Charity Sees The Need, Not The Koscielny

"Arsenal fans’ suffering, their wait, goes on”- Alan Parry

The following is a series of reports involving some of society’s most deprived and impoverished people- Arsenal fans. Those of a nervous disposition should be aware that, though not designed for this purpose, these real accounts of human suffering, misery and pain are liable to upset. Please only read on after considering the above. All donations welcomed.




This is Andy. When Andy was twenty two, Arsenal had just won the FA Cup and Andy was just about to graduate with a third in Digital Media and Animation from Nottingham Trent University. It felt like the beginning of something exciting for him. It has not worked out that way. “It started when the lead singer of our band, Toby, got a job handling deeds in a small Mortgage Brokers in Northampton and knocked the music on the head. Then I couldn’t find any work in animation so had to take a job in a call centre for a few months. It was actually a while before I got my footing. I lost both my parents too. It’s not much fun as a twenty six year old having to ask the lady with the microphone at the customer service stand in Tesco to put out an announcement about a missing child, but I had no choice with my dad having the car keys on him.”

Andy maintains that, were it not for Arsenal’s inability to win a trophy since 2005 he would now be working in the animation room at Pixar. “It seems that everybody on my course who supported Chelsea or Man Utd went the Hollywood route. And a Portsmouth fan I sat next to in seminars before they started to clash with band practise is now storyboarding the new Winnie the Pooh film. It’s hard to not make the trophy connection.” There’s a tragic irony in Andy’s one word answer when asked to describe his memories of the cup final win: “Sketchy.”



This is Amy and James. They watched the Cup Final from the poolside bar at their five star honeymoon resort Marley’s Spa. “I remember spending the night sipping exotic cocktails, sampling wonderful local cuisine and being treat like royalty as attentive staff catered skilfully and unobtrusively to our every whim. Afterwards, the pair of us retired to our superbly appointed suite and made wild, yet uniquely tender and intimate, love,” says Amy. “Afterwards, James looked me in the eye and said than wherever we went physically, our souls would forever be as one together on this beautiful island.”

Six trophy-less years since and the couple have noticed a marked decline in their relationship. ”It’s like we’re more friends than anything else now,” says James, from his shed. “The sex gradually petered out. But it wasn’t just that: we would be driving and she would want to stop and ask for directions when I insisted on using a map; her mother would come around to visit. Numerous disputes over remote controls. Christmas is always particularly problematic. It’s like, of all the married people ever, we have been cursed.” He still retains fond memories of that win in 2005 and the night of bliss that followed it. He is convinced Amy does too, but doesn’t want to ask her when she’s in one of those funny moods she gets in.




This is John. Since that FA Cup win in 2005, John has found his perspective thinning noticeably, and now faces up to having lost it all together. “Obviously, it’s a big thing, to lose your perspective,” he said. “But it’s the process that bothers me most, you know? Like if somebody had came and just taken my perspective that afternoon, I would be over it by now. But it’s been gradually eroded. Every day I would wake up and find little bits of perspective on my pillow. The bathroom mirror became something to dread. I couldn’t look at myself without considering the increasing lack of perspective, and in turn I couldn’t consider my rapidly diminishing perspective without considering the wider implications of ageing and inevitable death. I tried to talk to the missus about it, but they don’t understand do they? She’s a Luton Town fan and they won the Football League Trophy the other year. This is an Arsenal thing.”

Niall Quinn On Tour

“Niall Quinn plans several meetings with fans across the region’s pubs to clarify his comments on fans watching foreign television”- The South Shields Gazette

Minutes of Meeting

Venue: Dawdon Miners Welfare Social Club

Attendees: Niall Quinn, Chairman. Steve Walton, Chief Executive. Selected fans. People watching events through choppy internet stream: not recorded.

