Alex Steine
We all use a number of different methods to deal with adversity, stress or any untoward events that are likely to be heading our way. I have had my fair share, and I have dealt with them. I am renowned amongst my family and close friends for being mentally strong, amidst a rising tide of uncertainty. It's a deserved accolade; I go through hell sometimes, achieving a level of calm and equanimity that I display to my circle and the outside world at large. So you do have to earn it, and it comes at a price. If you are an Arsenal fan, you experience an enormous number of such occasions. More than most fans. This is for a variety of reasons, notably our level of competition, the invisible pressures bearing down on us because of our historical legacy, and the incessant drumbeat of possible outcomes, pounded out by our 'Win, or you are nowhere' media gurus. How simple to be a complete outsider in the eyes of all (like Wigan, who were just glad to be in an FA Cup Final)! How much better if there is no fifth column endeavouring to undermine you, those who you represent, and everything you stand for, as many in our media-led society do. In every game Arsenal fans take on the world and its dog. We are plagued by our own aspirations, our expectations, and our sometimes impossible dreams.
Every football fan in the world confronts his own id, at one time or another. We Gooners share the tube-ride to the match with ours! It's there before us at the turnstiles and will sit on our shoulders throughout the game. This is to be expected, I suppose. If you want to dine at the top table, be prepared to pick up the bill. Yet it's more than this! Arsenal fans have to endure reckless whisperings, from ours, before sleep takes us; then again before our eyes open. Demands, insistent desires too, these are the currency it deals in. As we begin our steps towards the next big game, the next big test, we often feel its shadow accompanying us. As I said, we all live with this situation; it's life's toll. Many people are very reluctant to engage. Some, like myself, are junkies for engagement. It becomes a life-choice. Arsenal fans, really involved with the club, have no such luxury as choice. Madness is thrust upon us. We are who we are, and supporting Arsenal means all our lives we shall be put through the wringer.
So, where does Simon Rose fit into this? Well, if you are a sentient individual you will recognise the love, anguish, torment and turmoil exuded by him and his ilk. Those who write for and write into the Gooner display those self-same emotions. They wear their anger, disappointments and exaltations on their sleeves. They flip from absolute joy to suicidal disillusionment in the space of ninety minutes or less, and sometimes back again. They wipe their mouths, dust themselves down, then once more step into the breech. I walk with them. I take protection, wherever and whenever I can. Simon, in an article on the Gooner website, a while ago, after the defeat by the tiny totts, offered solace. I grasped it with both hands and, like a man denied water for a while, slaked my thirst. He said that we could, and would, overtake Tottenham. He proclaimed a top-four finish and Champions League football for Arsenal Football Club and for us. That we will be in there competing again, for the record sixteenth consecutive year, and he even had the temerity to explain how! He mooted that Tottenham defeats were unnecessary to our success, that their drawing a number of games would offer salvation to us, provided we were able to take advantage by winning. As we know, a draw is only a third of a victory, or put another way, two thirds of a defeat. So it was! It happened!
Coming from seven points behind, in a fashion reminiscent of last season, we did all that Simon had insisted would, or certainly could, occur. We crossed the line in fourth place. True, we never won anything, (that elusive trophy everyone inside and outside the club talks of), but think what we achieved! Never feel apologetic for your emotions. I whooped, kissed my wife and jumped up and up, then down, as the final whistle blew at St. James's Park. I make no concession or excuse for my behaviour; if I can celebrate my young grandson scoring for his side in an extreme manner, for an Arsenal achievement I can jump over that moon that footballers talk of. So, a special thank you, Simon. From the moment I read your article, the words have rung, ever louder in my ears. They are ringing still, young man, and by way of writing this account, as a testimony to the power of persuasion you induced in me, they will always ring.
