Goodbye Andrei!

Give him a ball and a yard of grass,

He'll give you a move with a perfect pass.

Give him a ball and a yard of space,

He'll give you a pass with godly grace.

I am going to miss Andrei Arshavin. He might have left Arsenal distraught and overweight and the club most probably won’t suffer because of his departure. But I will miss him nonetheless.

I am not going to discuss what went wrong with his Arsenal career. Maybe it was because he was played out of position. Maybe he was uninspired by Arsenal’s slump. Maybe he was past his prime.  Or maybe it's because he was just plain lazy.

I don’t care about that anymore.

The reason I love Arshavin so much is this. There are many players who I keep wishing Arsenal would sign up. But the Russian happens to be the only one from that list that Arsenal actually went ahead and signed. For a club record!

I first saw him play for Zenit St Petersburg in the 2008 UEFA Cup final. He set up both goals in the 2-0 win. Then, at the Euros, where he dazzled everyone with his pace and imagination. Holland were favourites till Arshavin singlehandedly ripped them apart in the quarterfinals. After shining at the international stage, a move to England or Spain was imminent and there were rumours of a January bid from Arsenal. I never thought it would happen though.

I still remember how the transfer deadline was extended because of the unrelenting snow and how, against all odds, the little Russian put pen to paper and joined Arsenal. I remember the first interview too, where on being asked about Arsenal’s recent goal drought, he cheekily said, “I am here now!”

Things didn’t pan out too well for him. After a promising start, he fell out of favour. Initially making headlines through goals and assists, feints and dribbles, it was his refusal to track back, his lack of application in training and his expanding waistline that later made the news. But I still didn’t give up on him. I’ll tell you why…

When Arsenal desperately needed a goal and there were 20 odd minutes left on the clock, bringing Arshavin on was never a bad move. (In the Manchester United game, his entry wasn’t booed; the fans were protesting Chamberlain being subbed off). Arshavin could be out of form or returning from injury or on a goalless streak, but you still wouldn’t be surprised if he set up a goal or scored it himself.

Face it! If it wasn’t for Arshavin’s precise cross, Thierry Henry wouldn’t have scored that late, late winner against Sunderland. Arsenal wouldn’t have had the much needed 3 points. And Henry wouldn’t have had his fairy tale finish to his EPL career. Yes! In his last Arsenal appearance, Arshavin came on in the 87^th minute and still managed to set up the winner.

The departure is untimely but it is ironic too. For someone who arrived after the transfer deadline, it is only fair that he should leave after it too. His stint at Arsenal might not be the most memorable but it had its moments.

He scored some real beauties in an Arsenal shirt. His maiden goal against Blackburn. The four against Liverpool.  The long ranger against Manchester United. His fifth at Anfield. The late brace against Atletico Madrid. And of course, the winner against Barcelona.

Goodbye Andrei. Thank you for all the memories!

How it all began!

I almost became a Manchester United fan.

Till 2003, the only football I watched on TV was during World Cups and Euros. Club football wasn’t a fad in school back then. I heard a few friends discuss Manchester United and a certain David Beckham. They lavished praise on his crosses and freekicks. I decided to find out for myself and tuned in to ESPN over the weekend.

And I saw Henry score for Arsenal.

It was a goal elegant in its simplicity. A teammate released the ball into space and Henry raced past the fullback on the left. Shoulder to shoulder one instant, blistering pace saw Henry get to the ball two paces before his rival. He didn’t pause to control the ball or look up at where the goal was. One touch was all it took. 

Effortlessly he curled the ball around the advancing goalkeeper. The ball lay spinning just inside the far bottom corner of the net as Henry ran past the Highbury faithful, arms outstretched. I had just witnessed a classic Henry fadeaway. Elegant in its simplicity.

I didn’t know the player or the club then. Two minutes of rapt attention to the commentary enlightened me on both details but I cannot remember which match it was. So many of his goals in red and white were scored in this fashion that I cannot be entirely sure which one it was.