*Quinn began the evening by thanking those who have attended and stating what an important issue he felt the one that they were here to discuss was. He stated his hope that those there agreed with him and would work with him in preserving the club's fortunes and making use of their grand potential. Though primarily here to discuss attendances at the Stadium of Light, Quinn welcomed the opportunity to expand any discussion in to a larger look at Sunderland’s place in modern day English football and hoped that the meeting would prove to be ultimately productive in steering the club towards a happier future.

*A patron of the pub entering through the back door asked if they were putting the Champions’ League on in here. Quinn suggested he tried the upstairs lounge.

*Quinn stated that since Ellis Short’s full takeover in 2009 crowds have not been to the level which he expected and proposed reasons why this might be. He believes one of the problems is the ease of accessing football through the internet, the effect of which will prove harmful in the long run.

*A fan suggested he protected against that possibility by installing a basic spyware package you can pick up for pennies nowadays. Another fan stated that he only goes on websites which don’t require you to fill in a survey before beginning to watch. Both fans agreed that My2p2 is probably your best bet going forward.

*Quinn suggested that it isn’t only people watching on the internet at home which are harming attendances. The amount of pubs in Wearside showing live Sunderland games is leading many to sacrifice going to games in favour of watching it at their local.

*Patron came back downstairs and confirmed that the match was being shown upstairs, but only on the little television. He asked how much longer this was going to take.

*Quinn stated that while Sunderland’s on pitch fortunes have been improving, the crowds off it have not been keeping up. This is obviously not a sustainable business model and if it continues the club may well be forced to sacrifice their big stars, such as Asamoah Gyan and Phil Bardsley. Quinn understands watching football can be expensive, but the club have offered all manner of offers for supporters to help them with the costs.

*A fan suggested that these initiatives aren’t publicised well enough. Quinn said that the
club’s website is constantly being updated with information of this nature. The fan said he can’t access the website after downloading a corrupted fileshare programme. Quinn suggested they try and avoid this avenue of conversation again.

*Patron wondered if it was possible to get any sort of service around here.

*A member of the floor wondered if it not just a simple case of fans enjoying going to the pub more than the game. He said he always likes having a pint at half time and to do that you have to leave your seat five minutes before half time, where you find you can’t even watch the game on the television. Quinn answered that this was a conscious decision on the club’s part to boost support to the team for the entire ninety minutes. The member of the floor stated that he hadn’t been talking about watching Sunderland’s game. Quinn vowed to look in to having Newcastle United games played on the televisions in the concourse but could make no promises.

*Patron asked if anybody had a light he could borrow. He also wanted to know if anybody else had heard a cheer from those upstairs watching the football and further ruminated on what implications that could have for the score line.

*A member of the floor asked Quinn if he ever paid himself in to football ground and, if he
hadn’t, whether this negated his self-appointed role of telling others how to spend their money. Quinn confirmed that he had been in conversations like this before and understood the anxieties of others. But stated that just as he believed sanctioning Roy Keane to spend 6.5 million pounds of the club’s money on George McCartney in 2008 had been the right thing to do and in the club's long term interests, so he feels are these meetings.

*Some sighing from the floor.

*Quinn thanked those there for the opportunity to speak to them and stated again how important he felt the region’s support is in helping Sunderland achieve the potential he believes is deep lying in the club and in danger of remaining dormant. He offered to take any further questions from the floor.

*Patron asked if he knew the Wi-Fi password so he could at least check the score. Quinn confirmed he didn’t. Member of floor could have sworn it ended in a ‘1234’. Another member said that that didn’t sound right.

*The meeting was adjourned.

Leave it out

Leaving early then, where do you stand? Not in the walkways, ideally, because it wouldn’t be fair to obstruct the views of others, and the last thing you need as you slink away in shame faced embarrassment is to induce a kerfuffle with the stewards. And don’t think you’re fooling anybody with your half-hearted positional play and intermittent bursts of pace, either. If your team are labouring in the last minutes of a game long lost, the intention is to leave early, not imitate them.

