Ally
Active Member
Match 3 – Arsenal 2 West Ham 0 – 24th April 2002
Endgame. It's a distasteful proposition, but this one could have cost us extraordinarily dearly. And it came perilously close to doing exactly that. A classic trapdoor fixture, the kind that you always get towards the end of a season; the kind of game, in fact, that bastard schedulers, secretly scheming away in the bowels of FA Headquarters and, presumably, gleefully cackling in a conspiratorial fashion, select as their final trump card to throw at you in a bid to stop you winning the league at any cost. To be honest, it was all a little hairy. Roeder's West Ham came to Highbury and were in patches sensationally good, mixing a base of disciplined closure from the defence and midfield with brutal (though perfectly fair – a more objective hack would probably use the word 'committed') ball winning. That they didn't score was either a result of superlative, veteran defending, or a miracle. Fine, they did score, but that's beside the point. Right, to the background...
The potential ramifications of this game ranged from a one point lead at the top and a substantial psychological dent, to a four point lead and a universal reputation to playing the glorious football of Champions, the likes of which send panel members on ITV into a state of at least mild, non-committal appreciation. Nine games won on the bounce prior to kick-off at the time rather suggested to me that the apparently hilarious suggestion that someone other than Manchester United could win the title was being seriously entertained at last – with hindsight it's hard to understand what all the fuss was about. Plenty of titles have been won with more effort involved than in 01/02 – actually, maybe effort is not the quality that I should be discussing. The run-in was very easy as far as these things go, and it has to be said we came up against a rather ramshackle collection of teams at times (Sunderland, Ipswich, an abject Charlton) – we made it hard for ourselves, though. Co-incidentally, or perhaps otherwise, this difficulty scoring slotted neatly alongside Henry's goal drought. Scary thought.
Our problem, as I recall saying somewhere before, is that we rarely have Plan B. Not that we can't execute it. That we don't have it. Granted, to complain about Plan A (ie. bombard the opposition with a barrage of stunning, free-flowing, incisive attacking football), seems churlish at best, but when in situations such as this one I'll describe, or the Leeds game at Highbury last season that killed us off, we could stand to have some emergency solution that can scramble in a goal if absolutely required when matters start getting desperate.
Just for a few games, we found that solution.
He didn't just score the goal that won the league (For yes, it did. We still needed two more wins, but playing with the comfort of the cushion was the reason we relaxed at Old Trafford, let the game open up, let them come on to us and then hit them on the break. God knows what the game would have been like in a 'winner takes all' situation.). He had his best game in an Arsenal shirt, arguably the finest individual performance of the season that really kicked in in the second half, and could have had us two goals ahead in the opening minutes too. Two minutes hadn't even passed when Henry flicked a Bergkamp pass between his legs and into Freddie's path, who dragged his shot slightly, striking over and across the ball, and James fumbled it wide. Straight afterwards, he received the ball in midfield from Edu, charged straight through three defenders and side stepped another until the matter was agonisingly brought to an end by a lunging last-ditch save from Ian Pearce that threw him off his balance as he prepared to shoot, and James saved at his feet. It was such a Vieira type run; lacking in height and length of stride, he made up for it with pure and simple brute force and used his low centre of gravity to jink away from a crowd of West Ham players who became desperate enough to risk bringing him down in preventing the goal. It would have been some strike.
Having failed to score early on, the game became a virtual carbon copy of the Ipswich tussle three days before. However this time, allowing a football match to open up against a team with the quality of Cole, Sinclair and Carrick who were looking to feed the fantastic Kanoute up front was a far riskier business than dealing with Martijn Reuser and Marcus Stewart, and an involuntary risk, because having survived what we'd thrown at them, West Ham clearly began to enjoy themselves, stroking the ball about, winning possession with vigorous enthusiasm and creating a number of chances with Route One – in particular when Adams became distracted by Kanoute nibbling at his heels, lost the flight of one punt from James and was taken out of play as the striker nipped in and sliced wide, probably due to Seaman's immaculate angling as he came out and spread himself, dropping to his knees and twisting round to ensure there was no gap for the shot.
