Seventeen years without a trophy! How often have we heard a similar refrain? It is 1970; we last won the league in 1953 and we have been proven to be second best in two previous consecutive League Cup Finals. I don’t recall the 1968 final when we lost by a single controversial goal to Leeds United but I remember all too well the humiliating defeat in the 1969 final at the hands of Third Division Swindon Town when a certain Don Rogers was to become the hero of the day. Sad to say, there were no heroes that day wearing an Arsenal shirt.
This was my inaugural Highbury season. I had begged my brother to take me with him to a match against Nottingham Forest in the February to the absolute horror of my mother who would have preferred her ten year old daughter to show an interest in a more becoming and genteel sport such as tennis. My brother recalls his plan at the time for the indoctrination of his younger sister – it seems he was tired of suffering alone, attending a school less than fifteen minutes walk from the ground of the more popular North London side of the day whose fans were still lauding it having secured the Double nine years previously. Despite him getting me a ticket for the 1969 League Cup Final, my mother forbade me to go – it felt cruel on the day. I had pulled out all the colour supplements in the local newspapers that suggested Arsenal only had to turn up on the day to lift the trophy. Perhaps my mother had known better, after all, protecting me from the misery and ignominy of losing to a third rate team from a place I’d never heard of.
I lay on my bed with my cheap, small, tinny transistor radio pinned to my ear. We were losing 3-0 away to Anderlecht in the first leg of the 1970 Inter Cities Fairs Cup Final. A bit like Swindon, I had never heard of a place called Anderlecht but misery was becoming a familiar feeling and, with Arsenal’s help, I had apparently willed it onto my young self! Our Manager, Bertie Mee, gambled by throwing on a little known substitute and, a raw Ray Kennedy, grabbed a goal towards the end. It took a while for it to dawn on me that the goal was beyond mere consolation and had given us a lifeline as I started to grapple with the meaning of a law that meant away goals counted double in the event of a draw. We now only had to beat a clearly superior Anderlecht team by two clear goals at Highbury in the second leg. Sounds familiar? There was hope! Arsenal fans seem to trade in hope rather a lot.
The second leg of the final was to be an all ticket affair and I recall the queue snaking along Avenell Road as we lined up for hours, past the large ‘Schoolboys Entrance’ sign to the left of the North Bank turnstiles. On this occasion, my first final, I was going to enter the ground with a proper, grown-up, paper ticket. Generally, I would enter through the Schoolboys Entrance for the reduced price of two shillings (ten pence) to then gain access into the North Bank via the large, imposing metal gates on the right hand side. I always felt indignant at the absence of a Schoolgirls Entrance even at such a young age. It seemed that Arsenal didn’t really want girls at football matches leaving me to ponder whether my mother had been correct about embracing tennis, after all!
And so I came to be present at what many people refer to as ‘The Greatest Night Highbury ever Witnessed’. By now, my brother and I had established a routine whereby he would go to the back of the North Bank and I would go to take my place, as did many children, down behind the goal where there was a chance of actually being able to see some of the action. This night, there was a palpable belief from the crowd that we could will the team on to victory. It was a crowd, that in common with the team, was weary and tired of disappointment and defeat; and desperate for a famous victory.
The breakthrough came on 25 minutes and I remember the exact moment Eddie Kelly’s shot flew past a static goalkeeper at the Clock End. I remember every goal that night with a degree of accuracy that is impossible for me these days when my memories of important matches tend to be an amalgam of what I actually saw, or what I think I saw after watching the extended highlights. I was not to see any footage of any of the goals until twenty three years later when the Arsenal Museum in the newly built all-seater North Bank aired some grainy black and white coverage of the final. Geordie Armstrong had taken a corner, Frank McLintock had intercepted the ball, sending a diagonal pass through to Eddie Kelly who steadied himself to make room for a shot that flew past Anderlecht’s static goalkeeper, Jean-Marie Trappeniers, comically referred to in Brian Moore’s commentary as ‘Trap ‘n’ Ears’.
