Asterix
Established Member
Have just read the article about supporting the Gunners from the USA. Here's an Oz perspective.
My Dad woke me up at midnight in early May 1978 to watch Ipswich somehow overcome Supermac, Jennings et al to win the Cup. I was six and a half years old and I cried. A year later with one minute to go I cried again as the ManUre came back from 2-0 down. Then Liam Brady set off on a midfield run that culminated with Alan Sunderland's outstretched boot and I was hooked.
My parents lived in London for two years from 1969 and my Dad supported Arsenal because my Mum worked at a school in Chelsea and he’s a bit perverse like that. I think it suits the whole Arsenal thing.
For a long time my following of Arsenal was conducted late at night and two days late as we had a highlights package at 10pm on a Monday, after reading the Saturday results in our Monday morning paper. The 80’s obviously got off to a bad start and got worse, which is hard for a young aspiring Pat Jennings to cope with.
Then in 1983 came a trip to the Holy Land. My parents took us to the UK for seven glorious weeks from March to May, and of course we had booked to go the Highbury. So there I was, an excited eleven year old, waiting outside the entrance to the stadium as a nice old man brought me back a signed photo of Pat Jennings, which of course I still have to this day, along with the match tickets and a photo of the kick-off. I sat mesmerised and overjoyed as Arsenal beat Luton 4-1. Interestingly enough, the only other time I’ve been to Highbury, in 1986, we also beat Luton, this time 3-0.
As I said, the 80’s were hard, particularly from a distance. As the newspaper bore grimmer and grimmer tidings – what on Earth were we doing in 14th place? – I even considered switching allegiances and following Liverpool. Don’t judge me too harshly – they had an Aussie and had won the Cup again. But I just couldn’t do it. I felt dirty and treacherous. And so my heart stayed true, even as we lost to Luton in the League Cup. I was at a party that night and watched into the small hours as we missed a penalty and lost the game. My girlfriend didn’t understand me much that night.
But then came 1989. I was in my final year of high school, but that didn’t stop me getting up at 4am or so to watch the famous game at Anfield. It was cold and I was tired and felt discouraged that we’d thrown the season away, but chances to watch Arsenal live were few and far between. I had a mate who was a Liverpool fan and I rang him straight after the game, which I admit now wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but it had been so long. I was a few months shy of being born the last time we’d won the League.
In fact ringing friends at inhospitable times to gloat was not a new deed. I had rung a Sp**s-supporting friend in 1987 when Gary Mabbutt scored a beautiful lob for Coventry. It was 2am and his Dad answered the phone on the second ring with the words “P*ss off Jeremy”.
The 1990’s ushered in a new era of support. We have a TV station called SBS (often referred to by rugby loving ignormai as “Soccer Bloody Soccer”) which is our multi-cultural station and has provided millions of fans with their soccer fix for years. SBS introduced a 1800 telephone line with up to date scores, so instead of waiting until the next days paper was out I could now ring up on a Sunday morning a few hours after the game had finished to get the scores. My parents probably thought there was a typo when they got the next phone bill, and I had to explain that I wasn’t ringing Mistress Candy and her voluptuous mistresses of servitude, but was in fact trying to find out if we’d beaten Norwich. SBS also started playing the highlights show at 7.30pm on a Monday instead of 11pm, which made sleep easier to come by but provoked fights over the inability of the missus to watch Friends. I told her to welcome the team as her new friends. She didn’t even laugh.
Then came the internet. This is truly tremendous. I get to work earlier now. I can watch the live scores evolve as we stumble in Europe and keep track of all the transfer gossip, sometimes even ahead of you lot in Europe, as the copy is posted in the early hours of the morning for you, but prime net surfing time here. E-mail is great too. I work in a large organisation with a few offices around Sydney and I’m pleasantly surprised to find two other Gooners in the office, as well as fans of Sp**s, the Baggies, Villans, Dortmund, Celtic, the Hammers, the Blades and Morecambe. Not all of them are English either. The Dortmund guy, obviously, and the Celtic one.
Finally there’s Championship Manager, which my therapist says I shouldn’t talk about any more. My wife doesn’t care that Arjen Robben plays really well in the hole behind Henry and Vieri, or that Sebastien Frey is a worthy successor to Dave, or that some Italian club paid me 25m for Ashley Cole. My five year old tells me that I’m “too attached to soccer Daddy”.
Actually she scared me the other day. As you would imagine I have been attempting to indoctrinate her and my 3 year old son (for instance he’s called Liam, but my wife baulked at Brady for a middle name), but upon telling her that Arsenal was the red team and that she should support them she calmly said “I like the blue team”. This was followed by much screaming and being sent to rooms, after which I calmed down. I think she was only teasing me but I can’t be too sure.
So while I’m several thousand miles away from Highbury I feel really connected to the club. Thanks to technology I am able to have a close grasp on all the goings-on, and while I haven’t been inside the ground since 1986 (I was in London for 3 days in 1997 for my honeymoon but the day we went to the Arsenal shop it was closed), I look forward to watching on the web as the new ground is built, and on the TV at 2am whenever I get the chance.