Big Tone was in for the injured Campbell, still crocked after the war at Old Trafford against Middlesbrough, and continued his role of calmly cutting off the supply to a frontman looking to use speed to nip in behind him. We're lucky we got away with it, because for once, that lone frontman was dextral and intelligent, relishing the challenge of taking on such a walking encyclopedia of defensive know-how. Around 40 minutes had gone when something very strange happened – we were caught on the counter attack. Being such adroit proponents of it ourselves, we seldom fall for the same trick if the opposition try to pull it – indeed it only worked because of a blunder by Lauren who was stretching to bring the ball down as it came out from a chipped Henry free kick, missed, and Kanoute took over. Seeing Fredi bearing down on him at some pace, Adams did something that was frankly ludicrous – dived wildly in and thankfully didn't take him out. Seaman now had no cover at all, did exactly the same thing he had done before to prevent what looked like a fair bet for a West Ham goal, and dropped to his knees at his near post to cover any shot. Kanoute went round him brilliantly, took a split second to compose himself...and shouldn't have. He stoked the ball towards the completely open goal, where Ashley Cole had somehow managed to get back, and flicked the ball out at full stretch with the side of his left foot. To me, it looked impossible, and I still don't understand how he didn't put the ball into his own net. Crucially, Cole's slide had put his back between the linesman on the far side and the ball. I'd wager Ashley knew full well that the ball was six inches over the line. Kanoute had been so fast that neither official saw anything, and whilst officiating in this country can be, frankly, fraudulent and bent at times, there was no way this was going to be given. Of course, the standard lecture on this subject would include a patronising line on how “You know that won you the title, right?” These things even out over the season. Who knows, maybe this was merely making up for Henry's perfectly good goal against Sunderland on 30th March that was mystifyingly disallowed. Who can say. All I know is that we got lucky. For once
The game had actually died a little by now but after half time, a rather hopeless kind of pressure on James' goal was becoming evident. It's a sort of trademark, the kind of football we play when we're either 4-0 up and aren't really too bothered about extending the lead but are trying to anyway because the opposition are loading 10 mean behind the ball; either that, or when we're trying to break through against Liverpool at Highbury, and nothing's going right, and then Gilberto misses an open goal and everyone's heads drop. The sort of pressure that usually involves a rigorous examination of the Highbury woodwork, possibly the side-netting, but rarely results in the keeper having to do an awful lot, because it looks half-hearted and the confidence is down. Only we do this, and whenever it happens it's absolutely bloody infuriating.
Henry curled a free kick on the line, Carrick having sliced through Vieira, around the wall and low and wide, seeking to wrongfoot James and in fact doing so. If it had been anywhere on target it would have been a goal. Ljungberg turned on the ball, looked to be through but was charged down by a scrum of defenders. Kanu, on for Edu, flicked the ball out wide, Parlour delivered an inch perfect cross to the back, Henry rose, actually started to move his head towards the ball to make contact...and Ian Pearce came from nowhere to make an unbelievable headed clearance out from practically under his own bar.
And then, as the clock ticked down past 75 minutes, and there were people in the crowd practically in tears with anger and frustration and pent-up emotion, it happened. Joe Cole attempted an intricate weaving thrust through the defence, and Adams had him in his pocket, reaching out with one foot and winning the ball in the manner of someone who has both hands in his pocket and might be possible whistling a tune. The resulting move looked like a counter attack, but wasn't really. As Bergkamp crossed the half way line, there were seven West Ham players behind the ball. Up in the commentary box, Alan Parry said with an eye-opening degree of prophecy “Still goalless at Highbury, Dennis Bergkamp for Arsenal...” Suddenly changing pace, he sprinted forward, wrong footing Labant, looked up and....
Henry was in the middle of a goal drought. Sure. He didn't score in the period between April 1st and May 11th. But what he did here won the league. Bold statement, sure. But despite what I said earlier about being patronising when discussing such matters, there has to be some specific moment when the balance tipped irreversibly towards you. To me, this happened when Henry, without breaking into a run, touching or even going towards the ball, opened up the West Ham defence for the first time. As Bergkamp closed down on the edge of the area, Thierry just drifted out wide. I'm sure it must have been in his mind that an overlap to the right might have been on. Equally, he knew that Ljungberg was jogging up behind him alright. As he ran away from the ball, he drew Dailly out of the game, creating the gap in behind Repka....
