I've never been one for hanging out with footballers. Maybe it's my punk rock roots but footballers, to me at least, or just normal guys doing a job I would kill for but that is no reason to put them on a pedestal despite what players, agents and the media would like. Of course in this I realise I am part of an ever shrinking minority. Where once I saw a badge and a profile in the matchday programme now people see social media profiles and selfie opportunities.
I'll never forget the first time I met a real life professional footballer. Glen Johnson his name was and he was the goalkeeper for my local team at the time Aldershot. I was 13 and a half years old and he had come to my school for some kind of event or other so I shyly approached him and asked if he would autograph the programme from the last game I had seen, Aldershot v Doncaster in 1978. If any programme collectors have come across this particular programme autogtaphed it is mine and I want it back!
I probably only asked for Johnson's autograph because he once played for the Arsenal. Actually, he was on the books of the Arsenal, he never played in the first team but he was my first autograph and so will have a special place in my football memories.
I didn't rub shoulders with the great and good in football until about eight years later. Arsenal played a couple of friendlies in the Republic of Ireland so I gave up my summer hols to go over the Irish Sea for the first time. I took the train to somewhere near Swansea and caught the ferry across to somewhere near Waterford and then hitched north along the east coast of the Republic.
The scenery was beautiful and I stayed in some lovely old youth hostels as I did my best to keep my expenditure low. George Graham had just taken over the Arsenal after the debacle at the end of last season when Don Howe quit after it was revealed the club had been sounding out Terry Venables to take his place. In had come Graham, a legend as a player with the club who had been doing a fine job with Millwall and suddenly supporters were feeling optimistic about the new season.
I stayed a couple of days in Dublin at a youth hostel which wasn't too far from Shamrock Rovers' home stadium of Milltown. So close in fact I could walk between the two and arrived just as the bus was disgorging the Arsenal team. While I was excited about the arrival of Graham I was unsure what it meant for Charlie Nicholas, a cult hero on the terraces who never quite fulfilled his talent on the field but scored often against Spurs which was good enough for many of us in those straightened times.
The players got off the bus and made their way to the main entrance, stopping along the way for the odd photograph with supporters. I felt that was beneath me so plucking up my energy approached our new assistant manager Theo Foley. 'Oi Theo,' says I, 'where's Charlie?' He blew me out. He wouldn't even acknowledge my presence and headed straight for the dressing room. Fuck you thinks me, I've come all this way to see the Arsenal, my Arsenal and you who have only just arrived, can't even be bothered to acknowledge me. Fuck you.
We won that game 2-0 and with the next friendly in Waterford I bid farewell to Dublin's fair city and hitched south west through Naas for the second friendly. I'd learnt my lesson though and when I arrived there I just ignored the players when I saw them outside the stadium.
The next time I came close to the Arsenal team was two years later on the other side of the world. At the end of George Graham's season I decided to go to Australia for 12 months and was happily beavering away in Sydney when I heard the Arsenal would be playing in a 6 a side competition in Brisbane in the middle of 1988. I did what any self respecting Arsenal would do, quit my job and moved north to a city I had lived in for three months at the start of my time in Australia.
Arsenal were in Brisbane with Manchester City and Nottingham Forest along with three state teams and I went to each of their games at some arena in the city. Soon after the competition had finished I got sacked from my job and kicked out of my accommodation and thought sod it, I'll go back to England. A travel agent booked my on a British Airways flight to Singapore and the next day I caught a bus out to Brisbane airport. I checked in and soon found out I was in the same departure lounge as the three English teams and indeed the same flight. So there I am milling around the lounge with the Arsenal players looking smart in their suits. Most of the players were sat in small groups talking among themselves or listening to their walkmans. One player I noticed was by himself. Gus Caeser. Hah, I had seen your debut pal at Old Trafford. I had also seen him live on TV in the League Cup Final against Luton Town, the bugger deserved to be on his own.
I remembered by encounter, or lack thereof, with Theo in Dublin and didn't want to be blown out again so I made no effort to talk to any of the players. Inside I was hoping to be sat in the same row on the plane but that wasn't to be. Instead I was sat next to some whiney backpacker who whined all the way to Singapore. I remember thinking sitting next to Caeser would have been an improvement!
Now of course there are more choreographed opportunities to meet the players on highly choreographed public events and of course they don't appeal to me. Players come, players go. Theo has gone but I am still here supporting the Arsenal from near or far. I may not have seen the likes of Thierry Henry or Robert Pires play for the Arsenal but I did see Dessie Gorman in the red shirt and no one, not even Theo, can take that away from me!
No comments:
Post a Comment