager ever to work in this country. Rare are the times he chooses a player on name or reputation. A more eager and sensationalist top brass would have been straight in there in the summer waving a contract at Rustu when he was quite clearly the best option to fill a vacancy. Free, too. Instead, refusing to be lured in (Even to the point of making comments in regard to an apparent medical problem that so 'offended' the player that it ultimately led to him taking the huff and going to Barca. Where he doesn't play), he widened his options and evaluated a German keeper who appeared to be a bit dodgy. My notes for the news roundup I did at the time, on the basis of comments by a German sports journalist, read “Nervous and insecure in the face of challenging Kahn. Unsure and prone to mistakes. Move to Milan in 1999 fell down after 6 months – communication problems? Tempremantal. Often sent off. Other than that, a good keeper and worth fee.”
The first Wenger double was not evolutionary in any way. It was due to the impact of individual players. The teamwork was there, yes, because you don't take the kind of route that we did in the FA Cup, and still win out without it. The apparent dependency on Wright had been shown not to be the case, the striker becoming totally incidental after Christmas, nagging rumours of a move to Benfica creating a feeling on unease and conflict that was never resolved properly. Still, the immediate impression that was created by a badly needed young backup goalkeeper, a midfield enforcer to join Vieira and who could judge when to check his runs forward to create a kind of alternating hegemony in the middle of the park, an electric flyer down the wing, and a couple of bouncy new strikers who could chip in with a goal here and there, was one of pure confidence. Wenger had already shown he was not scared of footballing reform – the hasty elimination of target man football with the sale of Hartson, the French influx that transformed deeply rooted suspicion of any ball winner who didn't follow the Batty model, the dietary supplements, the immediate removal of the drinking culture.
And how does this relate to Arsenal today? Only Keown, Vieira, Parlour and Bergkamp now remain. Collectively they represent the Old Guard, those who have been there, done that, turned down Real Madrid. We trust these players implicitly (Three of them have been team captain this season alone – it can't be four out of four because you can't organise properly from the front). Why? Well, three of them are fighters. All of them have tremendous work ethic. More so, we are naturally at our ease with those who have proven they carry more than a novelty value. Take Anfield. Pre-game, Parlour was entrusted with filling Vieira's role by all on this website with no questions asked. Edu, in the background, stepped in and had a blinding game. Despite more or less mirrored performances in Moscow, these two are regarded differently. And it's not the 'Oooh, those dodgy foreigners' angle, either. Facts are, that Parlour had long ago risen above his obstacle of shallowness that we as fans place upon anyone stepping into the team. This can work both ways. Gilberto scored within 20 minutes of his debut and was more or less anonymous (because that is his natural way) for the rest of the season. As time went on, people began to criticise because they were not willing to see past his blocking and positional duties. What a change we've been through. As I said, at the end of 95/96 we were gagging for some flair. Now it seems that unless they're established, we will not tolerate for very long any play who isn't that way. That is quite simply evolution of the harshest kind, evolution to suit our circumstances. Which, of course, is good. As a side note, I see that despite basically uniform performances, the criticism of the Brazilian calmed down slightly after he got the goal against Newcastle.
The second double was much in the same mould, because everything finally clicked together gloriously. This had been coming – Henry had broken in, briefly threatening to precipitate a power shift in 99, then Ljungberg in 00, and now Bergkamp got himself together to dictate matters and eventually proved himself to be the catalyst that had been missing.
Right?
Wrong. Shallowness again. Yes, it seems correct on first glance, but of course what really was behind the success was a critical adjustment in defence. If we had had pace at the back, we wouldn't have lost the cup final the year before. If we had had pace at the back, we might well have won the FAC Semi Replay in 99. What Sol gave us was an engine room that worked and had a little more than Graham's back line. Parlour was increasingly involved too (Though I'm not about to speculate about what he could have done in the defence season if he had been played more...), and again we have that idea of work ethic dictating attitudes, and transcending any pre-emptive judgement. It's the most honest way to play the game.