“Good ball for Ljungbeeeerrrggg....”
The last part of his name melted away into the noise of the crowd – Freddie had no time to take a touch as James would have claimed the ball, so dived in and touched it with his right foot. I wonder if he had missed it completely if Bergkamp's through ball would have rolled in. But he diverted it enough to roll it right into the side netting, just inside the post. I'd be struggling to name an occasion where I've heard such noise from the crowd – everything came tumbling out. The previous 75 minutes of hope, which turned to concern, which turned to worry, which turned to frustration, which turned to resignation, which turned to despair....
And then before you knew it, Ljungberg was away down the wing again. For some reason, the ball bobbled up on the billiard table playing surface as he was steadying himself for a cross that I assume was aimed at Henry at the near post. He didn't catch it very cleanly, it sailed way overhead...where Kanu arrived at the back, watched the ball drop and guided a brilliant bouncing, twisting, spinning technical volley that caught James off balance and floated high into the roof off the net.
And that was it. I didn't know it at the time, but the Ljungberg goal was the moment the league was won. I realised it the next Monday the moment the same player scored against Bolton – that's when it hit me we were gonna the Championship. So did this game win the league? No. We won the league on May 8th. This one set it up, constructed the situation and set the circumstances. If we had slipped up we'd have been in bother, still with a lead but with the stuffing coming out ever so slightly. May 8th will not be part of this series. Because without this there would have been no May 8th, at least not how we'll remember it. Every now and again when I write one of these, and I mention the game, I stop for five minutes, find my tape and watch Wiltord's goal. That goal sealed it. Ljungberg's goal made it all possible, was the difference between “Championship form” and “Disappointing slip-up. Do they really have the quality?”. On that logic, did Ljungberg win the league for Arsenal? Tempting statement to make. Henry's 24 goals were the basis, along with the impact of Sol Campbell. Freddie was the man who stepped up to the challenge of performing when others weren't, forging a partnership with Dennis that in retrospect may have been just temporary. His goals made it possible. This one in particular. I wonder if it could be argued that in fact he in the context of the game, and not the actual game itself, made Wenger's Arsenal. Because it did. He did.
Ally Winford
Endgame. It's a distasteful proposition, but this one could have cost us extraordinarily dearly. And it came perilously close to doing exactly that. A classic trapdoor fixture, the kind that you always get towards the end of a season; the kind of game, in fact, that bastard schedulers, secretly scheming away in the bowels of FA Headquarters and, presumably, gleefully cackling in a conspiratorial fashion, select as their final trump card to throw at you in a bid to stop you winning the league at any cost. To be honest, it was all a little hairy. Roeder's West Ham came to Highbury and were in patches sensationally good, mixing a base of disciplined closure from the defence and midfield with brutal (though perfectly fair – a more objective hack would probably use the word 'committed') ball winning. That they didn't score was either a result of superlative, veteran defending, or a miracle. Fine, they did score, but that's beside the point. Right, to the background...
The potential ramifications of this game ranged from a one point lead at the top and a substantial psychological dent, to a four point lead and a universal reputation to playing the glorious football of Champions, the likes of which send panel members on ITV into a state of at least mild, non-committal appreciation. Nine games won on the bounce prior to kick-off at the time rather suggested to me that the apparently hilarious suggestion that someone other than Manchester United could win the title was being seriously entertained at last – with hindsight it's hard to understand what all the fuss was about. Plenty of titles have been won with more effort involved than in 01/02 – actually, maybe effort is not the quality that I should be discussing. The run-in was very easy as far as these things go, and it has to be said we came up against a rather ramshackle collection of teams at times (Sunderland, Ipswich, an abject Charlton) – we made it hard for ourselves, though. Co-incidentally, or perhaps otherwise, this difficulty scoring slotted neatly alongside Henry's goal drought. Scary thought.
Our problem, as I recall saying somewhere before, is that we rarely have Plan B. Not that we can't execute it. That we don't have it. Granted, to complain about Plan A (ie. bombard the opposition with a barrage of stunning, free-flowing, incisive attacking football), seems churlish at best, but when in situations such as this one I'll describe, or the Leeds game at Highbury last season that killed us off, we could stand to have some emergency solution that can scramble in a goal if absolutely required when matters start getting desperate.