Of course, it isn’t possible to establish a true consensus on the best method for leaving before the end because so few will ever admit to actually doing it. People can just about imagine circumstances where it would be acceptable, a fire in your home, for example. But, even then, don’t you have neighbours with their own hose and bucket? It is a disdained practise and not only for its disloyalty- people baulk at the illogicality of the practise too. ‘Would you leave the cinema before the end?’ people ask, assuming your answer would be ‘no’ and not the infinitely more sensible answer that ‘yes, if I hadn’t realised that Kevin James was in the film before buying my ticket’.

And football, like cinema, for want of a more post-modern take on narrative, tends to store its juiciest twists for the end, meaning there’s little surface value logic to leaving early. Just as, fittingly enough, there’s little surface value logic to the twists at the end of most films. At least sneaking out (as the parlance would have it) at the cinema saves you the confused conversation in the lobby afterwards centring on why he agreed to go along with the heist in the first place if he had known all along that the safe cracker was working undercover. Football can’t be said to present such complexities of plot- which is to say that, if asked the final score by the person behind the counter at the chip shop, being unable to answer with any degree of certainty is going to see them question whether your money set aside for weekend recreation couldn’t be better invested.

So why do folk do it? Well, in special cases- usually in the North East- there’s the element of protest to consider. For some, it’s only one element in a whole production of a protest, and they accentuate their performance by throwing their season ticket in the direction of their manager and dug out as they exit. (If you’re planning this yourself, it is probably worth remembering that this is a much grander gesture if it’s done near the start of the season, so its message is a clear indicator to the higher ups at your level of frustration at the club’s direction, and not in May, when the higher ups may assume there’s a wedding in a fortnight that you can’t get out of.) Also worth remembering that, in protest, your action when leaving the ground must be purposeful, dominated by long strides; no hanging back on the stairs just until the attack breaks down. Even rats deserting a sinking ship don’t stop off by the televisions in the concourse to see what happens with this corner.

And there is special dispensation for people who actually do have to leave early to get to work- on a Saturday evening this will naturally involve a lot of doormen, and they will reward the patience you extend them at this junction by being similarly accommodating of your attempts to enter their place of work later that same evening while still wearing your club’s replica shirt. And some people do have trains to catch, of course. Though, for us, the transport argument is a harder sale than the working one. It would stand to reason that people would have to get home from the football, and that some of them will have to do it at staggered periods. Just as it stands to reasons that, on occasion, somebody may be forced to travel through the night to visit a sick relative. That’s why crafty train manufacturers didn’t stop at one.

I must say, for all the reasons against it, the argument against leaving early that tugs hardest on the heartstrings is the one about it being unfair on the players. Because you do, don’t you… you do find yourself, on occasion and mostly at night, worrying about them? Their adorable little faces, their various sponsorship deals and their perfectly shaped girlfriends. And ninety minutes with us probably represents the longest and most meaningful relationship most of them have ever been involved in, even if there are fewer people in attendance at the match than the usual amount invited back to theirs from the nightclub. We should be careful around their feelings.

Consider, though, the fact that every ground in the country has their share of people leaving early and players, who remember spend most of their weekends in and around these stadiums (and no doubt occasionally catch the odd game on television too, provided it doesn’t clash with poker on the other side), have probably worked out to not take it too personally. We can always contribute double to the full time whip round for their tip at the next home game.

So never mind the players, the important person to worry about, be able to live with, is yourself. Guilt, self-loathing, shame, these are all the emotions you are going to be forced to endure after abandonment tantamount to dereliction of duty, desertion even; cowardice and fickleness the charges you will be forced to level in your own direction as you trudge homeward bound. On the plus side, at least you will have a good seat on the bus home from which to consider them.

Newcastle United 4 - 4 Arsenal

Even among the delirium, the wide grins and the expansive bear hugs that greeted the blowing of the final whistle on Saturday, there was an anxious tinge in the air that our goal scoring midfielder would only be ours for so long. It was a performance that surely screamed, even to somebody as stubborn as Arsenal's manager, that this is the man to firm up their midfield, provide the bite and charisma which could take them from a team full of precious talents to a team capable of challenging properly the game’s true elite. I suppose the question now becomes: what would Arsene Wegner have to do to prise Joey Barton away from St James’ Park?