The first half ended one nil to the Arsenal and at the start of the second half, Frank McLintock entered the pitch early to further stoke the crowd of 51,600. That was the official count but in those days the actual attendance often comprised many thousands more as fans would gain entry to the terraces long after the gates had been slammed shut. Judging by how we were all crammed in with barely room to move I suspect that the official attendance was a conservative figure. Tonight was going to be as much about the crowd as the team. “Come on Arsenal, Come on Arsenal” encouraged the crowd; we were playing well but Anderlecht seemed resolute and even spurned an opportunity to kill the final off when Deverindt fired straight at our keeper, Bob Wilson.
Down behind the goal of the North Bank, I
was struggling to see. On my tiptoes for most of the match I tried to find gaps
between shoulders and heads as I struggled to follow the drama unfolding before
me. A ball came flying over from a Bob McNab cross and I could just make out
John Radford rising high above everyone else to head the ball into the net. Cue
utter pandemonium; I was literally swept off my feet as the crowd moved as one
mass carrying me with it in directions I had no control over ending up each
time next to people unfamiliar from earlier on. I asked my brother for his
recollection of the crowd at that moment, high up in the terracing of the North
Bank:
“The crowd now went crazy, we were in the lead for the first time on the
dreaded away goals rule. This time I
landed about fifteen feet from where I took off and although I was screaming
with pure ecstasy no noise was coming out as I was totally hoarse by now. We
were pounding the air and hugging
everyone including the police that mingled amongst us. And then, all of a
sudden, the sheer joy and elation was
replaced by negative thoughts of “No …
not 2-0! We haven’t won it properly!”
Would we be able to hang on and win the Cup on the away goals rule, we all wondered? An expectant crowd gathered more belief just ninety seconds later, when a Charlie George pass found Jon Sammels, who on beating his marker, unleashed a fine diagonal shot past ‘Trap ‘n’ Ears’ into what was the bottom right corner of the goal from where I was watching. “Easy, easy” came the confident chant as toilet rolls reined down onto the muddy, furrowed pitch. While we now had more belief, there was still an unease that Anderlecht could force extra time if they were to get just one goal back. The crowd willed the team on through the final fifteen minutes. “We shall not, we shall not be moved” was the chant as John Radford almost added a fourth.
Highbury erupted on all sides when the whistle finally blew. As people poured on to the pitch to celebrate I was shoved to the ground by supporters pushing down from the back wanting to join in with the jubilation. The police were fighting a losing battle trying to prevent people from entering onto the pitch and I was getting trampled and unable to get to my feet. I think I learned in that moment what it might be like to drown as I was floundering in a sea of legs and boots and having difficulty drawing breath. I recall a calmness when I’d almost given up to resign myself to my fate at which moment I was hauled up by two men. My rescuers turned out to be a somewhat scary looking tattooed and bovver booted skinhead and a more reassuring looking helmeted policeman. By now, the police had made a wise decision to allow people onto the pitch and so the crush was alleviated. I recall Frank McLintock being hoisted above a joyous crowd keeping a firm grip of the trophy outstretched above his head. At last – a elusive trophy and he wasn’t letting go! Eventually, I was reunited with my older brother who escorted me home to a mother who appeared to be softening, realising that she was losing her battle just as Arsenal had started to win theirs. Little did we know that on that euphoric night, even better was to come the following season!
Wow. What a marvellous, thrilling, evocative story. Even though it’s 50 years ago this reads like you wrote it the morning after. Bodrum Gooneress take a bow. More please!
Wow is right! Thank you Bodrum, the schoolgirls are alright, and your memory is just as good as one of theirs. Loved the family dynamic at work too.
what a tale, bodrumgooneress! i read it at a gasp, you had me listening to your transistor, and calm in the face of certain trampling…and up on the shoulders of the crowd with the trophy! thank you, great job.
Wonderful piece. Just wonderful. You had me back there in those surging crowds on the North Bank. When they moved, you moved. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time.
Excellent stuff Bodrum Gooneress. I fully agree with C100 and look forward to seeing more of the same.
I don’t remember anything about the game or the time, strangely, My big brother was at Highbury that night; and spoke very warmly of his memories of the occasion.
