Sean Connoll
Ed’s note – We received this piece back in March and it has been on the stockpile for use in the printed issue since then. It wasn’t used immediately due to a glut of material at the time, so it’s been on the back burner. However, it is an interesting take on the changing feelings about the club that many longer term supporters have expressed, so we are running it online…
The title of a wonderful Saw Doctors song suits this article just fine. On the day of the Bayern home game I met my ex-wife to discuss what happens with my maintenance payments when our daughter turns 18 later this year. And, while a reasonable conversation, I couldn't help singing the aforementioned Saw Doctors song as I drove back to London for the game. I wondered how it was possible that someone I once loved more than anyone else now merits only a very vague sense that I don't want anything bad to happen to her. There's no longer any love, not even mild affection. Fast forward a few hours and the Red Section were doing their best to rally both the team and the crowd with a rendition of "We love you Arsenal". I joined in for a bit, but stopped chanting far too quickly. But it got me thinking “Do I still love the Arsenal?” A horrible thought, I know, but like a lot of my Gooner friends it's a thought I have been having for a while. So why did I fall in love with the Arsenal, and what has changed?
I fell in love with the Arsenal as a seven year old watching us lose the FA Cup final to Leeds on TV (I remember crying for ages afterwards). Living in Belfast, opportunities to see the team were rare, but my love was undimmed and I got an Arsenal scarf, an Arsenal track suit, even my action man had an Arsenal kit (he did look a bit like Nigel Winterburn). I first saw the team live at Wembley for the Charity Shield in 1979 when we were beaten (again) by Liverpool, but still the love was there and I was even more determined to see us win something. I moved to London in 1988 and started going regularly and was lucky to coincide with the greatest period in Arsenal's modern history. I didn't go to Anfield but, by God, I was so happy that night it didn't seem to matter.
Through the early 90s we challenged regularly and even won a few pots. The atmosphere at Highbury, especially for night games was electric, the singing, the banter, the highs and of course the lows but it was real. Going to away games was sometimes even better, though of course in those days not without its downside.
We had players and management we could all relate to. They lived in, or at least came from, the same world as we did. It seemed to us that they shared our joy and, of course, our pain. Yes, they earned lots of money but not so much that they didn't seem to work hard for their win bonus every game. We knew we weren't the greatest football team the world had ever seen, despite the song, but we had real pride in the club and the hope that every so often we would win a bit of silver, or at least turn over Liverpool or Man Utd.
When I look at the Premier League in general and the Arsenal of 2013 I see something very different. Our players, management and the general club hierarchy earn so much money that they live in a world very different from probably 95% of supporters (and I say that as someone lucky enough to earn a good salary). That huge explosion in wages, relative to the fanbase, is significant. It has sadly moved the game to a place where most of us bitterly criticise "professionals" on £50/60k a week who cannot take a corner or concentrate at a set piece. In the world us supporters live in, people paid that much wouldn't be allowed to perform as continually poorly without being shown the door. That bubble they live in means they react angrily and defensively to criticism. Wenger's performance at the Bayern press conference before the game was embarrassing. What happened to the man who once said "Everyone thinks they have the prettiest wife at home"? Players come out and say through their press officer or Twitter accounts, "We're all in it together and we must do better", yet carry on making the same mistakes, but still carry home their hefty wages. Ticket prices continue to rise and working class people are pretty much priced out of attending regularly. Instead supporters become older, more affluent and there for the "matchday experience", and the atmosphere at games has changed accordingly. I know the game had to change from what it was in the 80s, but surely there is a middle way, (the Bundesliga anyone?)
So it's not the fact that we haven't won a trophy for ages that has me doubting my Arsenal love. I've been supporting the team far too long to think we have a divine right to silverware, though it would be nice to occasionally lift a trophy. I think it's the lack of hope. That's not just the hope we will win a trophy, but the hope that anything will change for the better. Players will continue to get richer and richer without any sort of accountability when they perform poorly. Working class people will continue to be priced out of attending live games. Supporters will get older and grumpier (just like me). And the race to the top will sadly just be about who has the most money. That, sadly, doesn't turn me on any more even if it was to be us. It's a bit like the point in a relationship where you realise the two of you no longer want to do the same things, or share the same values. You feel you should carry on trying to make the best of it, but deep down you think maybe you are only postponing the inevitable.
So, back to the song. I haven't fallen for another (football club) yet. I don't want to. But my feelings for Arsenal aren't what they were even six or seven years ago. That should make me really angry, maybe even angry enough to do something about it. But it actually just makes me very sad.
