Fozzy 
It was 44 and half years ago but with all those vivid memories still buzzing around my head, it still seems like it was only yesterday. This was my special moment when I witnessed Arsenal come of age, on a turgid Highbury pitch against Anderlecht on 28th April 1970 and win the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup. It was a crap name for a cup competition, but to me it was pure heaven.
I was a child of the 1960s and far too young to join in with the permissive society explosion. I had not yet discovered the attraction of women, so the love of my life was a trip to Highbury every Saturday afternoon at 3 o’clock (what a novel idea!) to watch the first team from the middle of the North Bank, and then the following week to take the same Tube journey to watch the Reserves (if only to keep my eyes glued on the far corner flag for score updates from the first team).
Throughout the 1960s I was treated to far too many portions of moderate football with the likes of Billy "Flint” McCullough in defence who kicked anything or anyone who moved, and Alan “Daisy” Skirton who regularly built enough steam to go rampaging down the wing only to bamboozle the ball into the crowd behind the goal. I wonder if he ever had a love child named Theo?
Success in the shape of the League Cup slipped through our fingers twice. Firstly in 1968 when I pressed my face against the window of a TV shop in Muswell Hill to receive the result that Dirty Leeds had done us 1-0. Then again the following year for my first trip to the Wembley Urinal to witness our undoing against 3rd Division Swindon on a pitch that had been churned up by the Horse of the Year Show a few days earlier. You couldn’t make it up.
The 1969-1970 season came and went and for some reason we found ourselves in the semi-finals of the Fairs Cup where we saw off the mighty Ajax and thought that we might actually win something that season. Off the team trotted to Belgium to play the first leg of the final and having been 3-0 down with eight minutes to play, Ray Kennedy popped up with a vital away goal.
Six days later, I was on the North Bank as one of 51,612 to witness history. The atmosphere that evening was incredible as every Gooner (that term had not yet been invented but you get my drift) was hungry for success. Halfway through the first half, that midfield warrior Eddie Kelly gave us hope when he picked up a half cleared Geordie Armstrong corner and shimmied to get the ball on the right foot and then hammer home a peach of a goal from the edge of the area. I was right behind the ball and it was a wonderful moment.
Momentum was building. Bob Wilson kept us in the lead with a couple of smart saves, but we had to wait until fifteen minutes from time for a piece of magic which I will never forget. George “Stroller” Graham (whatever happened to him?) was in left midfield and held off a robust challenge to set Bob McNab running down the left wing. His cross was delicious and was met by my super hero John Radford who steamed in to meet the ball with his head and steered the ball into the far corner. It was fair to say that Highbury erupted and celebrations were continuing when Jon Sammels ran on to a loose ball on the edge of the area to send a low drive into the same spot as Raddy less than a minute later.
And that was it. We had won something and it was the best feeling ever. The cup was presented near the centre spot. The pitch invasion allowed Frank Mclintock to be hoisted up on to fans’ shoulders and I was one of several delirious supporters doing a dance of delight on the pitch. I then realised that closing time in my local boozer was 10.30pm so it was a sprint to get a few celebration pints of draft Double Diamond lined up.
The following season we won The Double. Who needs women?