I think, though he would fit right in with Wegner’s no alcohol policy, certain promises regarding discipline would have to be made to the tee-totalling midfielder. Bitching to referees in the mould of a Wilshire, spending the entire second period trying to get other players sent off in the mould of a Fabregas, or unprovoked violence in the mould of a Diabi…this is not the type of thing that is going to appeal to a lad who has all season long behaved himself, one minor incident for which he accepted his punishment aside, impeccably.

And Arsenal fans themselves would have to put behind them some pretty firm rules on aesthetics. Which isn’t to say that Barton’s range of passing and close control wouldn’t fit in with their team’s general style, but rather to say that their fans, who have apparently developed some quite stringent pointers on the attractiveness of footballers to judge from one laughably pompous blog post I read which placed Barton inexplicably alongside Lady Sovereign the Grime MC as rightful figures of class based scorn, would have to make do with Barton’s more roguish appearance. In a piece which surely marks the passing of Arsenal fans in to absurd self-parody, the writer in question makes copious references to Barton’s supposed ‘ugly’ looks, as though such appreciators of the game as themselves are unable to handle whatsoever any affront to their visual pallet. We can only hope he enjoys admiring Lionel Messi’s boy next door cuteness in the coming weeks as much as he must have in their two games with Barcelona last season.

Outside of Barton and Tiote and JESUS CHRIST DID YOU SEE THAT, the main post match conversation seemed to centre on at what point the thought of leaving had crossed your mind and why the urge had been resisted. For my part, a strange numbness had enveloped me as a superb Arsenal team sliced through us time and again in the first half. I have seen this type of performance from Newcastle hundreds of time- inert, inept, in turns timid and clumsy – and it always seemed to end the same way- a one or two goal defeat, at worst three or four, amid mediocre rancour from the stands. This felt like I was seeing what would finally happen when the other team showed up, which would be interesting at least, and it was all too plainly absurd to feel too emotionally attached to.

Besides which, this was also, one sensed as the cries of Chris Hughton and Kevin Keegan’s names rang out at the end of a week when we have lost our most promising player for a generation, to be the fiery culmination of everything bad, sour and rotten about the club, and the decision to stay almost felt like morbid curiosity as much as anything- just how bad could things get? Harsh, bitter laughter greeted Arsenal’s fourth and genuine overheard conversation at half time noted that at least another five goals for Arsenal would mean that Sunderland no longer held the record for our biggest ever defeat.

We wait and see which provided the better marker of our immediate future, the first or the second half. But if the price to pay for that second forty five minutes is ten relegations, that’s fair enough with me. The noise kept rising, almost as people were coming to the realisation that a come back was on in incremental periods and adding to the din accordingly, and the team kept going and then we were suddenly one behind with eight minutes left- two Barton penalties and a neat Best finish- and then Tiote’s goal and the single loudest roar I have ever heard inside a football stadium. A moment of such glorious catharsis that even my stuffy neighbour and I were able to put to one side the issue of that time he caught me having a sly look at his programme at half time of last season’s game against Swansea to embrace one another and garble screamed, indecipherable gibberish in each other's faces while jumping in the air like loons.

Incredibly, we could have won it from then. Nolan, at this point taking the piss like a back heeled goal at the Stadium of Light, ran on to a Ranger hold up, shaped perfectly and hit the ball sweetly. It was whistling in, just as it is whistling in every time I have watched the highlights since, yet somehow it eluded the far post. As horrible as it is each and every time to see it go the wrong side, I can’t look away for the sight of the lower tier of the Gallowgate as the shot comes in- one sprawled mass of excitable Geordie type people, each one stood, each one in a differing state of chaotic frenzy.