John Hilditch
My girlfriend and I officially became “an item” on 10th April 2011. It was the day Eboue scored and Jens made a return in a stunning 3-1 Gunners victory at Blackpool. We celebrate that momentous victory (or as she calls it, our anniversary) every year. Normally we have a bit of dinner in a fancy restaurant but this year the lovely lady surprised me with a trip to New York. She sorted flights, visas, hotels and taxis. Naturally she’d checked the fixture list for that weekend. Burnley away. What a girl!
Leading up to the trip, people were asking what I was looking forward to most. The Empire State Building? Brooklyn Bridge? The Statue of Liberty? Rooftop bars overlooking the Manhattan skyline? I was looking forward to them all and they were all really, really good but without a doubt, I was most looking forward to necking a few pints in The Blind Pig aka The New York Arsenal Supporters Club.
So, Saturday lunchtime comes and I left the other half shopping and legged it downtown. It’s weird how being in a different town can make a game more exciting. This wasn’t a glamour tie but heading towards a supporters club thousands of miles away got me pretty excited for Burnley in the league. A little bit of north London in this far flung metropolis. The fashionistas of 5th Avenue didn’t approve of my Norway Supporters Club shirt. Not enough finesse for them but this was about The Arse in the City, not Sex in the City.
Anyhow, memorising the route from Google Streetview, I turn the corner of 3rd and East 14th and am greeted by a plethora of red shirts. That’s the place I want to be! An hour before kick-off and it’s already standing room only. The Guinness is good. The décor better. A giant NYC Arsenal banner on one wall, a collage of player pictures on another, Henry an obvious favourite. Scarves, road signs and pennants everywhere else. It’s not quite a shrine, more an exhibition on permanent loan. I gawp and take pictures like the day tripper I am and I tell you, it’s a very peculiar feeling, being a giddy day tripper in a supporters club of the club you grew up next to, 5,000 miles away. I used to live on Highbury Hill and was used to people from all over the world visiting Highbury but this is different. This is the reverse. This feels personal. Now I’m taking pictures and grinning gormlessly. It also makes you realise just how big the club is these days. It’s quite something to talk about Drayton Park and Holloway Road in the glitz and glamour of Manhattan.
At kick-off, the place is rammed, about 300 in a place about the size of The Bailey and 90% locals. Singing and shouting for the full 90 minutes. Hearing 250 New Yorkers sing: Thursday night, Channel 5 and Tottenham, watching EastEnders is both hilarious and surreal. I’m not sure how well known Dot Cotton is in Manhattan although I’m sure she’d fit right in, in Harlem. These lads though, sing with real gusto and verve. The place erupts when Ramsey nets. Rambo! Rambo! And some of these lads look like Rambo, all tight Puma shirts and muscles. The place is rocking, reminded me of watching West Brom away in the Twelve Pins, that last game of the season.
The half-time fag break is greeted by booming hip-hop and people asking if I know half and half kit man and Bully, the bandana fella with the beard who’s always on TV. Everyone wants to impress with their knowledge and their knowledge is top notch. Fair play, they absolutely love the club and know their stuff. We talk about Frankie Simek and Danny Karbassiyoon.
The second half is pretty dull but the enthusiasm remains. Every hint of an attack is cheered, and B’Jaysus Said Paddy rings out and they sing it so well. A very efficient barman helps the support remain vocal until the final whistle blows and a second later, Lee Dixon appears on screen, massive cheers drowning out the returning hip hop. The Gunners fans spill out on to the street again, forgotten sunlight burning the eyes as afternoon shoppers walk past wondering who’s wearing a yellow ribbon and where ‘Wemberley’ is.
Later on that evening, to celebrate the anniversary of that famous Blackpool win, the lovely lady in her new posh frock, in a fancy restaurant made a toast, I think it was to future league and cup success. However, I bet she’d rather have been tucking into a pint in by far New York’s greatest attraction, The Blind Pig aka The New York Arsenal Supporters Club.