BG( if I can be familiar)
You’ve done a wonderful job of recalling a watershed night in our history . You took me back to the night with almost total recall. I began to remember things I haven’t thought about for many years.
I had been to the League Cup Finals. We had lost fairly tamely to Dirty Leeds but the Swindon game was heartbreaking. I remember almost breaking up with a girlfriend that night because I refused to speak to her so depressed was I ( 3-1 to Swindon on a quagmire- how could you speak after that? )
I was on the North Bank and as Radford’s header bounced in I suddenly felt for the first time we might win a trophy. I kept my place on the terraces after that goal but when Sammels scored I tumbled uncontrollably down the terrace and ended like BG many yards from where I started. I usually worry about losing match-winning positions in big games but that night I just didn’t feel we could lose and neither did the players. I’ve discussed the game with Frank and Bob at length and I went to a commemorative dinner ten years ago when I ended up very briefly on a table with several of the team . I had to pinch myself but it was clear they still had an enormous bond and that moment gave them colossal belief .It wasn’t the best game ever played at Highbury but it must be one of the most significant and probably the most emotional.
Thanks BG for stirring such good memories .
Thanks Bodrum Gooneress – great report on a fantastic night !
I was there that night on the North Bank in MY usual position ! Right in front of the barrier at the gangway halfway up the terrace, in line with the right hand 18 yard line as you looked towards the Clock End. Same place every home game for years. At least that’s where we started !
To be absolutely honest I can’t remember anything about the game at all, apart from craning to see the ball each time it hit the back of the net, before setting off on a magical mystery tour down the terrace, singing and, I would have to say, screaming with raw joy, hugging total strangers on the way.
Having struggled back up to where we had started, in went another goal and off we went again, swept along by another avalanche of supporters until it subsided and the long ascent up the steps began again.
That’s why I can’t remember the game – I only saw the ball in the back of the net and hundreds of people I have never met before or since, as the place just exploded with joy.
A truly amazing night ……
A superb eye-witness account that not only recounts your experience of watching that important game and cup win but is also an eloquent reminder of those hurdles many of us had to overcome with our parents to attend matches (certainly harder for the fairer gender too) when we were growing up and the rites of pssage that we had to undergo once we got there.
Nice one Bodrum Gooneress!
Your favourite tipple is on the bar.
Thanks BG, great memories,
made me wish I was there.
Made me miss the terrace
tumble and 50,000 crowds at
Highbury too.
As a parent now I’d have been
terrified watching my 10 year old
avalanching down the terraces
but these are the things we
remember best as you described so
well. Different times but I miss
the “wild old days”.
Trev,
You have described where I used to stand between about 1968 and 1974. . I moved nearer the front in the mid 70s and then went across to the other side of the North Bank in the early 80s . Who knows we may have embraced that evening !
After the match I realised how dangerous that night was . Some of the big games at Highbury- games against United, some against Spurs and Chelsea, the Juventus game in the ECWC really did require you to be quite strong. I remember standing on tiptoe for 120 minutes for a tie against Liverpool, bracing myself against the crush barrier. Since I started sitting I’ve had no nostalgia for the ‘good old days’ of taking your life in your hands , not seeing the game properly and trying to dodge marauding gangs from the other team…and at Palace once I was nearly beaten up by a group of very warlike Arsenal fans! You can keep safe standing it was very overrated.
Stsnding is not for the elderly of course.
But us younger supporters would still
like the choice 😉
I don’t know whether, at 63, I count as elderly. I do know that I prefer to stand when watching football. It helps the singing. We stand on the North Bank lower and we stand at away games and Cup Finals if you are in the lower tier at Wembley. Mind you, I like the 15 minute sit down at half time these days!
The old crash barriers at Highbury were a bit scary if you got caught on them.
I recall an early word of advice from the old man when he started taking me to games that a wise man stands with his back to a barrier rather than leaning over it.
True enough C100, but the crush
outside in the narrow roads could
be scarier at big games.
@13
Mine told me to slip under the
barrier when we scored 😃
“cos you’re only little”
Also, “…as toilet rolls reined down onto the muddy, furrowed pitch“. Who’d willingly chuck away a roll of toilet papar these days?
