Beth Britton 
Last summer I had the pleasure of meeting someone who didn’t know the Champions League from a chimpanzee, and in fact would undoubtedly be more interested in the chimpanzee. How refreshing, I thought – a man who hasn’t already signed up to be a glory seeker with one of the filthy rich clubs. I can turn him into an Arsenal fan, perfect.
I happily told him all about my love of Arsenal. We had only just met, and he was very keen to impress me. Intending to do all he could to persuade me to go on a date with him, he happily agreed to become Arsenal’s newest fan. We struck a deal: for every goal Arsenal scored in the 2012/13 season, he would get a kiss.
I told him how awesome we are, how we play really entertaining football and do things the ‘right’ way – “We’re a very famous, historical club,” I proudly told him. Ok, so maybe I sugar-coated the present reality a little, and maybe slightly overrated our current team. I never really factored in that my enthusiasm would translate into him believing that we would win every week, scoring about 10 goals a game (he is a rugby fan and accustomed to big score lines).
In my defence, I did try and explain that keeping a clean sheet isn’t really our strong point, and that our manager loves sticking by a player who he hopes will ‘come good’ at some unspecified point in the future. I cautioned that we never spend much money in the transfer market so don’t expect big name signings, that a half decent team can cut through our midfield like a knife through butter and that with last season’s top scorer gone, we *might* not score that many goals.
Sadly for him, he had no idea what all of this meant, hence his first season as a virgin Arsenal fan has been something of a disappointment. He can’t understand why we give the ball away so much, are scared to shoot, that our players run into the opposition so often (and fall over) and why our defence regularly parts like the Red Sea. It has not helped my cause that his work colleagues have also enjoyed taking the mickey.
If all of that wasn’t frustrating enough for him, I made the mistake of having a Barcelona game on TV while he was home. Finally he saw a footballer who he actually enjoyed watching, and now wants to know why we don’t have Lionel Messi on our team. Well, where do you start to explain that one… erm… no money… no chance of winning anything… the English weather… no money…
He has been threatening to defect. I have threatened him with the sofa if he does. The compromise? Well, despite knowing very little about football, let alone the rules of the game, he has declared himself capable of doing a better job than Arsène. So the ‘Arsène Out’ army know who to call if they ever get their wish.
After another season of underachievement I am strangely philosophical about Arsenal. I’ve given up screaming and shouting. I don’t want my club run like Citeh or the Chavs, I would rather be self-sustaining than mercenary, so I accept that we will start every season with a distinct disadvantage.
My boyfriend, on the other hand, is less than impressed with my choice of football team. He wants to see them forcefully taking on the opposition every week – but we don’t have eleven Jack Wilsheres (he rates Jack), and realistically are unlikely to ever have in the foreseeable future. He has no real concept of the importance of Champions League football, but I’ve left him in no doubt of how disappointed I will be if we miss out.
Maybe we need a season of finishing outside of the top four to precipitate improvement. I’m just not quite sure how I will explain it. Where did all the awesomeness and entertainment that I promised go? Um… I fear it may be history.
