I grew up thinking football wasn’t meant to be enjoyed. It was something you did out of blind allegiance and mateship; the whole concept of watching a game for enjoyment was alien.

Take season 1981/82 for a start. English football was plunging the depths. The terraces belonged to hooligans and the football belonged in the bin, Terry Neill had us going 1-0 up and playing for a draw long before the chant that led us to Copenhagen and 1994.

It started grimly, got worse, so bad in fact the weather took pity on us and we had a six week rest as we battled blizzards and fog. Crowds were pitiful, goal chances were at a premium and there was tragedy.

During the summer Frank Stapleton had moved to Manchester United leaving Arsenal fans bitter. He wasn’t really replaced, how could you replace the most complete striker in the land, and we felt worse. Brady had gone a year earlier. We had become a selling club.

The season started with Alan Sunderland and Brian McDermott up front and we weren’t optimistic. Sunderland combined well with Stapleton, but then he was so good anyone would have relished a partnership with him. McDermott, little Mac was, umm, little. Lightweight, more featherweight, he felt more comfortable wide, not down the centre.

We started with a whimper and soon went downhill. Three wins in our first ten games came with six goals and the fans got the message, staying away. Terry Neill got the message and signed John Hawley but no one was excited. It was a sign of how far we had fallen; Hawley for Stapleton, a plodding journeyman replacing a world class international was never going to have people queuing to get in the North Bank.

We somehow conjoured up a six game winning run which surprised everyone but kidded no-one. The fans weren’t convinced and took advantage of the worst winter in yonks to stay home and play with their Rubric’s Cube. It was grim outside but it was grimmer watching the Arsenal.

18,000 watched a turgid 0-0 at home to Brighton. 15,000 saw us beat Wolves followed by 18,000 against Notts County. Just when you things couldn’t get much worse 13,738 turned up at Highbury to see us play Middlesbrough who we beat. 1-0. One of ten one nils to the Arsenal in that season.

Ironically it was a home defeat that sparked a turn around in our fortunes that season. We played newly promoted Swansea City who came to Highbury and beat us 2-0, completing the double over us. But the fans were back, nearly 30,000.

Something else happened. Seemingly starved of funds Neill had turned to youth and we’d seen Paul Davis cement a first team place but disappoint. Raphael Meade, Paul Vaessen and Chris Whyte all came in to little effect but a 17 year old called Stewart Robson came into the side and galvanized it with his tough tackling and surging runs. We had some enthusiasm and effort and we responded.

We had one spirited comeback at home to West Brom in an evening game where we came from behind with two late goals to nick a point. Our next home game saw us do the unthinkable and hit four past Aston Villa. We didn’t know what to do, four goals in a single game? Hell we once managed that in 50 days!

We went to White Hart Lane feeling all gooey inside and we drew 2-2. Two weeks later we were brought back to earth when they came to ours, some of their moronic support invaded the North Bank chanting Argentina (the Falklands War was getting under way and they still thought fondly of Ossie Ardiles) and beat us 3-1. John Hawley scored for us and I was there when it happened!

Mayday saw another home game, another London derby and another game marred by trouble. Smoke bombs on the North Bank delayed kick off and despite finally winning 2-0 the game is still remembered as they day a young fan was tragically murdered by visiting hooligans.

The season ended with us beating Southampton 4-1 and in Stewart Robson we had a star in the making. But we were realistic; we were not on the cusp of an era of unbridled success. Fifth spot flattered us beyond belief. We had played 42 games and scored 47 goals. Only Alan Sunderland reached double figures in league goals. Only four attendances at home topped 30,000.

In the FA Cup we lost before we got started, losing 1-0 in a North London derby that had seen Pat Jennings injured and Peter Nicholas go in goal. We lost in the League Cup in a fourth round replay at Anfield in front of 21,000 fans. Indeed a generation on the League Cup campaign from that season is memorable only for a rare sighting of Ray Hankin. He made two substitute appearances, both against Liverpool and he may even have touched the ball. Europe was little better, going out to unknown Belgian side Winterslag on away goals.

It wasn’t just Arsenal who suffered at the gate that season as some of our away attendances show. Stoke City, 9,000. Sunderland, 16,000. Coventry 12,000. Wolves, 11,000. Everton, 19,000. Middlesbrough, 9,000. Birmingham, 13,000.

I spent most of that season working Saturdays but still managed to see about a dozen games. Football was most definitely football and not footy. People who went to games were considered weird or yobs. We had Match of the Day and the Big Match, we had Shoot and Match Weekly and that was pretty much it. Murdoch’s millions were an age away, this was football in the early 80’s, you took it or you left it. Me and my mates took it.

To read more of Jakarta Casual’s writing, his blog can be found here