TTG@10: Good idea to remove the rose-tinted specs when looking back on going to games in the 1970s. You took you life into your hands on occasion.
So true, Ned – @16 AND 17 😂
I can remember being carried out of the North Bank off my feet and unable to breathe at times, such was the crush as fans poured out of the biggest games. I’m sure my parents would never have let me go if they’d realised how bad it was at times.
Countryman, Bath,
I can’t remember the exact year but back in the era of the 3 day week, we played a match against Derby County on a Tuesday afternoon, as floodlights could not be used for evening games. My two usual mates from school and I had somehow, again I can’t remember how we got away with it, escaped and got to the game.
We couldn’t get across the North Bank to our usual spot as it was absolutely rammed, so we had to stand out in the open on the Junior Enclosure side of the terrace. The official crowd figure that day was c62,500 but there were clearly thousands more inside the ground.
At one point, and I’m sure you’ll remember the incident, a crash barrier collapsed. All I was aware of was a loud bang and screaming as the rows of fans in front of us fell down the terracing into a pile of struggling bodies. We were lucky enough to be the first row of people that were able to hold themselves back and stay on our feet.
All seater stadia have definitely damaged the noise level and ‘atmosphere’ at games, but I have been scared enough at many games – with gangs of knife, bat and bicycle chain wielding rival fans – never to want to return to anything like the seventies.
That is a wonderfully evocative post BG, a great trip down memory lane to my most memorable match at Highbury. I had to endure years & years of mediocrity by the time our first European final arrived. Disappointment was indented in our psyche, only recently enhanced by the league cup final defeats. In beating that wonderful Ajax team in the semi final this once again gave us hope – it was only Anderlecht in the final! We should have known better and as the first leg in Brussels got to the final stages we were trailing 3-0 and knew our hopes were dashed yet again. And suddenly, the newly introduced young reserve forward popped up to score – not to be the first time Ray Kennedy scored a vital goal.
So we all crammed into Highbury for the 2cnd leg with hope renewed. The whole crowd believed this time we were going to win, you could sense it in the fantastic atmosphere right from the start and this permeated through to the players on the pitch.
I got to the ground early and managed to get to my normal place at the clock end – 1/2 way up behind the goal. The normal crew were there. Normally the more vocal part of the ground was at the North Bank but even the clock end was up for it right from the start.
For the first goal I had a perfect view of it – the corner came across, Frank laid into the path of Eddie Kelly and the ball flew into the net. You knew from the second it left his boot it was in the net and no where else. Pandemonium followed as the crowd dangerously surged forward – amazingly no one appeared hurt and we all eventually regrouped back to our starting positions. Once that first goal was score we knew we would win. The whole crowed roared the team on & on. Johnny Radford’s goal and Jon Sammels perfectly placed drive were inevitably and finally the whistle blew to end the match. Hugging and kissing anyone & everyone ensued.
The police always patrolled the pitch perimeter and anyone running onto the pitch would be banned. There were no inhibitions as the crowd surged forward – they were going to celebrate on the pitch and nothing was going to stop us. Wisely the police didn’t even try.
I eventually arrived home and my wife knowingly left the front door open – she knew that’s the only way I would manage to get indoors.
It was my first major win after enduring 12 years of relative mediocrity and finally allowed us to shut up the noisy marsh dwellers down the road who had been insufferably crowing about their double since 1961. The most magical match ever!
Great stuff Uply !
I was still in Scotland until ’83. While there was violence at football matches in the 60’s and 70’s there, it was nothing like the scale of that in England and generally it involved the Old Firm. It was always entertaining to watch fans of the Ugly Sisters kick lumps out of each other (much like my memory of a relegation battle between the Chavs and the Spudz that ended with Kung Fu between the fans on the pitch). With a bit of foresight you could generally steer clear of it. I was chased down the Copeland Road after Aberdeen won 3-0 at Ibrox early in Ferguson’s reign and on another occasion was threatened with violence at Parkhead if we won (it was a draw). Both episodes were because I was stupid enough to never go to a match without my red and white scarf.
