Greg Tyndall
On Saturday evening I watched Chelsea fighting yet another rear-guard action to win the Champions League after another 120 minutes in which they created very little, but yet still came away with the spoils. I watched the game hoping that Chelsea would not become the first London club to lift the cup with the big ears. But then, as the game progressed, I thought a bit harder about my feelings and realized that, in reality, it is simply a pipe-dream to hope that we could actually get anywhere near winning this trophy in the near future.
Upon watching the match, and hoping beyond hope that another team would not win it, I realized, like a bolt from the blue, that I had actually become just like a common-or-garden Spurs fan. Here I was, watching a trophy being competed for that we had not even vaguely threatened to win this year, and my main focus was the downfall of others.
The consolation, of course, that every Arsenal fan is supposed to take is that Spurs will be busy once again on a Thursday evening next season. Is this what I have been reduced to? Watching games with the hope of a negative outcome for another team? This is what we have become, a team that, knowing we will not win anything again soon, is now focused almost exclusively on the misfortune of others.
If it were not for a last-ditch tackle by a once-again hopelessly out of position Gibbs at West Brom, it would have been us experiencing the let-down that was Chelsea’s victory in Europe this evening. We have now been managed into a state where we are joyous primarily in the downfall of others. I come back to the point that we are now simply Spurs fans in a red and white disguise.
Back to the final in Munich, and I once again watched a Chelsea side that showed a collective will to win and desire to put their bodies on the line that I have seen fleeting glimpses of with Arsenal this season, but never consistently. Roberto di Matteo has done a good job of motivating and galvanizing an ageing Chelsea squad for one last hurrah, but his job was made all that bit easier by the fact that, within this squad, he has born winners - players who would put their hand into the fire if it meant a victory was achieved.
What do we have at Arsenal? Players like Gervinho, Mr Consistency-in-patches Theo (I have written a book or two, don’t you know?) Walcott, and yet another player who, given the captaincy of this once-great club, is now presenting to any suitor who will pay him the big bucks. Captaining this side used to be an honour bestowed on lions like Tony Adams. Yes, RVP has been a great captain this season, but, once again, Wenger has given the armband to a player who will most likely leave. Before him, go Messrs Vieira, Henry and Fabregas.
When Ashley Cole was once again barracked from start to finish at the Emirates this season, I surely was not alone in thinking that he looked at us as the Spurs fans we have now potentially become, and thought “hate me all you want, but I am in an FA Cup final shortly and have the chance to win the Champions League”. Now he has achieved that, and, if you looked back at his career since he left Arsenal and the winner’s medals he now holds, you would have to say that he made the right decision. In a way he puts me in mind of Sol Campbell and the way the Spurs fans reacted to his move away from White Hart Lane.
This season, I have had to watch bit-part Nasri celebrating and gleaming from ear-to-ear on his chinless face, and then watch a player who, despite the acrimonious way in which he left the club, is still one of our home-grown talents lifting the Champions League. All I am left with is the hollow victory that is a scraped third place and the comfort that I am not a Spurs fan, but how close have I now become to their kind? It is a question I fear I will be pondering more and more as we go through next season as nearly-men again.
The Germans have a phrase for this - schadenfreude - which roughly translates as joyful shame. I don't want to be feeling joyful shame; I just want to feel joyful at the achievements of my own team.
