You need not be a Gooners fan to enjoy a visit to the Emirates
Being a man of means, I decided to treat my son, Jake, and son-in-law, Richard, to the Emirates. It's one of the Wonders of the Modern World (North London Section), which everyone who calls themselves human should have been to once.
They took some persuading. Jake is a diehard Spurs fan - it's how I brung him up - and has always hated me for going to Arsenal, which I do when my friend Ian has a spare ticket. This time he had three, so I splashed out. I go to Arsenal because first, I'm a football fan. Second, I'm a Spurs fan. Which I'm fed up explaining. It seems so simple to me, yet Spurs fans think I'm a traitor and Arsenal fans think I'm weird.
Richard took a bit of persuading, as he's not a footer fan. But he happens to be French, and naturally he is quietly proud that Arsenal is today a French club. Mais oui. Even as a boy, he wasn't much interested, though he does remember supporting Marseilles and liking that well-known French wizard, "Chrees Wa-dell".
So it was a sociological and cultural experience for Richard. As for Jake, he agree that he would like to go to the Emirates, if only to rubbish it.
Flora my daughter - married to Richard - agreed to run us there and back, which led to endless screams from my wife: "What are you doing? How could you? She should be at home with her feet up, not acting as your minicab driver." Flora is nine months pregnant. "No problems," I said. "If her waters break and she's driving, she'll be moments from the Whittington's maternity department."
Jake's first comment was about the pitch, how wide it was. It must help their passing game. I hadn't thought of that before. It's true Highbury was very narrow, and that Arsenal have played better football since they moved to the Emirates. Could there be a connection?
Richard was busy on his mobile, not ringing or texting but enjoying taking photos, sending them to all his Froggy friends, proof that he was there with the "roast beefs". Jake then started rubbishing the Arsenal crowd: useless, where are they, no atmosphere, not like White Hart Lane, huh. Can't be 60,000 here, they all dead or what?
At that moment, the West Ham supporters started singing "It's like a funeral . . ." Then went straight into "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles . . ." Which at least woke up the Arsenal fans, who replied with "You've only got one song . . ." To which the West Ham fans sang, "We forgot you were here . . ."
I did start to explain these chants and songs to Richard, but never got beyond "Bubbles". How can you, in ten seconds? I could probably get a PhD from De Montfort University in Leicester if I managed the cultural and social history of "Bubbles" in under 20,000 words.
Arsenal scored early and were always well on top, which didn't stop Jake from criticising. "OK, so they pass well as a team, but where's the individuals, like Ronaldo, or Giggs, or most of all, Berbatov? Arsenal haven't got anyone worth watching."
The minute we got out, Richard said thanks, he loved the whole experience. Jake had at last brightened up, all smiles. "You enjoyed it then?" I said. It wasn't cheap. "I enjoyed the architecture."
Football has a strange effect on people. Jake is much cleverer than me, with a top degree from our so-called best university. But as Flora picked us up, I suddenly felt awfully mature.
PS: My grand-daughter, Amarise, was born 7 January - my birthday.
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