I always used to stand on the terracing but am very happy to sit now. I will not be partaking in ‘safe standing’.
When I was a student I most frequently went to Firhill to watch Partick Thistle for whom I still have a fondness. In those days the hardcore fans used to change ends at halftime just like the teams so the flashpoint came as they made their way round and met each other travelling in opposite directions on the terracing opposite the stand. I seem to recall that the fans of Dunfermline Athletic were always somewhat obstreporous.
That’s really excellent, BG. You’ve raised the bar (in more ways than one).
Trev, a hug and a kiss from TTG was there for the taking that night. I hope you didn’t pass up on the opportunity?
Trev / TTG / Countryman. That FA cup reply v Derby was in 1972. My boss was an avid sports fan ( even though Chelsea ) and allowed me the afternoon off work to get to the ground. It was a long queue to get through the turnstiles and the match was just starting as I got to the entrance behind the goal ( clock end ) – that was it. It was so packed I initially could even get onto the terrace. I could see little but slowly managed to push / squeeze my way through – it took me to half time to reach my pals at my normal spot half way up. The crowd surges were so dangerous, you were literally being crushed and the air being squeezed out of you. I managed to keep both shoulders pressed into the bodies crushing and this managed to keep some air in my lungs. No doubt in my mind there were 10000 more people in the ground that officially stated. After that experience I took much more care as to when & how I watched matches at the HoF.
The match itself disappointingly resulted in another draw with a 2cnd reply at Leicester we finally overcome them.
Football attendance has certainly moved on quite rightly to be relatively safe, although it took the terrible events at Hillsborough for change to take place – that was an accident waiting to happen.
Bath @ 22. Towards the late 60s and into the 70s, away fans were being advised to go to the Clock End as this was away from the “hardcore” support at the Northbank. This meant there was more trouble emanating at the Clock End. Those at the Northbank who were so inclined to join in the extra curricular sporting activity, walked around the back of the West Stand to the Clock End – it was entirely open ( and sometimes the away fans walked to the Northbank for some confrontational sport ). Originally this passageway was to allow spectators to stand at the end Arsenal were attacking for both halves. Once this escalated out of control, the passages were closed ( quite rightly ). Eventually a large part of the clock end became the away supporters end and the regulars moved on – either to the Northbank or seating (me ). It became a hazardous pastime following your team in the 70s
– thankfully that is mainly a thing of the past.
Bath, I used to visit Glasgow on business quite often in the 80s & 90s. Many of the people I met hated the sectarianism of the “ugly sisters” and veered towards supporting Patrick Thistle, which was just a football club without that baggage. IIRC they are situated in / close to the West End and therefore the University district.
I always enjoyed visiting Glasgow, both for business & leisure. It has a lot going for it but also you don’t have to look too far to see a lot against it as well.
Uply @25, I think they also eventually erected fencing at Firhill to prevent both hard-core supports doing just that, changing ends to be behind the goal their team was attacking.
& @26, your memory serves you very well. Firhill is walkable from the top of Byres Road a road that is still the drinking haunt of Glasgow University lecturers and students. They had a healthy support from the University. Indeed there is little doubt that the average IQ of Thistle fans was well in excess of that of the supporters of the Ugly Sisters. Indeed, I recall a friend of mine (an Arabs fan – test for Ned) who is now an eminent Professor of Obstetrics, observing when he accompanied me to Ibrox to watch an Aberdeen away game that the Rangers fanbase proved his theory that procreation was the last ability lost as you drop down the human species’ IQ range.
iBtM, heh! I wondered who that bloke following me up St Thomas Road after the game was. 😉
Finally got a chance to read this. Read it twice, savoring every bit of recollection. Bodrum Gooneress, this is such an excellent piece of writing — perfectly calibrated emotional richness and details of the match. Pure joy to read! If I may, kudos also to that young girl and his brother for the sangfroid. I was a little scared for them as they were being tossed around in that sea of jubilant crowds. What a memory to have!