Just for a few games, we found that solution.
He didn't just score the goal that won the league (For yes, it did. We still needed two more wins, but playing with the comfort of the cushion was the reason we relaxed at Old Trafford, let the game open up, let them come on to us and then hit them on the break. God knows what the game would have been like in a 'winner takes all' situation.). He had his best game in an Arsenal shirt, arguably the finest individual performance of the season that really kicked in in the second half, and could have had us two goals ahead in the opening minutes too. Two minutes hadn't even passed when Henry flicked a Bergkamp pass between his legs and into Freddie's path, who dragged his shot slightly, striking over and across the ball, and James fumbled it wide. Straight afterwards, he received the ball in midfield from Edu, charged straight through three defenders and side stepped another until the matter was agonisingly brought to an end by a lunging last-ditch save from Ian Pearce that threw him off his balance as he prepared to shoot, and James saved at his feet. It was such a Vieira type run; lacking in height and length of stride, he made up for it with pure and simple brute force and used his low centre of gravity to jink away from a crowd of West Ham players who became desperate enough to risk bringing him down in preventing the goal. It would have been some strike.
Having failed to score early on, the game became a virtual carbon copy of the Ipswich tussle three days before. However this time, allowing a football match to open up against a team with the quality of Cole, Sinclair and Carrick who were looking to feed the fantastic Kanoute up front was a far riskier business than dealing with Martijn Reuser and Marcus Stewart, and an involuntary risk, because having survived what we'd thrown at them, West Ham clearly began to enjoy themselves, stroking the ball about, winning possession with vigorous enthusiasm and creating a number of chances with Route One – in particular when Adams became distracted by Kanoute nibbling at his heels, lost the flight of one punt from James and was taken out of play as the striker nipped in and sliced wide, probably due to Seaman's immaculate angling as he came out and spread himself, dropping to his knees and twisting round to ensure there was no gap for the shot.
Big Tone was in for the injured Campbell, still crocked after the war at Old Trafford against Middlesbrough, and continued his role of calmly cutting off the supply to a frontman looking to use speed to nip in behind him. We're lucky we got away with it, because for once, that lone frontman was dextral and intelligent, relishing the challenge of taking on such a walking encyclopedia of defensive know-how. Around 40 minutes had gone when something very strange happened – we were caught on the counter attack. Being such adroit proponents of it ourselves, we seldom fall for the same trick if the opposition try to pull it – indeed it only worked because of a blunder by Lauren who was stretching to bring the ball down as it came out from a chipped Henry free kick, missed, and Kanoute took over. Seeing Fredi bearing down on him at some pace, Adams did something that was frankly ludicrous – dived wildly in and thankfully didn't take him out. Seaman now had no cover at all, did exactly the same thing he had done before to prevent what looked like a fair bet for a West Ham goal, and dropped to his knees at his near post to cover any shot. Kanoute went round him brilliantly, took a split second to compose himself...and shouldn't have. He stoked the ball towards the completely open goal, where Ashley Cole had somehow managed to get back, and flicked the ball out at full stretch with the side of his left foot. To me, it looked impossible, and I still don't understand how he didn't put the ball into his own net. Crucially, Cole's slide had put his back between the linesman on the far side and the ball. I'd wager Ashley knew full well that the ball was six inches over the line. Kanoute had been so fast that neither official saw anything, and whilst officiating in this country can be, frankly, fraudulent and bent at times, there was no way this was going to be given. Of course, the standard lecture on this subject would include a patronising line on how “You know that won you the title, right?” These things even out over the season. Who knows, maybe this was merely making up for Henry's perfectly good goal against Sunderland on 30th March that was mystifyingly disallowed. Who can say. All I know is that we got lucky. For once
The game had actually died a little by now but after half time, a rather hopeless kind of pressure on James' goal was becoming evident. It's a sort of trademark, the kind of football we play when we're either 4-0 up and aren't really too bothered about extending the lead but are trying to anyway because the opposition are loading 10 mean behind the ball; either that, or when we're trying to break through against Liverpool at Highbury, and nothing's going right, and then Gilberto misses an open goal and everyone's heads drop. The sort of pressure that usually involves a rigorous examination of the Highbury woodwork, possibly the side-netting, but rarely results in the keeper having to do an awful lot, because it looks half-hearted and the confidence is down. Only we do this, and whenever it happens it's absolutely bloody infuriating.
