In his autobiographical novel ‘Fever Pitch’, Nick Hornby writes about Arsenal centre-half Willie Young’s ludicrous professional foul on 17-year-old Paul Allen in the 1980 FA Cup Final defeat to West Ham United. The Irons, then in the second tier (a level they may be reacquainted with again very soon) were underdogs against Terry Neill’s side at Wembley.
The fact that West Ham upset the odds was surely fairytale enough, but 17-year-old Paul Allen ran clean through on goal primed to score one of the most romantic goals in Wembley history to put the seal on their unlikely triumph. That is until Arsenal’s big Scottish centre-half Willie Young cynically scythed Allen down as the fresh faced youngster was about to seal victory.
The foul was so egregious that the FA soon amended the rules of the game to ensure future indiscretions of this nature were met with a red card. In Fever Pitch, Hornby semi-delights in the almost camp theatre of the moment. He draws a parallel to the Sex Pistols and their Arsenal supporting frontman John Lydon (Johnny Rotten) and suggests that Arsenal took up a similar moral space in the footballing milieu as the Sex Pistols did in music.
In short, if you weren’t in the tribe, you probably reviled them. Hornby felt Young’s act of crowd baiting brutality neatly fit Arsenal as a team with a public image (see what I did there?) problem. That chapter always resonated with me, especially as I really grew up in the second half of the George Graham era where the idea of Arsenal as ‘the flowers in the dustbin’, as Lydon once memorably spat, felt truer than ever.
Recently on Arsenal Vision, we released a series about the 1994 Cup Winners Cup triumph in which I was interviewed about my memories of one of the club’s most underrated and misunderstood triumphs. In the interview, I talk about the Cup Winners Cup as my favourite Arsenal cup win.
This is not only because of the quality of the teams that Arsenal beat but because the manner in which Arsenal achieved it really annoyed supporters of other clubs. The chant ‘1-0 to the Arsenal’ was born during the semi-final away leg against Paris Saint Germain (ironically one of the few games Arsenal didn’t win 1-0 in the latter stages of the competition, PSG pegged them back to 1-1. But Arsenal put the universe right in the second leg with their favourite scoreline).
Graham built the success on the bedrock of a back four and goalkeeper that were the envy of Europe. Arsenal’s identity was very much ‘a great back five and Ian Wright or Paul Merson will pull something out of the bag at some point.’ Fans of other clubs and large sections of the media hated it. (Which is their prerogative).
I understood why they hated it too and that just made me love it even more. I have a complicated relationship with criticism of Arsenal from ‘outsiders.’ Essentially, if I believe the criticism if hyperbolised or based on half-observed generalities, it bothers me much more than it should. If people don’t like Arsenal being good at things, I absolutely relish and revel in it.
If ‘1-0 to the Arsenal’ was our ‘God Save the Queen’ for the early 90s, ‘Setpiece Again’ is our current alternative anthem. I understand why opposing fans hate it so much, if I wasn’t an Arsenal fan I would hate it too. But there are few more satisfying feelings for a fan than slinging arrows and understanding that they deeply penetrate the flesh of the opponent.
I really enjoy annoying opponents and naysayers for the right reasons. Hearing ‘same old Arsenal always cheating’ after some clodhopper has booted an Arsenal player to the ground always made me clack my tongue in irritation (you give a little, you get a little). Nowadays I hear that chant less at away grounds because Arsenal are a far more robust team.
Fever Pitch was released before Arsene Wenger’s appointment and the total transformation of the club’s image. It was incredibly satisfying to be admired for our football while winning trophies in the first half of Wenger’s reign, no doubt about that. But I hated feeling like a victim at points during the second half of his reign.
I hated being portrayed as effete cosmopolitan weaklings (if those teams existed now they would certainly be called ‘woke’) who really deserved a good kicking for trying to bring ballet shoes to a building site. I felt the coverage of the club was tinged with unfairness and contributed to a few players leaving football pitches with oxygen masks strapped to their faces and their limbs pointing the wrong way.
I will always hate the air of permissiveness I felt some aspects of the coverage of Arsenal during that era created (in my view). But I also hated feeling like a victim. As Wenger’s reign drew on, I began to internalise that more. I disliked that Arsenal did not take the ‘other side’ of the game seriously enough, that they lacked cynicism, lacked out of possession organisation and didn’t take setpieces seriously enough.
I have often drawn the comparison between Arteta and George Graham and my favourite thing about Arteta’s Arsenal is that they respect every facet of the game. They are strong, they can play, they can attack, they can defend and boy can they score from setplays. But even better than that, I love that it annoys people.
I don’t love the ‘they play four centre-backs and three defensive midfielders!’ nonsense simply because it is not true. But I love being able to take on a team and a manager I really admire in Simeone and Atletico Madrid and being able to bully them into submission. On Saturday at Fulham I sat (quietly) with the home fans.
It was really interesting observing the remarks of the home supporters and the (very) grudging respect / annoyance they had for Arsenal’s ability to throw up a forcefield around their goal at 1-0 and the grudging respect / annoyance that it was another setpiece that made the difference.
Because at my heart, in the depths of my guts, this is the kind of Arsenal that I really identify with. An Arsenal that won’t be bullied, where every single player runs himself into the ground, where the team seeks every single edge it can get. The kind of Arsenal where the manager is not well liked and he couldn’t care less. The kind of Arsenal that allows me to be unbearably smug while others spit feathers. The kind of Arsenal that wants to destroy the passersby.