Wonderful memories above from the usual suspects. Keep ‘em coming, please. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼
a question to those whose fathers went to games at highbury before the 60s. did the same forward surge happen after every goal?
and another, for a cousin who has never been on a packed terrace: how do you surge with those barriers in place up and down the terrace?
How wonderful to read of other people’s experiences of that very special Highbury night! Such memories 🙂
Great memories above from Trev and Uply of an FA Cup replay against Derby County.
I was doing A-levels at the time and we were supposed to be doing “General Studies” that afternoon. Lord knows what the idea of General Studies was and I can no longer remember what a typical “lesson” comprised. I was sufficiently confident that the view of the subject as a complete waste of time was universal that sooner than skive off to go to Highbury I went along to request official permission to attend the match instead.
Needless to say, even in those far-off days before a Health & Safety culture took over, my teacher wasn’t going to risk giving me and my mate a green light so it was General Studies for us that afternoon.
I do recall being in some 50,000+ crowds at Highbury. If I remember correctly, if you were so tightly packed at the Clock End that you couldn’t move and could only just breathe, there were about 45,000 in the ground. At 50,000 there was no need to keep your feet on the ground as the crowd would hold you upright with no effort on your own part.
Terrific memories and now I know who that lad I followed up St. Thomas Road was. Fifty years he hasn’t phoned he hasn’t written! 😃
Uply,
Great recollections , we are very lucky to have had such experiences . I was not given permission to attend the Derby match in 1972- pressure of work . I did nip off to see an afternoon game which I think was against Wolves during the miners strike a couple of years later . A bad day at football, was better than a good day at work !
Scruz,
The alignment of the barriers meant that you could fall about ten terrace steps before you encountered a barrier so there was plenty of scope to do yourself a mischief. But some of our crowds were pretty poor and you had plenty of room .
My Dad was asked by the girl next door to take her to Charlton before the war ( so he said. ) . There was a huge crush ( the Valley was an enormous ground ) and he got separated from her. He found her after the match having lost her shoes and having found the whole experience very traumatic . Behaviour was less passionate from what I could see, if you look on the newsreels they seemed quite restrained. I didn’t hear of in- match surges but people overbalanced trying to see what was happening at the front and that could spell disaster . As Trev suggests some of the worst crushes took place as you left grounds trying to get through very narrow gates. I remember watching a semi-final at Hillsborough in 1973 and being appalled at the dark passages which fed you into the terraces .( There were no fences then). When I heard of the disaster there in 1989 it didn’t surprise me . We were very lucky with the old, crumbling grounds and huge crowds at times that we didn’t have more .I’m an old curmudgeon unlike the 63 year-Old whippersnapper C100. I moaned all through the Villa final that I’d paid £90 for a seat I never sat on. And we won that 4-0!
Laca in trouble again for playing
with balloons.
Seems like a lot of hot air to me
Of course the press will over-
inflate the story and have a
pop at Laca
bath@27: The answer involves tangerine, I suspect.
BBC is doing a pick you combined Arsenal Pemiership-winners X!
https://www.bbc.com/sport/football/52617355
Press is just having a gas with the Lacca story, OM.
Ned @37, it does now but when the name was applied it involved black and white.
Ned @ 39 & OM @ 36 it’s just a load of hot air.
bath@40: The switch in colours was a consequence of the club in question’s somewhat unlikely alter ego as the Dallas Tornado, so it would seem all to come round to oil one way or another.
Good ferreting by the monks Ned. That same year my club played as the Washington Whips and came back with numbers on the front and back of their shirts which they oddly retained for a full season.
A red shirt is a red shirt, bath. No need to spend the money on a new set if you can get another season out of the old ones.
Clever name, Washington Whips. Better than Washington Warthogs anyhow.
Ned @44, you don’t have Aberdonian ancestors, by any chance? 😉
They would be the ones with the deep pockets but short arms, bath.
Apologies for moving into politics and posting in full but I couldn’t compress this and it’s too big for What’s App. Wonderful description of Trump !
Why do some British people not like Donald Trump?”
