Why are Arsenal so toothless? A football fan's history

It's well known that I am an Ipswich Town fan. Even their recent ignominious slide down the leagues has not dimmed that. But I like to have a team to support whilst bingeing on TV football - which mainly means Premier League. Theoretically I could choose a Turkish League side but I have no affinity with any of them. So my support has gone to Arsenal for the last few years. In choosing a non-Ipswich side to support, I tend to go for glamour, so Chelsea were a choice for a while; they had glamour - and money to buy glamour.

Where's the glamour in Arsenal? I hear you say. Until quite recently, they had world class, glamour players - Bergkamp, Henry, Viera, to mention just a few - and a world class manager who, although not strictly glamorous, was a man whose views on life, as well as football, were worth listening to. Perhaps an intellectual, one might say, but with a fighter's instincts too - remember his head to head touchline spat with Jose Mourinho?

And I have an affinity with Arsenal, going back to the 1960s when my father used to take me to Highbury to watch players such as Frank McLintock, George Eastham and Joe Baker. In the days when you could turn up on the spur of the moment and get in. Train round the North London Line from Willesden Junction to Highbury & Islington, 20 minutes walk to the ground.

On 3 May 1971 I was at White Hart Lane (home of the hated Tottenham Hotspur) to see Arsenal win 1-0 and win the League title, for the first time in 18 years. Oh joy!

Skip forward to the late 1970s, where I taught at Ipswich School for three happy years, during which our first son was born. More important (just joking Simon) was the opportunity to get to Portman Road, home of the mighty Ipswich Town every other Saturday to watch their then First Division match.

Technically, as a member of the school's teaching staff, all of us were required to take games on Saturday  afternoons - a barbarous practice which I should have sussed out before applying for the job. Each autumn, the whole staff would gather just before the start of term to be addressed by the head of PE, who told us the latest changes to rugby's offside laws (even to this day rugby's laws continue to be changed with bewildering frequency). As a soccer enthusiast, I had no interest in rugby nor aptitude for teaching or refereeing it. I was therefore - sensibly - allocated a group of boys who also had no interest in the game. We - boys and master - shared a wish to get the whole thing over as quickly as possible and - heretically - to play soccer, whose rules we understood, rather than rugby. So we agreed to get our lunch eaten super quickly, make our way to the playing field - out of sight of the authorities, i.e. the PE staff - and get a soccer game done and dusted in time for us all to get down to Portman Road to see the Tractor Boys in all their glory.

And glory it was in those days. Bobby (later Sir Bobby) Robson was the manager and we were a force to be reckoned with in the First Division, regularly in the top six - 3rd in 1975 and 1977. In May 1978 - I was on my way to a new job in Manchester - we won the FA Cup! Go little guys.

I could write more about Ipswich (and, sadly, their subsequent decline) but this is supposed to be about Arsenal, not Ipswich.

So why are Arsenal so awful? They are thought of as a "top six" club, although now only by virtue of financial clout and a magnificent stadium. As I write this, Arsenal are 10th in the Premier League table and seemingly could slide even further. They have a squad of international players including German World Cup winners, yet they are a soft touch defensively and disjointed offensively. They have an midfield which goes AWOL. They do not have one player who would find his way into a (genuinely) top 6 side, so these players are badly underperforming. They have lots of talented young players coming through, but so do many of their competitors. 

They have no fight, no tactical  discipline and are - on the occasions such as yesterday when they take the lead with not many minutes to go - unable to hold on to a lead. They just can't keep clean sheets. Do the players not care? Are they not playing for their (new) manager? Do they not get coached to defend corners and free kicks?

Mostly, they lack pace, effort and desire. Build up is slow, ultra cautious. Taking the easy sideways pass rather than running at, and beating, a player. Where is the risk taking, the courage to make things happen? Are they scared of losing? Maybe a defeatist culture has taken hold. Time for a sports psychologist, maybe.