My Dad woke me up at midnight in early May 1978 to watch Ipswich somehow overcome Supermac, Jennings et al to win the Cup. I was six and a half years old and I cried. A year later with one minute to go I cried again as the ManUre came back from 2-0 down. Then Liam Brady set off on a midfield run that culminated with Alan Sunderland's outstretched boot and I was hooked.
My parents lived in London for two years from 1969 and my Dad supported Arsenal because my Mum worked at a school in Chelsea and he’s a bit perverse like that. I think it suits the whole Arsenal thing.
For a long time my following of Arsenal was conducted late at night and two days late as we had a highlights package at 10pm on a Monday, after reading the Saturday results in our Monday morning paper. The 80’s obviously got off to a bad start and got worse, which is hard for a young aspiring Pat Jennings to cope with.
Then in 1983 came a trip to the Holy Land. My parents took us to the UK for seven glorious weeks from March to May, and of course we had booked to go the Highbury. So there I was, an excited eleven year old, waiting outside the entrance to the stadium as a nice old man brought me back a signed photo of Pat Jennings, which of course I still have to this day, along with the match tickets and a photo of the kick-off. I sat mesmerised and overjoyed as Arsenal beat Luton 4-1. Interestingly enough, the only other time I’ve been to Highbury, in 1986, we also beat Luton, this time 3-0.
As I said, the 80’s were hard, particularly from a distance. As the newspaper bore grimmer and grimmer tidings – what on Earth were we doing in 14th place? – I even considered switching allegiances and following Liverpool. Don’t judge me too harshly – they had an Aussie and had won the Cup again. But I just couldn’t do it. I felt dirty and treacherous. And so my heart stayed true, even as we lost to Luton in the League Cup. I was at a party that night and watched into the small hours as we missed a penalty and lost the game. My girlfriend didn’t understand me much that night.
But then came 1989. I was in my final year of high school, but that didn’t stop me getting up at 4am or so to watch the famous game at Anfield. It was cold and I was tired and felt discouraged that we’d thrown the season away, but chances to watch Arsenal live were few and far between. I had a mate who was a Liverpool fan and I rang him straight after the game, which I admit now wasn’t a very nice thing to do, but it had been so long. I was a few months shy of being born the last time we’d won the League.
In fact ringing friends at inhospitable times to gloat was not a new deed. I had rung a Sp**s-supporting friend in 1987 when Gary Mabbutt scored a beautiful lob for Coventry. It was 2am and his Dad answered the phone on the second ring with the words “P*ss off Jeremy”.
The 1990’s ushered in a new era of support. We have a TV station called SBS (often referred to by rugby loving ignormai as “Soccer Bloody Soccer”) which is our multi-cultural station and has provided millions of fans with their soccer fix for years. SBS introduced a 1800 telephone line with up to date scores, so instead of waiting until the next days paper was out I could now ring up on a Sunday morning a few hours after the game had finished to get the scores. My parents probably thought there was a typo when they got the next phone bill, and I had to explain that I wasn’t ringing Mistress Candy and her voluptuous mistresses of servitude, but was in fact trying to find out if we’d beaten Norwich. SBS also started playing the highlights show at 7.30pm on a Monday instead of 11pm, which made sleep easier to come by but provoked fights over the inability of the missus to watch Friends. I told her to welcome the team as her new friends. She didn’t even laugh.
Then came the internet. This is truly tremendous. I get to work earlier now. I can watch the live scores evolve as we stumble in Europe and keep track of all the transfer gossip, sometimes even ahead of you lot in Europe, as the copy is posted in the early hours of the morning for you, but prime net surfing time here. E-mail is great too. I work in a large organisation with a few offices around Sydney and I’m pleasantly surprised to find two other Gooners in the office, as well as fans of Sp**s, the Baggies, Villans, Dortmund, Celtic, the Hammers, the Blades and Morecambe. Not all of them are English either. The Dortmund guy, obviously, and the Celtic one.
Finally there’s Championship Manager, which my therapist says I shouldn’t talk about any more. My wife doesn’t care that Arjen Robben plays really well in the hole behind Henry and Vieri, or that Sebastien Frey is a worthy successor to Dave, or that some Italian club paid me 25m for Ashley Cole. My five year old tells me that I’m “too attached to soccer Daddy”.
Actually she scared me the other day. As you would imagine I have been attempting to indoctrinate her and my 3 year old son (for instance he’s called Liam, but my wife baulked at Brady for a middle name), but upon telling her that Arsenal was the red team and that she should support them she calmly said “I like the blue team”. This was followed by much screaming and being sent to rooms, after which I calmed down. I think she was only teasing me but I can’t be too sure.
So while I’m several thousand miles away from Highbury I feel really connected to the club. Thanks to technology I am able to have a close grasp on all the goings-on, and while I haven’t been inside the ground since 1986 (I was in London for 3 days in 1997 for my honeymoon but the day we went to the Arsenal shop it was closed), I look forward to watching on the web as the new ground is built, and on the TV at 2am whenever I get the chance.