At that moment, I had been baptized as an Arsenal fan. One touch with the inside of his right ankle and Henry had ensured I would be a Gooner for life.

I almost became a Manchester United fan. But I saw Henry score for Arsenal.

Arsenal till the day I die!

You want me to come over, I got an excuse,

Might be holding your hand but I'm holding it loose,

Go to talk then we choke, it's like our neck's in a noose,

Avoid the obvious when we should be facing the truth,

Start to think it could be fizzling out,

Kinda shocked because I never really had any doubts,

Look into your eyes and imagine life with out ya'

And the love kick starts again... kick starts again!

-Example

I once read somewhere that love is like temporary madness. It erupts like a volcano and then subsides. And when the lava subsides, you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether the roots are so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part.

The Invincibles is distant memory now. A six-year trophy drought definitely indicates that the lava has subsided. And the nightmare that unfolded at the Theatre of Dreams (the irony, eh?) last night suggests that the honeymoon period is well and truly over.

And so I ask myself... Why do I put up with all this? All the pain, the agony, the humiliation? Why do I invite the jeers of the rival fans? Why do I lose my sleep and appetite over a club on the other side of the globe? Why?

I would be lying if I said I don't care about silverware. Ofcourse I do. Who doesn't? I pine for a time when they are hard pressed for space in the Emirates trophy cabinet. I wish Arsenal were ruthless on the field. Untouchable even. Or (God forbid) Invincibles again.

But like Nick Hornby wrote in Fever pitch... After a point, the brand of football that your favourite club dishes out cannot be compared to the food they serve at your favourite eatery. Quality takes second place. Consumption is top priority. It is all that matters. While I would be overjoyed if they won a trophy or two, I am happy as long as they take the field every Saturday night.

On nights like these when I've lost my appetite and sleep seems unfathomable, I just have to remind myself about why I used to rush home to the television after chemistry tution in tenth grade. Or why I took three buses to my friend's place in the other end of chennai when I barely knew the friend or the city well enough.

I think of these and a other million instances when Arsenal took centre stage and everything else in life was mere background detail. And then for a moment, I pause to think of how empty life would have been without Arsenal. Then the love kick starts again.

I am Arsenal till the day I die!

And Lampard scores for Arsenal!

There is this thing about football, this unexplainable something. One day it breaks your heart and makes you feel like its the end of the world. And then the very next day, it lifts you from the dumps again. You don't forget the past, you don't move on, the scars still remain, but still there is something else to look forward to. Something new.

One night you cannot eat, you cannot sleep, in the wake of a defensive lapse that cost your club a chance to win their first trophy in six long years. You lose faith, you question your belief, you forget the hunger for football, the joy you derive from it. Or so you think! Because two days later you see your immediate title rivals collapse to a crushing defeat, a result which breathes new life into the title race.

To watch Chelsea come from behind and inflict a 2-1 defeat over Manchester United at Stamford Bridge in a match that saw every decision go against the visitors, something that had Alex Ferguson fuming at the touchline, did not banish the memories of the Carling Cup final defeat to Birmingham City. But it soothed the pain.

Ferguson shook his head in disgruntled frustration as his face came close to resembling a radish. One of those rare nights when things didn't go his way and the referee appeared to have forgotten that he was on the Scot's payroll. It made my day just as it had spoilt his.

Frank Lampard's winning penalty means that with a win over Sunderland, Arsenal can close in to within one point of leaders United, who next take their susceptible away form to Anfield. Kenny Dalglish will be well aware of Liverpool's legacy and will want to halt United's charge towards an unprecedented 19th domestic title. If he denies United the points, he will be doing Arsenal a huge favour.

I never thought this day would come but for the next few days I wholeheartedly pledge my support and devotion to Liverpool. Come on you Reds! You'll never walk alone! King Kenny! Go Gerrard! Meireles the Merciless! Suarez is the Man! Carroll for President! and all that jazz.

Go now and beat those ****!

(To avoid a lawsuit, I believe I should mention that the title of this entry was inspired by a text message from Joshua Moraes sent soon after the Chelsea-United tie.)