Henry curled a free kick on the line, Carrick having sliced through Vieira, around the wall and low and wide, seeking to wrongfoot James and in fact doing so. If it had been anywhere on target it would have been a goal. Ljungberg turned on the ball, looked to be through but was charged down by a scrum of defenders. Kanu, on for Edu, flicked the ball out wide, Parlour delivered an inch perfect cross to the back, Henry rose, actually started to move his head towards the ball to make contact...and Ian Pearce came from nowhere to make an unbelievable headed clearance out from practically under his own bar.
And then, as the clock ticked down past 75 minutes, and there were people in the crowd practically in tears with anger and frustration and pent-up emotion, it happened. Joe Cole attempted an intricate weaving thrust through the defence, and Adams had him in his pocket, reaching out with one foot and winning the ball in the manner of someone who has both hands in his pocket and might be possible whistling a tune. The resulting move looked like a counter attack, but wasn't really. As Bergkamp crossed the half way line, there were seven West Ham players behind the ball. Up in the commentary box, Alan Parry said with an eye-opening degree of prophecy “Still goalless at Highbury, Dennis Bergkamp for Arsenal...” Suddenly changing pace, he sprinted forward, wrong footing Labant, looked up and....
Henry was in the middle of a goal drought. Sure. He didn't score in the period between April 1st and May 11th. But what he did here won the league. Bold statement, sure. But despite what I said earlier about being patronising when discussing such matters, there has to be some specific moment when the balance tipped irreversibly towards you. To me, this happened when Henry, without breaking into a run, touching or even going towards the ball, opened up the West Ham defence for the first time. As Bergkamp closed down on the edge of the area, Thierry just drifted out wide. I'm sure it must have been in his mind that an overlap to the right might have been on. Equally, he knew that Ljungberg was jogging up behind him alright. As he ran away from the ball, he drew Dailly out of the game, creating the gap in behind Repka....
“Good ball for Ljungbeeeerrrggg....”
The last part of his name melted away into the noise of the crowd – Freddie had no time to take a touch as James would have claimed the ball, so dived in and touched it with his right foot. I wonder if he had missed it completely if Bergkamp's through ball would have rolled in. But he diverted it enough to roll it right into the side netting, just inside the post. I'd be struggling to name an occasion where I've heard such noise from the crowd – everything came tumbling out. The previous 75 minutes of hope, which turned to concern, which turned to worry, which turned to frustration, which turned to resignation, which turned to despair....
And then before you knew it, Ljungberg was away down the wing again. For some reason, the ball bobbled up on the billiard table playing surface as he was steadying himself for a cross that I assume was aimed at Henry at the near post. He didn't catch it very cleanly, it sailed way overhead...where Kanu arrived at the back, watched the ball drop and guided a brilliant bouncing, twisting, spinning technical volley that caught James off balance and floated high into the roof off the net.
And that was it. I didn't know it at the time, but the Ljungberg goal was the moment the league was won. I realised it the next Monday the moment the same player scored against Bolton – that's when it hit me we were gonna the Championship. So did this game win the league? No. We won the league on May 8th. This one set it up, constructed the situation and set the circumstances. If we had slipped up we'd have been in bother, still with a lead but with the stuffing coming out ever so slightly. May 8th will not be part of this series. Because without this there would have been no May 8th, at least not how we'll remember it. Every now and again when I write one of these, and I mention the game, I stop for five minutes, find my tape and watch Wiltord's goal. That goal sealed it. Ljungberg's goal made it all possible, was the difference between “Championship form” and “Disappointing slip-up. Do they really have the quality?”. On that logic, did Ljungberg win the league for Arsenal? Tempting statement to make. Henry's 24 goals were the basis, along with the impact of Sol Campbell. Freddie was the man who stepped up to the challenge of performing when others weren't, forging a partnership with Dennis that in retrospect may have been just temporary. His goals made it possible. This one in particular. I wonder if it could be argued that in fact he in the context of the game, and not the actual game itself, made Wenger's Arsenal. Because it did. He did.
Ally Winford