Those of you checking out this blog and this post, hoping for answers will be disappointed. I have no answers. In fact, I write this hoping that someone will come up with some. I am losing what is left of my hair by tearing it out weekly.

I'd rather talk about Ipswich.

There is one chink of light: Arsenal are only two points behind Tottenham, with 8 games to go!

Footballers run government

So Marcus Rashford, a young lad who plays centre forward for Manchester United - which is an English soccer team - has been co-opted into No. 10 Downing Street's Policy Implementation Unit. The Prime Minister, one Boris Johnson, is ultimately accountable to this unit so, when Rashford decides that school children who qualify for free meal vouchers should receive them during the summer holidays - i.e. when they are not at school- the PM immediately says "yes sir, Mr. Rashford, whatever you say, it shall be done".

A Mr. Troy Deeney, another member of the Unit, tells our visibly-cowed Prime Minister that he must utter the phrase "Black Lives Matter" in his next speech. So Boris dutifully mutters "stay alert; black lives matter".

A peripheral player in the Unit, a Mr. Mesut Özil, tells the PM that Turkish president Erdogan must be exempt from quarantine rules, as he is arriving shortly to lend support to Özil's struggling Arsenal team. "Ah"says Johnson "that's easy; you'll have to talk to Priti". "Er, please no!" quivers Özil. "Dinna wurry" growls a voice from the other side of the room. It's the Unit's security chief, Professor Lord Sir Alex Ferguson. "Let me talk to her....I'll give her a Glasgae kiss..."

"Um, I don't think that's a good idea....Dom, Dom help me out here"cowers Johnson.

But Dom has been cornered by Ferguson's sidekick (and erstwhile sworn enemy, but we must do the Right Thing for the country [although it's not his country]) Mr. Roy Keane: "Tell me about this little trip you took..." he threatens.

His Holiness Mr. Gary Lineker, never one to be left out when there are brownie points to be had, says to everyone that the 1986 World Cup quarter final must be replayed, because an Argentine hero "scored" a goal with his hand. "Shut up Gary" says Deeney. And Rashford. And Unit sporting ethics expert Diego Maradona. Not Keane (Irish). Not Ferguson (fiery Scot). Definitely not Özil (wimp).

"This is getting silly" tweets Johnson. "You're not meant to have any power; I am!" He stiffens his sinews: "Cry God for Boris, England and Saint George! No more Argies: Brexit is Brexit! They will not have our fish!"

"Let's do a free trade deal, guys. You get football back on the telly and I get to disband you".

And that's (really) how it happened.

All things Cornish

Cornish pasties are overrated and unhealthy, in my humble opinion. If you want a tiny portion of meat mixed with soggy potatoes and wrapped in thick tough pastry, OK you're not a foodie. If you want fast food, get a cheese sandwich. less of a grind eating it.Years ago when Chancellor of the Exchequer George Osborne slapped 20% VAT on hot takeaway food, the pasty lobby geared up to oppose it, egged on by Greggs the bakers. the Sun ("Who VAT all the pies?") and the Cornish Pasty Association (what? are you making that up, Nigel?). Prime Minister David Cameron falsely claimed he had eaten a pasty (surely not, how plebby) in Leeds railway station. The shop had closed two years previously. When will Prime Ministers learn? On a par with Tony Blair claiming to be a Newcastle United supporter.

But I digress. The hooha caused Osborne to drop the proposal. Cornwall 1, Government 0.

Now the story gets ridiculous. The Cornish Pasty Association runs the World Pasty Championships, held at the Eden Centre. A hundred competitors from countries all over the white, English speaking world compete to eat the most pasties over a seven day period. Bakers compete to have their pasty recognised as the best. I'm sorry to say I couldn't find a list of recent winners for you.

Q. Where in Cornwall is the International Pasty Festival held?

A. Real del Monte in Mexico.

[Seriously? with all that delicious food, they eat pasties? Are they crazy? Ed: actually Mexicans have a reputation for being crazy]

Enough about that dreadful food.