By Nate White
A few things spring to mind. Trump lacks certain qualities which the British traditionally esteem. For instance, he has no class, no charm, no coolness, no credibility, no compassion, no wit, no warmth, no wisdom, no subtlety, no sensitivity, no self-awareness, no humility, no honour and no grace – all qualities, funnily enough, with which his predecessor Mr. Obama was generously blessed. So for us, the stark contrast does rather throw Trump’s limitations into embarrassingly sharp relief.
Plus, we like a laugh. And while Trump may be laughable, he has never once said anything wry, witty or even faintly amusing – not once, ever. I don’t say that rhetorically, I mean it quite literally: not once, not ever. And that fact is particularly disturbing to the British sensibility – for us, to lack humour is almost inhuman. But with Trump, it’s a fact. He doesn’t even seem to understand what a joke is – his idea of a joke is a crass comment, an illiterate insult, a casual act of cruelty.
Trump is a troll. And like all trolls, he is never funny and he never laughs; he only crows or jeers. And scarily, he doesn’t just talk in crude, witless insults – he actually thinks in them. His mind is a simple bot-like algorithm of petty prejudices and knee-jerk nastiness.
There is never any under-layer of irony, complexity, nuance or depth. It’s all surface. Some Americans might see this as refreshingly upfront. Well, we don’t. We see it as having no inner world, no soul. And in Britain we traditionally side with David, not Goliath. All our heroes are plucky underdogs: Robin Hood, Dick Whittington, Oliver Twist. Trump is neither plucky, nor an underdog. He is the exact opposite of that. He’s not even a spoiled rich-boy, or a greedy fat-cat. He’s more a fat white slug. A Jabba the Hutt of privilege.
And worse, he is that most unforgivable of all things to the British: a bully. That is, except when he is among bullies; then he suddenly transforms into a snivelling sidekick instead. There are unspoken rules to this stuff – the Queensberry rules of basic decency – and he breaks them all. He punches downwards – which a gentleman should, would, could never do – and every blow he aims is below the belt. He particularly likes to kick the vulnerable or voiceless – and he kicks them when they are down.
So the fact that a significant minority – perhaps a third – of Americans look at what he does, listen to what he says, and then think ‘Yeah, he seems like my kind of guy’ is a matter of some confusion and no little distress to British people, given that:
• Americans are supposed to be nicer than us, and mostly are.
• You don’t need a particularly keen eye for detail to spot a few flaws in the man.
This last point is what especially confuses and dismays British people, and many other people too; his faults seem pretty bloody hard to miss. After all, it’s impossible to read a single tweet, or hear him speak a sentence or two, without staring deep into the abyss. He turns being artless into an art form; he is a Picasso of pettiness; a Shakespeare of shit. His faults are fractal: even his flaws have flaws, and so on ad infinitum. God knows there have always been stupid people in the world, and plenty of nasty people too. But rarely has stupidity been so nasty, or nastiness so stupid. He makes Nixon look trustworthy and George W look smart. In fact, if Frankenstein decided to make a monster assembled entirely from human flaws – he would make a Trump.
After a scything tackle by Nate White
on the opposition’s right winger,
the ball breaks free and is swiftianly
crossed for…….
A goalhanging TTG to convert!
A well deserved tap in 50 for TTG after that total knee capping @48.
No politics in the bar but sometimes, in the company of officers, gentlemen, scholars and fellow Gooners, you have to call it like it is.
Trump is a right Evra.
Well in for the 1/2 ton TTG – you modestly decided not to raise the bat. @ 48 You knocked Trump straight out of the ground. Nate White did a Roy Keane on him.
Blimey @48. I’m looking for a pulled punch. Hanged if I can find one.
Well in for the half-ton, TTG.
I am curious as to Nate White’s provenance. I assume he is not the American journalist of that name who died these 35 summers past.
Ned,
He is a London- based copy writer and journalist ( English) but he has certainly nailed Trum ( in every sense) there . I’ve heard of the Sultan of Swing…but the Shakespeare of Shit ! A right Evra indeed!
TTG@55: Thank you for that. I would only say that no one should cause what the man is to dismiss what the man does. For whatever you think of what the man is, what the man does is of consequence. And what the man does, for better or worse, is in keeping with the tenor of our semi-democratic, insurgent times, for which his political instincts are immaculate.