There has been discussion on here recently about whether Wengerball is in fact dead or not. The truth is that I don't really care any more. Sure, I did, and if it re-appears again such as when it was trundled out at the Riverside, I'll be happy. But this is just short term happiness. Fact is, to take an example, that while we can destroy Birmingham, winning the game within about ten minutes, with Henry scoring two glorious goals to take him up to his hundred, with Pires' drive-slash-volley that the keeper doesn't even see, the Mancs can go there and win 1-0 with a scrambled van Nistelrooy tap-in, despite being taken to the cleaners in the midfield for the majority of the game, being run ragged by Dugarry, with their woodwork hit at least once....the outcome is still the same. Away win. Three points.
Wengerball couldn't have been a fallacy – how could it have been when we were seeing football like that played every week. No, I couldn't agree with anyone who presented that argument. It was misleading, yes. Did we honestly think we were going to keep up the style of football all season long? Well, yes we did. Maybe the players did too, which would explain the pathetic reaction on the park to losing at Goodison. Four 2-1 defeats in a row (One of which, against Blackburn, was a farce of scarcely believable magnitude, but in the rest we got what was coming to us), the first losses since December the previous year, and suddenly the whole lot went balls up and we abruptly found ourselves being destroyed at Old Trafford by a team who simply wanted the win more than us. Still only three points, we said to ourselves at the time, floating on our cushion of a lead at the top of can't-remember-how-many-now-points.
I don't recall anyone ever saying 'it's only three points' after the game away at Leeds. As I said, this was in no way a false impression. We weren't being led on as to how good we were. Rather, we knew it oh-so-well. And that's why we didn't retain last season. That, everyone, is shallow. Because it wasn't actually evolution. As in the culmination of a few years of building up his team, Wenger had got everything spot on. However, because we hadn't ever been there before, we were naive as to what to do. And maybe that's a word I should use to sum Wengerball up.
Naive genius.
Because that's what it was.
Our collective shallowness came after we'd evolved into that slick unit for eleven players playing one touch passes, dragging the opposition all over the pitch before knocking in casually a goal or three. The lack of respect we showed Everton back on 19th October 2002 is perhaps symptomatic of that laid back, couldn't-give-a-****-aboutyou attitude.
And, in a way, that's why my confidence in Arsenal now reassures me more than it did back then. Back then, I didn't entertain thoughts of losing. Because there was no need to. Performances of the like of Anfield, Old Trafford and the City of Manchester Stadium, only make you stare the possibility of defeat straight on in the face. If we had lost against Liverpool on Saturday, I know I would have been less bothered than when we drew there last season. That we keep finding something more, something extra, something to break through and sneak a win, is so, so comforting. We're not even playing well. And we can only go uphill. What, you may be thinking, is uphill from six wins and two draws from the first eight games?
Simply, it would be beating Chelsea. If, if, if, we can get a win out of them, a team who's profligate use of resources would make Gordon Gecko blush, it would prove once and for all that our evolution hadn't stopped with Wengerball. It carried on, into a sector of football less spectacular and less crowd-pleasing, but simply with more gratifying and effective results. For a club with no money to beat or even draw with the Mafia in a few Saturday's time, would be a substantial achievement in itself, no matter what your previous or current status in the game is. And, without wanting to impose a jinx, if that does in fact happen, I think we've found a new team who have kidded themselves through shallowness into believing they're something that they're not.
It seems to me that bar a couple of freaks, you are either an ardent Wengerist, or a casual Wengerist. If you don't belong to either, well I feel sorry for you. That we're even in a position to talk about taking on a team who outspent us by over a hundred million pounds in the summer indicates a mastery of the managerial art. Something that Champ Manager probably can't teach you.
Before I retreat back to MSN to talk to people who are less shallow, less self-consumed than me, I'd like to say that the final line of Shallow Grave is “If one day you find you can't trust your friends...what then. What then....?” Given that the opening line is “This could be any city”, I'd rather suggest that the first utterance from McGregor is a non-materialist Macguffin, which sums us up quite well. We're not what we appear to be.
Who can we trust then?
He, simply, knows.
Ally Winford
what more can I say