Now Cornish cream teas are a different kettle of fish (I looked up the origin of that phrase but it is really uninteresting, on a level with a pasty, so I won't bore you with it). Freshly baked scones, strawberry jam and clotted cream on top. Also unhealthy but deliciously so. One of those a week is something I have missed in lockdown.

The local cheese here is Cornish Yarg. Made from the milk of Friesian cows (aren't they Danish?). I'm not a great fan of cheese and my knowledge of the comparative virtues of different cheeses is as minimal as my knowledge of red wines. All I know is, if  you want a decent, tasty cheese, there are lots much better than Yarg. It's one of those indigestible, rubbery cheeses like Edam, and is covered in nettles. Yep, really.

However, it doesn't make traveleering.com's list of the six worst cheeses in the world. Now those are definitely to be avoided.

Hevva buns (or "Heavy cake"), which originated in Cornwall, can also be delicious. I used to get them from Tesco with crystallised sugar on top, before I decided to watch the carbs.

Finally to the Cornish language. which was revived in the early 20th century after dying out in the 18th. Why? English not good enough? Do Cornish people share secrets that they don't want the rest of us to hear? I have lived in Cornwall for 16 years and have never heard anyone speak any Cornish. Maybe they all switch to English when they see me coming and back to Cornish behind my back. I only know one Cornish word (which begs the question: how do I know I haven't heard anyone speak Cornish?): Kernow. Which means Cornwall. There is a Cornish nationalist party (of course, where would be without the firebrands?) called Mebyon Kernow. Apparently Daphne di Maurier was a member. They campaign for devolved government - a Cornish Assembly - on a par with Wales.

I love Cornwall and it's great living here. I know I'm not a local, and will never be, but I can enjoy cream teas, hevva buns and ales from the St Austell brewery.

The red button

Broadcasters obviously think we might need to hear the obscene chants of football crowds while we watch a match. Both Sky Sports and BT Sport are offering the option of using the red button during spectator-free live football.

As I write this post, I am watching a German league match for which the host broadcaster Sky Deutschland provides a "crowd noise" soundtrack. It's been created from real spectator sounds from the earlier (pre-lockdown) match between these two teams and is to an extent contextual - an engineer (German word for TV producer, Vorsprung durch Technik and all that) selects specific sounds for goals, penalties and so on. Whilst it may sound OK for those specific situations, for most of the match when nothing other than normal play (player kicks ball, passes to another player who kicks ball, etc.) happens it is extremely irritating. There is no red button option to watch without crowd noise.

There are pictures of people (presumably real people) on one side of the stadium, facing the main camera. Do these people get royalties? Apparently Borussia Dortmund fans can pay to have their picture on the "fan board" (some premier League clubs are now doing the same); no news though on audio clips of individual insults to be hurled at referees.

BT Sport say that they will offer "pre-recorded dynamic crowd noise". So real crowds from previous matches but not clear what "dynamic" means. Presumably the same as the  Bundesliga, an engineer (is this really what students study engineering at uni for?) selecting context-specific stuff. Sky will have "team specific crowd noise and chants". "Come on you Bluuues". Etc. Scarily, Sky has an app where "fans can vote for what chants they want played". Plenty of opportunity there for Russian and Chinese state hackers. What could possibly go wrong?

I gave up taking my sons to football matches when the obnoxious chanting and shouting of crowds became intelligible to 8yos. Today, going to football is not a pleasant experience for those of us with sensitive personalities (i.e. brains).

I often watch football with the sound off, although that is largely to avoid the inanities of commentators. I will definitely not be watching with piped crowd sound. Keep the people away for ever!

Vocabulary expansion

Apparently (that might just about be the most-used word in this blog) the adult human typically has a vocabulary of around 20,000 active words and 40,000 passive words. According to wordcounter.io. What a wonderful source of useless information the internet is. The former are words we use and the latter words we know but don't use. I'm amazed at that, I would have guessed at around 250 active words and 1,000 passive. Maybe I'm just dumb.