Should have already said it Bodrum Gooneress, but I am glad you made it off the floor in that potentially disastrous situation to tell the world about it. 🙂
For bath and others of that ilk:
https://www.bbc.com/sport/football/52692004
Not much in the way of Arsenal
news other than the usual
transfer nonsense – Lemar and
Umtiti as usual. But news of
our ex OG signing a 1 year
extension at Chavski.
Drum beats for Lacca leaving getting a big louder, too, OM, but who really knows at this point?
Thanks for the link @58, Ned. A very enjoyable memory trigger.
Jim MacLean put together an excellent team that was good to watch and it is arguable that his achievements at United were greater than Ferguson’s with Aberdeen despite the far greater trophy haul by the latter. Neither club has got within a whisker of reproducing the style or success that they achieved under their respective despots. Jim MacLean made Fergie and Brian Clough look like Henry Kissinger in diplomatic style.
Being brought up by Plymouth Brethren will do that for you, I suspect, bath.
@60
Not me Ned, that’s for sure.
The assumed lower prices might
make us think twice about
selling Auba I suppose. And I’d
imagine salaries may be lower
in new contracts too, which might
make it more difficult to sell
players on good contracts.
Lots of mights and maybes.
ttg @ 34, thanks. i wondered if those barriers limited just how far you could be carried.
i also found descriptions of the crowd at the game to be more about getting in and out when i was researching for my covid-related pieces. not a lot about crowds crushing to the front…maybe that was a post-war thing (ww2)? i’ll have more of a look around to see if i can find anything. might make an interesting basis for a piece (“behaviour on the terraces – from hats to the crush” 🙂 ).
that nate white piece has been around for at least a couple of years. and hasn’t lost any relevancy or the sharpness of its truths. sadly.
i think stories of laca leaving have ballooned recently. right now i’m guessing we’re not shipping anyone anywhere, we’ll see a lot of one-year contracts with insurance against injury guarantees, and lots of good players unhappy with their lot. someone posted in the last bar or two the younguns we have, between saka, martinelli, esr, nelson, amn, willock, (incoming) saliba, guendo, eddie, tierney…add leno, mari, lt11, hecate, holding, chambo, laca, auba, luiz, and (cynic shudders) özil, and that’s a squad to put a lot of w’s on the board. without spending a penny, excepting what’s owed.
It’s hard to extrapolate from sales to money savings because of the need to factor in fees owed, fees owed to us and existing budget payments which we agreed on the likes of Pepe last year .
I could see us parting company with Torreira, Lacazette, Mkhitaryan, Sokratis , Kolasinac,Ceballos ( end of loan) and possibly Mustafi. Auba’s departure must be a risk but I hear he loves Arsenal and enjoys working with Arteta.
As I’ve said before we will see more loans than big deals and lots of swaps . Big opportunities arise for ESR , Balogun and Nketiah and maybe Reiss Nelson but it may be that one of the few mega-rich clubs makes a silly bid for someone like Guendouzi or Nketiah or Azeez which is too good to ignore. That’s the new reality post virus
Promotion/ relegation update: https://www.bbc.com/sport/football/52758193
ttg, if we keep lt11 and lose the rest of those, including mustafi, i’ll be happy enough. i’d rather not lose laca, but i’d really rather not lose our young guns.
i’ll be very surprised if the megarich come in with bids for youth. for established players, yes, but if someone came in and wanted to give us huge dosh for guendo or nketieh or azeez, i’d say take it, agreed. even that would leave us a core of players that could learn together and do well.
I’d not be that bothered if TTG’s
list left though I like Laca.
Not sure Kola will leave as he
came on a free, probably getting
a better contract as a result and
I imagine he plans to leave the
same way.
Wanted: CM to partner Unmoving
Object. Needs to be quick, creative
and have endless stamina to cover
for aforementioned object
Re: OM @69.
Sounds a lot like Koscielny, just saying.
Statement on season tickets for this year
https://www.arsenal.com/news/201920-season-credits-and-refunds-supporters
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