An example of a word that, for me, was passive, is Cappadocia, used in a comment on this blog yesterday by my dear friend MiceElf (get it? I didn't until it was explained to me; yep, I'm dumb). There is no doubt I knew this word; if I had to guess, I would stick a pin in a map of the world somewhere around Italy. In the middle, to get as close as possible. And I would have been hopelessly wrong; it's a region of Turkey. Check out the comments on my pigeon fancier post for useful info about Cappadocia. Now that I have used it, twice, it has become one of my active words. 20,001.

This friend also introduced me to a completely new word: eremetical. The Free Dictionary tells me it means "characterized by ascetic solitude". So now I know, and I've used it. 20,002. Although I'm pretty sure it will shift to the passive category very quickly. If I remember, I will use it when I next speak to my friend Tony; he enjoys uttering unfamiliar words and asking me "do you know what that means?" I never ever admit that I don't.

There is a regular column in the Times, I think by Ann Treneman, which occasionally concludes with "word of the week". I might even email her to see if she will include eremetical in her next column. Credit will definitely have to go to MiceElf though.

I'd probably be breaching copyright if I used some of her column, so go check it out if you are interested.

Word Counter also gives me the following useful info:

At age one, a child will recognise about 50 words

At age three, a child will recognise about 1,000 words

At age five, a child will recognise about 10,000 words (that's seems crazily many; do they count derivations, e.g. seem, seems, seemed, seeming as separate words?)

At that rate of progress, someone of my advanced age will recognise about 1,083,360 words, according to a spreadsheet which I built. So maybe not so dumb. Maybe explains why I am so verbose.

(Although I encourage readers to comment on these posts, please don't point out the obvious flaws in my reasoning - that is, unless you're dumb enough to believe it)

Any new words, in the form of comments to this post, will be very welcome. Begin!

Corbyn and May, pigeon fanciers

You heard it here! In 2018, the first parliamentary pigeon race (Lords v Commons, never expressed as Commons v Lords, of course) since 1928 took place. Theresa May sponsored (what does that actually mean in this context? Bought the pigeons their flying gear? Knitted them new coats?) 5 pigeons, the best of which came in 77th place (things still going well then, Theresa). Jeremy Corbyn's bird came 8th (more or less where his party came in the 2019 general election). Take that, wheat-runner!

Corbyn apparently once tabled a House of Commons motion calling for mankind to be wiped out by an asteroid [Ed: named Boris?] as punishment for using pigeons as flying bombs during the war (s****ing on the Germans?).

Despite promising not to, Nick Clegg's bird teamed up with May's birds and agreed a deal on charging spectators to watch, but couldn't keep up and got lost, never to be seen again.

(OK, that last sentence I made up, but the rest is true - I think)

Quiz question: do you know who said "The first thing I ever loved was a pigeon"? (Answer at the bottom of this post)

The website of the Royal Pigeon Racing Association (I know that sounds like something else I made up but truth can be, and in this case is, stranger than fiction) tells me that famous pigeon fanciers included Elvis Presley, Walt Disney, Claude Monet, Clint Eastwood, Pablo Picasso, Nicola Tesla and The Sultan of Jahore. Who knew?

Anyone know the world speed record for a racing pigeon? Nope, but Wikipedia tells me they can fly up to 125mph. Wow. A Chinese businessman broke the world record for a purchase of a pigeon at 310,000 Euros in 2013. Named Bolt (who else?) he was bred in Belgium (the bird, not the businessman). Apparently Belgian-bred pigeons are the fastest! So that's what those Belgians do all day.

The Telegraph of 30 May reported that "Pigeon racing will be the first spectator sport to return to Britain as lockdown is eased", on the basis that thousands of people on the route travelled by the 4,000 birds from Leicester to Barnsley will see them ("spectate"!) flying over their streets and houses. The race took place on 1 June; no news as to whether Corbyn's flyer has trained on.

Quiz answer: Mike Tyson